The State of the Evergreen: An Ecosystem Entity

“The forest was shrinking but the trees kept voting for the axe,
for the axe was clever and convinced the trees that
because his handle was made of wood, he was one of them.”

—Turkish proverb

Growing up in the Pacific Northwest during the 1970s and 80s, I frequently witnessed the early stages of industrial logging by corporate giants like Weyerhaeuser. As a teenager in the 90s, I felt helpless as the battle to save the spotted owl raged between passionate conservationists and the logging industry. I was immensely inspired by “tree-sit” activists like Judi Bari and Julia Butterfly Hill. Hill lived in a redwood tree she named Luna for 738 days to protect it from logging. Witnessing this, actual tree-hugging became my aspiration.

Over the years, I’ve been called a “tree hugger” for voicing my sadness over the destruction of our majestic forests, as if it’s an insult. While that label carries negative connotations for some, I wear it like a badge of honor because trees are our friends. Trees protect, they feel, they heal, they communicate. We need them.

As a young “tomboy,” I spent my days in the southwest corner of Washington state exploring wooded swamps, squishing my toes into the muddy earth, and catching (and releasing!) snakes, frogs and salamanders. Those days of fishing for steelhead with my father led us through pristine wetlands — a fairyland of trees draped in spongy moss, their branches arching like giant, welcoming arms. The forest was alive with green moisture, the reaching tree limbs capturing water from the clouds, the forest entity literally creating its own rain.

Pacific Northwest salamander and frog in hand

It wasn’t until I was well into my adult years, after watching the documentary Fantastic Fungi, that I understood that there is also an extraordinary mycelium network beneath the forest floor. This enormous web-like fungal structure connects tree roots like an underground telephone-wire-like tapestry. Just as our bodies rely on interdependent systems for our health, the forest thrives through intricate relationships, relational ecosystems that make up their own unique environment. If we disrupt a portion of it, we disrupt the whole system. And yet we continue to dismantle, poison and destroy the Pacific Northwest ecosystems with little thought to the cascading consequences.

Mushroom family, the fruiting body of the mycelial network beneath the forest.

“The annual mean temperature in the Pacific Northwest has warmed by about 1.3 degrees Fahrenheit since the early 20th century — a gradual warming trend that has been accelerating over the past 3–4 decades and is attributed to human causes.”

—Mark Floyd, “Pacific Northwest shows warming trend over past century-plus,” Phys.org

The PNW

Along the coastal areas of western Washington, Oregon, Northern California and parts of British Columbia lie the temperate rainforests of the Pacific Northwest (PNW). These forests thrive under special conditions: high rainfall, relatively mild temperatures and dense evergreen canopies. Sadly, the PNW’s classification as a temperate rainforest is under threat. As global heating trends continue, the ability for this environment to stay cool and wet drastically diminishes. The continued degradation of the forests is a reflection of our society’s disconnect from recognizing nature as an entity — an ecological system that deserves and requires respect, not exploitation.

“In 1983, a little over 1.3 million acres of land burned in the United States. In 2021, over 1.4 million acres burned in just Oregon and Washington. Three times in the past five years, over 10 million acres have burned nationwide. On average, over 2 million more acres burned each year in the 2010s than during the 1990s.”

—Matt Grey, “Climate change puts stress on Northwest forests in fire season,” KXLY.com

State of the Evergreen

After being away for 32 years, I recently returned to my roots. There were several grounds for this journey back to the PNW: caring for my ailing father, continuing a film project and escaping city life to “get back to the garden” after the pandemic. Rather than settling in the Palouse plains where my family’s wheat and barley farm was located, or near the ocean where I'd lived as a schoolkid, my family — now including my husband and children — re-planted ourselves in an evergreen forest in an area my extended family has called home for generations.

Since my return, I’m continually awestruck by the beauty of the forested hills that cascade down from the majestic Tahoma (also known as Mount Rainier). The rich tapestry of life that surrounds the mountainous area — forests, ferns, crows, possums, cedar trees, deer, snakes, blackberry and raspberry brambles, raccoons, elk, stellar jays, mushrooms, frogs and banana slugs — is both new and familiar to me.

Mt. Tahoma, also known as Mt. Rainier

This time something feels different. It doesn’t take much to see what’s askew: less snowpack, frequent wildfires, poor air quality, razed woodland, dwindling fish stocks, sickly orcas, hunted wolves, to name a few. The writing isn’t just on the wall — it’s etched into the land, the water and the air. Mother Nature is warning us, and the canary in the coal mine is gasping for its last breath.

“Hundreds of plant and animal species in Washington State [alone] are at risk, with at least 7.9% of plant species and 13% of animal species identified as vulnerable, reflecting a broader trend in which over a third of U.S. species and ecosystems face the risk of disappearance.”

—Vonnai Phair, “Hundreds of WA plants, animals at risk of extinction,” Seattle Times

The Climate Reality

As an educator, environmentalist and mother, I deeply feel the urgency of confronting the climate crisis through a compassionate, common-sense lens. The rising heat index and the unmistakable dryness in the air during the warmer months heighten my concern. And yet, society often seems to be wandering blindly, unwilling to acknowledge the obvious or act with the necessary urgency. Logging and deforestation continue mostly unabated. In recent years, activity actually rapidly increased in order to get ahead of the previous administration’s plans to conserve old-growth forest in national forests, and grasslands nationwide.

Since the late 1800s, industrial logging and agricultural expansion cleared vast swaths of American forests. Between 1850 and 1910 alone, roughly 190 million acres were cut, and in some regions as much as 80% of forest cover was lost. This large-scale transformation reshaped ecosystems, reduced wildlife habitat, and fundamentally altered the structure of North America’s forests.

Logged cedar trees

In spite of this destruction, the logging industry continues at an unsustainable rate. Every day, logging trucks thunder by our house carrying fallen trees, some of which have trunks as wide as trash cans. This unrelenting convoy serves as a reminder of the continuous conflict against the area’s natural woodland state. Ironically, in an effort to soften this reality, the term “loggers” has been replaced with “tree farmers.” The current young generation, who will undoubtedly bear the brunt of climate change’s effects, is still largely raised with this extraction-and-exploitation mentality. Even in the small town where I currently live, the local mascot is a logger, and a mural proudly features a life-size painting of a logging truck loaded with chopped trees.

A local mural

While logging contributes to the economy, its unsustainable practice can undermine ecosystem services that are critical to long-term survival, such as flood control and biodiversity maintenance. Human activities have long-term consequences that not only contribute to habitat loss but also degrade soil quality, water sources and carbon sequestration capabilities.

The Cost of Waste & Carelessness

Driving through the region, it’s hard to ignore the visual impact of razed forests as well as the garbage strewn along roadways and the looming landfills visible on the horizon. What we now know about microplastics — found in the oceans, in our food and in our bodies — should be another wake-up call. Yet human trash continues to fly carelessly, accumulating in ways that harm ecosystems at every level.

“Methane emitted from landfills in Washington accounted for 1.5 million metric tons of carbon-dioxide-equivalent GHG in 2018… Methane is responsible for more than 25% of the warming experienced today… When this organic matter is buried in a landfill, it breaks down slowly, releasing methane… [which] can… escape into the atmosphere.”

—Nick Bourgault, “The trash-climate connection: what you need to know,” Washington State Department of Ecology

Cleaning up the land around my home is revealing — there are seemingly endless little pieces of plastic and metal scraps in the dirt that were left behind by the previous inhabitants. Every piece of garbage I pick up reminds me that there is a silent struggle beneath the forest floor, and that the life-dependent soil is being disrupted. Multiply that by human carelessness and apathy across many thousands of acres of developed land and the effects are clear: polluted rivers, dwindling fish stocks and a sick Orca population, poisoned and starving.

Littered cans

“Southern Resident orcas — a group of killer whales that stay close to the Pacific Northwest coast — are slumping toward extinction. There were 86 members when the population was listed as endangered in 2005. After more than a decade of government protection — or what passes as protection — there are 83 left. Like most endangered animals, these orcas face several threats. Industrial chemicals accumulate in their bodies and inhibit reproduction.”

—Brian Palmer, “To Save Orcas, First Save Salmon,” NRDC.org

Nature as a Sentient Being

We personify Mother Nature as a nurturing force that supports the growth and well-being of all living things. Earth, water, flora, fauna and minerals — nature’s elemental offerings — are the foundation of life. And yet, we humans reduce her to a commodity.

Treating nature as something merely to profit from, we’re fixated on the “$hort term.” We cannot see the forest for the trees. Industrial extraction continues to deplete natural resources: we are digging deeper, poisoning more land and dismantling ecosystems at an accelerating rate. Urban development drives deforestation with little regard for the long-term health of the planet. The consequences are already visible: younger trees are smaller, the wood is less resilient and replanted “forest crops” lack both biodiversity and carbon-sequestering ability.

“Objectification of the natural world reinforces the notion that our species is somehow more deserving of the gifts of the world than the other 8.7 million species with whom we share the planet. Using ‘it’ absolves us of moral responsibility and opens the door to exploitation. When Sugar Maple is an ‘it’ we give ourselves permission to pick up the saw. ‘It’ means it doesn’t matter.”

—Robin Wall Kimmerer, “Nature Needs a New Pronoun: To Stop the Age of Extinction, Let’s Start by Ditching ‘It’,” YES! Magazine

Our sacred connection to nature has been severed. In the name of “progress,” we are inflicting wounds that may never heal. But if we recognize that the entire ecosystem is a sentient entity that fosters life, perhaps we will begin to behave as though we are actually a part of nature, not apart from it.

The Future’s Planet

As society becomes more and more cut off from nature, we are forgetting that humanity is part of Earth’s interdependent systems. In order to slow down — or even reverse — the impending ecological crisis, we must explore and adopt alternative economic avenues based on nature’s own healing modalities. Combating biodiversity loss by repairing our oceans and forests can boost economies. Regeneration, reconnection and sustainable livelihoods can take root through ecological practices like eco-tourism and wellness retreats, guided foraging, rewilding degraded land, planting food forests, working with plant medicine, and nurturing mental health through forest bathing and immersive nature-based experiences.

Forest path in autumn

What will it take to motivate sincere concern for the welfare of all sentient beings sharing this earth? We need to urgently shift the focus toward creating practical solutions, tangible programs and incentives that empower communities to act collectively and enable rapid restoration. If we don’t act soon, among many sensitive ecosystems around the world, the Pacific Northwest’s status as a temperate rainforest will literally go up in smoke. Alternatively, by fostering a sense of shared responsibility in recognizing and caring for this ecosystem, we can ignite the momentum needed to take care of our immediate surroundings, and ultimately heal the planet.

“What we do to the web of life, we do to ourselves.”

—Chief Seattle