The conviction that urgent action is necessary arises from an experience of attentive and sensitive observation. There is no other path. Somehow, in the comfort of our urban homes and air-conditioned cars, the world around us becomes merely a landscape—one that, when green, we call “nature.”

Yet this is not quite the case. When, for some reason, we change our frame of reference and begin to live daily alongside this so-called “nature,” a series of shocks follows, one after another. The first is silence. Why do the birds no longer sing? Where is the orchestra of frogs and toads that once lulled the nights? 

The second shock is heat. Beneath a tree, we still find a tolerable temperature, but in the pastures it is the exact opposite: an inferno of heat in every season. We then realize that, for lack of shade, there are no animals there. The green landscape we once called “nature” takes on an entirely different meaning. A more acute perception will feel, on the skin, the thirst of the land—the hell that centuries of exploitation have created for all species, including our own.

If we go a step further and revisit the history of cycles, the picture becomes clearer: it is a history of exploitation! The forest that once covered this entire area was removed mercilessly in a very short span of time. Centuries-old species gave way to coffee plantations, planted in vertical furrows, which immediately triggered severe erosion. This cycle was short, lasting only sixty years. Supported by the State, it generated fortunes for a few and devastation for an entire world. Once it was over, the vast eroded and exhausted lands were sold off in large tracts for extensive cattle ranching. For years and years, this cycle took without giving back. Worse still, in an attempt to “correct” soil poverty, foreign grasses were introduced into the pastures, sealing the ground and making it even drier.

And so we return to the green landscape seen from the car window. The one we once called nature. And we realize, in the most forceful way possible, that action is necessary, that action is urgent. But acting raises many questions: how? What should be planted? Where? In what way? From the bottom up? From the top down? At what cost?

The first impact is clear: planting is expensive. Seedlings are expensive. So we move to plan B: within constraint, a solution. What do we have at hand? This marks the beginning of a time of study, reading, and expeditions into the small remaining forest fragments, accompanied by local woodsmen, in an attempt to identify a few species, with questions not always answered. The forest we believed to be rich is, in fact, an abandoned coffee plantation where only a few trees have grown, always the same ones. There is no diversity, no fruit for the birds.

From this sobering reality comes the understanding that this is an endless study; that the idea of recreating something close to the complexity of the original forest requires more knowledge, more research, more observation, and more fieldwork. It is a cycle: the more we learn, the more there is to learn.

At this point, I realized that I could begin a nursery with my own native seedlings, born here, adapted to this ecosystem. And so we began. After all, we still had rarities: a jequitibá, a white jabuticaba tree – an almost extinct species! – grumixamas, abiu… In the pastures, a few pioneer species remained. The soil’s seed bank did its part and offered us gifts: monjoleiros, jacarandás-bico-de-pato, embaúbas, guapuruvus.

The idea of creating selective clearings emerged, allowing spontaneous seedlings to grow and provide shade. And our old Mulungu, a giant pioneer tree, helped us with dozens of offspring.

That’s when a great friend, with her keen and sensitive eye, offers her informal and unconditional support and suggests that I create a legal entity that will allow me to expand the process. The idea seems incredible to me. She will be the first partner. A structured project begins to emerge. However, we need more help, technical and passionate, someone willing to devote themselves to field research, planting, garden management, species inventory… And then my niece, a biologist, arrives and jumps right in.

In the end, there are three of us completely integrated into a mission: to give back to nature what was taken from it.

And we chose as our symbol a pioneering species that, with so much soul, survives the worst degradation, the Erythrina Mulungu.

Oh, for those who don’t know, in several African cultures, Mulungu is the name of God.

Marisa Guaranys