Forester and author Ethan Tapper brings a hands-on, evolving approach to forest stewardship, shaped by years of working directly with ecosystems and managing his own land. Rather than viewing conservation as passive protection, Tapper defines stewardship as an ongoing, imperfect process that requires action, adaptation and long-term responsibility. Through his writing, fieldwork and digital storytelling, he invites others to rethink their relationship with forests — not as distant landscapes, but as living systems that depend on active care.

 (This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.)

Can you tell us a little bit about your path to becoming a forester and an author — and what inspired you to write your book?

I didn’t have the same path as a lot of people in this field. When I talk to other foresters or ecologists, they usually say they were “nature kids” — they always knew this is what they wanted to do. That wasn’t me at all.

I grew up in a tiny town in southeastern Vermont, surrounded by forests, and I was like, I have no interest in these forests — I just want to get out of here. I went to the University of Vermont and still didn’t know what I wanted to study. Then my high school girlfriend went on this five-month wilderness expedition, came back totally changed, and I … was not. I panicked and impulsively signed up for the next expedition, which started two weeks later.

We skied north for three months, built a canoe, and paddled back. The relationship didn’t work out anyway — so I basically did it for no reason — but it completely changed my life. After that, I worked as a wilderness guide, lived in the woods, did draft horse logging, and eventually went back to school and chose forestry — mostly because it had the word “forest” in it.

Writing followed a similar path. I’m not a trained writer. Around 2016, I decided to write for one hour every morning from 5 to 6 a.m. No pressure, no goal of writing a book. I just wrote. Over time, that became a practice I genuinely looked forward to. After about six years, I had a manuscript, and then it took another two years to publish. I always say I learned how to write the same way I learned how to run an excavator — I just started pulling levers, and at first, it was really bad, and then it slowly got better.

Was there a specific moment or experience that shaped your mindset around forests and land stewardship?

Buying my land — Bear Island — was the moment everything really crystallized. I had been working as a forester for years, helping other people take care of their land. But when it became my responsibility, it felt completely different.

That forest was in rough shape. It had basically every problem a forest could have, and no one was coming to fix it. That forced me to ask: What does it really mean to love a forest? And the answer wasn’t just leaving it alone and hoping for the best. It was being willing to take action — even when it’s uncomfortable — and really paying attention to what the forest actually needs in that moment.

That shift — from passive appreciation to active care — really shaped everything I do now.

What has your experience managing forests taught you about restoration and long-term stewardship?

Stewardship is a process — and honestly, it’s endless. I use that word intentionally because it implies that we’re only holding this responsibility for a short time before passing it on to the future.

One realization I had came from planting an orchard on my land. I ended up with about 100 trees, and every year I have to prune, water, manage, and care for them. At some point, it hit me: planting the tree is the easiest part. Everything that comes after — that’s the real work.

It’s the same with forests. People think we’ll do one big action and fix everything, but that’s not how it works. Stewardship is messy. It’s full of uncertainty, small failures, small victories, and constantly adapting to new conditions. And that’s not a flaw — that is the work. If we expect it to be simple or feel good all the time, we’re going to be disappointed.

What are some of the most common misconceptions people have about forests and conservation?

One big misconception is the idea that nature will just heal itself if we leave it alone. That belief often comes from people who really care about ecosystems, but it doesn’t reflect the reality of how much we’ve changed these systems.

On the other end of the spectrum, there are people who think ecosystems exist purely for us — like a bank account we can keep withdrawing from. What’s interesting is that these two viewpoints, even though they seem totally opposite, actually lead to the same place: doing nothing. And in both cases, ecosystems suffer.

What we really need is a more nuanced understanding — one that recognizes both the complexity of ecosystems and our responsibility to engage with them in thoughtful, informed ways.

What are some of the biggest challenges facing forest ecosystems right now?

The biggest one — and it’s not even close — is deforestation. The complete loss of ecosystems. If we don’t address that, none of the other challenges really matter.

Beyond that, there are a lot of interacting pressures: invasive species, climate change, habitat fragmentation, pollution, deer overpopulation. And many of these issues feed into each other, which makes them even harder to manage.

One example people are always surprised by is invasive species — especially when you talk about animals. Globally, one of the most damaging invasive species is domestic cats. People are always like, “no way.” But it’s true, especially with feral populations.

How does your work connect to broader sustainability efforts, like the UN Sustainable Development Goals?

What I love about ecosystem stewardship is that it connects to everything. It’s not just about forests — it’s about people, communities and the systems we rely on.

Yes, it’s about restoring ecosystems and protecting biodiversity. But it’s also about how we live and what we build. For example, wood is a renewable resource that, if managed well, can replace materials like steel or concrete that have much higher environmental and human costs.

So for me, sustainability is about bringing all of that together — healthy ecosystems, strong communities, and access to the resources we need — and thinking about how those things can support each other rather than compete.

Why is building a connection between people and the natural world especially important right now?

Part of it is purely practical: we literally cannot survive without ecosystems.

But it’s also about how we want to live. Even if it were possible to survive without nature — which I don’t think it is — I wouldn’t want to. I don’t want to live in a concrete world. I want to live in a green world.

There’s also a lot of research showing how much nature improves our wellbeing. And for many people, it’s that emotional connection — beauty, wonder, joy — that actually motivates them to care and take action. Not just the data.

How can students engage more meaningfully with forests and natural spaces?

There are conservation organizations and resources everywhere — local land trusts, Audubon chapters, extension programs — and they’re all trying to figure out how to get people involved.

At the same time, I talk to people all over the country who are like, “I want to help, but I don’t know how.” The good news is that those opportunities already exist — they just need to be connected.

The other important piece is that this work is local. What works in Vermont doesn’t necessarily work in Pennsylvania or anywhere else. So the best thing students can do is connect with people who understand their specific ecosystems and learn from them.

As a forester, writer and social media creator, how do you use storytelling to shape how people understand land stewardship?

Storytelling is probably the most important thing we can do.

In science and conservation, we often think that if we just present the facts, people will change their minds. But people aren’t robots — they’re emotional. They respond to stories, values and relationships.

A lot of my work is about taking complex scientific ideas and communicating them in a way that people can actually connect with. That also means showing up as a human being — not just presenting information but sharing who I am and why I care about this work.

You’ve built a strong presence on social media — what motivated you to start communicating in that way?

Honestly, I started social media to promote my book because I told my publisher I would. That was it.

But at some point, I had this mental shift where I took social media out of the “personal” category and put it into “work.” I was like, this is my job now. That helped me get over how awkward and self-promotional it felt.

At first, it’s tough — you’re talking to no one, and you’re not very good at it. But eventually, I realized it was reaching people in a totally different way than the book.

Now it’s become its own platform for connection. People see me getting excited about birds, plants, all these small moments — and also doing the harder work, like cutting trees. And those things aren’t contradictory. They’re part of the same relationship.

What gives you hope for the future of forests and environmental stewardship?

Young people — completely.

I meet people in their late teens and early twenties who have grown up fully aware of climate change and environmental degradation, and they’re like, “Stop telling us how bad things are — tell us what we’re going to do about it.”

That mindset is incredibly powerful. They’re not interested in just hearing the problem — they want solutions. And I think as that generation becomes more influential, ecosystems will become more central to how we think about the future.

If there’s one thing you wish more people understood about forests, what would it be?

That they’re essential. We can’t live without them.

But also — they’re not perfect. Forests are messy, complex and constantly changing. And that’s actually the lesson they offer us.

If we expect forests — or our communities — to be perfect, we’re going to be disappointed. But if we understand that both are complex systems that require care, effort and ongoing attention, we’ll do a much better job taking care of them.