A tale of Wooroonooran

Words by Peter Stanton, with Karen Stanton, photographs by Peter and Matthew Stanton
And a drawing by Edda Stanton-Koops.

Peter Stanton, a distinguished ecologist, shares this story of family, nature, generations and regeneration in the Wet Tropics of Northern Queensland, together with work from his photographer son Matthew.
We are especially happy to introduce the work of Edda, making art in the presence of her grandmother watching for life in the creeks.

In Far North Queensland is a mountain world that I have long known and loved—a world of cloud wreathed peaks, waterfalls and rushing streams, and dense forests that spill from the steepest slopes to coastal foothills covering all but boulder fields and areas of shallow soil in the highest country. It is Queensland’s Wet Tropics Bioregion that stretches over 400km from near Cooktown in the north to between Ingham and Townsville in the south.

I have worked in the area intermittently for 64 years in various roles that continue to this day, first as an officer of the Queensland Forestry Department, and later with the Queensland National Parks and Wildlife Service. Those long years have been ones of joy and sadness. Joy that came from experiencing the beauty of its natural world and sadness that I have been living at a time when our heritage of these ancient forests has been degraded and partly destroyed in the interests of rapacious search for profit at any cost.

The Wet Tropics had seen significant agricultural clearing accompanying European settlement from as early as the 1870’s, especially on the Atherton Tablelands where close to 80,000 hectares of rainforest was lost within a few decades. A second wave of accelerated clearing was to occur in the region during the 1960’s and 70s, a time when the entire state of Queensland was undergoing the most massive land development boom in its history. Within the Wet Tropics 20,000 hectares involving the last remaining large area of complex lowland habitats, in the valley of the Tully River, disappeared between about 1965 and 1972. Timber Reserves and State Forests were revoked and added to Crown Land to form one massive land sale, under freehold tenure, to the King Ranch company.

In the same timeframe the great Babinda swamp forest was cleared and drained, and swamplands everywhere, previously considered too difficult to develop, were under attack. Not even the mangroves were safe and in Trinity Inlet, near Cairns, they were leased to the CSR company, to be reclaimed for the purpose of growing sugarcane. Shortly after that period of massive development, attention turned to land north of the Daintree River where the last great extensive tracts of coastal lowland rainforest were to be found. Much of it was granted in freehold tenure to a private developer who had dreams of connecting it via a coastal highway to his landholdings further north near Cooktown.

Until the late 80’s the region’s extensive areas of state forest fell under the management of the Queensland Forestry Department and were utilised primarily for the purpose of timber extraction. Forestry scientists had previously set what was claimed to be a sustainable annual cut of all the accessible forests based on a 20-year cutting cycle. This provided girth size limits below which trees of various species could not be cut and was meant to ensure that, after 20 years, growth on the trees retained would have provided a volume available for harvesting equivalent to that obtained in the original cut.

This could be repeated every 20 years in perpetuity. In practice, the timber being removed in the second cycle came almost exclusively from trees that had been missed in the first cut. Science, however, was rejected by politicians in the face of the outrage of the sawmillers and the annual allowable cut was almost doubled. It soon became clear that most of the areas being harvested would be unlikely to sustain another cut within 20 years and increasingly harvesting operations relied almost entirely for their quota on devastatingly destructive operations in the region's last remaining great unlogged old-growth forests (also known as ‘virgin’ or ‘first-growth’ forests).

At the time of a World Heritage Area listing in 1987, which covered all the state forests and national parks there was only one such large virgin forest area left. Located in the valley of the Russell River, its tall cathedral-like forests had long excited the ambitions of the sawmillers. Only difficult access had thwarted them. Just as a road into the valley was finally being constructed, World Heritage Area listing brought an end to timber harvesting, and the Russell River Valley forests remain as a reminder of the lost grandeur of so many other areas. It was in the vicinity of those forests that I turned in later years to pursue a passion for the rehabilitation of degraded land.

I have had, for all of my professional life, a deep interest in the science of land use to maintain the health of soils and the ecosystems that they support, and the restoration of degraded land. There was a strong urge to promote efforts that would lead to present generations leaving a more liveable world than the one they inherited, a desire shared by my wife, now of 57 years, Karen. Hoping to leave a better world we saw ourselves involved in recycling, alternative energy, or reforestation, but by the time our children had left home, our finances and expertise determined that reforestation would be the only possible choice if we were to be ‘hands on’.

We found what I deemed to be the ‘perfect’ piece of land—53ha with three basalt plateaux separated by permanent spring-fed streams at the very head of one of the main tributaries of the Russell River. It adjoins along part of its boundaries, the tall first-growth forests of the Russell River valley, now within the Wooroonooran National Park. It was a long-abandoned dairy farm now covered by areas of regrowth forest, mostly as islands in a tangled mass of exotic weeds, dominantly lantana and impenetrable masses of thorny Asian raspberry. Its soils were deep red loams, the high initial fertility of which had been lost as vigorous pasture growth declined under the nutrient-leaching effect of the high rainfalls of the wettest part of Australia. The block was located upon the traditional lands of the Ngadjon-Jii, the people of the high rainforest country, whose deep connections to the region encompassing Josephine Falls to the east and the headwaters of the mighty Bibhoora (Barron River) to the west have persisted for many millennia.

At the time of purchase it was occupied by an elderly couple who had dreams of building a house there. Visiting it occasionally from their nearby home they would sit and look at the distant view of the mountains and enjoy the peace and quiet that came with being at the end of a narrow little-used road.

The property was originally 63ha and they applied to the council for subdivision rights that would allow them to retain separate title over 10ha in one corner of the property. The council would only agree if they first eliminated the lantana. This they did with a bulldozer, which pushed it and a lot of surface soil down to the bottom of the slopes. They then sowed a vigorous grass. By the time of our purchase of the property the cleared area had been reclaimed by dense lantana and thickets of small trees, with remaining areas of pasture. In 2013, when it became clear to them that they would not be able to live there they sold the 10ha to us and we came into possession of the whole of the original 63ha.

In 1993 when we purchased the first property, we began a journey to transform 53ha of degraded landscape. To outsiders we could have appeared naïve in the extreme. There we were, myself at 53 and Karen at 50 with no machinery beyond a chainsaw, assisted by brush hook, machete and axe, and no accommodation, two hours’ drive from our home in Cairns. We had no plans beyond starting. We were faced with dealing with 30ha of densely weed-infested land, and promoting the development of advanced forest regeneration in the rest of it. Still in the workforce, I could devote no more than, at the most, four days per fortnight to the task. In practice, because of interruptions for various reasons, including periods of torrential rain, we did not always adhere to that schedule.

I was prepared to devote long hours to heavy physical labour, but it was the design and building skills of Karen that were vital to our starting. We chose and cleared a weed-infested site for a tiny cabin. It was upslope from a strongly flowing stream and close enough for the murmuring of its waters to fill the still night air. The slopes and crests of Jurra Julam (Mt Bartle Frere), Queensland’s highest mountain at 1,600m, commanded the view to the east. Karen designed and built, using almost exclusively recycled building materials, and with the help of our son, Matthew, a small octagonal cabin.

I had the belief that few people would be motivated to emulate us without the hope of some eventual financial return. We therefore pursued a strategy of planting quality timber species that were native to the general area even if some of them were not actually found on the property. Hoop pine was chosen as the main species because I had long observed that it had an ability to capture a site, excluding weeds and to provide a layer of soil-improving litter. Hoop pine usually grows as an emergent from rainforest and rainforest species easily establish underneath it. With or without the conifers being selectively harvested, rainforest will eventually occupy hoop planted sites. After two powerful cyclones impacted the property, we also discovered that it was very wind resistant compared to other species.

Before areas were planted lantana and the ferocious Asian raspberry had to be dealt with and tall sown pastures eliminated. Assisted by two of our sons, Matthew and David, we tried many unsuccessful labour-intensive methods of dealing with them. Eventually, reality set in. Without the use of glyphosate sprays we would never be able to achieve our goals in this environment. Of all possible herbicide sprays glyphosate was chosen because, on the basis of studies at the time, it had been demonstrated to rapidly degrade in the soil and had low mammalian toxicity. Many had attempted, but failed, to revegetate in this part of the world without the use of herbicide—aggressive pasture grasses and lantana very quickly smothered the plantings—thus our decision in this regard.

It was Karen who discovered the easiest way of dealing with lantana and raspberry. She would spray along a 3m edge using a 6-litre sprayer and using a fallen ladder to climb over the mass, would, visit by visit, eventually eliminate the pest. As the dead lantana collapsed it left a thick litter that prevented weed regrowth, allowing a good start for planted trees to establish. We had no tolerance for aggressive pasture grass and after initial spraying had to work for many years to eliminate any seedling weed growth as it was obvious from the colour of the trees that grass robbed them of nitrogen, slowed their growth and threatened their survival.

We began planting with a rough plan that was continually adapted in the light of what we learnt as we progressed. Our direction was shaped by the nature of the landscape and the existing regrowth vegetation on it. Our plantings have been complex in the nature of the landscape pattern they had created, and labour intensive. We raised our trees from seed and transplanted them into small tubes using soil from the property. This avoided the possibility of introduced soil pathogens. Trees raised in soil were quicker to establish and grow than those raised in a potting mix. Planting was quickly and easily done using a crowbar to make a small hole just large enough to accommodate the plants.

Our plantings on the original property were completed in 2008 with the planting of 23,000 trees that we raised ourselves and 4,000 hoop pine surplus to the needs of the Forestry Department. Our plantings were then extended by another 3ha after the purchase of the additional 10ha in 2013. In 2003 the original 53ha were declared a Nature Refuge under the Queensland Conservation Act. It was given the name of Wooroonooran after the Ngadjon-Jii name of the adjacent Bellenden Ker Range. Attached to the declaration was a Conservation Agreement, which spells out in detail how each part of the property (including areas set aside with the option of sustainable selective harvesting of timber) should be managed.

This declaration is attached to the title of the land and is binding on future owners. It can only be revoked by a decision of the Queensland Government and the agreement of the landowner. The 10ha acquired in 2013 remains on a separate title and a separate Nature Refuge declaration covers it.

The land is rich in bird and mammal life unique to the Wet Tropics, as well as many others with a wide distribution in eastern Australia, including such iconic species as the platypus. There have, however, been marked changes over the years with the disappearance of species such as finches, wrens, grass owls, kites, and crimson rosellas which depend on open areas, and a marked increase in those typical of the rainforest. A major source of satisfaction has been to witness the gradual growth over the years of a cassowary population. Initially the dense lantana proved a formidable barrier to them and they were rarely seen. As the lantana disappeared more fruiting trees have appeared in the forest remnants, their population has increased, and the seeds spread in their droppings have further contributed to forest regeneration.

Today the hard work of those earlier years is finished, and there is a forest where there was once only desolation. However, there is still a need for constant vigilance to remove any returning weeds, and to keep open the many kilometres of roads and walking tracks that we constructed. The lonely little cabin on the hill still stands, barely blemished by 30 years of frequent torrential rain and two major cyclones.

Labour of love - Matthew Stanton reflects on the generational importance of the regeneration project his parents started.

"I have been visiting Wooroonooran since first travelling with my parents to look at a long abandoned dairy farm on the Atherton Tablelands, which they had acquired during my final year of school in 1993. Peter and Karen had long held a shared ambition to revegetate a sizeable tract of former rainforest country within the Wet Tropics of Queensland. I was assisting them as they took their very earliest steps on the ground towards the realisation of that ambition. Conceived as an offering to ecological posterity, their vision has since seen them devote tens-of-thousands of hours of shared labour to the fulfilment of those aspirations.

"Meaning ‘Black Rock’, Wooroonooran is located upon the lands of the Ngadjon-Jii people who retain a deep and enduring connection to this ancient land of rain and cloud. Despite the dramatic environmental degradation that we first encountered there, I was immediately gripped by the site with its endlessly shifting moods and the majesty of the rainforest-clad Bellenden Kerr range which loomed above it not far to the east. These impressions of place, over time, began to frequently occupy my imagination when I was away from it, even more so when I moved to Naarm (Melbourne) in late 1995 to pursue a career in photography and the arts. Since then, my visits to Wooroonooran have invariably been shorter, more intermittent and less dominated by work than by appreciation, observation and inquiry.

"Upon each successive return, fresh signs of my parent’s efforts were everywhere to be seen. The understories of remnant forests, once enmeshed in weeds, became traversable and carpeted with fresh growth of rainforest seedlings. Tangled expanses of lantana and raspberry were progressively cleared and replaced with countless young trees striving skyward. Over 25 years, I brought whatever equipment I had on hand at the time—35mm film cameras, phone cameras, even 8x10” view cameras—in order to assemble a fragmented pictorial account of their long creative collaboration. Some of these images are shared here alongside my father’s reflections on Wooroonooran, as well as some Kodachromes from the extensive slide archive he has amassed working in the field as an ecologist over the last 60 years.

"Although their planting work was completed 8 years ago, my parents' labour continues in the form of active maintenance and weed control. When I visit with my young daughter Edda, it heartens me to observe her, a city kid, awakening to the charms of this recovering landscape. I often take pause to reflect upon what the place might look like when she is my age (or even her grandparents’ age). At such times, befitting of the spirit which has guided my parents’ work, I am left with a sense of hope—at a time in history when it can often seem faded or fallow."

Thank you to three generations of the Stanton family for sharing their story with Wilderness Journal.

Read photographer Matthew Stanton's story Deep North from Journal #017, that charts Far North Queensland's shifting topographies and ecology.

Wilderness Society helped get the Wet Tropics of Queensland World Heritage Site declared in 1988, which covers Jurra Julam (Mt Bartle Frere) in Wooroonooran National Park.

Bush painting

Writing from his hand-made home and studio in the bush in the mountains of Northern NSW, Ian Trafford Walker recalls a family history that inspired a love of painting and a deep commitment to the bush.
Photographs by Andrew Kidman.

1952, cold July morning 3:00 am. Born on the roadside outside the Sydney Lottery Office. The startled ambulance driver advised my mother to buy a lottery ticket which she did. The ticket won the lottery.

I began painting seriously at the age of 12. I painted my bedroom wall and called it ‘To Saint Francis’ for he was the only person I knew who protected nature. (Out of the corner of my eye I watched my father painting every night and sculpting every day of his life).

Seven murals followed; ‘anything above dog level’ I would paint. The last mural measured 5,250 square feet, painted with a brush for Byron Bay's Bicentennial. A mural tells a story, the space so large. The public artist plays a role as historian and freezes time. One paints a wild landscape from the past to preserve it for the future. With a crippled arm and broken fingers I gave up painting walls and slowly the seven images were either graffitied or bulldozed.

To me a line in space is a sacred thing. Even the black hole of an egotist is something I would never destroy with envy. Had my first exhibition of 72 paintings at 15 having stretched and framed them over a two-and-a-half-year period.

Both my father and mother were artists. However, I didn’t quite work that out until my father had an exhibition which was as rare as he.

Ralph Trafford Walker was a WW2 war artist. Early in his career he was an art teacher in Sydney and Brisbane. He sculpted the bronze relief Aboriginal doors of the Mitchell Library in Sydney when he was 28 years old. These depict people going about their daily lives and are recognised as the seminal works which represented Aboriginal people with dignity.

He also sculpted the dioramas of soldiers fighting in the Canberra War Memorial. After casting the figures in lead he would trim them in his hands.

In those days nobody knew about lead poisoning. In his later life he became increasingly antisocial and reclusive, preferring instead to devote himself entirely to his art. He cared not for money. His output was prodigious with well over 7,000 paintings and drawings recorded and 1,000 or so terracotta sculptures which he fired himself at the family home.

My mother Edith Jean Walker was a writer and illustrator, potter, sculptor, art teacher and landscape designer. She and her sister, Betty Maloney wrote and illustrated three books re ‘Designing Australian Bush Gardens’ in 1965. “Leave the dead trees for the birds,” is what my father had said.

These books are now considered to be the pioneering inspiration for bush gardens in Australia—rejoicing in an abundance of distinctive flora.

Thereafter Edith and Betty were commissioned as landscape architects to design and plant native bush gardens for many clients such as architects, libraries and government schools. Betty chose the species and Edith designed and drew the plans. Often I helped move rocks, logs, dig out exotics, mulch, plant and remove lawn.

Then one day out of the wilderness came two little blue wrens, Joan and Eileen Bradley, the inventors of Bush Regeneration. Needless to say they became fascinated in the process of creating a bush garden, from lawn to bush.

One Principle of the Bradley system, ‘work from the bush out’ to bring back the bush, rings true as a political or conservation strategy as well. For in order to effect change one must familiarise oneself with the movement and effect change from within. This process is opposite to aggression. It is gentle like the rudder of a boat and entrains a valuable lesson.

The Bradley sisters became close family friends until their passing. My family and the Bradley archive is kept in the State Library.

Meanwhile Betty, who was a botanical illustrator, had teamed up with botanist Alec Blomberry and together hired a huge 4x4 bus full of mad geriatric botanical adventurers to tour WA looking for Proteaceae species to describe and draw as they were writing the definitive tome on Proteaceae.

It was down around Ceduna SA that the bus was boarded by detectives and two little old ladies were escorted off. I learned later that they had been involved in a blockade to protect the Little Sandy Desert from development and had been quietly scrapped off the bus for questioning over the needling of bulldozer hydraulics.

I knew from discussions with the Bradley sisters that the destructiveness of man’s greed is often selfishly justified and enacted hastily to avoid scrutiny. In those days it was not the young who spearheaded conservation rather the old, the frail and the wise.

In Sydney we lived close to a small coastal settlement that predated the Depression. Those living there were deemed to have Squatters Rights. As the years passed and my attachment grew with Sydney Harbour, eventually the military land that the settlement was built on, changed hands to National Park and as a consequence we were asked to leave. Court cases ensured however, along with us Squatters Rights were abolished in Australia.

We knew this was coming and had recorded many marine species, mollusca and flora/fauna of the Reserve. For many years we had considered ourselves the precursors of the National Parks ethos for we had formed decades before ‘The Rangers League’ (of volunteers) to act as protectors of the marine habitat and the reserve. We were also engaged in clean-up protocols with harbour debris and rescued many people from the surrounding cliffs or drowning on the bombora.

We had also been actively engaged with Joan Bradley and the National Trust of Australia in early Bush Regeneration projects throughout the Sydney region as well as around our homes.

The seven dwellings are now heritage listed. We kept their history close to our chest to preserve their isolation.

In 1979 I came to Tweed Valley and introduced the Mayor, Max Boyd, to Bush Regeneration. Also Ian Kingston, Mayor of Byron Shire. With Joan Bradley’s consent I taught their strict method of Bush Regeneration for four and a half years for Adult Ed in Byron Shire and advised many small groups and individuals on the North Coast.

While in Byron I helped inaugurate the Byron Tree and Landscaping Committee which planted 40,000 trees throughout the Shire in 1987.

I also became aware of the threat to the dwindling biodiversity of the wetland areas to the north of the shire known as North Ocean Shores.

With the assistance of my sister Dr Elizabeth Trafford Smith, a palaeontologist, artist and writer, who now lives in Lightning Ridge, and her forays into the politics of the State Government at the time, and many others such as Bob Brown, Stan and Val Scanlon; I decided to lift a brush for the conservation of North Ocean Shores.

The area was under threat from a development which would have drained the wetland and damaged the 40,000 year old Aboriginal heritage present on site.

With permission, paints and brushes and awkward canvas I descended into the deep past and painted a sacred site on site. This large work was donated to Senator Aden Ridgeway at the Aboriginal Lands Council in Parramatta. And another painting completed in the back of a car in the pouring rain from the Ocean Shores Lookout, was gifted to Byron Council to alert them of the 40,000 year old heritage their important decision regarding the development application, if approved, would destroy.

Other paintings followed, all done on site, Banksia and Callitris forests. Followed by an exhibition, to voice my concern. Local media branded me an “Activist Artist”. And one lesson I learned is that artists have a strong voice, calling from the heart. For we can do more with our paintings than hang them on brick walls.

Shortly after the land was re-gazetted and became ‘Yelgun Nature Reserve’. Which in the long term is far better for our children than a harbour for racing yachts!

Conservation is all about warning people of a future without nature. Just as our future is fragmented by those who believe they are our benevolent overlords and far stronger than nature.

After my parents died their entire collection of works was stored in a storage facility at Brookvale on the Northern Beaches. On a cold morning in 2018 the whole facility burnt down. All their life's work was lost.

Thank you to Ian Walker for showing us your world, your extraordinary paintings and telling your story. Thank you to Andrew Kidman for making the magical connections and photographing Ian and his work.

Pocket Forests

Meg Bauer explores the beautiful tiny worlds of Pocket Forests, a forest design method from Japanese botanist Dr Akira Miyawaki. These forests have sprung up in cities around the world; here are some Australian examples from Anna Mezzetti from Nature Makers and Stephanie Poly of Carbon Positive Australia.

Anna Mezzetti: "People get very excited about pocket forests—they are a great way to engage the urban population on revegetation. Our community members assist with maintaining the forests, and take great pride in it.

"We installed one forest on Council land in Mulgrave, Naarm (Melbourne) a year ago, to draw people in to immerse themselves in nature. It’s next to a sporting oval and used to be just grass, in an uninspiring and pretty biologically dead environment. Now we receive terrific feedback from the local community, who tell us they love the forest.

"Nature Makers also worked with Springvale Botanical Cemetery to create a micro forest this year, as both a reflection space and wildlife habitat zone.

"Five local schools came and helped plant this forest. The schools are now planning to use the forest to learn about Australian plants and wildlife—many of these children are from other countries and this is their first experience getting to know indigenous plants and Australian wildlife. They will visit the forest regularly to record wildlife observations into the national database through iNaturalist. The program ties into the local Gardens for Wildlife program too, so the children can extend the habitat into their own gardens—creating stepping stones of biodiversity for local wildlife from the forest to their homes.

"We love making forests with the community—our little bit of wild right here in the neighbourhood!"

“Humans have ignored the rules of nature, biodiversity and coexistence. Ecological devastation is becoming a serious problem locally [and] globally. One of the best measures we can take anywhere… is to restore native forests.”—Dr Akira Miyawaki

Stephanie, tell us about Miyawaki forests—or ‘community pocket forests’ as you call them.

SP: The Miyawaki method is a methodology of afforestation that was developed in the 1970s by a Japanese botanist called Dr Akira Miyawake. It was then popularised over the years by many forest-makers across the globe. I think there's now over 3,000 Miyawaki Pocket Forests in existence.

And they've been applied to various different contexts, for example in highly urbanised areas and to reforest degraded farmland. We have a partner in Queensland that uses them to create green linkages and revegetate areas for endangered species like the southern cassowary and the spectacled flying fox.

What makes the Miyawaki method different from traditional reforestation or tree planting methods?

Miyawaki forest first looks at the native vegetation and what was there prior to clearing, and those are the species that you plant. There’s also intense soil remediation that happens to make sure that the soil is healthy and able to support plants to their fullest potential.

Planting at density creates competition between plants and increases their growth. And then it’s the way that you plant it as well. So you're not going in and stomping the ground and putting in your plant. It's making sure that there's enough air in the soil—nice, fluffy soil to put them in.

There's mulch that goes on top, and then the forests are maintained or weeded for two to three years before they become self-sustaining. So what that means is all the different forest layers eventually smother out light for the weeds. Species selection does its thing, and a mature forest emerges over time.

How small can a pocket forest be?

They've been planted in three metres squared. That’s very, very small. But usually, ours are around 100-200 metres squared.

How long does it take one of these plantings to start functioning like a proper forest ecosystem?

It really depends on where you're planting them. So if we're looking at Far North Queensland, it would be a very completely different scenario to WA. But 10+ years is when you get the various layers, and it thins itself out to what we would imagine a forest would look like.

What sort of wildlife can these miniature forests attract?

There's research coming out that they support a lot of insect-life, like butterflies, and native birds. In WA, tree species that provide food for the endangered black cockatoos are planted. In Far North Queensland, our partner Brett actually saw a cassowary in a two-year-old pocket forest they’d planted.

Wow! That’s extraordinary. In urban areas, what differences do you see on streets or in areas where these patches of forest exist, versus those that don’t have them?

The ones without them are very hot. So if you go there in the middle of the day and you stand on some lawn, with no trees around, you can definitely feel the heat.

The other difference is just the lusciousness. Where it used to be concrete before, you now get all these different leafy layers, which is quite incredible for urban dwellers simply because we can be so far removed from the natural environment.

There's so much research that shows even spending a little bit of time in nature can really change your mindset and promote wellbeing. We don't all have the opportunity to do that, so being able to bring that to people is quite incredible.

What sort of reaction do you get when you do these forest plantings at schools?

Dr Grey Coupland, one of the researchers at Murdoch University, has created an entire STEM education program that she delivers alongside the planting of a forest in a school. So you are getting kids, for example, that have never planted a tree before—and they are not only planting a tree, but are helping create the compost that goes into the forest from their food scraps over the year into the lead-up to planting the forest. They're also getting to leave a legacy for their younger siblings as well.

Some of the kids are definitely better planters than some of the adults from what I've seen! A teacher at the recent Miyawaki Symposium in Japan told me they planted one of these in their school in the UK, and there was one student that had learning difficulties and wasn't really interacting in class. But when it came to planting the forest and being practical with their hands, it was like they were a completely different child and actually didn't want to go back into the classroom. They just wanted to stay there and just keep planting.

You see parents come along to plant with the kids, and it's a whole incredible atmosphere to be around. It's not just the biodiversity benefits; there’s a big community activation and place-making piece.

Do you have a favourite species to plant?

No. I like all species. I don't play favorites.

That's a very diplomatic answer.

I do like a banksia though. In Western Australia, banksia woodlands have been extensively cleared because of urban sprawl and are now a threatened ecological community.

What barriers or obstacles have you faced in this line of work? Do you ever come up against people or councils who don’t understand or support what you’re trying to do?

I think with any new methodology, there's always people that will be questioning it—understandably so. How is this gonna work in this context? There's councils that have rules you may need to meet around bushfire breaks, natural surveillance, lines of sight; all things you need to consider.

But I think looking at these forests holistically, and what they have to offer in terms of environmental, social and economic benefits, is where they slowly come on board.

And with the climate changing dramatically, being able to find new ways of doing things is really important because what used to work might not continue working in the future.

What has been your most rewarding experience so far?

Every time I get a message from one of the forest-makers and it's just photos of ‘oh, the planting day!’, or ‘look, we ordered the plants!’ or, ‘my sign arrived!’—that really fulfills me. It's building connections with people from across the country, who are just happy to be doing what they're doing. Being able to support others to plant forests is just incredible for me.

Photographs of Meg's own native flower garden

Interviews by Meg Bauer; thank you to Nature Makers for the photographs of the pocket forests project.