Imagine creatures hidden underground for over a hundred years suddenly springing back to life—this astonishing discovery recently unfolded along Toronto’s waterfront. Shelby Riskin, an ecosystem ecologist, was initially handed disk-shaped soil samples more than a century old, hoping to uncover remnants of native plants like cattails, bulrushes, water lilies, and irises from a lost wetland. But what she witnessed under the microscope was far more remarkable: a tiny, brown, wormlike organism eagerly feeding on green algae, showing no sign that 130 years had passed since its last meal. Surrounding it, water fleas, worms, and plankton spun and darted as if time hadn’t touched them either.
Riskin, a soil specialist at the University of Toronto, marvels, “We’ve effectively brought to life ancient organisms that reveal what this wetland looked like before urban expansion destroyed it.” This is just the beginning of revelations that led to two forthcoming peer-reviewed studies, including research from a paleoecologist collaborator.
But here’s where it gets controversial: this discovery isn’t just scientific curiosity; it poses profound questions about how resilient ecosystems truly are—even after massive human interference. Toronto’s multi-billion dollar restoration of the Don River and its surroundings, one of the globe’s largest waterfront projects, is nearing completion. These findings deeply reinforce the idea that nature can rebound in surprising ways, even in heavily modified urban landscapes.
The story began three years ago when heavy machinery was dredging dirt from Toronto’s waterfront to re-route the Don River. Unexpectedly, bulldozers were stopped by thick green shoots that weren’t just ordinary weeds—these were sedges and cattails thriving beneath layers of soil. Scientists soon realized that seeds and plant fragments, entombed underground for over a century, had suddenly resurrected.
These wetlands and peat bogs had been buried beneath 25 feet of dirt and gravel at the dawn of urban development, an attempt to tame the wild remnants near what became a major city. Later, in the 1920s, the Don River was confined to a concrete channel—a so-called “straitjacket”—to control its flow for industrial development in the Port Lands district. While this engineering nearly tamed the river, it ironically caused costly flooding problems during storms.
Fast forward to today, a project first imagined in 2007 is helping reverse this. Restorers have created three hectares of new coastal wetlands and four hectares of wildlife habitat in what was once industrial wasteland. The river's path has been reshaped with a more natural curve, even forming a new island called Ookwemin Minising, where these century-old plants were rediscovered.
Melanie Sifton, a horticulture expert present during the first sightings of these plants, recalls the area’s barren state: “When we started, it felt like the surface of the moon—bone dry, dusty, and lifeless. To find these plants was like uncovering buried treasure.” The excitement only grew when the samples reached the University of Toronto labs, revealing a wealth of life that seemed ready to spring back.
More astonishing finds followed: pollen from the now-locally extinct American chestnut tree was uncovered, along with seeds dating back to the 1500s and remains of one of the region’s most vital peat bogs. Then last year, the team submerged soil samples and saw water fleas—dormant since the late 19th century—burst into life, accompanied by worms, larvae, and zooplankton.
Riskin notes a crucial fact often overlooked: “Humans have generally struggled to recreate functioning wetlands. Even when wetlands are relocated or restored, they rarely match the ecological richness of their originals.” The complex interactions sustaining these environments remain a scientific challenge. This resurrection of diverse life forms demonstrates soil’s incredible power and mystery—the tiny microbes, nutrients, and unseen forces that transform dirt into a thriving ecosystem.
The findings hint at a potentially game-changing restoration approach—using native soils to kick-start and enhance ecosystem recovery. Riskin and paleoecologist Sarah Finkelstein plan to publish detailed studies on carbon dating of seeds, pollen analysis, and germination experiments to deepen understanding.
For Anishinaabe elder Shelley Charles, who helped name the new island Ookwemin Minising, meaning “Place of the black cherry trees,” this discovery validates Indigenous knowledge systems that view ecosystems as deeply interconnected across past, present, and future. “We instinctively knew the seeds were still there, but the vastness of it was beyond our expectations,” she explains. “Indigenous wisdom tells us stories that connect us through time, and these plants’ revival revealed something much larger unfolding.”
The restoration has brought not just plants but animals back to the area—beavers, muskrats, fish, turtles, snowy owls, and eagles now thrive, embodying the “natural engineers” that shape ecosystems. Charles reflects on how Indigenous knowledge meaningfully contributed to the revitalization efforts, influencing everyone from planters to hydrologists.
Where once was industrial ruin, children now play in new parks surrounded by lush greenery, kayakers paddle quietly, and joggers tread gently through rejuvenated landscapes. Charles recalls the emotional moment of the plants’ discovery: “I actually cried when I heard the news. The care taken by machine operators was remarkable—it could have all been scraped away. Instead, this project stands as a joyful celebration and a powerful reminder: beneath layers of contaminated soil, life patiently waits for a chance to return. It tells us what is truly possible.”
What do you think? Can these remarkable discoveries reshape how we view urban restoration? Does the power of native soil challenge current ecological restoration practices? Share your thoughts and join the conversation below.
