A Forest Engineer at the Gerbang Barito REDD+ Project
- Wildlife Works
- 6 days ago
- 3 min read
By: A Nest Builder in the Canopy
I do not carry a blueprint, nor rulers, levels, and measuring tapes. But each day, as the sun climbs above the peat-swamp mist, I begin my construction efforts again.
I scan the canopy, searching for the right tree — not too young, not too brittle. My eyes know what your books may never teach: which branch will bend without breaking, which fork holds me steady in the wind, which crown keeps the rain off my child’s face.
Some call it instinct. I call it memory.
From my mother, I learned the art of angles. From the wind, I learned resilience. From the cries of hornbills above and the rustle of leaves below, I learned when to weave tighter and when to sleep light.
Tonight, I’ll build my home from branches and leaves, a cradle woven with quiet calculations. I’ll choose a place not too high to be exposed to the elements, not too low to be caught off guard by hungry predators. I’ll craft a platform with a view, a shelter from rain, and a nest that tells other creatures: this space is mine.
I do this not once in a lifetime, but almost every day.
Some of us, such as the dominant males who rest early and rise before the mist lifts, build low, strong, and wide. Their nests support the weight of their power. Woven between two trees, in what you call Position 4, they hold like a hammock strung by giants. We trust them to carry us through the night.
The young ones who need protection build higher, in the densest folds of leaves. You won’t see their nests unless you know where to look. They choose Position 3, at the tip of a single branch, hidden like a whisper. There, among the shadows, they learn to watch and wait.
And the mothers — ah, the mothers. Their nests float in the upper canopy, Position 2, between 15 and 18 meters high. Not too close to the sky, not too near the ground. These are nests of patience. Cradles for infants. Playgrounds for toddlers who tumble and cling, learning balance before language. These nests are made of strength wrapped in tenderness.
Each position tells a story.
You may think we all build the same way. But we don’t. Every nest is a decision about risk, comfort, protection, and peace. You’d be surprised how much thought lives in the hands of a quiet builder.
But even the best engineers need space.
Lately, the trees are fewer. The tall ones: the Shorea, the Dipterocarpus, the old friends we’ve trusted for generations, they fall, or vanish. Sometimes with a roar, sometimes in silence. The canopy no longer stretches unbroken. Gaps appear like missing teeth in a smile. And with each missing tree, a thousand decisions become harder to make.
We are not only losing shelter. We are losing options.
I have climbed trees whose bark burned my hands, whose roots sat dry and cracked. I have built in forests where the only branches left were too thin for the weight of memory. I have slept beneath the sound of machines — not cicadas or owls, but engines — carving paths where none were asked for.
Still, I build.
Even when the branches snap, I try again. Even when my child’s nest sways too much in the wind, I adjust. But I worry. I wonder if she will have enough trees to choose from when she grows old enough to build her own.
I am an engineer, yes. But even engineers cannot build where there is nothing left.
So I speak to you, not as a curiosity in your textbooks, not as a subject of your surveys, but as a fellow being. A builder. A thinker. A parent. An architect of the canopy.
If you see my nest, know that it is not just a bundle of leaves. It is proof that life still dares to continue here. That thought, skill, and memory live among the trees. That the forest is not empty.
Protect the trees, and you protect our the ability to build, to rest, to raise our young in peace. Let there be branches strong enough for the next generation to trust. Let there be forests quiet enough to hear our young laugh in the leaves.
You have your cities. We have our nests. May they both stand.
Camera Trap Image of an orangutan at the Gerbang Barito REDD+ Project
