In 1969, the SeaRiver District Improvement Company was formed in Cascade Head, just north of Lincoln City, Oregon. In its Articles of Incorporation, it declared that its purpose was to improve the land. What was meant by "improvement" was to develop the land and supply the newly formed subdivision with infrastructure—roads and water systems for its 71 available lots. That meant 71 homes. Within the boundary of SDIC, the old-growth Sitka forests were clear-cut for the sake of improving the land. It’s a type of doublespeak, this story. To destroy something in order to improve it. As many at the time knew, Cascade Head was a treasure of natural beauty. Everyone wanted a part of it, until in 1974, the Ford administration enacted the Cascade Head Scenic Research Area bill to save it, in part to stop the development proposed in SDIC's governing documents.

Fast forward 50 years later, and the effects of SDIC’s "improvement" are still evident. Alders, often considered "weed trees," now stand where old-growth Sitka once towered, with the under-canopy choked by brush, English ivy, and Himalayan blackberries. In the existing meadows, European grass brought over to feed herds of cattle now chokes out indigenous vegetation such as the dog violet (Viola adunca), an instrumental plant for the endangered Oregon spotted butterfly to exist.

Some work at restoring Cascade Head has been successful. The dikes in the estuary have been removed, and now the water flows pretty much like it did before the European settlers tried to convert it to grazing land for their cows. Theme parks such as "Pixie Land," which offered families amusement at the edge of the estuary, were closed and reclaimed as wetlands. Pixie Land offered log flume rides and carnival games under the banner of its theme song, which was simply the replacement of "Dixie" with "Pixie" from the anthem of the Confederacy, Dixie’s Land. I shit you not. In 1976, UNESCO listed Cascade Head as a biosphere reserve.

Within the boundaries of SDIC, scattered old-growth Sitka remain, and in some cases, groves were left untouched. We can’t express enough about the magic that resides in these places—the ferns, moss, and mushrooms with their centuries-old mycorrhizal networks woven amongst the Sitka roots—the old story of the earth untouched by the narrative of "improving the land."

We’ve also witnessed the development of eco-tourism ravage places like Big Sur and Lake Tahoe and have seen the traffic jams, parking lots, pollution, and the destruction of the environment by the unceasing hordes of tourists feeling entitled to go and do as they please.

Today, eco-tourism has become a narrative used by developers to prioritize the human economy over the natural environment. In some cases, it could be seen as little more than a "theme park" under the guise of sustainability. It’s a transparent story that needs to be rewilded with new and old narratives that place habitat over human-centric ideologies— originating from the stories of the Nechesne Peoples, who lived on Cascade Head hundreds of years before being displaced by white settlers.

These last remaining wild places benefit both the local community and humanity as a whole. Their story must be remembered, preserved, and continually rewritten, as it may be the only narrative that ensures our planet’s ability to sustain us.