Brandon and I just returned from our industry's annual “Build Reuse Conference” renewed with ideas and inspiration. A main takeaway from the conference included this seemingly small tidbit of knowledge from a colleague from Second Use in Washington State that blew my mind. Nils Rye, a logger in his youth turned salvager explained that redwood trees are not viable in the Pacific Northwest rainforest. Their shallow root system betrays them in heavy rainfall. They either fall before their time or produce lumber with over 1” growth rings, reducing its lumber strength and insect repelling powers. He reminded me that our unique Northern California microclimate provides the perfect weather for both the survival of our precious redwoods and the lumber we rely on.
This piece of wisdom from Nils strengthens my duty to preserve these NorCal treasures. Our redwoods are priceless. They make Northern California one of the most ancient wonders on earth; they are recognized by UNESCO as a world heritage site. But the fog that feeds our redwood forests is changing. As climate patterns shift, the marine layer that has sustained California's coastal ecosystems for millennia arrives less predictably, and carries different moisture loads than our ancient trees evolved to expect. The California drought of 2011 to 2017 luckily spared our redwoods more so than our pines, but inland redwoods suffered severe conditions. And then came this summer; the coldest since 1982, with fog staying for weeks in the Bay Area, instead of its usual 3 days. It is imperative that we understand and study these changes - as well as learn from the Indigenous People who successfully managed these forests for thousands of years. This is critical to preserving both our remaining old-growth stands and the redwood forest ecosystem as a whole.
Climate scientists describe California's new weather patterns as "whiplash"—rapid swings from extreme drought to intense flooding, with longer dry seasons, warmer falls, and reduced snowpack. The atmospheric sponge effect means that for every degree of warming, the atmosphere can hold 7% more moisture. While this might sound beneficial, it creates a devastating cycle: during hot, dry periods, the enhanced capacity of our air pulls more water from plants and soil, leaving forests more desiccated than ever before. When that moisture finally releases, it comes as floods rather than the gentle, consistent fog that redwoods depend on.
Before European contact, California's forests looked radically different from the overgrown, debris-choked landscapes we see today. When Spanish explorers first encountered Yosemite, they described land that "looks like a well-tended garden"—and it was well-tended, by the 7 different tribes who had developed sophisticated forest management practices over thousands of years. These weren't wild forests in the European sense, but carefully maintained ecosystems where trees grew with proper spacing, forest floors remained clear of excess debris, and lush understory vegetation thrived.
The key to this management was cultural burning—intentional, prescribed burning practices that served multiple ecological and cultural purposes. Unlike modern prescribed burns, which often focus primarily on fuel reduction, cultural burns were integrated into seasonal cycles and community practices. Indigenous fire practitioners would time burns and rake ashes into the soil to promote specific plant species needed for food and basketry, and create hunting corridors and gathering areas. Most importantly, they understood fire as a tool for regeneration rather than destruction.
When Indigenous communities were forced from their ancestral lands, generations of accumulated knowledge about forest stewardship was ignored. The next century passed with no active forest management, allowing debris to accumulate and trees to grow too thick and too close together, stunting each other's growth and creating ideal conditions for catastrophic wildfires. It wasn't until the 1970s that land management agencies began to recognize the wisdom they had overlooked and started implementing prescribed burn programs.
Today, promising restoration efforts are emerging that combine traditional knowledge with modern conservation science. In Yosemite, there is an active collaboration with the original people and the Park Service. The Southern Sierra Miwuk Nation along with members of the 6 other tribes, is building a village within Yosemite, where they socialize and practice their cultural traditions. Their perseverance provides hope that their cultural practices will be integrated into our forest practices. In Monterey County, the Esselen tribe has reclaimed 1,199 acres of ancestral land in Big Sur and launched the "Wildfire Resilience, Indigenous Food Sovereignty, and Cultural Resource Revitalization Project", partially funded by CalFire. This program integrates erosion repair, wildfire threat reduction, and habitat restoration while educating future generations about traditional land stewardship practices. And of course, the major news of the Yurok restoration of the Klamath river will be a major boon for both salmon and redwoods alike.
These restoration efforts take on new urgency as fog patterns continue to shift. Redwoods that have survived for centuries by supplementing their water intake through foliar uptake from the marine layer now face an uncertain future. The trees that do survive will be increasingly precious, making the protection of existing old-growth lumber even more critical.
This is where reclaimed lumber operations become part of the forest restoration story. Every board we salvage from deconstruction projects represents forest resources that don't need to be harvested from struggling ecosystems. More important than preserving the architectural heritage, when we carefully deconstruct a 1920s Craftsman home or repair its old-growth redwood siding with reclaimed, we're allowing second and third-growth forests crucial time to mature, develop their carbon storage capacity, and adapt to changing climate conditions.
The circular economy model that drives lumber reclamation aligns with Indigenous principles of using resources wisely and wasting nothing. Traditional communities harvested regenerative bark and fallen trees for housing and canoes, understanding their role as stewards rather than extractors. Modern reclamation practices echo this wisdom: we take what would otherwise be wasted, process it with respect for its history, and keep it in service for decades or hopefully centuries.
Investment in reuse infrastructure represents one of our most practical responses to a changing climate and forest loss. While billions have been spent on recycling over the past 40 years, we've made minimal progress toward zero waste. A true circular economy requires redesigning our materials flow to incentivize and mandate reuse at the same scale we currently mandate recycling. CalRecycle should prioritize waste prevention and reuse infrastructure development, creating economic incentives that make lumber reclamation the obvious choice for builders and developers. I was asked during my session at the conference “What would you do if you could do just one thing to increase deconstruction and reuse in your State”, and my answer was, “Change the name of CalRecycle to CalReuse”. By focusing our intentions as well as our attorneys and staff at the State level on our highest and best use of materials, infrastructure and funding will come quickly.
Our role in this restoration isn't just about business—it's about stewardship. Every piece of old-growth lumber we save honors both the ancient forests that produced it and the Indigenous communities who made these ecosystems possible through their cultural practice. As weather and fog patterns shift and become unpredictable, preserving the lumber we already have becomes both an environmental imperative and a cultural responsibility. The two keynote speakers at Build Reuse, Kira Gould and Carl Elefante, reminded us and our colleagues that our work is important, recognizing that our work to salvage the past is integral to preserving a livable future for generations to come.
The fog may be changing, and fire seasons may be lengthening, but the forests themselves can remain resilient if we set our intentions correctly. We must study traditional ways and collect data on our watersheds, weather patterns, and atmospheric cycles. We must then implement regenerative watershed practices based on this information. We must collaborate with our original people to ensure their legacy, old growth redwoods, persevere, For the 1.6 million acres of coastal redwood forests to reach their former thickness and height will require centuries. With dedication, science, traditional knowledge, and reduced harvesting through reclaiming lumber from the built environment, they can once again become the fog-fed giants that define Northern California's heritage.