Microforests Are Taking Root Across the Country, Making Urban Spaces Better for Birds and People

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A robin’s nest, interwoven with threads from a blue tarp, sits in the crotch of a serviceberry tree surrounded by 178 trees of a dozen species. Down below, patches of native strawberry and blueberry bushes, persimmons, and elderberries crowd so densely that the forest path is barely visible. But zoom out from this lush foliage and you’ll see, a few yards away, a concrete wall, a busy street, and above, dozens of jets per hour descending on nearby Newark Liberty International Airport. 

This 40-by-50-foot patch behind the Elmora library branch in Elizabeth, New Jersey, represents the state’s first microforest: a small but treasured plot of dense, fast-growing plants. In 2021, local nonprofit Groundwork Elizabeth led efforts to transform the site, which was formerly a neglected, city-owned lot overgrown with invasive phragmites. Today, the tightly planted native vegetation helps soak up stormwater, reduce air and noise pollution, and support biodiversity in a city where nature is hard to find. “When we started, we had a couple pigeons and a sparrow or two,” says John Evangelista, executive director of Groundwork Elizabeth. Last year, a visitor to the forest counted 21 avian species, including migratory birds such as the Common Yellowthroat. 

Such pocket-size forests are slowly taking root around the world. The technique was created in the 1970s by Japanese botany professor Akira Miyawaki, who deployed the plantings, inspired by dense growth around Shinto shrines, to beautify industrial areas. His method caught on in India, Europe, and recently the United States. Now micro­forests—also known as tiny, Miyawaki, or pocket forests—are sprouting up in schoolyards in Connecticut and Massachusetts, parks in Los Angeles and New York City, and a prison on the Yakama reservation in Washington State. 

Growing this type of forest, which can be as small as six parking spots, requires particular care at the beginning, though not much at all once it’s established. Forest makers plant seedlings in enriched soil, fence the tightly packed plots, and water and weed for about three years until trees can survive on their own. The density creates competition for light, so the plants grow 10 times quicker than those in naturally occurring stands, by some estimates. 

While these forests can be expensive to create—on average, one costs around $25,000—they produce outsize ecological benefits. Some studies estimate that they filter stormwater up to 65 percent faster than surrounding land, and that their soil sequesters significantly more carbon compared to control plots. When researchers flew drones above the Elmora plot to take thermal measurements, they found that the microforest could be 50 degrees cooler than the adjoining paved parking lot.

The forests also provide high-quality habitat. In areas with scant woodlands, microforests can serve as stepping stones, connecting wildlife populations otherwise separated by concrete, says Hannah Lewis, author of a book about miniature forests. “They’re going to be a stopping point between different green spaces,” she says. Such tightly packed plantings offer birds a range of food sources and nest sites, plus thick cover to protect from predators, adds Shana Caro, a biologist at Adelphi University whose research has found that denser vegetation hosts more species. Even a tiny bit of unused backyard can become a valuable nesting or stopover site, says Caro, who is working directly with homeowners to create small forest patches on Long Island. 

Still, the most important by­product of miniature forests may be the least tangible: our enthusiasm. “These forests are built to have a relationship with humans,” says Beck Mordini, executive director of Biodiversity for a Livable Climate, which has created several such forests in the Northeast. 

Many projects start off with the spirit of a barn raising. Once schools, environmental groups, or other sponsors prepare the land and purchase supplies, they’ll often recruit volunteers for planting. In October, roughly 120 residents gathered in Princeton, New Jersey, to create a forest in Quarry Park, placing hundreds of native specimens in carefully laid-out grids. Patrick Hu and his daughter, Kate, six, fist-bumped after they tamped the dirt around a sapling together. He was careful to remember the exact spot. “We want to come back to see the tree,” he says. Taking part in these plantings helps people feel empowered, says Ethan Bryson, founder of Natural Urban Forests, who has led other projects in Seattle and beyond. “There’s some change you want to see happen, and you’re part of it, getting your hands dirty,” he says. 

Back in Elizabeth, open space is at a premium, but Evangelista has created two more forest plots on city housing authority land and another at a church’s former cemetery. Both birds and residents visit these quiet sanctuaries—a refuge from traffic sounds. “It works as a big noise buffer,” he says. Evangelista is now dreaming big about the microforest future: He hopes to start 10 more before the end of the decade. 

This story originally ran in the Spring 2026 issue as “A Pardise That Fits in a Parking Lot.” To receive our print magazine, become a member by making a donation today.