California’s history is a two-ply braid; its plants and its people are so tightly intertwined that one could not exist without the other. The braid has weathered centuries of knots, and even come close to fraying at times, but it has never been faced by a challenge as large as the climate crisis. In order for it to survive the next few decades intact, radical change will be necessary at all levels of society, and in order for that to happen, there must be a wider appreciation of the beauty and fragility of this relationship.

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    Plants quite literally form the basis for all life on Earth, but they have also played an integral role in the development of the things that make us quintessentially human. Given that most plant species exist for around 10-38 million years (Levin, 2000), it is not a hyperbole to say that we evolved alongside some of the plants we now grow in our balconies and front yards. The development of agriculture had a drastic impact on human health and, for better or for worse, allowed people to live in higher densities and in one location for an extended period of time. The creation story of nearly every culture on Earth discusses one plant or another, whether it’s corn, sweetgrass, or apples. In the world’s literary canons, fruit almost always symbolizes fertility and knowledge. The fact that most major cities have at least one botanic garden, as well as many universities, is a testament to the intrinsic value we ascribe to our photosynthetic neighbors.

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    California has a unique relationship with plants. As the country’s largest agricultural producer and home to over 6,500 native plants, it constantly finds itself trying to balance the desires of commerce with the needs of conservation. Dating back to the beginnings of Spanish occupation, this conflict is not a new one by any means, but particularly relevant in light of the devastating impact extractivism has had on the biosphere as a whole as the leading force behind climate change and habitat destruction. 

 

    Given the importance of agriculture in human history, a common justification of colonization was that the invaders were “civilizing inferior hunter-gatherers.” Beyond the inherent problems with assuming the inferiority of hunter-gatherers (as previously mentioned, they tend to be healthier then cultures practicing intensive agriculture), this is also simply not a term that applies to most Indigenous nations, especially not in California. Pre-European contact, the state was one of the most densely populated areas in the Americas due to a combination of horticultural practices and the biogeographical features that making living in California so appealing today. The same mountain ranges and basins that make the California Floristic Province a biodiversity hotspot also led to an astounding diversity of cultures and languages, with a corresponding diversity in the way the landscape is managed. Across all of those cultures, however, a couple practices are almost universal:

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• Prescribed burns: anyone who has lived in (or watched the news about) California is well aware of the risk wildfires pose to human developments, but a fairly considerable portion of the state’s native plants actually evolved so that they need fire to germinate. Indigenous nations routinely practice prescribed burns to clear out excess fuel, stimulate plant growth, get rid of disease and harmful insects, and create open landscapes for hunting. 

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• Cyclical gathering: contrary to the way the food system functions in most urbanized parts of the world today, where you can expect to find much of the same produce year-round, for most of history our choices were constrained to the crops that were able to grow in that season. Obviously, some foods are capable of being processed and stored for much longer, like grains and tubers (of which California has its share) as well as cured meats, but as far as fresh food goes most plants and animals have relatively small windows where they are edible. However, there is much more to cyclical gathering than seasonal eating; many species can only handle being gathered every few years, while some can regrow within a month or two. Gathering at a rate that will not cause needless harm to the ecosystem requires a deep, familial knowledge of each species, the kind of knowledge gathered over generations instead of a lifetime. Elders are disproportionately impacted by the effects of climate change, including viruses like the one we’re seeing right now (the Navajo Nation has lost more people than 13 other states, and many still lack access to clean, running water). 

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    Colonization and occupation by Spain, Mexico, and the United States had and continues to have a massive impact on the way the land is managed and the health of the ecosystem. While the Spanish didn’t expand much beyond missions and presidios on the coast, the priests and soldiers forced Indigenous peoples into slave labor here in California just as much as in the rest of Latin America, Africa, and the Philippines. While the Mexican occupation was less harsh (Indigenous nations, while not viewed as sovereign, at least were given rights as citizens), the transition of the California economy to ranching wreaked havoc on the environment; cattle graze on native grasses and shrubs far faster than they can deal with the damage, which creates an opening for invasive species. The occupation by the United States has been the most harsh by far, however. California’s first governer openly called for a genocide of Indigenous peoples, and the combination of the reservation system, immigration from the Eastern United States, and the expansion of agriculture all place severe stress on the traditional relationship between people and the environment. Recently, rapid suburbanization has added to the pressures faced by both California native plants and the Indigenous nations who care for them. 

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    And then there’s the climate crisis. 

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    Humanity has arguably never faced such a large challenge, especially not one of its own making. However, the kind of systemic change we need to make to keep global warming below 1.5o Celsius is also a great opportunity for us to build a more equitable and just world, one that honors the sacred duty we have to take care of our planet, just as she takes care of us. One of the first steps in building that world has to be restoring the connection between native plants and the Indigenous nations who have cared for them for centuries. The braid is close to coming undone, but it is not a certainty yet, nor does it have to be. 

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Join us in the fight for that better world.

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