Ancient clam gardens offer a path to ecological restoration

For millennia, Indigenous communities across the Pacific Northwest cultivated thriving ecosystems within the intertidal zone – clam gardens, meticulously engineered beaches that boosted clam populations and biodiversity. Now, a surprising convergence of Western science and traditional ecological knowledge is breathing new life into these ancient practices, offering a model for coastal restoration and a powerful assertion of cultural sovereignty.

Reclaiming heritage, reclaiming the coast

Marco Hatch, a marine ecologist at Western Washington University and a member of the Samish Indian Nation, succinctly describes his role: “I’m a glorified clam counter.” But his work is far more significant. Hatch collaborates with seven Indigenous communities, meticulously surveying mollusk populations within and around these rock-walled, terraced beaches—structures painstakingly built and maintained by their ancestors. The data he gathers isn’t just scientific; it's instrumental in securing vital local, state, and federal permits, allowing these nations to safeguard and revitalize their heritage and achieve greater food sovereignty.

Mining activities in this region left a legacy of environmental degradation. Yet, through the dedication of Indigenous communities and the growing recognition of traditional knowledge, a remarkable transformation is underway. Kyle Whyte, an environmental justice professor at the University of Michigan, observes a “massive shift” in the scientific community, as Western researchers increasingly acknowledge the viability of Indigenous practices—a stark contrast to historical classifications of Native thought as mere myth or religion.

A long-overdue braiding of knowledge

The shift represents a long-overdue “braiding” of Native and Western knowledge systems. Figures like Vine Deloria Jr. have long highlighted the sophistication of Native environmental practices, and scholars like Oscar Kawagley have articulated “native ways of knowing.” Increasingly, Indigenous individuals are entering academia, reshaping research landscapes from within, and tribal nations are establishing their own scientific divisions. Even institutions like the Brooklyn Botanic Garden are incorporating Lenape names and uses for native plants, signaling a broader commitment to cultural restoration.

The clam gardens themselves, dating back at least 4,000 years, stand as a testament to this ecological ingenuity. These terraced structures, stretching from Washington state to coastal British Columbia and southeastern Alaska, fostered a rich ecosystem, providing not just butter clams (harvested in vast quantities, smoked, dried, and traded), but also red rock crab, basket cockles, sea cucumbers, limpets, sea snails, and seaweed—a vital food source for both humans and marine mammals.

Beyond harvest: ecosystem resilience

The benefits extend beyond food provision. Clam gardens alter sediment movement, mitigating shoreline erosion, and studies consistently show heightened clam productivity and populations within these cultivated zones. The loss of access to these beaches due to colonization—privatization of land and forced boarding school confinements—disrupted the transmission of this “sleeping” knowledge. Hatch’s work facilitates reconnection, sparking memories and stories among elders and sharing them with a new generation.

While Western science traditionally compartmentalizes disciplines like ecology, biology, and archaeology, Indigenous knowledge emphasizes the interconnectedness of all living things—earth, water, air, plants, and animals. As Kisha Supernant, director of the University of Alberta’s Institute of Prairie and Indigenous Archaeology, explains, “To understand one is to understand all.” This holistic perspective offers crucial insights for Western scientific inquiry.

The burden of proof

However, the necessity of “proving” the validity of longstanding Indigenous practices remains a source of frustration. Suzanne Greenlaw, an ecologist at the Schoodic Institute, recounts a 2016 study aimed at understanding sweet grass regrowth—a key component of Wabanaki basketry. Despite centuries of tradition, the Wabanaki have been restricted from harvesting sweet grass from Acadia National Park. The study highlighted the Wabanaki’s superior understanding of sustainable harvesting practices, demonstrating a profound ecological wisdom that transcends Western assessment methods.

The path forward necessitates Indigenous leadership and control over knowledge dissemination, safeguarding against historical exploitation. As Greenlaw emphasizes, “Western science can help, as long as Native people are still decision makers.” Currently, efforts are underway to restore freshwater marshlands in Acadia, guided by Wabanaki knowledge, utilizing pollen analysis to identify historically significant plant species.

The potential extends far beyond Acadia. Researchers at Simon Fraser University have documented how Indigenous forest garden management enhances biodiversity and improves forest health. Whyte’s work with the Sault Ste Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians demonstrates the power of prescribed burns—a practice suppressed by the federal government in 1911—to boost populations of vital game species. “Often, what Indigenous people have known for generations yields a simple result that requires millions of dollars in Western research to confirm,