“Highest and best use” is the term that real estate appraisers and developers use to estimate the “reasonably probable and legal use of vacant land or an improved property that is physically possible, appropriately supported, and financially feasible and that results in the highest value.”
But what if we have the concept of “highest and best use” all wrong?
What is true value?
What if we gave true value to marshes and wetlands for their ability to absorb and withstand storm surges and king tides that inundate low-lying developed areas? What if we valued the role freshwater wetlands play in recharging our drinking water? What if we put a numerical value to the oyster beds that filter the sea water and prevent the oceans from acidifying? What if we put a real price on coastlines that serve as the cradle to the oceans, nurturing shrimp and other marine life that sustain us? What if we valued and honored the indigenous ways of living with the land and water rather than trying to constantly subdue and tame them to suit the latest scheme? What if reconnecting to the land not only healed a people but also rectified wrongs?
These questions roil beneath the surface of growth and development reporter Zoe Nicholson’s series on the twin threats of development and sea-level rise on Gullah Geechee people and culture. She draws on the expertise of rice and indigo farmer Maurice Bailey, a descendant of the West and Central Africans enslaved and brought to the Georgia coast more than 300 years ago. One of the few remaining residents of Hog Hammock on Sapelo Island, just 45 minutes south of Savannah, Bailey has been working with the University of Georgia to revive the Purple Ribbon sugar cane, Sea Island red peas and Sapelo oranges that were the bedrock of what we now call Southern food. He is rekindling indigo crops as well — all to create an economy to support his community and help families hold onto their properties.
Credit: Richard Burkhart/Savannah Morning News
Credit: Richard Burkhart/Savannah Morning News
Then, there is Queen Quet, Marquetta L. Goodwine, chieftess of the Gullah Geechee nation, who has been advocating worldwide for the recognition of her people. Instrumental in working with the U.S. Congress to establish the Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor in 2006, Goodwine has been signaling to all who would hear the detrimental effects of coastal development not only on her people but also on the environment. She speaks to the ways the Gullah and Geechee understand the land and the sea, and how they may have the keys to stewardship and resilience.
Traditional ecological knowledge
Indigenous management, academically referred to as Traditional Ecological Knowledge, has been employed throughout the northern and western regions of the U.S. as well as in other parts of the world where native lands are being restored back to indigenous peoples for wildlife and plant management. Water quality has improved as has the restoration of native flora and fauna, which has, in turn, minimized conflicts between ranchers and wildlife.
Something else has happened, too: economic opportunity and mobility, higher education attainment, and a reduction in substance abuse among the people working on the land.
Goodwine thinks the same result could occur here along the Southeastern coast if lands were restored back into the ownership of Gullah Geechee people, something that almost took shape during the Civil War with Field Order No. 15, legislation that was revoked during Reconstruction by Pres. Andrew Johnson. We are left to wonder, if Field Order No. 15 been implemented fully, would the conveyance of intergenerational wealth among African American families in the U.S. been writ differently?
Goodwine often shares the Gullah Geechee proverb “de wata bring we and de wata gwine tek we bak.”
I saw this proverb in action on Daufuskie Island several years ago. As I stared out at the Atlantic Ocean, to my right was a pristine shoreline, fished and crabbed by the Gullah who still live on the island. To my left, about a half mile up the beach, million-dollar homes were crumbling into the sea – battered by winds and tides because they were built right into a dune, which would have served as a natural windbreak had it been protected. Some hard lessons we must learn over again before they sink in so that we can become the highest and best versions of ourselves.
Amy Paige Condon is a content coach with Savannah Morning News. You can reach her at ACondon@gannett.com.
This article originally appeared on Savannah Morning News: What if reconnecting to the land not only healed a people but also rectified wrongs?
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