Creator Lutheran’s Blackberry Problem and Community Solution

October, 2026

Creator Lutheran’s Blackberry Patch Becomes A Living Classroom For Community And Care

For years, the back corner of Creator Lutheran Church’s property in Bonney Lake was a mystery. Thick blackberry brambles walled off a full third of the land. People joked that no one really knew what was back there. It was overgrown, hard to maintain, and at times unsafe.

“We had no idea what was behind these blackberries or how far the corner of the property went,” recalls Pastor Amanda Olson de Castillo. “It was just fallow land, and honestly, an eyesore.”

Creator sits in a wooded area of unincorporated Pierce County. As the surrounding community changed, the church’s context shifted too. A once quiet intersection is now a busy thoroughfare feeding a large commercial and residential development. The lawn where children once hunted Easter eggs is now right next to heavy traffic, noise, and exhaust.

At the same time, the unused portion of the property was causing concern. Aging property team members struggled to keep up with the fast-growing blackberries. The secluded, poorly lit parking lot and dense brush created space for people to hide, dump garbage, and do “nefarious things,” as Pastor Amanda puts it. Fallen trees had already caused serious damage: one took out the fire suppression system when it crashed through the multi-purpose room, and another “javelined” through a different room during a storm.

It all added up to a nagging sense of vulnerability and waste. This land, entrusted to the congregation, was not being used for ministry.

A logger with a backhoe and a different vision

The turning point came when a new member, Andrew Mason, joined Creator and stepped into leadership. Andrew is a logger by trade. Where others saw an overwhelming tangle of blackberry vines and massive trees, he saw a project he knew how to tackle.

“He was not intimidated by coming in and doing that piece,” Pastor Amanda says.

With council and congregational approval, the first phase began: simply clearing enough to see what was really there. As Andrew worked his way through the blackberries, the congregation discovered more land than they had realized. There was even a hill they had never seen.

At the same time, they addressed safety issues more directly. They added better lighting in the parking lot. They commissioned an official survey and worked with neighbors to clarify property boundaries. They installed fencing along the back edges to discourage dumping and give clear definition to the space, while intentionally leaving one key corner open so a nearby bus stop could have a safer, more visible waiting area.

“The fence does not feel like we put a wall around ourselves,” Pastor Amanda says. “It defines the property in a way that creates welcome and safety, especially for little kids.”

A grant from the synod helped Creator expand the clearing work to the remaining overgrown section. The giant downed logs of cottonwood and cedar were carefully removed, some of the wood left accessible for neighbors to cut and use for firewood. Piece by piece, what had been hidden and hazardous became visible and usable.

From brush pile to gathering place

The goal was not just to clear land. The first visible sign of transformation was grass. In the spring of 2025, volunteers laid sod in the newly opened area so that it would be ready for the Easter egg hunt. Pastor Amanda laughs as she remembers the photos of that day.

“There are great pictures of them just filled with mud,” she says about the volunteers. “We learned some things along the way,” like the importance of adding irrigation so upkeep did not depend entirely on a few people wrestling hoses around the property.

The cleared hillside quickly earned a nickname from the preschoolers. They call it “the mountain.” Now, instead of being confined to a small fenced playground, the children can run up and down the hill, explore, and spread out. Parents linger rather than rushing off, chatting with each other as their kids play.

Youth use the space for outdoor activities at the end of long days. An AA group meets there on good-weather evenings. The women’s retreat began with yoga on the hill. During the pandemic, Creator had developed a practice of “parking lot singing” when they could not safely sing indoors. That tradition continues, and now some of those summer song gatherings have moved from asphalt to the grassy slope.

Crime and destructive behavior have dropped significantly with the increased visibility and use. Neighbors have noticed the changes and many have come by to say thank you.

Mission in their own backyard

The land, however, is only part of the story. As Creator discovered, what you do with a space can reshape how a community understands its call.

Pastor Amanda spent ten years as a missionary in Guatemala, and her husband is from there. She knows the power of service experiences, especially for young people. But in recent years, traditional mission trips have become more difficult to afford and organize. A trip to Kentucky a few years back cost around $20,000. Meanwhile, pandemic restrictions had cut off many local volunteer opportunities for kids and teens.

She began asking a different question: What if mission happened in their own backyard?

This summer, Creator hosted a “summer servant week” for youth in grades six through twelve. Twenty-five young people and a team of adults spent five days serving both the wider community and their own congregation.

Half of each day was spent offsite with local mission partners such as Mother to Many, the Bonney Lake and Sumner food banks, and Cedar Ridge Retirement Center. The other half took place on Creator’s property.

At church, the youth stained fences, learned to use weed whackers, pulled rocks and weeds, edged paths, and planted native pollinators. Skilled members served as project mentors, teaching the young people how to use tools safely and well. Each day, a small group went to the home of a member who needed help, such as a recent widow or someone having health challenges. There they completed simple yard or household projects and, just as importantly, learned how to be present and helpful in someone else’s space.

Around them, layers of support formed: adult sponsors with the youth, mentors for particular projects, congregation members who dropped in to work alongside them for an hour or two, and older adults who could not do heavy labor but contributed hospitality and encouragement.

“All of this started because of the land,” Pastor Amanda says. “We created these layers of mission, and the kids are just like, ‘This is ours. This is not just my mom and dad’s church. This is our church, our land.’”

Ownership, belonging, and slow work

The sense of ownership is not symbolic. One high school student who participated in the summer servant week is now the secretary-elect on church council. During the week, she helped install a fire pit in the green space. At a recent event for children in kindergarten through fifth grade, she proudly pointed to it and said, “This is the fire pit I made.”

These are the kinds of stories that are shaping Creator’s next steps. The congregation recently held a listening session where they looked at two years of photos and shared memories. “What really emerged,” Pastor Amanda says, “was this underlying narrative of how we can be together, all of us. The intergenerational piece of this congregation. That is what is driving the plans now: safe pathways, a flatter gathering space with good mobility access, an outdoor worship area that everyone can reach.”

They have also discovered the spiritual discipline of moving slowly. The council has played an important role in reminding everyone that the land does not all need to be finished in five months. Pushing too hard risks burning out volunteers and turning what could be joyful, formative work into a resented obligation.

The process itself has become a teacher.

“This is not about a fence,” Pastor Amanda says. “This is not about clearing the space. This is about being community together and finding ways that we are all part of it. The why has to be about ministry.”

Listening, covenant, and the long work of stewardship

When asked what she would say to another congregation looking at underused or overgrown land and wondering where to begin, Pastor Amanda goes back to the heart of Creator’s experience.

“Listen to each other,” she says. “Pray a lot about it. Be willing to take a step back and reassess. Are we still going in the right direction? Are we listening to all the voices?”

Creator uses a behavioral covenant in its meetings, one that names a shared commitment: everyone at the table loves the church and wants what is best for it, even when they disagree on what that looks like. They begin and end meetings with that reminder.

“You can have completely different conclusions and still care about the place together,” she says.

That covenant has been important when strong opinions collide over trees, fences, or plans for the hill. In those moments, the congregation has tried to slow down, ask what is behind people’s concerns, and bring as many along as possible, while still making decisions and moving forward.

On the surface, the story of Creator Lutheran’s green space could be told as a simple before-and-after: blackberries and risk replaced by grass and gathering. Look closer, and it becomes a story about vocation and place, about a congregation learning to practice mission in its own backyard, and about how land can become a living classroom for faith, service, and community.