so, how did the ice plant become so rampant in california? while the ice plant is likely to have first been introduced to the state by accident, coming along with other cargo on colonists’ ships in the 15th and 16th centuries, it was intentionally planted in california starting in the early 1900s. all the way up until the 1970s, caltrans (california department of transportation) planted ice plant along railroad tracks and roadsides to stabilize dirt and sand. they chose the ice plant because it was cheap and spread quickly: a single branch grows more than three feet outwards each year. being a succulent that holds water in its petals, it was also attractive for its resistance to drought. unfortunately, that meant that it also began to starve all other native plants of water, quickly choking them all out and dominating the landscape. as with the intentional introduction of most invasive plants, little forethought was put into the long-term consequences of introducing this nonnative plant from the other side of the planet. although discoveries about the ways that nonnative plants reduce habitats for native insects and animals would come later, it became evident after the ice plant began to spread that it was not actually meeting the goal of stabilizing the dunes either. due to its heavy leaves and shallow roots, the ice plant destabilizes the dunes, increasing erosion and the frequency of landslides. it also builds up so much biomass in its water-logged petals that hillsides can just collapse under the weight of it.

in the face of the widespread presence of the ice plant along hundreds of miles of coastline, is there any hope that the california coastal ecosystem could ever be returned to its natural state? restoration is a challenging and confusing process: what does returning a place to its “natural state” even mean? in the case of the ice plant, while it is clear that from an ecological standpoint, this invasive plant affects the california coastal ecosystem in a completely negative way, it also has become a quintessential and recognizable part of the state’s coastline. how does its beauty come into play in terms of crafting a plan for its removal? while these questions are important to think about, it is unrealistic to hope that the ice plant will ever be removed on a scale larger than in small pockets like martin dunes that are revisited multiple times a year to pull what has grown back. on the california department of fish and wildlife’s page about the ice plant, they echo this sentiment, stating that, “unfortunately, it is so widespread that it is only realistic to try to control small infestations at once.” various approaches for removing the ice plant have been tried, including spraying pesticides and rolling over the ice plants with tractors, but, due to the negative consequences of these destructive actions to organisms other than the ice plant, hand pulling of the plant is now the most common approach. while it is slow and only works on a small scale, it is the least destructive to the coastal ecosystem. 

as i wrestled with the plants, sometimes having to use hand tools to yank out the “mother root,” i chatted with a friend about the connections between the physical act that we were performing in that moment and the themes i have been reading about in all we can save, a collection of essays and poems written by women at the forefront of the climate movement. both the invasive ice plant and the climate crisis pose challenges that seem insurmountable when you look at them on a large scale. colonialism and exploitative capitalism have restructured our world in ways that are deeply complicated and often impossible to undo. the ice plant stands as a physical example of the ravaging impacts of colonial impositions on local ecosystems. how could we possibly remove all of the ice plant in california? how can we possibly completely restructure our economy and societal values to move away from exploitative capitalism and towards a more collaborative world of people living in right relationship with the earth? 

in the first chapter of all we can save, editors dr. ayana elizabeth johnson and dr. katharine wilkinson lay out the framework that they intend to use to tackle these difficult questions. in explaining their intentions for the direction of the book, they state that “while it is too late to save everything –– some ecological damage is irreparable, some species are already gone, ice has already melted, lives have already been lost –– it is far too soon to give up on the rest.” there is no silver-bullet solution to either problem. creating a better world will only happen as a result of tireless work on a local level, listening to local voices and indigenous wisdom to create place-based solutions. in emergent strategy, adrienne maree brown (editor’s note: the author prefers her name presented lowercase.) explains the idea of “fractal communities,” which are communities on the outside of the mainstream culture that model a different way of life. in living out an experiment of imagination, they test out solutions on a local level, hoping to serve as an example and something that people from the mainstream culture can turn to as a different path forward. the martin dunes project operates in a similar way: conservationists from all over the state visit it to get an idea of what a rehabilitated coastal ecosystem could look like. as johnson and wilkinson highlight in the first chapter, “begin,” it is not too late to attempt to save what we can, just as the conservationists have done in the martin dunes project. and in doing so, they have created a viable habitat for the sand gilia, legless lizard, blue butterfly, snowy plover, and other endangered species. winning that battle must be worth something, even if it is in the face of the impossibility of winning the war.

also key to the idea behind “fractal communities,” is the fact that the same solution cannot work everywhere. while some top-down actions –– such as federal climate legislation –– are necessary, community-specific bottom-up solutions are how we are really going to restructure our society. in the essay “indigenous prophecy and mother earth,” sherri mitchell claims that “one of the more damaging effects of colonization and forced assimilation has been the homogenization of our societies.” as with other colonial impositions, the introduction of the ice plant to the california coast, was thought to be an answer that would be universally superior, while local native plants had been evolving for millennia to meet the challenges of each local region. technocratic, one-size-fits-all solutions, such as the bulldozing of the dunes and application of pesticides, were seen to be inferior solutions to solving the problem than thoughtful, community-based efforts. 

another key theme in all we can save that we saw as intimately related to the ice plant pulling effort was the idea that humans are and always have been active stewards of our environment. we are not separate from, nor are we destined to destroy “nature.” in her piece “wakanda doesn’t have suburbs,” kendra pierre-louis talks about how most of us grow up with the belief that “humans have an innate tendency to destroy their environment.” when we look further back than the past few hundred years, we find that humans have always played a role in actively altering our environments, often in non-destructive, sustainable ways. in the case of the ice plant, humans made a huge misstep but that does not mean that we cannot also act in ways that are helpful to our local environments, such as hand-pulling the ice plant and replanting native plants. the essay “mending the landscape,” by kate orff, speaks to the potential power of community-based ecosystem restoration: not just as a tool to make our local ecosystems more resilient to climate change, but also to deconstruct the idea of “nature” as something separate from us, that we are destined to destroy if we get involved. orff explains that “this new mode of working – a more public role of organizing communities and choreographing ecological repair – is needed to correct the idea of nature as something that exists outside of human agency.” we have the power to make positive change in our local communities and local ecosystems.

all we can save points to so many areas in which we can look for hope. but, at least for me, the despair and sense of doom still lingers. while the story of the ice plant in california can be seen as a story of victories and community action on the small scale –– with the martin dunes project being an example of success –– it can simultaneously be a metaphor for loss on a large scale. we will never be able to remove all of the ice plant and restore this ecosystem to one that can provide a habitat for all of the animals and insects that used to call it home. similarly, on a global scale, so much irreversible damage to the environment has already been done and, even with the most ambitious climate actions, people will still suffer and more ecosystems will be destroyed. the story of the ice plant as a metaphor for the climate crisis and the words of all of the authors in all we can save leave me with the question: how do we maintain hope in the face of what we cannot save? 

for me personally, the way i tend to cope with the feelings of despair that come with looking at this issues in the big picture, is zooming in to a smaller scale and looking for examples and ways that i can be a part of efforts where real people are connecting with each other and their environments and doing good work to help heal their relationships to one another and with the earth. i feel empowered, not when i think about national climate legislation or huge investments in green technologies, but when i see real people (re)connecting with the earth right under their feet. i listened to a podcast interview of adrienne maree brown in which she says that she believes that every movement needs both: people that make change a mile wide and a foot deep and people that make change a foot wide and a mile deep. you cannot build a strong movement without both. some people want to ascend to the highest office possible and make changes that will affect the world broadly and others would rather make changes on the local level, creating a model –– or a “fractal community” –– of what they believe a better world could look like. i tend to fall more in the second category and i’m still working on figuring out exactly what that looks like for me in my life, but it is an exciting journey.

“kashia culture and identity is strongly rooted in the natural world. managing our natural resources and lands in a way that increases their resiliency and productivity ensures our traditional practices and cultural values are passed to future generations.”

—abby gomes, kashia band of pomo indians tribe member

before colonization, the kashia band of pomo indians lived along california’s vast sonoma county coast. by 1915 the kashia only owned .007% of their original territory on a reservation called stewarts point rancheria, or as the tribe calls it “su nu nu shinal” (meaning “huckleberry heights”). this drastic decrease in territory caused equally drastic changes for the kashia’s livelihood, diet, and culture forcing many tribe members to live off-reservation. today, with the help of numerous organizations, the kashia’s reservation and territories span around 1,230 acres, including the kashia coastal reserve. with this increase in territory, kashia land management and cultural practices also resurged.

i had the opportunity to learn about the reintroduction of such practices from kashia tribe members abby gomes, hannah banuelos, and otis parrish. kashia traditional practices teach invaluable lessons on living in harmony with the environment for ourselves and our local ecosystems.

sustainable land and resource management

the dense pine forests we see today did not exist prior to european settlement. in fact, many of the trees and shrubs that now litter the coast are invasive species which have taken over without indigenous land management. the kashia previously managed such species through burning the brush, maintaining the iconic california “golden hills” landscape. “periodic cultural burnings maintained these coastal grasslands and openings from encroachment by bishop pine forest and coastal scrub,” kashia member gomes said. the cultural burnings also encouraged seed germination of native plant species as well as the presence of large populations of deer and elk through maintaining their natural grazing areas. “the land and natural resources were managed in a way that ensured their continuance and productivity into the future.”

this cultural burning is being reintroduced to the area by the kashia to manage invasive species, reduce forest fires, encourage native species growth, and restore natural habitat.

beyond periodic burning, the kashia are also taking a traditional-turned-modern approach to maintaining their ecosystems through formally surveying and monitoring their reserve with their planned kashia coastal reserve tribal citizen science monitoring program.

according to gomes, the program “includes kashia values and is modeled after the greater farallones association’s beach watch program.” the kashia program plans to engage tribe members in monitoring human use activities and resources important to the tribe including marine mammals and bird species.

one large problem the tribe faces is the lack of marine resources upon which they depend. private land ownership of the tribe’s former territory, restrictions made by government, and overharvesting by those outside the tribe cause this scarcity.

maintaining the ability to gather these coastal resources ensures the continuance of cultural traditions and practices,” gomes said. “returning back to the coast, (the) kashia (tribe) now has an opportunity to reconnect its tribe membership with the ocean and revitalize its cultural traditions, practices, and land management values.”

despite hindrances that have developed post-colonization, the tribe manages its coastal reserve through these practices as a gateway for educating the public about kashia history and practices.

seasonal and native diet

kashia people were migratory in the sonoma region. in the summer they gathered food from the ocean focusing mainly on seaweed but also mussels, “abalone, fish, sea anemone and kelp” according to tribe member banuelos. during the spring, the tribe fished the river for salmon and trout. during the colder seasons, the tribe harvested indian potatoes, clovers, and acorns. however, according to fellow tribe member parrish, european settlement introduced non-native foods including “flour, coffee, pigs…sheep…melons, cabbage, carrots, and apples.”

as a result of adding non-native foods to their diets, and given the reduction in harvesting territory, tribe members have since suffered from assorted illnesses including diabetes.

but, banuelos says, “a lot of elders really rely on their traditional foods…it makes them feel better. they believe in it. it makes their body and their health a bit stronger.” that is to say, tribe members believe in maintaining their health and ecosystems through consuming native food.

there are specific traditions the tribe follows before, during, and after harvesting, processing, and preparing native food.

according to banuelos, “there’s preparation…they do a little ceremony…they pray with clapper sticks…sing songs for thanking the ocean for providing food for us. we only take what we need for our family.” this spiritual connection with indigenous food affirms how the kashia are grateful for their sustenance and take only what is needed — an important concept given the amount of food waste occurring throughout the united states.

continuing kashia practices

to perpetuate kashia sustainable practices through their culture, the tribe also emphasizes financial security for tribal members, and the importance of preserving kashia language.

it is difficult to keep tribe members engaged if they cannot afford to live on or near the reservation, especially with california’s rising housing prices. banuelos emphasizes “more homes on the land for our tribe would be good. (we) try to make sure our people are taken care of first… otherwise, i think our tribe is doing pretty good.”

according to parrish, the loss of language is the largest problem given it is a vehicle for passing on traditional practices. he highlights that when one learns their culture’s stories, “the story becomes a part of them.”

for banuelos and parrish, the key to ensuring financial security and preserving their culture is to focus on kashia youth. parrish said, “to our young people, get an education and come back to our people and do something constructive for everybody. that’s the message my generation has given to the next generation coming up.”

by improving financial security, teaching the kashia language, and focusing on the next generation, kashia could flourish and continue to be an example of a society living in harmony with the environment through sustainable land, resource, and food management practices.

washington — a proposal to immediately unlock $1 billion set aside to restore abandoned mine lands in the future has the support of congressional leaders, but lawmakers in key states are skeptical.

the bill would amend the surface mining control and reclamation act of 1977 to make an additional $200 million per year available starting in 2017 for restoration projects that would pave the way to economic development projects. without the change, the money cannot be used until 2021.

currently, abandoned mine land funding is provided through industry fees and goes to high priority projects. bob scott, director of the kentucky abandoned mine lands division, said that the proposal would allow spending on lower priority projects if they offer a promise of economic or community development at the site.

rep. hal rogers, r-ky., who sponsored the bill, said that it ensures the fund would be used for its intended purpose, but gets money out of the door faster to reclaim the land and repurpose it for job creation and economic development.

“these dollars in the (abandoned mine land) fund are just sitting there languishing at a time when coal communities are in desperate need,” rogers said. “there is no logical reason for opposing the acceleration of the release of these funds.”

the bill would allow this money to be used on abandoned mine lands that pose an extreme danger to public health, safety and property; sites that threaten adverse effects to public health and safety; and sites with degradation of land or water resources due to coal mining.

the house committee on natural resources unanimously passed the bill in june. the bill has 29 co-sponsors, a number that continues to grow. rogers’ goal is to get the measure through congress by the end of the year.

despite bipartisan and leadership support, some of the states with abandoned mine lands are giving the proposal mixed reviews.

pennsylvania and west virginia, two of the biggest would-be beneficiaries of the bill with $5 billion and $1.5 billion in unfunded abandoned mine land liabilities respectively, support the bill. kentucky, which has the fourth largest amount of unfunded liabilities at $475 million, also supports it.

“the current inventory of abandoned mine land sites in kentucky, the cost to reclaim all those, is over $400 million,” scott said. “our current annual grant is around $12 million. so you see, at the amount of funding that we have, we would never completely eliminate the current known hazards.”

but kansas, the state with the third largest amount of unfunded liabilities at $754 million, opposes the plan, according to greg conrad, executive director of the interstate mining compact commission, a multi-state organization to stimulate mining growth and address problems such as reclamation he said that the states that are opposed, like kansas, or skeptical, such as indiana and alabama, are concerned that the money will be misused.

officials from the kansas department of health and environment surface mining section said they do not comment on pending legislation.

conrad said the main challenge of the bill lies in ensuring that the money is used for its intended purpose: high-priority abandoned mine land reclamation.

“we’ve been at this for a good three years now, trying to find the most appropriate approach to address a mechanism by which some amount of money can be released from the (abandoned mine land) trust fund to address projects that have an economic revitalization or economic development element to them,” he said. 

he also said that past uses of abandoned mine land funds to remove obstacles for economic development have been successful because they have been targeted, with an eye to the primary goal of restoring the land.

due to the varying opinions of the states, the imcc has not been able to take a firm position on the legislation, conrad said. 

unfunded abandoned mine land liabilities are currently $10 billion, according to a march house subcommittee on energy and mineral resources hearing memo.

the 1977 surface mining law created a system for these abandoned mine lands in which reclamation activities are funded by a fee imposed on current mining operations. the abandoned mine reclamation fund is predicted to have raised $11.2 billion by the end of this fiscal year, according to the hearing memo.

each state with sites still affected by abandoned coal mining operations receives 50 percent of the fees collected in the state as well as an additional sum based on the amount of historic coal production there. the department of treasury directs funds to states that do not qualify as still affected by abandoned coal mining operations as needed, but they are limited to 50 percent of the fees collected from coal mining within that state.

rogers’ proposal would release $1 billion from the balance in the fund. this money would otherwise go towards restoring abandoned mine lands after the fee system expires in 2021.

conrad said that the future of the bill depends on the congressional budget office cost analysis and the speed with which the bill gets through the house and senate.

“if this doesn’t get done in the first session of this congress that will finish in december, it may be real tough to move it in the second session,” conrad said. “that will be an election year and things are going to get squirrelly.”

prior to november 2013, this island’s northwestern shore went largely ignored by many, slowly eroding. decades passed, a few feet would turn into a few hundred feet into a few acres.

boats, storms, waves, and winds have all played their role in swallowing a great chunk of the island’s northwestern shore.

it was in 2013 that this process of erosion could go on no longer. one more storm and the shoreline of fowl river would be exposed to the same harsh conditions accelerating the deterioration of the shorelines currently undergoing stabilization. however, without the collaborative efforts of the small company pushed forth by the mobile bay national estuary program and others, mon louis island would not resemble times of old — an unfathomable reality.

standing on the four and a half new acres of restored marsh and island shoreline, it could be hard to believe that the very ground beneath your feet was the product of a project that spans back only to early july. it could be even harder to believe that six months from now when the same marshland is filled with vegetation bursting forth, painting the brown canvas a lush green. for those who would, do not feel ashamed, for i, too, remain dumbfounded at the progress of the project even though i stood in the very waters being filled with dredged material that now serves as that restored marshland, taking photographs with tom herder, the mobile bay national estuary program watershed protection manager and mon louis island shoreline stabilization/restoration project manager.

our trip to the site of the project occurred a month after our trip to the oyster reefs along the island during the warmer, more humid late july. broken oyster shells lined the then-shoreline, prodding the soles of my feet from the hidden shallows of the water murky with dredged materials. the pungent aroma of sand, silt, and mud dug up from eight feet below the surface of gulf coast water filled the air like a thin film.

dredgers sat on floating barges taking massive clumps of dredged material and relocating it to the then-shoreline. these massive machines sat off to the right of my shoulder, speeding through the thick waters and heavy earth reclaiming what had been lost to decades of erosion.

the pictures i took during that afternoon, unfortunately, did not capture the weight in the presence of those machines or the earth they moved. and this weight did not lie only physically within the moment, but in both the years before, when habitats and homes to many organisms, big and small, were slipping away into the ocean. and the years to come, when those same habitats and homes are being rebuilt and re-stabilized, giving birth once again to all kinds of critters populating the land in this life and filling my stomach in the next.

of course, this progress could not have occurred without the efforts of three years ago.

in november 2013, the national fish and wildlife foundation board, identified the restoration and stabilization of the northwestern tip of mon louis island as an emergency project. in a july 2016 fox 10 news interview, herder revealed that this project is the first alabama coastal restoration project to be funded by “bp money.” that is, money derived from criminal penalties related to the deepwater horizon spill that must be “tied” to damaged habitats or living resources, according to a facebook post by herder.

though $1.2 million was initially granted through the national fish and wildlife foundation environmental benefit fund, and an additional $800,000 alabama deepwater horizon incident grant was identified and secured by alabama senator bill hightower in early 2015.

between those two timestamps – november 2013 to early 2015 – herder and the estuary program began their collaboration efforts with marine scientist supervisor and living shoreline expert c. scott hardaway, as well as the experts at the u.s. army corps of engineers and thompson engineering, to analyze exactly how critical the situation was on the northwestern tip of mon louis island.

this small group was tasked with overcoming multiple challenges, according to herder, such as where to obtain — and how to transport — dredging materials, how to construct the rock “pile on” and breakwater, and how to conduct this process as environmentally friendly as possible. what resulted from their efforts over the course of the year was a four-phase plan for the project, herder said: 1. construct a 1,540-foot “dog-ugly” breakwater of riprap, or rubble used to form the foundation for a breakwater, to stabilize the northwestern tip; 2. fill in the marsh; 3. dredge the army corps of engineers-designated fowl river open water disposal area, the fowl river navigation channel, through hydraulic pumping (a method that eliminates environmental impact as channel sediments will naturally replace all borrowed material); 4. plant the marsh with native species.

as of late october, phases one through three have been completed. the continuous breakwater has been constructed, the marsh has been filled, and the dredge materials have been placed and settled.

moving forward, the members of the project expect the riprap to serve its purpose disrupting tidal flows, boat waves, wind energy, and storm damages, while they now wait until may at the latest to begin planting native species to restore the missing greenery of the marsh. of course, the breakwater is not impermeable and it is documented that this is an understood fact. but now, habitats can be revitalized, fowl river once again has a strong line of defense, and the community along the mobile bay can rest easy knowing that decades of erosion have been reversed and the northwestern shoreline of mon louis island has been stabilized. that’s all thanks to the efforts of this persistent group — and the necessary funding.

and work will not stop at the tip of mon louis island, just as it did not begin at the tip of mon louis island. it is the success of efforts such as these that, again, show all is not bleak on our shorefronts. members of the marine science community at large will continue to save our coast —not just the gulf coast, but all our coasts — one shore at a time.

citizen-led renewal bypasses risk-averse institutions, and does what they can’t do: it identifies needed projects, funds them, and launches them. institutions can then support these projects when it’s “safe” for them to do so: when the project has sufficient public support and momentum.

no policy changes are needed to further this trend, but citizen-led renewal would greatly benefit if policy support were in place. if federal, state, and local government were encouraged by policy to support citizen-led renewal, it would greatly accelerate and empower this important trend.

the wilderness society is the leading american conservation organization working to protect our nation’s public lands, the 635 million acres collectively owned by the american people and managed by our government. from well-known icons to hidden gems, these lands provide us all with clean air and water; abundant wildlife; havens for recreation, learning, and solitude; and a foundation for a healthy planet. they are also important sources of renewable energy and vital natural resources that must be managed wisely.