“I come from a world very sick, full of fear, full of greed. I focused the first part of my life following a path to make my family and myself secure.”

Olivier Stulmacher worked in finance.

“Finance people say there are economic models that explain our world, but this is totally wrong, all of the models fail, all of the models turned into crisis, to more people starving, people poisoned, to the devastation of nature. So this is the result, and why is that so? People believe these models reflect the world, but in reality people created these models. And on the inside of the models are these core feelings of fear and greed.”

These emotions fuel the capitalist system, but they also fuel the way we interact.

“The more you feel fear, the more you’re going to feel greed, and the more things you try to possess, the more you’re going to feel afraid. It’s an insatiable, infinite circle. And when I realised that, I realised I had to reverse this inside me, not inside others, but first inside me.”

This journey Olivier had embarked on was observed by his son Benjamin.

“My Father was unsatisfied with the life he was living. It was through a series of events, which brought a lot of pain to him. And so he was looking in all of these intellectual ideas, and then someone ended up giving him a book written by a tantra master and it started a whole process of changing his life and entering this world of self-development, and focusing this process on himself.”

Benjamin’s mother Nathalie started to share Olivier’s interest. 

“It was a search for what is true, what is the meaning of life, a search for happiness.”

Benjamin eventually joined his parents at a lecture by Benki Piyãko, political and spiritual leader of the Asháninka people from the Amazon rain forest, who was travelling through France at the time.

“I was living a normal Parisian life. I was a bright kid so I studied a lot, politics and finance, and I was looking to develop a lot through reading books and watching movies. I also liked to party. And I had not seen someone like Benki before. I had not seen someone saying, I speak this way because I believe it’s the truth, because it’s my truth. I had not met someone who had this inside, this strength.”

Benki spoke about the importance and wisdom of the forest and the Earth, and our responsibility as humans to nurture our natural environment, which supports humanity so generously. Benjamin had just finished his studies and was looking for a job in the movie industry, but listening to Benki and understanding his perspective shifted something inside.

“I understood a lot of things, that everything I was feeling since I was a child was true, that there was not a problem with me, there was a problem with the world. We are supposed to love, we are supposed to help each other, we’re supposed to take care. I felt I needed to take care of the land also, of Earth, I needed to find a new way.”

Benjamin travelled to the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute to focus two weeks on learning from Benki and the environmental regeneration and protection project he founded. Benjamin then returned to Paris to sell sandwiches and, as he says, “wait and find what I had to do.” After some time, he decided to journey to the Institute for a second time, for another two weeks, and while he was there he felt a path emerge.

“I imagined some kind of project like Benki’s, but then I told myself, this is not your world, you’re from the city, you’re going to find a way to help Mother Nature in your way. So when I got back to Paris I started to work in a foundation that was planting trees. It was really nice to have a purpose in what I was doing, but eventually it felt like my whole life was in front of a computer and I knew I couldn’t continue doing this. So I decided to see if I could spend more time with Benki, because I felt truth, I felt that this was the direction I had to take, and I went there and this time I lived in the forest for five months.

“I was planting trees almost every day, and I don’t remember if it emerged suddenly, but I knew by the end of my trip that what I had to do was to was go back to my country and do the same thing that they were doing at the Institute, which is taking care of of the Earth and planting trees. So I came back with this feeling that I am going to find land and plant trees and take care of nature and develop myself like this, and I told my parents about this project and they said, ‘let’s go, we will help you buy the land.’”

Olivier was happy when Benjamin shared his idea.

“I wanted to use the possibility that was given to me by my old life, focused on money, to make a better world. The land was his mission but it was my mission to help him achieve it.”

Olivier’s mission was to also support others to understand a different path in life is possible. 

“For example, I’m teaching in a business school, but unlike most of the teachers who are academics, people who never left the education system, I was in the position to say, ‘okay what you want to achieve, I achieved it, I know what it’s like.’ So it was possible for me to explain how it really was, because of my past.

“A part of me knows that I am responsible for the current  situation on Earth. And one of the greatest sadnesses I feel is to see that most of the people I meet my age or older cannot accept that they are responsible. Because if all of us who are older than 50 accept that it’s our responsibility, things would change like that. So today it’s one of the messages that I’m trying to pass on, to help people to recover this consciousness of care. One of the main impacts I have on young people is the fact that I’m old and they’re used to older people telling them exactly the contrary to what I am saying. They say not to follow their instincts, they say not to follow their feelings, they say not to follow what is true, to follow instead what is going to protect them. And I realised as well that my mission was just to pass on a different way.”

Understanding a different way was supported by witnessing the path that Benjamin was walking, having returned from the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute with this idea rooted in his mind.

“I started looking for land but very slowly, there was no hurry, because I knew I had to do things slowly, but while I was looking I needed to be occupied, I knew I had to stay in nature otherwise I would not be happy. And I wanted to learn how to do things, to start studying the trees and what projects already existed, so I was looking for internships and woofing on different farms. I was most interested in places to plant trees, because I felt what I had to do was to plant trees. So every time I would find somewhere I could plant trees, I would go there, because planting was developing my energy. The more I planted the better I felt. So this is what I wanted to do, I wanted to plant trees to be happy, and also for the Earth.”

The search for land was focused around the centre of France.

“I wasn’t looking too much in the south or near to the Atlantic Ocean and not in the mountains, so it was more or less in the centre, my heart was calling for this region.” 

This process was slow, and during this period Benjamin met his now wife Rosana, and he returned to the Amazon rain forest, to the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute, to continue his studies in environmental regeneration. 

“When I came back to France, I saw this announcement online, about the land where we now have the farm, and I got a strong call from my heart and I felt I had to go see this. So we arrived, we planned to stay for two weeks in the region to look for a property, and we come to the farm, we arrive in the car, we sit in the kitchen, we talk with the the owner, we had not seen the land, and we just started a tour of the house, and we walked up the stairs and I felt we are going to live here, because my heart knew, it was like the land called me. Eventually we phoned the owner and found an agreement, and on June 30 in 2020, we signed the papers and moved in.”

Benjamin and Rosana became the custodians of the farm, which is named Vernessac, 88 hectares of mostly empty fields with little vegetation.

“I saw some places with already a lot of forest, but no, my destiny is to plant places where there are no trees and to work on this.”

For Benjamin, the first step was to observe and connect with the land. 

“Nature is different wherever you are, so to know how to engage with it you need to connect with the trees, with the waters, with the birds, connect with what is here. I had read a lot of books, I studied a lot of videos, I learned from what other people were doing, and I also remembered what I learned in the forest, but I still had to find my own way of doing things. And I had some worries, because I was like, it’s so big, what am I going to do? I don’t know, I don’t know that much. But the process was to plant, and the process was to learn, so I was always calming myself down, we’re here to learn.

“A lot of projects are kind of an Occidental response to the environment, linked a lot with science. I have not seen everything, there are some things that are really well done and there are a lot of projects that I admire a lot, but I want to do something here that is connected to the indigenous strength I learned from, with their vision of life. It’s linking with the spiritual and talking about love, not only saving nature but in developing love and conscience inside of people and inside of ourselves through planting and learning. Because we have to do things with love and compassion and really connect with nature, not only producing, not only putting trees in the ground, but making our conscience grow, our love grow, our joy grow.

“It’s a connection. When you look at nature, when you’re able to feel nature, you feel what she is, which is love, which is joy, which is peace. You see a tree, there is wind moving it, there are animals eating it, yet it stays with the same peace, and it gives, it gives, it only gives, without complaining, just growing in its rhythm. And I think when you plant a tree, you connect with the spirit of the tree, and you’re getting stronger in who you are and what you want to do. And I don’t know about all the mysteries of life, but I want to be happy, so I’m doing this because it makes me happy, and I believe it can make a lot of people happy.“

There is a deep, embodied intelligence to Benjamin’s approach to planting and regenerating the land at Vernessac.

“The first time we planted it was a line of trees. I went to buy, I think, 150 fruit trees. I had read everything about them, the space in between that is needed, the kind of soil, the design that needs to be done, and my head is becoming a bit crazy about how I am going to organise this plantation. I was in my house with all my papers, I’m going to do it like this, I had the plan. And I went out and I go to the place I want to plant, and it’s so big and there are only a few trees and I’m looking at it, I’m with all my papers and I was thinking this one needs this much space, this one needs this. And then this feeling comes to me, stop everything, you want to plant trees, go and connect with them. And I went to the place where I kept the trees and I connected with the trees and my thoughts stopped.

“The next day we planted and then it was planted. We don’t need to know everything, it’s the planting that matters. If it is not right, we can do it again, we can correct it, we can change it, but we will have planted. And each day, each year we learn more, we do better, we organise better, and we learn and we develop these things. Sometimes it feels like we are being guided, as if we have this connection with the land and it’s slowly giving us the means to develop as it wants to be developed.

“We need to evolve to listen more to how nature works. The first year we planted one way, the second year was already a bit different, the third year was more different, because the more time we spend in nature, the more we observe, the more we see, the more we understand, and the more we develop the ways we want to do things. What’s important is that we are not scared, because there is no reason to be scared, mistakes are human and we just need to do.”

Although there is an emphasis on activity, the project is not focused on productivity.

“I wanted to keep out of my head an emphasis on money, because if I’m focused on money, I’m not going to take care of nature. The way I did the things here is we are going to do things for nature, because nature is giving us all that we need: air, food and water. And if we need more, nature is going to give us more for us to sell. Everybody wants money in society, but taking care of nature is another world. So I thought, you cannot carry any worry, this is the way nature works, and taking care of nature you will always have, your kids will always have. That was my thinking, and that was what I always had to remind myself when I started to worry or feel overwhelmed by everything that had to be done, or has to be done, because there is still a lot to do.”

A key focus for the work at Vernessac is biodiversity.

“We’re planting with the most possible diversity, because it is what is going to make the nature here strong. Feeding all kinds of birds, animals, insects with all kinds of plants, feeding plants with other plants, feeding ourselves with the most diversity we can. This is how you make something strong. Why are the oldest forest of the world so strong? Because they are diverse. It’s the same thing with a human community, when people are diverse, they hold up their strengths and they all support each other, they help each other. When one is down, the other is up, and they just help each other, and that’s what we are trying to do here.”

It’s easy to feel inspired by Benjamin’s approach to planting, and the tangible connection he shares with the land. There is a simplicity and truth in the words that he shares, and a humility in all of his actions.

“If I can do it, anybody can do it, because I didn’t know anything. Most of what I share, most of what I know I learned from Benki and the community at the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute. And something they taught me was that everybody can do this. Everybody can be happy, everybody can plant, everybody can take care. Of course I had money that led me to buy this big place, which is a responsibility I am going to expand.”

This expanded vision is through the association that Benjamin and Rosana have formed, Les Jeunes Gardiens de la Foret, the Young Keepers of the Forest. The focus for the association is to teach people how to plant, to regenerate land and to support more projects like the one at Vernessac.

“This project is an answer to what we are feeling from the Earth right now, how we are seeing the land suffering, people suffering, all of these climatic events, everything that is happening. A big part of what we are doing is assuming our responsibility as a human being on this Earth, which has always given to us, so we have to give back to ensure the future of the generations to come.

“This project is to plant trees, but also to inspire others. As Benki said, ‘we are planting trees, but we also hope to plant a seed in the hearts of others.’ Especially children and young people, to encourage them to assume this responsibility and live the happy way of planting. This is why our farm will be open for others to visit, to learn like I learned from Benki and from the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute. We want to transmit these teachings so more projects can emerge like this and maybe we can save the future for the generations that are coming, maybe we can save the Earth like this.”

In the four years since finding the land, with the support of a growing community, Benjamin and Rosana have planted more than 25,000 plants.

“Even with no money, we can plant trees, we can take care of nature. Everybody can do it. It’s not difficult. The only thing we have to do is to want to do it, to find the courage inside of ourselves to do it and not be scared. It’s not difficult, we create the difficulties that exist, they are in our mind, all of the difficulties are in our mind. But if we stop a bit our mind and find a tree and plant it in the ground, then it’s already a big victory.“

When I listen to this story — and I listen to Olivier’s search for truth and of Benjamin’s experiences planting — I appreciate how both the landscape and the Stulmacher family have regenerated together. Olivier’s father was financially very poor. 

“His obsession in life was to get money and to create safety for his family. He was really obsessed with that. But he had a very difficult childhood, he was hidden during the war, and it was really difficult for him, and with all that was given to him he did his best. I look at my Father, with absolutely no faith in God, just fears and love for his family, but a lot of fears, and I see Benjamin overcoming fear, and that’s enough for me because I know if he’s like that, I did my part, which is the most I can do.“

Benjamin now has a son of his own, Joseph. I ask Benjamin what he wants to pass onto him?

“I will always try to transmit to him what is necessary for a happy life, which is to have love, have peace, have joy, be nice, be kind and give help. And to take care of what is giving life to you, take care of Earth, of the waters, of the animals, because they are your life, they give you air, water, food, and also happiness.”

Anton Rivette is a writer and photographer. He leads storytelling at eco-nnect.

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The post Planting is Love appeared first on eco-nnect.

Dry leaves crunched under my feet. I looked at the dead plant material layered over the forest floor and glanced ahead to a group of workers from the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute, who were sweeping this plant litter to create what looked like a pathway through the forest. Unfortunately they were creating a firebreak, a gap in vegetation that acts as a barrier for the wildfire that was sweeping through the forest to my left. After an hour of grueling work, the workers found a log, they brushed off insects with their hands before sitting down to drink water and talk. I sat down on the end of the log, it was brittle and cracked under my weight, a sign of the many insects that occupied its core. I reached for the drink bottle attached to my camera bag. I drank water and looked to the workers as smoke blew over and around our heads, it was impossible not to breathe it in.

Ze, one of the workers, was seated next to me, and as the smoke accumulated in my lungs, I coughed. He raised his eyebrows then smiled. I realised this is not a new experience for him, he clearly has done this before, all of these men probably have. It’s a sad reality of life in the Brazilian Amazon, where fire activity is rapidly increasing. These fires are often caused by weather, but more often they are the result of the economic interests of farmers, who use fire to deforest and prepare their land for crops and pasture. Agriculture has been the most valuable sector of Brazil’s economy in recent years, so farmers are encouraged and supported in their practices as they fuel the country’s economic growth. But when farmers’ burning practices coincide with dry conditions, their fires can easily move, escaping their control, spreading across their property, and with the wind, to nearby land.

The Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute (YTI), founded by Ashaninka leader Benki Piyãko, is focused on recovering degraded land caused by illegal logging activities to create extensive cattle farms. The Institute is attempting to revert the loss of biodiversity, and the destruction of virgin forest and precious water sources, including the Jurua River, one of the most important tributaries of the Amazon River, which sustains the Amazon rain forest. Due to the focus on recovering degraded land, the YTI’s property borders farms — the land was previously owned by cattle grazers — who regularly use fire practices.

When I arrived at the YTI three weeks ago, Benki spoke of the intense drought they are currently experiencing. He encouraged me to walk through the forest to see the dying plants and trees. One day, when visiting a sacred water spring on the Institute’s land, I heard a branch fall from a nearby palm, crashing through the forest canopy onto the ground, maybe 20 metres from where I stood. I was with a friend, Hami, and I turned to him and echoed Benki’s words, “the forest needs water”. Yet the rain has not come to quench the land’s thirst, Benki says it has been over 90 days with almost no rain. Last Tuesday morning, light rain offered the forest a shower, bathing the leaves and branches without the necessary volume to satisfy the roots.

A week later, in the heat of the day, just after lunch, a group of us gathered in an outdoor seating area near the entry to Benki’s home. Benki spoke to us about the YTI’s work, and the challenges they are currently facing with the drought. He spoke about the threat of fire, knowing that September is traditionally the hottest month of the year and the wet season rains don’t truly begin until October. He then spoke of the intensity of this drought and how the Jurua River, which flanks the Institute’s land, was at a historically low level, as shallow as anyone living can remember. He then invited everyone on a field trip, in two boats, to experience the truth in his words. We travelled less than a kilometre up the River, we had to get out twice to push the boats when the water was too low. Eventually when there was not enough water for us to move any further, we got out, stepping into the River, which reached our shins or ankles, depending on our height. Despite this sad reality, Benki encouraged everyone to bathe in the River and enjoy the power and beauty of the water.

This drought has intensified with the return of the El Niño weather system, which involves the weakening of easterly trade winds and the subsequent movement of warm water from the western Pacific to the western coast of South America. It is the warm phase of the El Niño–Southern Oscillation (ENSO), which is countered by a cool phase, La Niña. The United States of America’s National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, through its Climate Prediction Center, released a report in early June heralding that El Niño conditions were again present in the world.

During the past two major El Niño events (from 2014 to 2016, and 1997 to 1998), the Amazon rain forest experienced significantly severe droughts. Research conducted by Dr Amy Bennett, a Research Fellow in the Faculty of Environment at the University of Leeds, found that in the 2014 to 2016 El Niño event, the Amazon rain forest was unable to function as a carbon sink due to an increase in the death of trees. It reminds me of Benki’s words, how the trees are dying, which in turn reminds me of a speech he offered in the initial days of this visit. A group of us were sitting in the forest: Benki’s family, workers from the Institute and guests, like me, Occidentals, who Benki calls “my friends from all over the world”. We shared the afternoon together, listening and learning with the plants, as we tuned into the natural consciousness that surrounded us. 

It’s easy to think the forest is not aware, science has been arguing this for years. Growing evidence acknowledges the conscious activity of natural ecosystems, and how being with nature can improve physical and mental health. This was the focus of Benki’s speech, which offered his understanding of the qualities of the forest.

“We are alive, we breathe air, air is medicine. Who breathes poison? Nobody breathes poison, you would die. When we go into the forest, we breathe fresh air, because the forest purifies everything. The Earth gives everything to us. It gives us trees that are able to give us fruit… If you eat the fruit of a native tree, it’s pure medicine. If you drink the tea from the bark of a native tree, it’s pure medicine. If you wet the earth, and take a bath in the clay, it’s pure medicine. Everything is medicine here.

“The science world today discovers everything there is in the forest, all of the molecules of all of the plants, that is important, yet everyone wants to be the owner of the discovery of these plants, yet they are not the owner of anything. This thinking has created and spread a sickness in the world.

“This is why we need to take care of the natural medicines, because they can heal, man can heal, the forest can heal. We need to take care of this diversity. Do you think the animals of the forest need a vaccine? They don’t, because they know all of the medicines of the forest, they know what to eat to be able to heal the illnesses inside their bodies. Do we know more than the animals, are we the teachers teaching the animals how to live with this knowledge? No. They are born like that, like we are born like that, but they take much better care than the man. And that’s what we say worldwide, if we don’t take care of the water, of the Earth, we will come to the point where there will be nothing left.”

These words were enhanced by the setting of Benki’s talk, the forest that he was speaking with, and I recalled his words as I followed the workers carving firebreaks through the forest with machetes and rakes. We had arrived at an opening, and I followed them into a clearing and I saw the devastation of the fire we were meeting: the ground before us was covered in grey and white ash, most of the tree trunks were now black, half their previous size, and the green leaves of this part of the forest had vanished in flames the previous night. The opening was maybe 850 metres long and 100 metres wide, and walking through the dead trees and charred remains of the plants that once covered the forest floor, offered space to see the group of workers and volunteers who had gathered to put out the fires that had spread over the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute’s land. Everyone’s face reflected the devastation they were feeling, trying to comprehend the landscape we were witnessing, knowing just 24 hours before it was beautiful lush forest filled with the conscious awareness of the plants, trees, animals and insects who co-created this ecosystem. We all felt the grief of the life that we had lost.

With our heads bowed, we made our way back into the forest that remained, searching for the source of the smoke that was entering our lungs, finding small and big fires that we tried to put out with rakes and shovels. When we thought we had contained a small section of fire, it would spark again and burn with speed, and we would rush to contain it. We split into small groups to focus on the different fires, each group armed with machetes and rakes. I regularly thought, surely there is a better way to fight this fire. One of the other volunteers told me that Benki had called the Mayor of the local town Marechal Thaumaturgo, Valdélio Furtado, for support. “They have no fire fighting service nor fire fighting equipment to offer, so Valdélio came with his colleagues and friends.”

He was pointing to the man that was leading our group through the forest, wearing a peach coloured polo shirt and a white cap while carrying a long stick to help clear through the plants and vines. He held up a large vine for the group to pass under, I smiled at him to show gratitude, he smiled back and nodded, and as I went to grasp a nearby tree to balance as I stepped over a log on the ground, he pointed with his stick to stop me. I looked at him, he pointed to the tree and then shook his head. He spoke to me in Portuguese and my friend Tommaso translated, “he said not to touch that”, I asked why, “I’m not sure, but it won’t be good for your skin”. I needed something to hold onto, so I grasped a nearby branch that was part of a different plant. It shook with my weight. Two ants fell from higher branches onto the back of my hand, I hadn’t noticed until I received my first bite, and a deep pain moved along my fingertips and up towards my shoulder. It was followed by a second bite, so I quickly brushed the ants from my hand. I felt to make a noise to communicate my pain, but I realised fighting a fire deep in the rain forest means being exposed to insects my body isn’t used to.

I was pulled from my pain by a sound in the distance: a tractor and falling trees. I followed the group as we trudged ahead and the sound became louder. Soon I could see a yellow and black New Holland bulldozer, operated by Chagas, one of the key workers at the YTI. He was creating a path into the forest that would support the next phase of the fire fight. Benki had reflected on the work of the morning, he felt we hadn’t stopped the fires we had attempted to, in some situations we helped to spread them, so we needed a new approach. Chagas’ path would allow us to carry water with buckets and large plastic bottles. We would still sweep up the organic matter that covered the forest floor to create firebreaks, but we would also complement this with water, dampening the Earth to slow the fire’s path, and when we could, using water to extinguish the flames.

In this moment, a pickup truck arrived and the crew inside offered us lunch: a caldo (a stew) kindly cooked by Nayana, another key member of the YTI team. Everyone gathered to regenerate, and then it was back to work, now with the aid of water. When it got dark, a group of six people, including Benki, tried to contain a fire that had unexpectedly erupted out of control, spreading throughout the forest. They worked all night, combatting the sparks and flames that were spreading through the dry plant material on the forest floor. They returned to the community in the morning to pick up those who were ready to support, directing them to this new front. Chagas had also been working hard, fixing an 80 year old truck to ensure the day’s activities were better resourced. The truck’s tray was fitted with two large containers for water, which would be pumped into an assortment of connected hoses. The fire the team were trying to contain throughout the night had moved towards one of the roads that helped navigate the Institute’s 1100 hectares. This location assisted our efforts, as it meant the truck could remain on the road and a new path didn’t need to be created. We could also access a nearby fish pond, further up the road, when we ran out of water.

I had woken that morning with a swollen right hand, a result of the ant bites from the previous day, and a large wound on my right knee. Everyone was visibly affected by this experience, if not through wounds like my own, then a furrowed brow reflected their emotions. Yet the team’s morale was high, the care for one another was palpable, a sense of community was clearly our strongest resource. This was emphasised when we began using the pump and hose. The containers couldn’t hold enough water for sustained use — a larger container was eventually sought — the pump needed to be fixed on two occasions, and the connecting hoses often sprayed water. Again I found myself thinking, surely there is a better way to fight this fire, appreciating the lack of resources at the YTI, as well as the municipality of Marechal Thaumaturgo, to face this situation.

The past two Presidents of the Federative Republic of Brazil, Michel Temer and Jair Bolsonaro, liberally cut funding to the Brazilian Institute of Environment and Renewable Natural Resources (IBAMA). Among its directives, IBAMA is focused on protecting the forest from loggers, farming and grazing, as well as other activities, like fire, that threaten the Amazon rain forest. In 2017 Temer cut IBAMA’s budget by around 40%, in 2019 Bolsonaro removed 24%, and he removed a further 24% in 2021. These cuts led to IBAMA’s removal of approximately 1400 people who worked at the National Center for Prevention and Fight against Forest Fires (Prevfogo) in 2020, citing an “exhaustion of resources”.

In this political landscape, in an economy that subsidises the destruction of the rain forest, I understand why an Indigenous-led organisation like the YTI, in the remote state of Acre, in the even more remote municipality of Marechal Thaumaturgo, lack the resources to fight a wildfire. It underlines why the International Indigenous Peoples Forum on Climate Change (IIPFCC) have been so focused on securing funds at the United Nations’ climate conferences to build resilience and adapt to a changing climate. Yet this movement took many years to gain the necessary commitment from governments, and frontline communities now need to wade through a bureaucratic system of policies and guidelines to receive money, further delaying the support they need. It’s with urgency that the YTI, along with their partners the Boa Foundation and Little Treehouse, have been fundraising — to purchase a truck with a water tank and firehoses, and backpacks to carry and disperse water — to combat the conditions of this deepening drought and the possibility of more fire. This equipment will also support the thirsty forest throughout the drought, as well as the Institute’s ongoing planting efforts.

As I write these words, after four days, the fire still burns. Last night, we thought it was under control, allowing Benki time to rest, to sit with the group under the stars, to watch the moon rise, and offer his reflections to us all.

“For us, in our lives, we see the Earth not just as a place where we walk, but also as a Mother. It’s Her that is supporting this living universe, and today we see everything the Earth has been giving us for millions of years, and this change that is happening now will affect all of our lives. We cannot think about what will happen in the future, we need to think about the present moment, because what we are planting here in the present moment will define our future…

“We have to see all of the plants as brothers and sisters of our life, because it’s from them, and our Mother, that we breathe, that we eat. We are all connecting to the same source… And this heat that is happening is our responsibility, it is the responsibility of every government, every person of this Earth, and if no one takes care of it, we will pay a high price that no one deserves…

“We lost more trees in four days than what we planted in the first five years of the Institute, as well as all of the plants and animals that also died there. Since I was a kid, I have been planting the forest to save the biodiversity, and now I am experiencing this shock. We need the consciousness to understand what we are doing with our lives. This has been very strong for me, very hard…

“These past two days, it rained over all the surrounding areas, but not here, in this place. There was a very strong wind, but it didn’t rain. But it was good, all of the other fires in the area are now out. And we, like hummingbirds, carried water to put out our fire. And all of you who came and helped us in this difficult moment, it created an opportunity for us all to see this reality and think about what we are going to do from now on.”

What will we do? For us here at the Yorenka Tasorentsi Institute, the fire still burns, and we continue on together, protecting our Mother, our nature, our world.

Anton Rivette is a writer and photographer. He leads storytelling at eco-nnect.

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