Rooted Together

What Sequoia Trees Teach Us About Building Strong Communities

In an era marked by individualism, division, and digital disconnection, the ancient sequoia tree offers a quietly powerful lesson about what it means to belong to one another. These majestic giants, some soaring over 300 feet into the sky and living more than 3,000 years, have endured everything from wildfires to harsh winters. But what truly allows sequoias to stand the test of time isn’t just their size—it’s how they stand together.

Despite their incredible height, sequoias have surprisingly shallow root systems—often only five to ten feet deep. On their own, such roots wouldn’t support a tree of that magnitude. But sequoias survive and thrive by intertwining their roots with those of neighboring trees.

Underground, they are literally holding one another up. This quiet, invisible cooperation is not just fascinating botany—it’s a profound metaphor for how human communities might better live, work, and grow.

Today, we are often taught to prize independence above all else. Success is framed as a solo endeavor. Strength is often mistaken for self-sufficiency. But in this pursuit of standing tall alone, we risk becoming untethered—isolated from the very support that allows individuals and societies to flourish. Like a lone sequoia in a windstorm, we are vulnerable when we go it alone.

What the sequoias show us is that interconnectedness is not weakness. It is a survival strategy.

A community, much like a grove of sequoias, gains its strength not from the might of one individual but from the network of relationships that hold everyone up. In a time when loneliness has reached epidemic levels and trust in our institutions and each other is fraying, the sequoia model of interdependence is not just poetic—it’s urgent.

Beyond their root systems, sequoias offer other lessons in collective resilience. For example, they do not thrive in isolation. Sequoias grow in groves, where each tree benefits from the proximity of others—shared shade, moisture, and protection from the elements. Just like people, sequoias need community to thrive.

But perhaps the most counterintuitive and inspiring lesson comes from how sequoias respond to hardship. These trees rely on fire to regenerate. The intense heat of wildfire opens their cones and allows seeds to be released. Fire also clears the forest floor, making room for new growth and reducing competition. To the untrained eye, fire may seem destructive. But in the sequoia ecosystem, fire is part of the cycle of renewal.

Communities, too, face their own kinds of fire—crises, disagreements, and growing pains. These moments can feel painful and chaotic. But just as in a sequoia grove, these fires can also be transformative. When approached with care and purpose, challenges can become catalysts for regeneration—clearing away what no longer serves us and making space for something better.

A healthy community doesn’t avoid conflict; it uses it to grow stronger.

There’s also a lesson in the demeanor of the trees themselves. Despite their size, sequoias are not aggressive. They grow slowly, steadily, and quietly. They do not dominate the landscape but contribute to a balanced ecosystem, where their towering presence offers shelter and stability to countless other life forms. In this, they model a kind of leadership that our world sorely needs—one rooted in humility, patience, and care for the whole.

In a world that rewards spectacle and speed, the sequoia reminds us to value the slow work of nurturing community. Relationships don’t go viral. Trust doesn’t appear overnight. But like the centuries-old sequoias, the most enduring and meaningful human bonds are built gradually, through years of small acts of care and mutual support.

As we navigate an increasingly fractured social and political landscape, we might ask ourselves: Are we trying to grow like isolated trees, competing for sunlight and space? Or are we cultivating groves—places where people are rooted together, supporting one another beneath the surface?

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the scale of the problems we face—climate change, inequality, polarization. But the sequoia reminds us that lasting change often begins in quiet, local acts of connection. A shared meal. A neighborhood project. A conversation across lines of difference.

These are the roots that hold up something larger than ourselves.

We will not withstand the storms of our time by standing alone. But together—rooted in each other—we just might.

Daniel Franklin