Mobile is one of the nation’s oldest cities, and its allergy to modern sheen accounts for a lot of its charm. The rich architectural fabric in neighborhoods like Oakleigh and DeTonti Square leaves visitors agape, and the city’s arboreal character — most notably on display in the live oaks that canopy Government Street like great triumphant arches — eclipses even the Garden District of New Orleans.
But even for such a deeply historical city, much has been lost. The erection of Interstate 10 through downtown Mobile in the early ’70s, and the opening of the George Wallace Tunnel, squashed remnants of the rich Creole culture that took root in the late 1800s in the Down the Bay community, an area that was previously home to Native Americans as far back as 2,000 years. And while Mobile’s Black history is well documented and celebrated at the Africatown Heritage House and Historic Avenue Cultural Center, it is a history that is often sidelined when, in fact, it should be standing front and center.
This issue’s cover story looks at Baykeeper’s holistic oyster restoration project and our effort to revive the reefs that once flourished in our watershed. This is a story of history as much as ecology. Much of the restoration work is happening in Heron Bay near Dauphin Island, a pristine body of water that was once home to indigenous populations that sustainably harvested oysters for centuries.
Our ecological history is a living thing. It is not taught in history classes, but its lessons are essential.
Recent research suggests Native American tribes along the southern coasts had highly complex management practices when it came to oyster harvesting. These tribes harvested oysters at great levels and still the reefs thrived. And yet since 1950, we’ve managed to destroy an estimated eighty-five percent of the reefs in the Mobile Bay watershed — a sad and alarming metric brought on by stressors like predation by drills (small predatory marine snails), unsustainable harvesting practices, shell-dredging for construction materials, and ship-channel dredging.
The scientific literature indicates Native Americans had hierarchical systems in place about best management practices for oysters, and even pooled resources. Clearly, they worked together for the greater good to protect what was vital, even as there were competing interests — something the modern era has often failed to achieve.
Baykeeper’s reef restoration is hoping to turn the tide and bring the community together for a common goal. “One of the encouraging aspects of the Oyster Restoration Project is that it is community-driven and led by a variety of stakeholders,” says Baykeeper’s Dr. Kayla Boyd, who heads the initiative. “This project is not only restoring ecosystem functionality, but it also provides support for the commercial oyster fishery.”
That communal understanding comes with an appreciation of the sacredness of the natural world, and how critical its protection is to our own survival. It’s an unspoken bond that goes back to a time before there were even words for it.
This issue closes with Susan Rouillier’s poem, “Purple Martins Return to Bahia del Espiritu Santo.” In the poem, she writes, “February twenty-eighth, precise and unannounced/ a covenant older than clocks, truer than our forecasts.”
These are the covenants we are bound to and have a duty to protect.
— from Mobile Baykeeper’s CURRENTS, summer 2026
Caine O'Rear 