Mexican carvers plant thousands of trees to save their craft

In San Martín Tilcajete, a small town in Oaxaca, Mexico, wooden figurines called alebrijes have been carved for generations. These intricate pieces—fantastical animals painted in electric blues, oranges, and golds—started as a Mexico City papier-mâché tradition but found their true home when local Zapotec carvers discovered copal wood. The tree's soft grain makes it perfect for detail work, and its resin, burned as incense, holds spiritual meaning for the community. By the 1990s, though, the demand had become a problem. Carvers were cutting faster than trees could grow.

In 1994, a local artisan named Jacobo Morales decided to reverse course. He launched the first reforestation effort in the area, replanting copal groves by hand. It was a quiet act of foresight—protecting not just a tree, but an entire cultural practice that depended on it.

That effort evolved into something larger. In the 2000s, Jacobo and his wife María Ángeles formalized their vision into Palo que Habla—"Talking Stick"—a project that does far more than replant trees. The workshop manages sustainable copal groves, operates water catchment systems for the dry season, and grows commercial crops and flowers on-site. They even run a restaurant called Almú that serves food grown in their own fields, creating a full ecosystem where forestry, agriculture, and craft all support each other.

But the most distinctive piece is the annual "Adopta un Árbol" campaign. Volunteers come to help with planting. Donors sponsor individual trees, giving them names and watching their growth over years. It's a small gesture that connects people across continents to a single copal sapling in Oaxaca.

What makes this work is that it solves a real tension: alebrijes carvers need wood, and the forest needs protection. Rather than choose between them, Palo que Habla built a system where both survive. Thousands of trees have been planted. The craft continues. The community remains rooted in its own land.

Today, visitors can walk through the groves, eat at Almú, and watch carvers at work—seeing exactly how a tradition sustains itself when people decide it's worth the effort.