This is the second letter in Borrowed Ground: BC Nature Letters, a summer digital storytelling series under TalkClimateAfrica Spotlight, exploring nature and conservation in British Columbia.

When people hear the words “old-growth forest,” it is easy to picture only very big trees. Tall trunks. Wide canopies. Moss-covered branches. A forest that looks ancient, quiet, and impressive. That picture is not wrong, but it is incomplete.

Old growth is not just old trees. I would define it as a living system that has taken generations to form. It is a forest shaped by time, climate, soil, water, decay, wildlife, fungi, fire, wind, and renewal. It is not simply a collection of large trees standing together. It is a whole community of life, built slowly and held together by relationships that are not always visible from the road.

In British Columbia, old-growth forests are often discussed through numbers, maps, policies, deferrals, and harvest plans. Those details are important, but they can also make the issue meaningless in people’s daily lives. When a forest is reduced to hectares, cubic metres, age classes, or timber supply, it becomes easy to forget that an old forest is also habitat, memory, water protection, carbon storage, cultural connection, and home.

As someone who studied forestry and continues to work around sustainability communication, I have learned that forests are not only measured by what can be taken from them. They must also be understood by what they hold.

The Province of British Columbia generally defines old-growth forests by age: more than 250 years old on the coast, and more than 140 years old in the Interior, depending on forest type. That means some old-growth forests are older than several human lifetimes. The province also notes that old forests are not easily replaced. It can take at least two to three human lifespans for an old-growth forest to grow back, and even longer for an ancient forest to develop.

That fact should make us pause and think, because when an old-growth forest is lost, it is not something that can simply be replaced by planting new trees. Replanting is important, but a young plantation is not the same as an old forest. A planted stand may grow trees, but it cannot immediately recreate centuries of structure, dead wood, canopy layers, soil relationships, wildlife habitat, fungi networks, moisture patterns, cultural values, and ecological memory.

A forest is not only alive when the trees are green. It is alive in the fallen logs that hold moisture and become nurse logs for new seedlings. It is alive in the standing dead trees that provide nesting and feeding spaces for birds and insects. It is alive in the mosses, lichens, fungi, roots, streams, and shaded soil. It is alive in the species that depend on the forest being old, complex, and connected.

Old-growth forests support biodiversity by providing habitat for a wide range of plant and animal species. They also help store carbon and regulate water. Beyond their ecological role, many old-growth forests carry cultural and spiritual importance, especially for First Nations whose relationships with these lands go far beyond modern forest policy.

So when British Columbia talks about old growth, the conversation is not only about trees. It is about the kind of forest future the province is choosing.

In 2020, British Columbia released A New Future for Old Forests, an independent strategic review of old-growth forest management. The review made 14 recommendations and called for a major shift in how old forests are managed. The province has said it is working to implement those recommendations, including changes around forest stewardship, biodiversity, planning, and long-term management.

Since November 2021, the Province of British Columbia has reported that approximately 2.4 million hectares of old growth have been deferred or protected through coordination among First Nations and forest companies. The province also says this is in addition to nearly 3.7 million hectares that were already protected. These numbers show that action is taking place, but they also show how large and complex the issue remains.

One important point often gets lost in public conversation: deferral is not the same as permanent protection. A deferral can pause harvesting while decisions are being made, but long-term conservation requires clear planning, stable protection measures, Indigenous leadership, and public accountability. Without that clarity, people may hear the word “deferred” and assume the forest is fully protected, when the reality can be more complicated.

Organizations such as Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society – British Columbia (CPAWS-BC) have also raised concerns about whether all areas counted as conserved or protected are actually providing strong protection for old forests. CPAWS-BC reported that less than one third of legal Old Growth Management Areas in BC are composed of old forests by area, and that some of these areas overlap with active forestry cutblocks. Whether one approaches this from policy, ecology, or public trust, the message is clear: what counts as protection needs to be understood carefully.

Language matters in this conversation. When the public hears that land is “protected,” many people assume the ecosystem is safe from industrial disturbance. When people hear that old growth is “managed,” they may assume the most at-risk forests are being kept intact. When people hear that trees will be replanted, they may assume the forest will simply return.

But conservation is rarely that simple.

If people do not understand the difference between old growth, second growth, deferral, protection, restoration, and management, it becomes harder for them to follow the conversation or ask informed questions. People do not need to become forest scientists to care about old growth, but they should be able to understand the basics. They should know that old forests take a very long time to form. They should know that old growth supports biodiversity and species habitat. They should know that old forests can store carbon and support water systems. They should know that many First Nations have deep cultural relationships with these forests. They should also know that planting trees does not immediately replace an old-growth ecosystem.

The old-growth conversation is also not simply a choice between the economy and the environment. Forestry matters in BC. Many people and communities are connected to forest work, and any serious conversation about forests must recognize that reality. But recognizing the importance of forestry does not remove the need to respect ecological limits, cultural values, community futures, and the responsibility to protect rare and at-risk ecosystems before they disappear. T

Old growth asks us to think beyond the present moment. It asks us to recognize that some parts of nature do not fit neatly into short political timelines, market cycles, or project approvals. Some forests carry time in ways that cannot be rushed. A tree that has stood for 250 years is not only a tree. It is a witness to seasons, storms, fires, wildlife, people, and change.

When such forests are gone, the loss is not only visual. It is structural. It is ecological. It is cultural. It is generational.

Old-growth forests should not be explained only through technical reports. They also need stories that help people understand what is at stake. When we say “old growth,” we are talking about forests that have held life across centuries. We are talking about places where fallen trees feed new trees. We are talking about habitats that some species cannot easily find elsewhere. We are talking about forests that help hold water, store carbon, cool landscapes, and support relationships between land, people, and future generations.

Old growth is not just old trees.

It is time made visible. It is biodiversity standing upright. It is memory rooted in the soil. It is a reminder that not everything valuable can be replaced quickly.

For me, this second letter is not written to make the old-growth conversation sound simple. It is written because the public deserves to understand it more clearly. If people are asked to care about conservation, they should also be given language that helps them know what they are caring about.

So the next time we hear about old-growth forests in British Columbia, I hope we ask better questions. How old is the forest being discussed? What species depend on it? Is it deferred, or is it permanently protected? Who is making the decision? How are First Nations involved? What happens to water, wildlife, carbon, and culture if this forest is lost? Are we treating old forests as living systems, or only as trees waiting to be counted?

Because old growth is not just old trees. It is one of the clearest tests of whether we understand protection as more than a word.

This article is part of Borrowed Ground: BC Nature Letters, a summer digital storytelling project on nature and conservation in British Columbia.

The project is shared through TalkClimateAfrica Spotlight and will continue as an ongoing space for simple, public-facing conservation writing.

Reflection question: When you hear the words “old-growth forest,” what comes to mind first: trees, habitat, culture, climate, or something else?