What constitutes success in habitat restoration? Number of volunteers engaged? Collective hours logged? Cubic yards of invasive plants removed? Number of native plants put in the ground? Yes and. How to measure the compassion for the earth cultivated with each work party, the value of hearts turned toward the work of making whole again what we have broken, the deepening of connection to place that comes from revisiting the same small plot of earth again and again, month after month, season after season, noticing when the first leaves fall, the first buds form, birdsong erupts, frogs take up their chorus, the first sleepy detritivores uncurl. How do you measure the movement from here to a new story, from here to a new consciousness, from here to a better tomorrow? How do you know which way to turn on the path after all the easy trails have been mapped and what appears before you is both glaringly obvious and all the grey you’ve ever known? How do you hear the silent call? How do you melt into the arms of the stars, holding on at once tightly and loosely to it all?
How do you keep going in this culture of ours with the most meaningful of work when success is not easy to define?