Article by Karen Uhlenhuth
For me, the entry point for tackling our climate crisis was a tree. And then another. And another.
The scale of climate breakdown is daunting and for many of us, disabling. And while I regularly contact my legislators in Congress, Jefferson City, and Kansas City hall about climate policy matters, I’m doubtful about the impact.
What really seems to make a difference is digging a hole, plopping a tree in it, and filling it back in.
My arboreal ambitions first took root in my Midtown neighborhood in Kansas City. Twenty-some years ago I began to notice during my frequent walks that expanses of parkway strip – that’s the public right-of-way between street and sidewalk – were missing trees. Sometimes lots of trees. I snagged a little grant money, filled in a few treeless spaces, and kept the trees watered. This seemed to work. So far, I wasn’t in trouble.
Intertwining with Other Organizations
Then I learned about a wonderful non-profit in St, Louis, Forest Releaf, that grows and gives away native trees and shrubs for planting on public land. I put in a request for some. They arrived at Swope Park in a large truck on one perfect-for-planting October day.
I got them all in the ground over the next week or two, and the next spring, I began to make planting plans for the following October.
Because this urban forest was beginning to exceed my personal watering capacity, I started to recruit help. Along treeless stretches, I spent many summer evenings knocking on doors to ask people if I put a tree in front of their home or business, they would water it every week for a year or two. The response, very often, was ‘’Yes.” Sometimes, “Heck yes!”
Widening Circles of Impact
With a hydration team in place, I could branch out. Neighbors agreed to water a tree or two or four in our neighborhood park, Roanoke Park. Then I decided to venture out a bit further – to Southwest Trafficway – sun-baked, hot, and choked with cars driving entirely too fast.
I dreamt of shady Ward Parkway.
Such a high-profile location would likely attract some uniformed persons with a list of regulations I had violated. But no. City officials didn’t know, or didn’t care.
I began to notice other tree-deprived streets in town, like East 12th Street near City Hall. It felt a little far-afield from Midtown, and I wondered if my big sun hat and digging fork might attract the authorities. Nope. Just a few kudos from passersby. Employees at the city hall parking garage and an apartment building next door agreed to water the 10 trees on that block.
While I was pulling the prodigious weeds out of a tree box there, a young man stopped to offer help. I fetched the spare shovel from my car and he got to work. He told me he was living in a homeless shelter nearby, and was glad for a way to fill some time.
A few months ago, I was horrified to discover that there were almost no trees for over a half-mile on Paseo Boulevard. This fall, about 30 of my trees are being planted there.
The Legacy of a Seed
At this point, I’d guess that my helpers and I have planted a couple hundred trees in town, mostly over the past few years. About 75 trees are coming this October 2024. Every year, it seems I have to learn the same lesson over again: order more trees next year!
Concentric rings keep forming around this stone I’ve tossed in the pond. A couple months ago I met with the maintenance department at Penn Valley Community College about planting trees along 31st Street. They told me they liked the idea so much they would hire a contractor to do it.
An acquaintance who ran into problems planting trees along the Trolley Track Trail in Brookside has found a second wind; she and my crew will try again this fall.
I believe that many people want to make an impact on our huge and frightening climate crisis. They just need someone to show them a way in.
