The Jackson trees.

Here's a horticultural hobby with a personal twist and an environmental kicker.

THE CHIEF'S GRANDSON was armed with a rifle, protection from the grizzly bears that occasionally lumber through Stevens Village, Alaska. Joyce and John Jackson, fresh from New Jersey, were packing five young white spruces. Well, maybe they weren't prepared for the potential dangers involved, but their motivation for being in this isolated Alaskan fishing village was unassailable.

Four years ago, the Jacksons began traveling the country, determined to plant trees in each of the 50 states, in a place connected with their family names. Their first stop was Joyce, Washington. They arrived in that blink of a town with their Leyland cypress seedlings, only to discover that they had failed to pack the shovels.

"We really hadn't thought it out," Joyce admits, scanning the carefully preserved scrapbook of their adventures.

But several years and 17 states after that first planting, the Jacksons have their horticultural hobby well in hand. By the year 2000, if all goes well, the Madison, New Jersey, couple will have planted five indigenous trees in each state.

"We wanted to leave some sort of legacy to other generations, some proof that the Jacksons were here," said John. "That's one reason we plant five trees--one for each of our three children and two representing Joyce and me."

Their destinations are towns containing the name Jackson or the first name of one of the five family members. Hawaii is the only state for which they have so far failed to come up with an appropriate locale, but Joyce keeps scouring the island maps sprawled across the dining room table, confident that the perfect spot is hidden among the maze of non-Jackson-sounding names.

"It took me about a year to get all of the town research information together," said Joyce. "Then I had to start mapping out which states could be done when." The couple conducts their plantings during two vacations each year.

The exact location for each is left up to town officials, who have granted the Jacksons access to everything from a solid-waste disposal site to a prime plot at a city's entrance. A small plaque containing the family name, species of tree, and planting date marks each site, helping to ensure that the history behind the little stand of trees survives long after the Jacksons have packed up their shovels and moved on.

The Jacksons encourage public participation in the plantings, in the hope that their personal campaign will inspire others. Mayors, schoolchildren, even a gas-station operator have taken up shovels to assist them. And the local newspapers, TV, and radio stations have provided prominent coverage of the events.

In Jackson, Alabama, the couple earned the key to the city after planting five soul magnolia trees.

"We try to select towns that have enough people to warrant some type of a reception, so that we can get the word out," said John. "We want to inspire other people to do something themselves for the environment of the future."

Their message is being heard. In Jacksonville, Vermont, where the planting took place in front of the sewage-treatment plant, residents have taken up the cause themselves. Since the couple's visit there in June 1992, residents have landscaped the whole area with flowers and trees.

In a number of other states, town officials update the Jacksons each year on the health, growth rate, and bloom quality of their trees. "We're real people to the residents," John said. "They get to know us, and it becomes personal to everyone involved."

It isn't always possible to find a sizable town that meets their name requirements. In Joyce, Washington, the Jacksons' tree monument is the only attraction in town--except for the single-pump gas station and the general store.

And then there's Stevens Village, Alaska, the tiny fishing hole accessible only by bush plane or boat. To get there, the Jacksons snaked along the Alaskan Pipeline service road, 100 miles north of Fairbanks, in a rugged rental car and then settled in for a 25-mile chartered boat ride up the Yukon River.

"When I saw that boat pull away and leave us there, I thought, 'Oh, my God, come back!' I just couldn't imagine being left in such an isolated place," recalled Joyce.

But now that the threat of grizzlies and moose is in the past and new challenges await them, the couple admits that the adventure of their now-well-planned trips is half the fun. Twice they have braved the tails of hurricanes to complete their planting tasks. At Christina River, Delaware, a dedicated crowd of locals withstood pounding rain and heavy winds with them as the Jacksons positioned five white pines in soaked soil.

"It has rained at probably half of our plantings," Joyce estimated, the hint of a smile spreading across her face. "Oh, well--at least the trees were well watered."

Caring for the trees after the Jacksons plant them is a task that falls to the communities, although Joyce works out the details with town officials before they finalize their visit. To increase the chance that the trees will survive, regional nurseries are asked to select the best possible species and stock for each site, and the couple has shifted from seedlings to sturdy saplings standing at least five feet tall.

It was the move to larger trees that finally won John over to the amibitious 50-state idea. "At first," he said, "I thought it was a futile effort to plant those scrawny little seedlings and expect them to make it through even one winter. I think as the trees we planted got bigger, they became more real to me. They were human size--they had substance and durability."

Her husband's commitment to the project is a comfort to Joyce, who developed the tree-planting concept toward the end of 1989 as a way to usher in the coming century. She's still not sure exactly how the idea germinated, but the fact that trees figured into the plan came as no surprise to the Jacksons or those who know them.

"We've always given trees to each other and to friends for special occasions," said Joyce, "so the idea of planting a tree was nothing new. Planting them in 50 towns for a bunch of strangers--now, that struck everybody as a little odd!"

CHERYL BAISDEN--of Collingwood, New Jersey, is a reporter who recently began freelancing full-time.