Coyote Valley is a miracle. For decades, large companies had their sights on building massive warehouses and paving over the valley floor. Others had visions of an entirely new town built to provide housing for the large corporations hoping to build on this ancient landscape. But it didn’t actually happen. The wildflowers continued to bloom in the spring and the farmers continued to labor with the land.

After decades of back and forth debates in city councils, zoning changes, even deliberate re-routing of waterways in preparation for massive development, Coyote Valley still continues to bloom in the spring. The mountain lions still make their way between the Diablo and Santa Cruz Mountain Ranges. The birds and pollinators continue their good work among the flowers and trees. And the humans still come out to walk.

The Santa Clara Valley Open Space Authority diligently sought the protection of this land in partnership with Peninsula Open Space Trust, and others who care for the future of life in the valley. Andrea Mackenzie is the general manger of the Open Space Authority. She tells Coyote Valley’s story with reverence for every inch of the place and a clear vision for a vibrant future that considers all of the living beings of the valley.

Nick Perry is leading a team to develop a master plan for Coyote Valley. They have been studying the valley closely and working to understand the original expressions of life in the valley. In other words, without the destructive influences of industry, what would Coyote Valley look like? How would the water flow naturally? What native plants would grow and where? When and where would wildlife cross through the valley? What are the deeply rooted Indigenous understandings of this place?

Answers to these questions provide the OSA with a blueprint for how to move forward with their conversation and restoration efforts. They imagine a future where the land is healed and protected for generations to come. Restoration efforts include tending to the naturally rich top soil that allows an abundance of native edible food plants to grow and be harvested. And there’s still space for us humans to walk and wonder at the beauty of the valley!

Today’s episode shares a little piece of Coyote Valley’s story. This most recent chapter offers clues for how the tide of history can change toward restoration and rewilding. The Open Space Authority’s work in partnership with city governments, farmers, and other ecologically-minded organizations is a roadmap for how other cities can take similar actions toward conservation and restoration of essential landscapes. This is what the future can look like in every city in the world.

Thank you for your beautiful work, Andrea, Nick, and Open Space Authority community. You are teachers for all of us.

Eco-Musical Collaboration: “Coyote Valley Suite”, Will Rand, composer and piano, Grace Alexander, violin; Aireleen Zhu, cello; Darío Acosta, recording engineer

Meet Marco Lopez and the Osa Regenerative Farm. What is regenerative agriculture? It sounds like a good thing, but what does it look like in practice? And what does it mean in the middle of dense tropical rainforest?

While I was visiting Osa Conservation, I had the opportunity to volunteer on their regenerative farm. The first thing I learned about regenerative farming: it requires intense, unyielding, back-aching work.

You are probably thinking, well, of course. Farming is essentially labor-intensive in every way imaginable. Something about this farm was different. It wasn’t the same maneuver, the same harvest, the same planting row upon row. It was, rather, an immense garden bursting at the seams.

The first thing you notice when you enter the farm is dozens of rows of crops. That sounds about right, yes? Well, look a little bit closer. Each and every row is different from the other. There are tall green shoots, short stems, shaggy leaves, drooping vegetables like cucumbers, an overabundance of bananas, peppers of every imaginable color, ginger, herbs of every shape, and even vanilla beans. That’s just one row. Now look to your left. You will see dozens more rows with the same prolific variation.

Our job as volunteers was to harvest the cucumbers and remove all of the roughage from the root to the leaves. The vines, leaves, and roots were quite content to remain in the ground, thank you very much.

Very quickly, we learned why it was essential to remove the entirety of these cucumber plants. There were ginger sprouts already eagerly poking through the ground and looking for light!

The ginger has been there since before even the cucumbers were planted. They waited patiently while the cucumbers reached their green fingers out of the soil to the birth of the sturdy, bulbous green and water-laden vegetable. All the while, the ginger had been slowly growing and getting ready to poke its own green fingers into the open air. These two, somewhat disparate plants, grew together. They helped each other (until they outgrew each other). (Please note these are the words of a curious observer, not a real botanist.)

My fellow cucumber-harvesters and I stood up to survey our labors that felt hard-won under the oppressive tropical sun. When I looked around, I was painfully aware that we had just tended to only one of many dozens of rows that leafed and flowered as if to say, “okay, my turn!"

Our fearless leaders, Chonga and Marco, shared with us that they had started their day on the farm at around 3 in the morning. That was roughly ten hours before we stood there, drenched in sweat after just an hour of working. While we regained our electrolytes with fresh coconut water, we watched Chonga and Marco simply turn to the next bed and tend to the harvesting and composting efforts required by the next set of verdant plants.

I learned from this experience that regenerative agriculture is a labor of love for life itself. The resplendent leafy plants, fruits, and vegetables that make it to the table nourish the human beings on the Osa Peninsula. The rotting and deceased fruits find their way into ripe compost piles that become the rich beginnings of new soil and create layers upon layers of ingredients for the next life to come. Even in death, the conditions for life are created again.

The glory of growing food in this way is the diversity of life that is supported. What is the key to life on planet Earth? Biodiversity. The flourishing of a multiplicity of living beings. That’s it.

We need each other. And the only way we can support one another is by tending gardens that help each other. From soil, to seed, to shoot, to flower, to fruit, back to soil — and then the next shoot, stem, flower, and decay. It is a cycle that never ceases. It is true abundance: the essential nature of Mother Earth.

Thank you Marco, Chonga, and the many others who help feed the beings of the Osa rainforest.

We continue our journey on the Osa Peninsula at the Osa Conservation Tree Nursery. I had the pleasure of the meeting the arborist, Mairon, or Titi, as he prefers to be called. Titi is passionate about trees. He showed me around the expansive tree nursery where Osa is growing a 280 different tree species.

These saplings will eventually be taken to one of the 300 partner farms that Osa works with to support the development of riparian corridors. Their goal is to regenerate the native landscape to support wildlife, farmers, and those who depend upon the farms. Having a wildland corridor that connects through a farm, allows farmers to grow more lucrative crops such as vanilla beans or honey. As they tend to pollinators or vanilla bean vines, the bees and plants themselves then become a part of the regenerating forest. Each farm becomes a circle of care.

Back at the nursery, Titi is focused on planting hundreds of seedlings and tending to their initial growth under close observation. Osa works to revive even the most stubborn of tree species such as the Magnolia Hueteri, that is known to be difficult to cultivate at first.

When I stood in the nursery, I felt hope for a life on this planet that continues to be green and vibrant. Even in the great uncertainties of life on this planet as it seems to devolve in front of our very eyes, I think of these trees, ever continuously planted in an effort to feed future humans and monkeys alike. One day, I hope to be able to return to see some of these trees as they reach old age. Perhaps, centuries from now, they will be regarded as some of the old growth elders that have witnessed the regeneration of all life on this planet.