Send in the Gophers

How micro actions can have macro impact

On March 15, 1980, the ground in southwestern Washington State began to shift.  A series of small earthquakes rippled beneath Mount St. Helens, signaling the dormant volcano was waking from over a century of hibernation.

By March 27th, a new crater was formed near the peak as magma superheated the groundwater, ejecting rock from the old crater. Steam and ash vented out the surface, traveling over 150 miles to Oregon. Static electricity created by ash clouds tumbling down the mountainside generated lightning bolts. On the north side of the crater, a bulge grew at a rate of five feet per day. Two fractures split the peak, prompting close monitoring for signs of an eruption.

By early May, over 10,000 earthquakes had been recorded, and the rumblings persisted. Residents were ordered to evacuate, and the volcano was monitored daily. At 8:32 am: on May 18th, a 5.1 magnitude earthquake triggered a landslide and launched a violent eruption. Within minutes, surrounding towns and lakes to the north were obliterated by a debris avalanche, stretching 17 miles and averaging 150 feet thick.

Lava incinerated everything in its path, blanketing the landscape with porous pumice. Ash fell so thick that one observer remarked, “I now know what a spider must feel like in a vacuum cleaner dust bag.” Although it was midday, the sky turned dark as night.

When the ash and debris cooled, scientists surveyed the devastated area. The land had been stripped of life and nothing would grow. The few seeds dropped by birds struggled to break through the thick pumice to reach the soil. Barren and lifeless, the region prompted scientists to ask: how could they restore the ecosystem?

They hypothesized that breaking through the ash and debris to expose the soil beneath could bring bacteria and fungi to the surface, jumpstarting the ecosystem. But how could they dig through the pumice and scorched ground?

Two years after the explosion, they found their answer: gophers. While often seen as pests, gophers are excellent at digging and burrowing. A few were flown to two pumice plots at Mount St. Helens and placed in enclosures. Left to dig for a few hours, they tunneled into the soil beneath the pumice, bringing it to the surface.

The results were astonishing. Within weeks, vegetation began to grow. The area quickly rebounded and exploded with life. Six years later, more than 40,000 plants thrived in the areas where the gophers had dug, while untouched regions remained barren.

The long-term impact of those few hours of digging is still felt even 40 years later. A recently published paper in Frontiers of Microbiomes describes how dramatically the land has changed. The areas where gophers were introduced exhibit profound, lasting changes in the fungal and bacterial communities, while untouched areas remain desolate and without growth.

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Doubt is a sly intruder, creeping in at the most inconvenient moments—in the middle of the night before a big decision or when you’re working on something alone. She sidles up when you’re trying something new, facing setbacks, or struggling to see the impact of your efforts. Her favorite weapon? Comparison, often with things like social media.

You know those moments when you question why you’re doing something or whether it even matters? Doubt orchestrates those. I’ve had days when I feel like I’m whispering into a stadium where no one can hear me. Or when a single negative message someone goes out of their way to send drowns out a wave of positive feedback. Just when I think I’ve silenced doubt, she puts on the tango and takes me for a spin.

Doubt’s worst trait is that she can bring you to a standstill, unable to move forward or even gain clarity on what might be possible. The further removed you are from knowing the impact of your actions, the harder doubt is to overcome.  We want to know that our work and actions have value, yet we rarely see the full scope of their impact.

I keep coming back to the gophers. What seemed like a few hours of insignificant action revitalized entire plots of land and laid the foundation for decades of ecological transformation. We are the beneficiaries of decisions, kind gestures, and actions from those who came before us. This also means our actions and contributions plant seeds for others. They may lie dormant for years, but when the time is right, they’ll take root and grow.

Your seemingly small contributions can spark change, ignite hope, and create a legacy that lasts long after you’re gone. Keep going, even when it feels like no one is listening. Because someone always is—and the ripple effect of your actions is already unfolding in ways you might not yet understand.

A few years ago, I noticed ornaments gradually appearing on a tree in the park. There were no announcements or invitations—just a single ornament, then another and another. By late December the tree was fully decorated, a quiet but stunning display of community spirit. It was wonderful—like something out of a holiday movie. What began as a simple idea someone had one afternoon has grown into an annual tradition, bringing joy to countless others and inspiring people to add their own ornaments year after year.

Every action, no matter how small, has the potential to make a difference. Keep digging—you never know what seeds you’re planning or what will grow from them.