On the Adversity of Revegetation

   I've been on the job as a Restoration Technician at the SEC for nearly a month now, and through our various projects have encountered the inevitability of failure.  Success rates are rarely 100%, and a certain amount of mortality is expected among transplants, yet I'm still trying to figure out how to cope with these disappointments. And consequently this has prompted  me to dig a little deeper into what exactly is the purpose of our labour, as it relates to themes of futility and impermanence. Seeing and contributing to all the effort that goes into a restoration project, only for half the plants to die is certainly devastating. There is some consolation in the percentage that survive the initial stages, but even these are vulnerable to disturbances such as flooding and could be wiped clear in a single event.

   For me it evokes this Sisyphean image of pushing the boulder up the hill only for it to fall backwards on you again. Even if the plants take, there will be a long term shift in community composition, as species compete against one another for light and resources. When we design a restoration plan, it is very much an idealized version of what we would like to see thrive. But that's before the weeds regain their foothold, the soils proves inhospitable, established trees cast their cold shade or any other physical challenges. We have very little control over what it will look like in 5 years time, or 50, 100 and so on. Which is nothing on a geological timescale. Life doesn't do static. The power of nature can feel overwhelming at times, as though our efforts are wholly insignificant. And perhaps they are, when tempered by the concept of infinite time, Earth's eventual destruction, etc. I find it easy to get lost in this existential crisis for both myself and the plants I'm putting in the ground. Where's the point when we're all going to die?

   The answer I find is in the tiny victories and our own creations of meaning, as well as enjoying the moments that go into each project. Sometimes we humans have to work for the sake of work, doing and undoing tasks over and over again. The way I see it, at least restoration is a more healthful way to toil. Out in the winter sunshine, away from a desk, using muscles, watching rivers flow, touching soft moss, watching birds, laughing with coworkers, squishing mud between my fingers. I can appreciate these moments in between, even if the end result bears no permanence. The dead plants will be recycled. Some of them will grow. And I will find some sense of purpose along the way, being unafraid of impermanence, embracing the opportunity to at least try to make this a greener world.