07/10/2025
We’re hoping to start talking more about land stewardship on here. Not just as a service we offer, but as a way of being in relationship with land.
For us, this isn’t a new idea. It’s something rooted deeply in how Sebastian grew up, with family Indigenous roots in Ecuador, where caring for the land wasn’t a lifestyle or career, but a responsibility. As a non-Indigenous person, I can say firsthand how much I’ve learned from him, how to slow down, how to notice more, and how to respect all forms of life. He’s taught me when it’s time to give back, when it’s time to step back, and when it’s time to ask for permission.
We also want to acknowledge something honestly: the language around "land stewardship,” permaculture, regenerative design, ecological landscaping, often borrows directly from Indigenous practices that have existed for centuries. In many cases, these ways of knowing have been repackaged or renamed, without recognition. We don’t want to continue that pattern. We're still learning how to honor these lineages respectfully, and to hold ourselves accountable to the values interwoven between punchy phrases.
What we do know is this - when you tend to a piece of land over time, when you work with it instead of against it, something that was always meant to be, happens.
The land becomes more alive. More resilient. More beautiful, yes, but also more generous. It starts to give back in ways you didn’t expect. More pollinators and wildlife will come, the temperatures may drop, water will flow where it needs to, the land itself will feel different.
The work also becomes easier. Less expensive. But also more connected to place and belonging, more nourishing to your spirit. You start to feel part of something, not just in charge of it.
Land stewardship isn’t something you finish, it’s something you grow into.
What might change if your garden or land was something you belonged to, not something you managed?
