Sunrise Reveg

Day 348: With National Public Lands Day projects on the horizon, I have been watching the weather forecast with some anxiety for the last two weeks, seeing it progress from a threat of rain to the promise of sunny but chilly conditions at 6400' where our revegetation efforts would be concentrated. Consequently, when I left home yesterday, I was kitted up in my thermal underwear, expecting to be kneeling on frozen ground at least until mid-day. It was brisk where we gathered in White River Campground at 8 AM, 2000' lower, but by the time we had hiked to our staging area near Sunrise, the temperature had risen to a point where it was refreshingly cool and kept us sweat-free as we whellbarrowed flats of wildflower seedlings and "cubies" of water to the site of the 1930s Sunrise Auto Camp.

Meadow restoration is a long-term endeavour, and work has been going on at this location for at least a decade. Several of this year's crew (including me) were returnees. Reveg is compelling because it is a tangible labour. You begin with a bare patch of ground (an old campsite, a social trail) and with each seedling bedded, the trails disappear; the campsites fill in. Taking a step back, you observe a measurable progression of your work. If you were part of a previous year's work party, you may even be rewarded by seeing your prior plantings now releasing the seed of their first season. Every hole you dig and fill with a young plant reinforces your connection to the site, to its history, to the Park, to the Earth.

Before the snow flies, some 50,000 plants will have been put in place...not all today, but over the course of the autumn weeks. People may ask, "But are they really wildflowers if you raised them in a greenhouse?" Of course. The seeds from which they were grown were gathered nearby to maintain the local genome. We're just giving them some help in reestablishing their territory, repairing damage we inflicted.

As for the weather, by mid-day, our jackets had come off and some of us were regretting the added insulation of long johns, although when the sun slipped behind a cloud, a bit of chill returned. When we finally called it a day, I was in a sweat and had planted something between 300-400 Potentillas, asters, Partridgefoot and assorted sedges, a figure equalled by every member of the team. As a final step in ensuring their survival, we watered our charges well, then wheeled our tools and empty seed flats away and, with wistful, backward glances to our handiwork as we hiked over the last roll, consigned our green "children" to the Mountain's keeping.