Speaking for the Trees: ḰEḰEȽĆ (Arbutus)

Published by Shelley Melville on 02/26/2026 02/27/2026

Voices in the Forest – Story #3

I am the tree that breaks the rules.

While others reach for deep soil and sheltered valleys, I choose the cliff’s edge. I cling to the rocky bluffs of SḴŦAḴ | Mayne Island, my roots gripping stone where most trees wouldn’t even try. Salt wind, thin soil, scorching sun: these are not hardships to me, but invitations. I am ḰEḰEȽĆ, Arbutus, the only broadleaf evergreen in Canada, and I have made a life out of thriving where land meets sea.

My bark peels in curling ribbons of copper and cinnamon, revealing fresh layers beneath. Don’t worry, nothing is wrong. I shed what no longer serves me. I let go easily. It’s one of my secrets. “She bends rather than breaks,” they say, and they’re right. Storms have shaped me, but they have never claimed me. I’ve learned to twist, lean, adapt, and still choose beauty.

And though I may look like a solitary rebel perched on a cliff, I am never alone.

Even here, I live in community.

Look closely and you’ll see the ones who keep me company: sun loving lichens painting my branches in pale greens and golds; tiny insects sheltering in the folds of my bark; mycorrhizal fungi threading through the soil beneath me, sharing nutrients between my roots and others. You may think I grow in isolation, but I am stitched into the island by a thousand quiet partnerships.

My blossoms feed native bees in early spring when nectar is scarce. Hoverflies, hummingbirds, and early butterflies visit me too, grateful for sweetness after winter’s long pause. In autumn, my red berries brighten the bluffs and nourish thrushes, towhees, waxwings, and band tailed pigeons. My twisting branches cradle nests. My roots hold the bluffs together, keeping the island from slipping into the sea.

I am a reminder that communities are strongest when they embrace diversity and difference and when each being offers what it can, in its own way, at its own time.

For generations, Indigenous peoples have known me as a tree of medicine and meaning. My leaves brewed into teas to ease colds and stomach ailments. My bark used to cleanse and heal. My wood carved into tools and ceremonial items. I have always been part of a larger story, one of reciprocity, respect, and relationship.

And you, too, are part of that story.

You live in a Coastal Douglas fir protected area, a place where every act of care ripples outward. When you plant ocean spray, snowberry, or salal beneath my branches, you strengthen the whole bluff. When you protect shoreline habitat or simply pause to notice the copper glow of my skin against winter skies, you honour the community I belong to–roots, wings, tides, and all.

So I continue to speak –wry, warm, and wise –not in words, but in the curl of my bark, in the shimmer of evergreen leaves, in the resilience of roots holding fast to stone. My voice joins the chorus of SḴŦAḴ | Mayne Island’s forest, reminding you that strength and vulnerability are companions, and that beauty often grows in the places shaped by wind.

Come stand with me on the edge.

Let the wind peel away what you no longer need.

Remember that resilience is a communal act.

Next Month’s Voice in the Forest

As my berries fade, listen for my kin, the Western Red Cedar. With fragrant wood and a spirit of deep wisdom, Cedar will share its story in the next issue of the Oystercatcher.