Rooted in Connection: A Conversation Between Rebecca McMackin and Basil Camu

The following transcript has been edited by Rachael Petersen for length and clarity. 

Rebecca McMackin: Hi, Basil, how are you?

Basil Camu: I'm doing great. Thanks for having me.

Rebecca: This is so exciting! It's rare to talk with people who understand the inherent dignity of trees and other organisms around us, but are also practitioners of a trade—people who weed and prune while seeing themselves as part of a broader community.

Your practice, from what I understand, is incredibly powerful and influential. You run a tree care company with more than 50 employees who are treated well, which is important. I'm curious—because I imagine you grew up, like me, in a culture that told us plants and animals were here for our use, and sometimes even people were seen as resources. Then, at some point, we have an awakening and realize that’s propaganda, and we’re members of these communities with important roles to play. Could you share what your perspective and practice were like before that realization, what brought it on, and how it shaped your work and relationships?

Basil: Those are great questions. It's interesting because I worked for over a decade with trees without really appreciating them. I remember going through a transformation where I developed a growing love for trees and other life. It began with soil, but the moment came when I realized, "Wow! These beings have been right here all this time." The awakening was humbling and purpose-filled. I feel more connected, but also sad about what’s been lost—things I can’t fully appreciate because they’re already gone.

Regarding my upbringing, I grew up in a particularly extreme sect of Christianity. The mindset was very "Garden of Eden": everything is here for human use. When we announced we were moving away from tree removals, I had support, but also pushback. One person even told me this wasn't my role—that Jesus would take care of the Earth. It reflects the mindset I grew up with: we don’t need to worry because it’s all under control.

Rebecca: That’s fascinating. For me, the big shift was moving from a sense of isolation and loneliness I felt as a kid to recognizing the organisms around me as friends. It’s like I’m always surrounded by friends. I can watch them and say, "Hey bluebird, hey tulip." Knowing about them makes life more fulfilling.

Basil: It’s really cool. I’m always surprised at how diverse ecosystems are. Though my observations are amateur at best, I sense that the more you see, the more richness and complexity there is. I’m convinced that we really don't even know the beginning of what we’re looking at. It’s so complex.

Rebecca: It’s wonderful to feel like a small part of a larger, complex system. Many gardeners have transitioned over the last twenty years from “maintaining land” to “managing land,” then to “stewarding land.” Now, I like to use the language of care. It’s a shift from being disconnected to seeing ourselves as helpful members of a community. Did you go through something similar?

Basil: It’s pretty shocking how much damage I did early in my career through traditional tree care practices. Even now, while we do good work, our operations have a carbon-heavy footprint. Reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall-Kimerer and visiting the Achuar community in Ecuador deepened my understanding. Their relationship with plants was emotional and community-based, not just intellectual. It was transformative to witness their knowledge and connection.

Rebecca: Yes, that book changed my life too. The idea of learning from plants instead of about them totally reframed my relationship to gardening. What are some of the most important things you’ve learned from trees?

Basil: Generosity. Trees give without expecting anything in return. They’re the only real consumers of sunlight, and they turn that into energy for everyone else. That’s what builds ecosystems. They teach me that a rising tide lifts all ships. But also, there are different lessons at different times. It depends when you ask.

Rebecca: That’s such a gift to share, especially since so many people are terrified of trees. My husband, who specializes in veteran tree care, often gets called in because people want their trees removed. What do you think that fear is really about?

Basil: There’s a philosophical layer to it. Hartmut Rosa wrote a book called The Uncontrollability of the World. He argues that fear comes from a need for control. And trees, especially old ones, defy that. They’re wild, unpredictable, and we don’t really understand them.

Then there’s culture. People repeat things like, “Old trees are dangerous,” when in fact they’ve survived more storms than any other trees. And unfortunately, our own industry fuels this fear—because fear sells. I’ve done it too, and I regret it.

Rebecca: I saw a centuries-old linden at Kew Gardens that had retrenched. Its suckers had grown into tree-sized stems. The original trunk had shrunk down. It looked like something out of a fairytale. I thought—how can we ask people to care for old trees when they’ve never even seen one? They can’t imagine it.

Basil: That’s the challenge. One way in is practical: saving time and money. That works for some. But the deeper work is about shifting values. We need a new model that doesn’t just account for profit, but for people and planet. That’s not going to come from economics alone. It’s going to come from deeper relationships with non-human life.

Rebecca: In some ways, we have to Trojan Horse it. “Pollinators are responsible for a third of your food”—that kind of framing. It feels disingenuous, but it can be a first step. Once people begin to care, it can lead to much more.

Basil: Agreed. And we should take a page from the fashion industry. They remake beauty every few years. Surely we can redesign the American lawn.

Rebecca: And beauty can carry ecological value. Botanical gardens now show off snags. Those of us in arboriculture are promoting deadwood. If we frame it as elegant, people might keep it around.

Basil: Totally. Put something in front of people long enough, they’ll begin to think it’s beautiful.

Rebecca: One of my favorite tree facts is xylem apoptosis—how a tree’s living cells organize and then die, becoming tubes that transport water. Its function is in being dead. Trees, like coral, are made of both living and dead matter. That might be part of what makes people uncomfortable.

Basil: I love that. To me, a dead tree begins its second life. Fungi pull nutrients into the wood. Beetles arrive. Birds move in. A whole ecosystem comes alive. It’s not dualism—it’s succession. Even when we die, we remain. Our carbon is here. I want mine to stay in the ecosystem, not locked in a box.

Rebecca: Trees are generative systems. They transform their environments. I think humans can be too. My friend Margaret Roach says her land is a tree graveyard. She keeps the wood after trees die because it's still part of the system.

Basil: Exactly. We don’t have to be destructive terraformers. We can be productive ones. Every organism has an impact. It’s just that most are beneficial. Humans could be too. That’s the vision I believe in.

Rebecca: At the Arnold Arboretum, there’s an old dead white pine I love. No bark, just swirling wood. It’s like a presence, a force. Turns out there’s a Finnish word for this: kelo tree—a snag that lives for decades or even centuries after death.

Basil: That’s a great example. And you described it beautifully. One way we help people fall in love with their trees is by pointing out what makes them unique—a swirl of bark, a scar, something unusual. We sometimes name trees for clients. That personal connection can change everything.

Rebecca: Absolutely. My husband noticed that at the botanic garden, the old, gnarled trees were always the most beloved. People love them. They’re curious. But somehow that doesn’t translate into private landscapes.

Basil: Maybe because we see our yards every day. We take them for granted. That’s why sharing our enthusiasm is so important. If I can find one special thing about a tree and share a story, I can help someone see it anew.

Rebecca: I love that. One last question. The times we’re living through are confusing and scary. The need for change is urgent. How do you garden through what sometimes feels like the apocalypse? How do you prioritize this work?

Basil: This work gives me hope. I’m lucky. I get to work with life every day. I see woods recover. I get to help people fall in love with their trees. Paul Hawken’s Drawdown lays out a path forward. My work is a small piece of that puzzle. But it matters. And it brings meaning. That’s what keeps me going. If you’re overwhelmed, start where you live. Plant something. Protect something. That’s the path.

Rebecca: Thank you so much, Basil. This was wonderful.

Basil: It really was. Thanks for the conversation.