To cherish what remains of the Earth and to foster its renewal is

“To cherish what remains of the Earth and to foster its renewal is our only legitimate hope of survival.” — Wendell Berry

Thus spoke Wendell Berry, the farmer-poet and guardian of the land, whose words flow like the rivers he seeks to protect. In this sacred utterance lies a truth both ancient and urgent: that the Earth is not ours to conquer, but ours to cherish; that survival is not born from dominion, but from stewardship. His voice rises as a lament and a warning — for he saw that humankind, in its hunger for progress, had forgotten its covenant with creation. To cherish what remains of the Earth, he says, is not an act of sentiment but of salvation.

In every age, those who forget their roots perish. The Earth has fed us, clothed us, and given us breath, yet we have returned her gifts with scars — forests burned, oceans poisoned, skies blackened with greed. Berry’s words are a call to repentance, but also to hope. For though much has been lost, not all is gone. The soil still yields if tended; the rivers still sing if freed; the wild still returns when given room to breathe. To foster renewal is to join the eternal rhythm of life — to become again the caretakers we were meant to be.

Long before Berry walked the fields of Kentucky, the ancient peoples of every land understood this bond. The Egyptians offered hymns to the Nile, the Greeks honored Demeter, the Native tribes of the Americas gave thanks before every hunt. They knew that the Earth was not a thing, but a being — the great mother of all life. When they took, they gave back; when they sowed, they prayed. But in the age of machines and money, we forgot the sacred balance. We plowed without gratitude, built without restraint, consumed without end. The soil weakened, and so did we.

Let us remember the tale of the Dust Bowl in the 1930s — when the great plains of America, once lush and fertile, turned to deserts of dust. Farmers, driven by hunger and haste, tore up the grasslands that had anchored the soil for centuries. The winds rose, and the land turned against its children. Crops failed, families fled, and the nation learned a bitter truth: when we break faith with the Earth, the Earth answers not with rage, but with silence. Yet from that ruin rose a movement of renewal — new farming methods, replanting, soil care, and the return of respect for the land. This is what Berry means by “fostering renewal.” Despair can become rebirth — but only through humility and care.

To cherish means more than to preserve; it means to love actively, to nurture. It is the tending of a garden, not merely its defense from harm. It is planting trees whose shade we may never sit beneath, restoring rivers we may never fish, teaching children to love what they cannot yet understand. This is the labor of the faithful — those who see the future not as inheritance, but as a trust. Hope of survival lies not in technology or conquest, but in the simple acts of reverence: planting, protecting, and living lightly upon the land.

Berry’s wisdom is both practical and spiritual. He reminds us that renewal is not a miracle bestowed upon us — it is a duty, an act of daily devotion. Each seed sown in care, each piece of waste reduced, each act of preservation is a prayer — a small defiance against despair. Just as the farmer kneels to plant, we must kneel in humility before the Earth, asking not what she can give, but what we can give back.

So, children of tomorrow, learn this truth and let it take root in your hearts: The Earth does not need us to survive — we need her. To cherish her is to cherish ourselves; to renew her is to renew our souls. Walk gently upon the soil. Listen to the wind as it whispers of what remains. And when you act — whether in the garden, in the city, or in the halls of power — let your choices honor life, not destroy it.

For in the end, Wendell Berry’s words ring as both prophecy and promise: that if we cherish what remains of the Earth and foster its renewal, we shall not merely survive — we shall belong once more to the great, breathing miracle from which we came.