Along the Atlantic coast of North America, salt marshes stretch between land and sea like green, breathing boundaries. Often recognized for their ecological importance, salt marshes are equally rich in cultural significance, shaping the lives, livelihoods and identities of the coastal communities who have called these regions home for generations. Despite this rich heritage, however, their cultural value is too often overlooked by leaders in conservation discussions.
Understanding the full importance of Atlantic salt marshes requires looking beyond biology and ecosystem services, and into the ways of life and peoples who rely on the tides.
Tides of Tradition
Long before European colonists arrived on the shores of the Atlantic, Indigenous peoples lived in close relationship with the salt marsh. For these Americans, coastal landscapes offered food like fish, shellfish and edible plants, and materials for medicine, shelter and tools, and provided a place for ceremony. The marshes were areas of abundance, and access to them was a major factor in communal land practices.
With the advance of colonization, settlers drained and diked marshes for salt hay, which was essential for livestock feed. In some parts of the country, salt marshes also became key sites for salt extraction, a vital commodity for preserving food in those times. These early colonial interventions began a pattern of altering the marshes to suit economic needs; a pattern that continues in a myriad of forms to this day.
Cultural Heritage Persists
The Gullah/Geechee people, descendants of enslaved West and Central Africans who were forced by plantation owners to work on the rice, indigo and cotton fields of the coastal Southeast (from North Carolina down through Florida), have a deep, living relationship with salt marsh ecosystems. For the Gullah/Geechee, the salt marsh is more than an ecosystem. It is a cultural landscape of survival, spirituality and identity. It’s where African traditions were adapted to the Atlantic world, where families fished and gathered food for centuries, and where culture continues to thrive despite threats from environmental change and outside pressures.
Even today, the Gullah/Geechee people and other marsh-based livelihoods persist, despite being constantly under threat. Salt marshes have been vital to coastal economies for generations. Fishing families across the Atlantic seaboard have depended on the fish, crabs, oysters, shrimp and clams that thrive in the brackish waters. These activities are often seasonal, passed down through families like heirlooms, forming a rhythm of life in marsh-side towns not unlike the ebb and flow of tides themselves.
Shrinking access, rising costs and environmental degradation have, however, made traditional harvesting more difficult. Quiet marsh waterways are targets for dredging, so commerce can take priority. Still, the connection to the marsh remains a defining part of identity for many.
Beyond subsistence, salt marshes hold symbolic and spiritual meaning. Artists, poets and musicians have long been inspired by these watery plains. The haunting cries of marsh birds, the shifting light across grasses and the silent power of the tides have appeared in countless works of art and literature. Sweetgrass basketry, a centuries-old African art form, literally weaves the Atlantic salt marsh into Gullah/Geechee tradition. Sweetgrass grows naturally in marshes and tidal areas and is collected by hand. They always leave plenty for the next gatherer, as the ancestors taught. The hand-woven baskets have many, everyday household uses, but they are also cherished pieces of art that carry the Gullah/Geechee spirit all around the world thanks to the lowcountry’s tourism industry.
Oral histories also reflect a deep attachment. For the Gullah/Geechee, salt marshes were historically an escape from enslavement and continue to offer sanctuary today. Elders speak of “marsh walks,” and of childhoods spent checking crab pots or casting lines from muddy banks.
The marsh, for many, is not just a place. It’s a home.
A Home in Trouble
Despite their importance, salt marsh cultures face growing peril. Sea level rise and increasingly intense storms erode coastlines and flood low-lying communities. Development and tourism often prioritize short-term gain over long-term sustainability, displacing traditional activities. Regulations intended to protect marshes can sometimes have the unintended consequence of limiting access for those who have stewarded them for generations.
As marshes disappear, so do the stories, songs and practices they nurture.
In recent years, however, efforts to revitalize both marsh ecosystems and cultural traditions have gained momentum. Community-led conservation initiatives are bringing together scientists, fishers, artists and educators to protect not just the marshes, but also the cultures of which they are entwined. Programs blending environmental education with cultural history — such as youth fishing camps, “trash” cleanups that become art projects and community storytelling walks — help reconnect younger generations with the marsh. Ecotourism initiatives, if done thoughtfully, can provide economic support while fostering appreciation for both the ecology and culture of salt marsh regions.
To truly preserve the Atlantic salt marshes, we must listen to the land, the water and the people whose lives are intimately linked to both. Cultural knowledge offers more than sentiment; it provides insight, stewardship and meaning. In the stories of fishers, in the songs of marshland rituals, in the footprints left in soft sediment, lies a history worth honoring.
Salt marshes are not just vital ecosystems, they are homelands. Protecting them means protecting a way of life, a sense of place and the wisdom of those who have long understood what it means to live in balance with the tide.
This is the final installment in a short series about Atlantic salt marshes. Learn how they provide a home to many animals in the first story here.
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