Before composing over two dozen volumes of poetry, before becoming a professor at the prestigious Cornell University in upstate New York, and long before winning any of his numerous national literary awards, Archibald Randolph Ammons was a poor boy working on his father’s Columbus County farm during the Great Depression.

Ammons would eventually achieve fame under the byline “A.R. Ammons,” a heralded poet noted for his beautiful but also scientifically precise descriptions of nature. However, with those who knew him personally, including those who knew him during his formative years in coastal Carolina, he went by the less precise but more identifiable name “Archie.”

‘Alluvial country’

Archie Ammons was born in his family’s farmhouse just outside of Whiteville on Feb. 18, 1926. The fields he helped his father plow during his youth were 6 short miles from Lake Waccamaw and only 35 miles from the Brunswick County beach communities his family would travel to for the occasional fish fry or oyster roast. Ammons spent these hardscrabble years mostly behind hitched mules, furrowing the soil in which he and his father grew corn, tobacco, peanuts and other cash crops so typical of eastern North Carolina agricultural districts.

Though he would not begin writing poetry until some years later, his experiences on the farm and in what he called the “alluvial country” of the coastal plains impressed him deeply and would eventually find voice in his writing.  

For instance, in the poem “Silver,” about a mule his family owned during his childhood, Ammons remembers how he and Silver would “fall soon again into the slow requirements of our dreams / how we turned at the ends of rows without sense to new furrows and went back / flicked by / cornblades and hearing the circling in / the cornblades of horseflies in pursuit.”

In the poem “I’m the Type,” Ammons would look back at his early life on the farm in light of his later career as a famous writer and note how he “misses the mules and cows / hogs and chickens, misses / the rain making little / rivers, well-figured with / tributaries through the / sand yard.” Ammons learned in his childhood to be attentive to the living world around him, including not only the plants and animals but also the physical forces that shape living things. They entered his imagination as a boy and stayed with him the rest of his life.

From the South Pacific to the Outer Banks   

According to Roger Gilbert, a professor of English literature at Cornell University who is writing a biography of his former colleague, the Ammons family farm was not particularly successful, so a young Ammons sought employment in the largest nearby city.

“He had been working in the shipyards in Wilmington after high school and one day he came home and the farm had been sold,” Gilbert said in a recent interview. “That farm had been his world growing up. So when that was gone, when it was no longer a place that belonged to him, I think he felt he’d lost that sense of having a home.”

This bitter loss began a whirlwind period in Ammons’s life. American involvement in the Pacific theater of World War II was ramping up just as he graduated high school. With no more family farm to tend, Ammons enlisted in the Navy. He was deployed as a sonar operator aboard the destroyer U.S.S. Gunason, on which he sailed through the South Pacific, listening for the pings of reverberating soundwaves that could signal the underwater presence of enemy vessels or weapons.

It was also during this time, on the long voyages at sea, that Archie began writing his first poems. He was training the precision of his ear in more ways than one.  

When the war ended, the poor country boy from Whiteville took advantage of the GI Bill to attend Wake Forest College. Ammons graduated in 1949 and left town with a Bachelor of Science and, more importantly, a courtship with his future wife, Phyllis.

He moved almost immediately to the Outer Banks village of Hatteras, where he would spend the 1949-50 academic year as principal of tiny Hatteras Elementary School — and where Phyllis would join him after their wedding during Thanksgiving break.

Though he was only on the Dare County island for a year, the dramatic seascapes of the Outer Banks entered his poetic imagination just as the sandy farmland of Whiteville had. In an unpublished poem written during his first summer on Hatteras, and kindly provided by Professor Gilbert out of the Ammons archive at Cornell University, Archie tried to capture in words the strange magic of the Banks at night: “Night has come to this small island, / Drowsing on the golden dunes cool-mist opiates. / Far out at sea, a ship’s sea-lantern sways / And a lost gull screams.”

Gilbert noted that Ammons, by this point, had not yet found his unique poetic voice. But “the Hatteras landscape stayed with him and influenced some of those early poems,” he said.

A Second Vision of Land and Sea

By “those early poems,” Gilbert was referring to Ammons’s first collection of poetry, “Ommateum,” which he self-published in 1955. By this point, Ammons was living in New Jersey and working at his father-in-law’s manufacturing firm, which made glassware for laboratories.

In “Ommateum,” Ammons began to dabble in the scientific specificity and abstraction that would later become a hallmark of his style. More central to his first book, however, is one of Ammons’s mainstay themes: the transience of nature and human life.

In fact, the very first poem in “Ommateum” draws on the windswept ecology of Cape Hatteras to show us a narrator, Ezra, seeking his voice amid a powerful vortex of natural forces. Reworking many of the specific images and themes of his unpublished poem from his year in Hatteras, Ammons describes how Ezra speaks his name to the sea, “but there were no echoes from the waves / The words were swallowed up / in the voice of the surf.” The protagonist has to turn away “from the wind / that ripped sheets of sand / from the beach and threw them / like seamists across the dunes.”

Finally realizing the futility of fighting the wind, Ezra decides instead to adapt to and even become part of the landscape. “So I Ezra went out into the night,” the poem ends, “like a drift of sand / and splashed among the windy oats / that clutch the dunes / of unremembered seas.”

The poem sets the tone for the rest of the volume and, in a way, for the rest of Ammons’s career. It is somehow fitting that a poet from coastal North Carolina would begin his first book looking for meaning in a sea squall.  

According to Alex Albright, a retired professor of creative writing at East Carolina University and the editor of the indispensable Ammons volume “The North Carolina Poems,” “There’s a journal entry from when (Ammons was) in the Navy that provides a controlling metaphor for his life.”

“He sees off in the distance the fine line of the horizon,” Albright said in a telephone interview, “and as he gets closer and closer to it, it’s not really a straight line. It’s that second vision that he brings to a lot of his landscapes.”

Becoming a classic

“Ommateum” sold barely any copies when it first appeared. But little by little, Ammons began making inroads into the professional poetry establishment. Individual poems started getting picked up by journals and magazines here and there throughout the 1950s, and in 1964 he was hired to teach poetry writing at Cornell University, where he would later become a full professor and befriend Roger Gilbert.

The same year also saw the publication of his second collection, “Expressions of Sea Level,” this time by a major university press. From that point on until his death in 2001, Ammons would never go more than four years without releasing a new volume.

From the 1970s through the end of the 1990s, Ammons’s star rose without cease. He won the National Book Award for one collection of poetry in 1973, then the prestigious Bollingen Prize for Poetry for a different collection in 1975. It was around this time that the influential literary critic Harold Bloom said that “No contemporary poet, in America, is likelier to become a classic than A.R. Ammons.”

As if to prove Bloom’s point, Ammons released a volume in 1981 that received the National Book Critics Circle Award, and another volume 12 years later that won him his second National Book Award.  In October 2000, just five months before his death at age 75, he was inducted into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame.

Albright, who knew Ammons personally through their work together at the North Carolina Literary Review, pointed out that the shy, affable farm boy from Whiteville was aware he had a gift.

“He knew that he was in a rare class,” Albright said. “He had a Southern way of deflecting praise, but there were very few poets that he imagined were as good as he was.”

Not Deep down but across

Ammons is by no means omnipresent in Whiteville today, but neither is he or the world of his childhood totally forgotten. His family home was torn down years ago, but Whiteville High School has a couple of old buildings he would have sat in as a student in the 1930s, and the Pentecostal church he attended with his parents still stands out by Spring Branch. There is no plaque for him in town, but the Reuben Brown House, a historic preservation group in Columbus County, runs an annual poetry contest in his honor.

The fields and swamps he roamed as a boy are in a similar state of in-between. “Until very recently he would have recognized the Columbus County landscape,” Albright said. “The bridges are a little better, but it’s still swampy. There’s still bugs, it’s still quiet, and you’re still really close to the coast out there.”

According to Albright, even the Brunswick County beaches of Ammons’s youth have not yet been totally transformed.

“There’s a little place when you go to the right on Ocean Isle, that’s where they went for their oyster roasts,” he said, “and on the back end, you can sort of forget that the high-rise bridge is going over to Ocean Isle, and it can feel very isolated.”

Still, Ammons was powerfully attentive to and protective of the natural world. The poet would likely have some strong opinions about the lack of care taken for the soil, water, trees and animals of southeastern North Carolina if he saw it today.

“He could be looked at as an early environmentalist,” Albright said of his old friend. “His feel for the land was just something. And part of what he would see would be heartbreaking. The factory tree farming, especially.”

In “Making Fields,” one of his most moving poems about his North Carolina roots, Ammons describes the give and take between the land and his ancestors who worked that land going back to his father’s father.

The life he presents to readers in this poem is a hard one, and it unfolds overtop a thin coastal soil stratum that doesn’t always offer bounty and wealth. But at the end of the poem, Ammons can still clearly see and hear his connection to the place of his birth.

“… the land is not deep down but across, as into time” he writes. “the runs, the / ditch banks, the underbrush, the open fields with a persimmon tree / or wild cherry call, they call me.” 

Eastern and coastal North Carolina are home to some truly enormous trees. Towering bald cypresses with buttressed trunks, ancient live oaks with branches spreading out almost endlessly. The kinds of trees that leave people stunned. And though the person beholding the tree might not know it, the magnificent thing in front of them could be, or one day become, a champion.

Designated giants

The “Champion Tree” designation is a simple concept with a big purpose. The idea is to find the largest individual specimen of any given tree species, which is then named the champion of that species. The purpose goes far beyond measurements and rankings, however.

As first envisioned by the American Forestry Association in 1940, the Champion Tree Program, previously called the National Register of Big Trees, was intended to identify and conserve the nation’s largest remaining trees, which were at risk during an era of economic expansion and aggressive timber harvesting. It was also hoped that the program would increase the public’s appreciation for trees and encourage community science in forestry.

Today, anyone can nominate a tree for the National Register of Champion Trees, the annual publication of the Champion Tree Program. Nominated trees are reviewed and measured by an expert under the supervision of the University of Tennessee’s School of Natural Resources, which assumed official responsibility for the Champion Tree Program in 2024, and the champions are thereby sorted out for each species.

As of last year, when the most recent national register was published, North Carolina boasted 10 national champion trees, two of which are in the coastal plains: a pond pine in Bladen County, and a silky camellia in Gates County.

In order to find champions within their borders, state forestry services eventually established their own champion tree lists, such as North Carolina’s, which took shape under the auspices of the North Carolina Forest Service in the 1970s.

This means that North Carolina has a state champion tree for each species native to the state, and any state champion tree that is not bested in size by one of the same species in another state can be named the national champion.

Looking for the big ones

For 25-year-old Luke Ferreira, a big-tree hunter originally from New Bern, the sense of appreciation and the scientific mindset that spurred the original Champion Tree Program are always close at hand when he goes looking for giants.

“In some of the pretty remote places we go, I wonder, has anybody ever even seen this tree before?” Ferreira said in a telephone interview. “That’s what makes it worth it to me. Sometimes you come across something that takes your breath away.”

Ferreira, who now lives in Clayton, frequently ventures back to eastern North Carolina to look for and measure large trees.

“I’d say we definitely have more champions or potential champions east of I-95 than west of it,” he said.

When Ferreira finds a large tree, he calculates its size according to the method prescribed by the national Champion Tree Program. Each inch of a tree trunk’s circumference, as measured 4.5 feet above the ground, counts as one point, as does each foot of the tree’s height. The average spread in feet of the tree’s crown is divided by four, and this score is added to the point score for trunk circumference and height, yielding the overall score by which tree sizes can be compared.

Using these methods, Ferreira determined that a water hickory he and a friend discovered in a Craven County swamp was championship material. They nominated it to the state champion list, which prompted the N.C. Forest Service, following its protocols, to send out a county ranger to verify the tree’s dimensions. The ruling? With a 210-inch circumference, a height of 124 feet, and a 71-foot crown spread, it was the new state champion water hickory.

It should be noted, however, that those measurements yield 352 points according to the official Champion Tree Program method. The current national champion water hickory is listed at only 330 points, so Ferreira says he will be nominating the tree to the national list soon.

It might sound straightforward, but in reality, measuring tree sizes is a tricky business. The National Register of Champion Trees publishes a Measuring Guidelines Handbook that is 86 pages and includes two appendices and countless diagrams, so it may deter some beginners.

Luckily for Ferreira, trees aren’t just his hobby, they’re also his profession. Ferreira is a safety coordinator with Bartlett Tree Experts, so he has plenty of experience identifying, measuring and even climbing trees.

“I use a reel tape to measure the crown spread and the circumference, and then we use clinometers for height,” Ferreira said, referring to a device that calculates the height of distant objects with the help of a little trigonometry. “But if the tree isn’t too remote, I will sometimes tape drop it, where I climb up and drop the tape all the way down.”

Dying down, growing back

North Carolina’s big-tree database was taken offline in recent months before being made accessible again in early May. Andrew Pleninger, urban and community forestry program head at the N.C. Forest Service, oversees the state’s champion tree list. Pleninger said that the access issues stemmed from coinciding technical difficulties and the regular, laborious review such a program requires.

On the technical side, Pleninger said the web application hosting the database with the champion tree list was malfunctioning, prompting him to take it offline. Meanwhile, he and his staff have been working to reinspect all the existing state champions, to make sure everything on the list is accurate and up to date — a task delayed by staff shortages.

“It’s a good, popular program, and I’d like to continue to support it,” Pleninger said by telephone. “Tuning it up is one of our tasks right now.”

Maintaining champion tree registers with any kind of regularity is surely a large undertaking. Hundreds of trees, some of them in isolated mountain hollers or remote and unnavigable swamps, have to be checked to make sure none have fallen to storm, disease or axe.  

As Ferreira put it, “Once something becomes big enough to be a champion, it’s already close to the end of its life anyway.”

Even the loss of a limb can cost a tree its champion status. In a cemetery in Clinton, there stands a flowering dogwood that as recently as 2021 was the undisputed national champion.

“I was amazed at how big it was,” Pleninger said of the graveyard sentinel, which was once 33 feet tall and boasted a 40-foot crown spread. “I saw pictures of it before I went, and I thought, this is not a dogwood.”

However, the old tree has since lost one of its two main limbs, reducing its size significantly. It is no longer the national champion, and is likely not even the largest flowering dogwood in North Carolina anymore. However, a recent visit to the cemetery off of N.C. Highway 24 in Sampson County proved that the tree is still alive and still impressive. Time and decay may have robbed it of its title as champion, but it’s not yet too old to bloom in spring.

Caring for champions

The graceful leviathan at the heart of Wilmington’s Airlie Gardens isn’t just North Carolina’s state champion live oak, it’s probably one of the state’s best-known trees. It has served as a backdrop for hundreds of weddings and many thousands of photos, and it is frequently the object of concerned check-ins from the public.  

“The number one question we get after every storm is, ‘how’s the Airlie Oak?’” said Janine Powell, Airlie’s director of donor relations. “After Hurricane Florence, the first thing we did was put a picture of her up, and you could see Spanish moss and branches all over the lawn, but she’s still there.”

In an interview conducted in the shade of the sprawling oak, which is thought to have sprouted sometime around the 1540s, Powell spoke affectionately of the tree, as if it were a grande dame. That sense of care is reflected in the way Airlie Gardens looks after their champion.

When a large branch sagged to the ground in 2019, arborists from Bartlett Tree Experts were hired to thoroughly evaluate the Airlie Oak’s health and recommend measures to protect it for future generations. A customized brace to stabilize the sagging limb, support cables for the other limbs, a grounded copper wire to protect the tree from lightning strikes, removal of Spanish moss to let in more light, aeration and fertilization of the soil. The list of treatments the tree has received reads like a testament to the love of its caretakers.

“It’s amazing how much it revitalized her,” Powell said. “She just looks better. If I look at photographs from 2014 to now, oh my gosh.”

When asked what it means for Airlie Gardens to contain a state champion tree, Powell didn’t hesitate. “For the Gardens, it means the world to us,” she said. “Just knowing that it’s been around for so long.”

To raise funds for the care of their champion and the rest of their grounds, Airlie Gardens has partnered with Penderlea Farms to sell saplings grown from the acorns of the Airlie Oak.

These “historic live oaks,” according to Powell, are intended to help educate the public on the natural shape that live oaks require to be resilient (and beautiful) in their natural coastal environment.

Through the recognition of a specific remarkable tree, they are encouraging people to think about all trees a bit more deeply. Appreciation, protection, education — they’re all there, the original hallmarks of the Champion Tree Program.