Lessons from the Ginkgo Tree: Collective Seasonality for Liberation | Grace Anderson
The overcast chilly mornings and shadows stretching longer across the pavement signal the arrival of fall in Oakland, California. The signature browns and muted green colors the hills of the city. It’s on a walk on one of these early fall mornings that I become spellbound by the ginkgo trees that surround Lake Merritt. When I started writing this in late November, the distinct leathery whale-tail-shaped leaves had yellowed and fallen on the sidewalk and grass.
The tree has such distinct stages that you can’t help but notice it in every season – the juicy green leaves quaking in the summer, the golden yellow leaves glimmering in the fall, the bare but still distinctive silhouette of the tree in the winter, and the slow unfurling of the buds in the spring. Observing the tree ignited my curiosity about how I could mimic the cycles of the tree for stamina during the overwhelm of our present moment and in anticipation of what is to come. I felt invited to be in the practice of “collective seasonality” with the gingko tree.
I have come to define “collective seasonality” as aligning ourselves and our movements to the seasons of nature in order to sustain ourselves for the long term. I understand it as a practice of resisting the capitalist culture of non-stop productivity and instead attuning to the cycles needed to sustain commitment as part of a movement.
As I move through the seasons with the gingko, I’m holding the question. “How can celebrating collective seasonality make the movement for liberation and dignity more sustainable?”
The late fall/winter stage of the gingko tree used to conjure melancholy in me because it meant the disappearance of the leaves that I adore but as my love of the tree has grown, so has my appreciation for this stage. Losing leaves in the winter is a strategy, an opportunity to expend less energy and conserve moisture. In recent years, I noticed that, like the ginkgo, winter is the time that I want to slow my breath, do less, and shed my leaves. What would be possible if we embodied a practice of losing our leaves and conserving energy for a season?
I grew up hearing, “If I don’t do it, then no one will.” I used to believe that but it’s an unsustainable approach to attempting to balance the massive imbalances of the world. When we build relationships that are politically, socially, and justly aligned, we know that we are not alone in our commitment to justice and liberation. There is abundance and buoyancy to be found in knowing you exist in cooperation with others even as you move in different seasons. I want to live by the phrase, “If I can’t do it, I have a community of people that will and want to.”
In shedding its leaves, ginkgos offer that not producing doesn’t mean we are inactive, just conserving energy. Think about what can be done when you’re not producing; internal work, relationship building, skill-building, teach-ins, and resting are all significant strategies for liberation. Without its leaves, the ginkgo tree is still a ginkgo tree.
Colonization, imperialism, extraction, and other structures of dominance create violence and scarcity for the masses and not constantly resisting them can feel irresponsible. Yet being in constant motion is unsustainable. Collective seasonality offers a paradigm that allows for us to move in cooperation, which doesn’t mean simultaneously or in the same direction. In Oakland, when the ginkgo leaves are falling, persimmons are ripening and pomegranates are reddening and ready to be harvested.
A healthy ecosystem consists of many species that are individual yet move in cooperative cycles. Could we align ourselves in such a way that we are in seasonal rhythms with our ecosystem counterparts? So while some of us are in a season of production, others might prepare, rest, learn, or harvest? And how might we actively tend to/support each other and make space in our movements to be in sync with the natural cycles?
In her book, Lesson From Plants, Dr. Beronda Montgomery states that “Plants know ‘where’ they are through environmental sensing, and they also know ‘who’ is around them. That knowledge helps them make decisions about whether to collaborate or compete.” Can we as humans find the opportunities to resist competition and to instead allow space for others to reach for the light while knowing that our time will come?
Mariame Kaba reminds us, “Nothing that we do that is worthwhile is done alone.” We must concern ourselves with the collective and move in a way that serves that whole. If the aim is to overwhelm us into submission, our resistance lies in our collective stamina.
I invite you to turn to trees for a blueprint. Gingkos are known for their old age. Their longevity. What can this tree teach us about sustaining ourselves for the long game? The times we are in, and the ones to come will continue to demand our deepest and steadfast acts of love, resistance, organizing, dignity, and joy, imagination. The road to collective liberation is long and not one we can walk alone or at a constant full speed. Collective seasonality can steady and sustain us. It offers us an opportunity to know each other deeper and to trust in the possibility and resilience that moving in collective alignment can allow us.
Words by Grace Anderson
Grace Anderson is a writer, imaginary, and world-bender curating at the intersection of queerness, resource mobilization, climate & environmental justice, and Black dignity & imagination. She created and stewards The Lupine Collaborative (TLC), a literary organization advancing climate & environmental justice by resourcing Black women, transgender, and non-binary climate & environment writers.
