What does being part of the ReLeaf community mean to you?
In response to this profound question, we've put together a collection that celebrates our shared journey toward a greener Austin over the last 20 years. This catalog commemorates the breadth of ReLeaf's initiatives—from urban vertical gardens and eco-conscious architecture to the creation of public green spaces. It also highlights our continued efforts in advocacy and education.
Through an open call in 2043, we invited submissions from contributors across Austin and beyond, to honor the 20th anniversary of the ReLeaf community. Members shared their personal transformation stories—turning barren spaces into thriving ecosystems, designing sustainable green architecture, hosting community gardening events, and organizing permaculture workshops.
This comprehensive catalog includes powerful before-and-after photos, architectural blueprints, snapshots from community events, and heartwarming stories. We also feature our ‘ReLeaf Diaries,’ where contributors reflect on their experiences in making their local environments greener.
In the past two decades, ReLeaf has been at the forefront of a green revolution in Austin, reshaping not only the physical landscape but also how we view and interact with urban spaces. None of this would have been possible without the passion and dedication of our community members.
So, here’s to 20 years of ReLeaf—every green wall, rooftop garden, every seed planted, and every tree grown. Most of all, here’s to you—the visionaries who believed in a greener Austin and made it a reality.
As we turn the pages of this catalog, we not only celebrate what we’ve achieved but also look forward to the growth of our urban green oasis. The future is lush, vibrant, and it begins with us—right here in Austin, with ReLeaf.
🚮 W.A.S.T.E.: Words Assisting Sustainable Transformation & Ecology
| Term | Definition |
|---|---|
| Code Rain | The digital mist that falls when the network synchronizes. It leaves nothing on your sleeve, and your shoulders come down anyway. |
| Ephemeral Art | Made to be gone: a ring of leaves on the creek, a wall of cardboard cubes that will not see the winter. Andy Goldsworthy’s trade, and the city’s for an afternoon. |
| Future Austin | Austin, a few decades on: the same creek, the same bridge at dusk, a few more vines than the zoning allows. Everything here happens to people who are trying, and are not always right. |
| Grackleclock | The grackles go down to the creek at first light and an hour before dusk, and come back oldest first. Set your day by it. The one with half a tail always takes the top. |
| Library of Renewal | A back room at the bookstore where a woman slides you a sheet of paper and the words rise on their own. You are meant to add to it. |
| Mintstep | The clean snap of scent released by the mint between the pavers along the creek. It signals steady footing and readiness to help. Press it with your heel and the air goes clean. |
| Mutation Ethic | A copy that comes out different is not a mistake. It is the next generation, each mutation another leaf on the same branch. Teo knows his own cubes by how he folds the corners, and there are cubes at the top of the wall that nobody he knows folded. |
| Organic Media and Fiction | Stories and songs made to be copied by hand, repaired, and let go. Each one is tied to a planter, a wall or a bench somewhere in the city. |
| Pressed-leaf Order | A court paper folded once and carried in a back pocket until it stops being a verdict and becomes something else. You can press it between pages. Nothing in it changes. You do. |
| Railbloom | The light rail with the living walls on its flanks. It passes overhead and the shade structures adjust for the late afternoon, and neighbors greet one another without looking up. |
| ReLeaf | The cooperative that keeps the gardens, the stories and the van. Nora Sanchez started it, and whoever tends it owns a share. The name is a leaf turned over. |
| Ringweather | The shift in the air when a block’s giving outweighs its taking. Windows feel easier to open. Strangers talk like neighbors. |
| Seeded Silence | The quiet in the kitchen after somebody asks whether love is attention or appetite. Nobody answers, the Oracle hums louder, and the silence rises like bread with seeds in it. |
| Shoal Creek | At the Seaholm Intake the creek runs both ways for a breath, a light on the rail comes on when the current flips, and people leave rested and clear, as if a long afternoon had just ended. Come without hurry. A tin plaque on a boulder downstream says LISTEN HERE, and the metal under it is polished by hands. |
| Trust Current | A mild tingling behind the eyes when people witness a verified act of generosity. Neurologists call it a mirror-empathy response; poets call it the return of faith. It makes memory slippery. |
| Urban Greening | The quiet reclamation of concrete by leaf and root. They pull up the parking lots one by one, and the bridges start to breathe. |
| Verducity | A city that grows the way a forest does: from the bottom, in layers, with the old growth holding up the new. Walk far enough and you stop being able to say where the buildings end. |