Tradition that Cares for the Land

Figure: Tumpek Uduh or Tumpek Wariga in Bali, Indonesia

Communities around the world have developed rituals to directly address the land to remind people that soil, forests, mountains, and waters are not inanimate resources but rather living partners. Such rituals come in different shapes, languages, and beliefs, but they all have a deeper reality of one: that land cannot be utilized without acknowledgment, appreciation, and moderation. The knowledge of such practices can assist us in knowing how traditional societies created a system of ecological protection even before the terms land restoration" and "environmental management" were even coined. 

In the Andes of Peru, Bolivia, and northern Argentina, the most important land ritual is the Pago a la Pachamama, the "payment to Mother Earth." Every August, especially on the first day of the month, families gather to feed the earth with the same foods they themselves eat. In so doing, they dig a small hole and make an offering of cooked potatoes, grains, alcohol, coca leaves, sweets, and sometimes small symbolic animal sacrifices. The gifts are burned or buried so they return to the soil. This ritual reflects a simple moral idea: Pachamama has fed the people all year, so the people must give something back. According to the documentation of the festival, the offerings made on 1 August thank and ask for protection and abundance across the seasons. This is a practice that builds a culture where land is seen as a giver whose fertility cannot be taken for granted. In framing agriculture as a relationship rather than extraction, the ritual supports a worldview that discourages overuse of the soil, unhealthy expansion of cropping, and disrespectful treatment of water sources. Even today, Indigenous movements in the Andes use Pachamama language to defend wetlands, mountains, and rivers against destructive mining or infrastructure. The ritual here becomes an ethical argument for the limits of human activity. 

But a different yet meaningful approach can be found in Japan, where many construction projects begin with jichinsai-a Shinto earth-pacifying ceremony. Before anything rises, a priest sets up a sacred space called himorogi, decorated with evergreen branches. Offerings of rice, salt, sake, fish, and vegetables are placed on an altar. The priest purifies the space and invokes the local land deity to give permission for the ground to be disturbed. The formal request to the spirit of the land slows the moment of development. It reminds owners, workers, and architects that the land holds a presence and history that needs to be acknowledged. Various accounts describe the ceremony as one of requesting protection and harmony with the local earth spirit-a cultural pause before the practical work commences. While jichinsai does nothing directly to restore ecosystems, it preserves an attitude of humility. That humility prods people to think more carefully about how to build, where to cut, and how to reduce damage, which is a foundation for more sustainable development. 

On the island of Bali, the land is cared for through a ritual called Tumpek Uduh or Tumpek Wariga, a holy day dedicated to plants. Every 210 days, families make offerings of flowers, rice cakes, and symbolic gifts to trees and crops in home gardens and farms. The festival is connected to the Balinese philosophy of Tri Hita Karana—harmony between the divine, humans, and nature. In cultural accounts, people adorn trees with small woven offerings, utter prayers, and plead for future fertility. Not only is this a spiritual ceremony, but it also reinforces the protection of vegetation. A tree that receives offerings is not so easily cut down. In many villages and schools, Tumpek Uduh has become a time for planting trees and teaching environmental lessons and the shared care of green spaces. Through treating plants as spirits with value, the ritual encourages long-term stewardship of land health. 

In Aotearoa New Zealand, Māori traditions also weave spiritual responsibility into everyday land care. Two practices are especially important: karakia and rāhui. Karakia are ritual prayers spoken when entering a forest, beginning a restoration project, planting, fishing, or conducting earthworks. They acknowledge the mauri—the life force—present in every place. Rāhui, on the other hand, is a temporary restriction over a forest, beach, fishing ground, or river. Sources explain that rāhui is applied after a death, accident, or signs of ecological stress. It forbids extraction from that area so the environment can heal. These customary restrictions often map closely onto what we would today call conservation zones. They create periods of rest for ecosystems and build community support for responsible harvesting. Modern environmental projects in New Zealand often start with the karakia of local iwi (or tribal groups), combining spiritual respect with scientific monitoring. In this way, Māori rituals remain active tools for balancing use and protection. 

In West Africa, the relationship between land and people is anchored by earth shrines among communities such as the Konkomba of northern Ghana and the Dagara of Burkina Faso. These sacred places—which the Konkomba call litingbaln—may be stones, mounds, trees, or small groves cared for by an earth priest. Anthropological studies describe how people visit the shrine to ask permission before clearing new fields, to resolve land disputes, or to request protection and good harvests. The shrine represents the spirit of the land itself, and harming the shrine or its surrounding grove is unthinkable. These sacred sites function like pockets of conservation. They protect old trees, hold soil in place, and maintain biodiversity. The need to ritually "negotiate" with the earth before expanding farmland limits reckless land grabbing and favors responsible use. 

Despite different languages and cosmologies, these rituals share striking patterns. All treat land as a living presence worthy of respect. All require some form of permission or offering before making major changes in the landscape. All build social rules—some strict, some symbolic—that slow down harmful actions and give lands time to breathe. Ritual acts like feeding Pachamama, blessing construction sites, honoring trees, laying rāhui, or tending earth shrines work because they keep memory alive. They remind communities that survival depends on the well-being of the land. Modern restoration science tells us about erosion control, reforestation, and biodiversity, but these older practices add something equally important: a culture of reciprocity. These practices show us how to respect the land and care for the land we live on.