Encroaching Tree Growth and MTA Marketing Measurements for Meadows

Approaching life through curiosity (as opposed to thinking I know it all) has led to more productive conversations, interactions, and a more wonderous attitude toward life.

However, cultivating that curiosity is a skill. For so long, I’ve used the opposite mechanism to survive in social settings where I’ve otherwise felt out of place. Nodding along, pretending to know what someone is talking about so that they don’t judge me…

Because of this, I’ve found that I’ve had to train myself to relearn curiosity.

So, as we walked through the hills of Mount Shasta and Wyoming, I was happy that my mom was there with me. She has never been ashamed about not knowing something and spoke out loud as we exited a thicket of trees, entering into one of the forest meadows.

“What is a meadow?” She asked, the hiking boots I bought her walking down the path past wildflowers, “why don’t trees grow here?”

It was a question I’d never thought to ask, but now that it was out there, floating in the air fresh and delicious to sip as we moved, I had to know.

Ephemeral meadows that form through succession

According to the USDA, we used to think that all meadows were formed through—and followed the path of— something called “succession.” This refers to the process of glaciers creating basin-like areas which then became lakes that would eventually be filled with sediment, becoming a meadow, before turning into a forest.

Succession means that meadows are temporary and ephemeral. At some point (even if that’s in the distant future) they will become forests.

Though this is the case for some meadows, we now know that not all meadows follow this path. Some exist in areas that weren’t carved by glaciers but are instead flat plains surrounded by steep topography that drains snowmelt and rain into waterways.

Despite understanding what meadows were and one method for how they were formed, I still had no answer for why trees did not grow in these areas

I couldn’t seem to find one straightforward answer to the question, with Reddit threads populating as top search results and the AI-generated answer contradicting what I’d read elsewhere.

What I finally discovered were two separate articles:

• First was an article about trees vs shrubs growing above treelines, and what commonly stops both from growing (and where).

• Second was as well as an article that highlighted the concern scientists have over encroaching trees (the exact opposite of the characteristic of meadows I was looking to find answers for).

From these two articles, I concluded that temperature has a lot to do with stopping trees (and all woody plants) from growing. Trees take longer to mature, and cannot withstand the coldest of temperatures.

Though this was not explicitly stated, it seems that meadows (formed by glaciers or serving as pathways for snow melt) are too cold for too long for trees to grow.

This, however, is changing. With climate change and rising temperatures, trees are encroaching on the Sierra Nevada’s meadows.

Why does forest encroachment on meadows matter?

Meadows are more than just beautiful patches of wildflowers for us to enjoy with our sense of sight.

These patches of land serve to protect us with their grassy paths and brightly colored flowers.

They are sponges, serving as rain gardens do to capture rainfall to avoid flooding into human communities. Meadows are also a big part of filtering water. Yosemite’s meadows play an important part in doing so for our San Francisco water supply.

These are both direct-to-human reasons to care about meadow health.

If I were to take a marketing measurement approach, there are even more reasons to care. Using a multi-touch attribution model (aka thinking beyond the direct effect something has on us and giving attribution to every variable that will end up resulting in an impact down the line), the loss of biodiversity that comes with the loss of meadows trickles down to our own well-being.

Without the insects that thrive in these meadows, the fish have less food. Loss of fish will result in a loss of forest and other animals which then results in a greater loss in our own food ecosystem.

Lessons from Meadow

Thinking about these open fields, laden with wildflowers, there is so much to learn.

Diversity makes the whole stronger - Trees cannot survive in meadows while grasses with their long roots and faster growth rates thrive in these conditions. These grasses and wildflowers cannot survive beneath the blocked light of the forest.

This diversity benefits us rather than hurts us. It means these two environments can offer us something unique, the whole (with the added benefits of the two working together) greater than the sum of its parts.

Trees offer us so many things from clean air to wood for homes and fires and paper to homes for animals. Meadows prevent floods, filter water, provide additional nutrients for the animals who live in the trees, create an environment where pollinators can buzz and insects can hatch which feed fish which in turn feed the animals and the forests.

I think this is a good way to look at our own beliefs and backgrounds as well. I often felt out of place because I was different. I had odd quirks and strange thoughts and was raised with parents who had different beliefs from the parents I met when I visited friends’ houses.

Now, with meadow in mind, I think perhaps the differences in our makeup can be beneficial. We each bring our unique perspectives to the table, and as long as we come with minds open and hearts set on helping rather than hurting, these variances can create a bigger, better whole.

We should respect this phase, and every phase, of our lives

When I think of meadows formed through the process of “succession” I can’t help but ponder the ephemeral nature of these places. Though different, each phase was as important as the last: the melting, the filling, the opening, and the filling once more (with trees instead of water this time).

They are constantly changing but the change does not happen quickly (at least, it shouldn’t naturally). It is slow, takes its time, allowing the meadow to exist in each of its forms so that it can offer something different to the environment during that time.

We are constantly changing as well. What I offered the world in my youth is different from what I can offer now. I am nearly mid-life and I feel so lost so much of the time.

Rather than fight against this, why not embrace it for what it is?

Perhaps this phase, this in-between part of life when my heart is still young heart but my body is slowing and my mind teeters with knowledge that refrains from the radicalness of youth, is one of discovery. Perhaps the discomfort I feel is a push toward something. Rather than hide from it, can I wear it as meadow, a moment in my existence where I am holding the water for others, filtering it and making it better?