All Flourishing is Mutual
- Christina Burress
- Apr 29
- 3 min read
Earlier this month, my husband and I joined 20 others who volunteered with Tillamook Estuaries Partnership to replant 100's of Western red cedar saplings into roomier containers so they can extend their roots, and odds of survival, before being planted in the ground in the coming year. ` For three hours, we gathered in small groups around deep containers of fertile soil, our hands quickly learning what to do while we got to know each other: partially fill a treepot gallon container with soil, pull a hydrated sapling out of a water-filled bucket, pack more soil around the roots, knock the container against a cement block to encourage compaction and avoid root exposure, eyeball for proper levels, add more soil if needed, top with a handful of sawdust to prevent weeds and dehydration, then place upright in a blue wheelbarrow. Admire work then whisper when no one is watching, Look at you beauties. Repeat.
While we did our thing, a team of eight young men replenished supplies, moved transplanted saplings out into the nursery, then took care to arrange them in a partially sunny zone. The system worked without a hitch thanks to everyone’s care along the way including the native plant coordinator's welcome and the nursery crew lead’s step-by-step instructions.
Western red cedars (or western arborvitae, Latin for “tree of life”) thrive in shady, cool, moist habitats and can be found along rivers, streams, seeps, bogs, and wet bottomlands. They usually grow in mixed conifer stands with Douglas Fir and Western hemlock, cooperating and co-existing with the help of the mycelial network. The tallest cedar in Oregon is 152’ tall and 17 feet in diameter. Nowhere near the height of California Redwoods (250’ tall) but still impressive from my 5’ 3” perspective. It takes years to become a giant, and that's if you survive winter after winter of elk and deer nibbles and summers of drought, all which make you susceptible to pests and disease.
Turns out, the young men who helped us keep on task, were from next door, Camp Tillamook Youth Transitional Facility, “a work study program for ages 16 to 24, providing education, vocational training, and residential care in a safe and supportive environment.” No doubt, these young men had experienced setbacks in their lives, but some caring person in the system, had seen something in them–the potential to flourish given the right circumstances–and transferred them to this camp.
The Western red cedar is beloved by the indigenous people along the Pacific Northwestern coast. The tree is considered kin and a key material for building, crafting, and ceremony. Dugout canoes of cedar were essential in day to day life of navigating the rivers, bays, and ocean. No surprise then that cedar is considered a spiritual elder and a powerful symbol of strength and revitalization. “Coast Salish and Tlingit shamans often had cedar ‘spirit assistants’ or ‘guard figures’ to protect them.”
As the number of bare saplings dwindled, I thought about what we had accomplished as a group. While our voices filled the space in kind conversation, we held young trees in our hands and gently settled them in a nurturing environment, with the hope that they could soon leave the nursery and grow to their full potential over many hundreds of years.
The hardworking young men are an important part of this day’s experience too. Caring for the Earth also means caring for each other. In my mind, all the cedar baby spirits held us in their collective energy of gratitude, love, and healing. They could have easily been whispering in their own language of movement and calming aroma, Look at you beauties gathering together for the future of all.
If one [pecan] tree fruits, they all fruit—there are no soloists. Not one tree in a grove, but the whole grove; not one grove in the forest, but every grove; all across the county and all across the state. The trees act not as individuals, but somehow as a collective. Exactly how they do this, we don’t yet know. But what we see is the power of unity. What happens to one happens to us all. We can starve together or feast together. All flourishing is mutual.
Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plantsā |
resources:
Comments