Nature, science, language, values, feral beliefs...

I noted last week that lichens provide one example of symbiosis in nature - one that you couldn't guess just from looking at them. I see the same lichens now that I saw before I knew about their symbiotic structure, but think about them quite differently. Similarly, I can't tell just by looking at many plant species that they form symbiotic relationships with mycorrhizal fungi that help the plants absorb nitrogen. The knowledge won't help me get ahead in life, or even pay for a parking meter, but it completely changes my experience of nature.

Once I began to recognise the interconnectedness of natural processes, at multiple scales,  it became clear that the language of static "things" was inadequate to account for my surroundings. Just as human social structures are far more interdependent than commonly supposed, nature consists of complex interactions - between many "things" we name, and many still unidentified. As science discovers more and more about microscopic and macroscopic interdependencies in natural processes, names of "things" - forest, bog, river, desert, - begin to seem like linguistic snapshots of our surroundings. Like photographic snapshots, they can provide some satisfying sense of familiarity, but lack essential details. Obviously we have to use names for various purposes, but why can't we also stay alert to the ways they may limit our awareness?

When looking at a broad expanse of forest on a mountain slope, for example, I'm now inclined to think more about the soil beneath the trees, and the air around and above them. Just as I know that mycorrhizal hyphae connect with tree roots, and squirrels spread the spores of the mushroom fruiting bodies, I have also learned that the trees help control the moisture level and temperature of the soil. In short, a dense forest co-creates its own habitat, and also has more far-reaching affects on atmospheric conditions beyond its margins. So the single word "forest" represents much more than a whole lot of "trees".

Mutualistic symbiosis is common and essential to what we call nature, although not commonly observed. Many animals have intestinal microbiomes, and even more fundamentally benefit from endosymbiosis: energy-producing mitochondria embedded in animal body cells were once, eons ago, independent bacteria. Much in nature is sometimes obscured by the names we recite. It seems like it might be difficult to reason with such abbreviated language.

Over the years, I have taken some pretty pictures of lichens. Lichens can be very photogenic, with bright colours and elaborate shapes. They're also very cooperative, always sitting still for the photographer. Focusing on their aesthetic qualities, you can take interesting photos of them without knowing anything about them, as I did early on. At first, I only understood that they "helped to break down rocks as part of the soil formation process". I even knew about symbiosis, but didn't realise I was actually looking at an example of it. Later, I learned enough to be impressed about how complex and varied these symbiotic associations are. For living things that are ubiquitous, it almost seems sneaky the way Lichens have been so little noticed by people (although there are some who study them intensively, and even some apparently who eat them).

At first, the bright orange and green lichens spread out on rocks seemed visually the most attractive. They were good for many attempts to find the best positions and lighting for artistic framing - framed in accordance with one person's sense of aesthetics at that particular time. Later I became more aware of different sorts of lichens growing on different parts of trees, and that their appearance varied with the amount of precipitation they received. I then learned that there were thousands of species spread all over the world, and that they were each actually made up of several organisms - fungi, green algae, cyanobacteria - living symbiotically in the same structures. The bulk of the structure is provided by fungal filaments, which also form the structure's anchor to a substrate and supports an embedded layer of green algae, or cyanobacteria, which carries out photosynthesis. Lichens come in a huge range of sizes and shapes, and can live for a very long time. Learning that much changed the way I looked at lichens, and even the way I thought about nature.

Lichens can be seen (or not seen) just about anywhere - on rocks, trees, fences, walls, roofs, and in cities, countryside and wilderness. Neither plants nor animals, they appear immobile and inconsequential. It's easy enough to understand that they can provide food for large and small creatures, from elk to tiny invertebrates, and perhaps a little harder to see that they can physically and chemically help degrade rock into soil - very slowly. If you sit and watch lichens growing on a large rock, you won't see much change - it's one of the slower processes in nature. But now when I notice lichens I am reminded that many natural processes are very slow, but also more complex and dynamic than they might at first seem to my human senses.

An artistically-framed photo of a colourful lichen on striated rock doesn't mean the same thing to me as it once did, whatever that was. The striations might be due to uplifted sediment deposition many millions of years old, and the lichen might add a bit to the surrounding soil over millennia, and these would be just two of the many, many surrounding natural processes proceeding at varying rates not visible in "real time". Contemplating these on-going processes requires a very different kind of framing than that used in framing a static image. Nothing in nature is static, but many of my early photographs subtly predisposed me to imagine that it was.

Over many years, during many hiking trips through many mountain and valley landscapes, an intermittent sense of unease has often intruded upon my thoughts. While taking thousands of photos, from broad vistas to detailed close-ups, I experienced a nagging feeling that so much more was going on around me than I could see, or possibly understand. It's not that I thought that I had some inherent right to understand everything, but that I wondered if I was actually "mis-seeing" what I was looking at somehow. As I gradually learned more about the earth's history and the evolution of its life forms, that nagging feeling changed, but didn't really go away.

Slowly, I learned about things like plate tectonics, docking terranes, mountain uplift, the effects of glaciation and subsequent erosion and isostatic rebound of the earth's crust, along with sea level and ocean circulation changes. All the while, plants and animals evolved as they adapted to changing environments - for example, plants, tree species and forests, and animals spread northward in North America as glaciation receded and soils changed. Of course, long before the glacial periods, the continents continually (and very slowly on human time scales) changed shapes and positions on the globe, and plant and animal species lived in very different places than they have more recently. Knowing more about all this changed, but didn't really diminish, the nagging feeling that I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing. The metaphorical landscape changed, but it was still a "landscape".

It seemed to me that I could walk in the woods, or around a wetland, or up along mountain ridges, but always ended up bringing along the mental "frames" for each landscape. Whatever animals I happened to encounter were always going about their lives as I had learned to understand them - usually only superficially. The plants and trees were growing and photosynthesizing where I had learned to expect them, creating food and habitat for animal life, as well as habitat for each other. In short, I gradually became more adept at decorating the anthropocentric "frame" I had learned to use on the landscape. I even knew that there were many unseen microorganisms and subsurface processes essential for the living "things" that I had learned to identify, although those seemed to hover both inside and outside of the frames. Without special detailed knowledge, the best I could do was acknowledge their complex existence.
 
At some point, I started wondering what it meant to think of nature as "complex". Certainly humans have identified and named innumerable elements, aspects, and interactions involved in what we call nature, and the immense quantity and intricate quality of it all reasonably corresponds with the definition of "complex" - the word seems to fit. It is, however, a landscape-level word in terms of "framing", and in the current social situation, has unfortunately acquired negative connotations. Something that is "complex" is supposed to require extra work to deal with or understand: at least a bit of a bother.

So, when I am hiking, am I walking through a landscape, or a complexity? If there will always be more and more to discover about nature, I find that rather comforting, actually. That more than compensates for any "nagging" sense of misunderstanding I might indulge in at times.

Before there were cameras to frame landscape photographs, there were canvasses to frame landscape paintings. Before there were landscape paintings, how might humans have "framed" views of landscapes? What about before there was a linguistic concept of "framing"? Humans have progressed from cave paintings to "high-definition" nature videography pretty rapidly on an evolutionary time scale. It has been said that human social evolution progresses far more rapidly than biological evolution, but what does that mean? One thing it might mean is that technological innovation far outpaces the corresponding conceptual development of most people.

That's one way of describing part of the current social disconnect with reality. Our language often seems inadequately developed for dealing with the interaction of our behaviour and nature. When we struggle to assess the impacts and generally fail to repair the damage, I think it can be attributed to an impoverishment of conceptual connections. Nature doesn't consist of discrete "things", and is poorly described with discrete "topics". Many people vaguely sense this, but few are sure how to readjust their thinking. If anything, the tendency is to try to simplify aspects of reality in order to "communicate" well.

The history of the use and misuse of language about genetics might provide an example. It has been over a hundred years since the concept of what we now refer to as "genes" began to develop. Genetic manipulation has become commonplace and more of the complexities of gene and gene-environment interactions are constantly discovered, but even educated people still think there are specific (single) genes "for" specific outcomes: longevity, health quality, diseases, "intelligence"...  (Even those who don't "believe" in evolution, are still likely to think that there are "good" genes and "bad" genes.) At its worst, this sort of thinking underlies "arguments" for eugenics. The importance of genetic diversity, and its relationship to phenotypic plasticity (species adaptability), is not commonly understood, even as we poke around in genomes.

Human conceptual development seems to continually lag increasing complexity created by ever more humans interacting with each other and the environment.  It seems to me that "landscape level" thinking, although useful for producing aesthetically pleasing images, will continue to be inadequate as an actual approach to nature.  There is a cliche that sometimes informs us that "the devil is in the details". I've always wondered why it would be the devil. Is the implication supposed to be that details are somehow onerous, or maybe even evil? It seems much more appropriate to recognise that nature is in the details, and to be on the lookout for more of them.

There is something about the landscape-level view of nature that I have always found perplexing. It is not just the lack of essential details, although that seems like a significant issue. It is more the fact that it is so popular and comprises so many people's interactions with nature, whether through painting, photography, cruising or touring. What does the landscape-level view actually have to do with nature?

Of course, if you're a "natural resource" manager, the landscape-level planning process can help avoid a huge number of inconvenient complications and conflicts. People who just want a pretty picture to display don't need greater detail. But what makes the picture "pretty", or "scenic", or maybe even "stunning"? That must be learned behaviour - people in different regions of the world prefer different landscapes. But it seems that there is something about a simplified landscape view itself that is broadly appealing.

If we look at mountain landscape scene, as in the photo above, there are often relatively few distinct elements - a dramatic mountain range, trees or other vegetation, perhaps a river or lake, and so on. The scene might include a lot of trees, part of a forest. Just as there are many, many mountains to chose from to frame a landscape, so there are many, many trees. Are there more trees than mountains? Why ask such a silly question? Our language lets us ask such questions, just as it allows us to get confused with the use of numbers. Saying that "there are a LOT of trees" seems like the linguistic equivalent of a landscape image - totally lacking in detail. In the context of the forest, the adjective is irrelevant: there have to be a lot of trees. To be impressed, or reassured, by vast numbers of trees in a particular landscape is missing the essence of what forests really are.

Humanity seems to have learned to value things that are scarce - jewels, paintings, antique cars, coins... Trees are not at all scarce, and when people happen to see a lot of them they can be inclined to think there are "far more than enough". "More than enough (for whatever use)" seems like a pretty immature thought when applied to natural ecosystems and processes. It could be called landscape-level thinking, and doesn't at all engage with the complex details of myriad evolving interconnected species. Sheer numbers can impress people, but don't really apply in this context. Despite "so many trees", with current human extractive technologies, forests could be more like passenger pigeons, or Atlantic Cod, or Bison, or... In such cases, there once were a LOT, until somehow there weren't.

I've been talking about images of slime molds and landscapes, which exist toward opposite ends of a scale in studies of nature. While the range of possible scales could be described as infinite (from the sub-atomic to the cosmos), I think it can be satisfying to be amazed at the ubiquity and complexity of life forms that can be encountered on a daily basis, without going to extremes. Those life forms just have to be recognised. That doesn't even mean that they have to be seen or touched, although many certainly can be.

It is far from a profound observation to note that modern human life predisposes people to try to ignore much of what is around them, and even more of what is not immediately around them. There is a great deal of competition to capture each individual's attention, and constant attempts to turn that into a revenue stream for the successful competitors. Added to the alienating structure of many large cities, this makes it much less likely that people will notice nearby remnants of natural processes. They might have to stumble on some intriguing aspect of nature, either directly or indirectly, by chance.

One obvious potential indirect source of intrigue would be written accounts of past natural events that have been slowly discovered and understood in more recent years. For example, the book Otherlands, by Thomas Halliday, provides a good summary introduction to the geologic and biological history of the last half billion years on the planet. A much more detailed look at plant evolution and ecology in North and South America during the last 100 million years can be found in A Natural History of the New World, by Alan Graham. Many other books and articles help to provide a description - still evolving as new information from field studies becomes available - of nature's past on earth. If you happen to notice some Ginko biloba city street trees while walking in their shade, you might be reminded that their lineage goes back about 300 million years. There are innumerable other direct sources of contact with nature available in most cities, if they are recognised.

Books and articles can certainly help people learn where to look and what to look for, and perhaps stimulate an interest in some previously unknown species or ecosystem, and the processes that resulted in their existence. From pollinating insects, to hidden decay-recycling organisms, to bears fertilising stream-side forests with salmon carcasses, and so on and on, it sometimes seems strange how much people learn to overlook. It ends up disregarded despite how prevalent and persistent nature is, and how fascinating it can be to discover and follow different aspects of it.

It is easy to find photos of slime mold fruiting bodies on the internet. It is also easy to find copies of dramatic western landscape paintings by Albert Bierstadt (and others), from the mid to late 1800s. Those paintings, depicting broad vistas of nature in colour, were done before even monochrome photographs of western landscapes were widely available. Like many other artists, Bierstadt was intensely self-promotional, which widened the appeal of his dramatic landscapes during much of his lifetime. His style of paintings of natural settings did eventually fall out of fashion, long before anyone figured out how to photograph tiny slime mold fruiting bodies. Of course, artists still do other styles of landscape paintings that are much admired.

I don't think either of these two things - overly dramatized landscape paintings or slime mold photographs - should be considered as simple eye candy. They are each representations of elements of natural processes made possible by the technologies of their time. Obviously two vastly different scales are involved. If the slime molds were photographed in a mountain valley, there would be no way to tell that from the photo, and you certainly couldn't see any slime molds in any of Bierstadt's landscapes, or even in any modern landscape photography. Far from simple a diversion, viewing and appreciating images of nature is a social activity, involving the prior knowledge and experience of the viewers and their contemporaries.

With all that is going on in the world at present, it might seem odd to spend time contemplating the varied motivations of those creating images of natural elements, large and small. Hundreds of thousands of landscape photographers have presented impressive works online and elsewhere, and hundreds of millions of people have used their phone cameras to record myriad views of nature that have somehow captured their attention. While each individual will probably have specific personal reasons for taking a particular photograph, the sheer number of images involving some aspect of nature seems remarkable.

It wasn't that long ago that relatively few humans lived in urban settings largely insulated from nature. It wasn't at all long ago that very few humans possessed a camera. Human social evolution now seems to proceed at a breakneck pace, but it is also the case that for many thousands of years humans and their ancestors spent most of their time and energy totally immersed in a natural environment. All that time and experience has not only shaped the human species, but has probably left at least a residue of fascination (and affection) for what is now called nature.

An increasing proportion of our time each day is spent interacting with motor vehicles and computers - including smart phones - as we get from place to place and from thought to thought. It might seem odd that supposed time-saving devices end up taking up so much time, but of course the devices have additional, strongly-attractive functions. Someone might want to drive a motor vehicle up a road to take photos of slime molds with their phone camera, for example. Again, everything is more complicated than might be expected.

Slime molds - or myxomycetes - are fascinating organisms, appreciated and studied by people around the world. Some elementary schools have used them in science lessons. They are usually not easy to see in the wild, because they are mostly to be found blending in among damp, dimly-lit bits of organic litter. Some slime molds produce very colourful, strangely-shaped fruiting bodies filled with spores when they reproduce. These remarkable tiny spore capsules are particularly attractive to photographers who are skilled in extreme macro photography techniques, and many impressive examples can be found on the internet. In fact, the internet might be your only option to really "see" these enchanting shapes - unless you acquire your own specialised equipment.

In their active, foraging stage, slime molds expand and spread out on wet, decaying organic matter to feed on bacteria, algae, and fungi. The small scale, lack of visible movement, and their preference for dimly-lit locations adds to the challenge of finding them, but on the other hand, they are common anywhere conditions are favourable. They can be found on decaying matter in a back garden. Common, and yet rarely seen or even thought about - like many organisms in nature.

Well, that's neat...but what are we supposed to DO with these things, besides look at some pretty photos? Well, maybe the photos offer some hints. What is it about the shapes and colours of the slime mold fruiting bodies that is so appealing? These could be considered rather "alien" organisms, but the look of those tiny structures seems to strike some sort of chord in people - just as do other natural shapes and much larger natural landscapes. Beyond just their appearance, the life cycles of these organisms are more complex and curious than they might seem at first - initially microscopic, some can expand into elaborate, moving forms. Researchers have tested them in mazes, and some wonder if they might somehow be intelligent, even though they have no brains. "Intelligence" is a notoriously ambiguous concept, so any serious consideration of that question would need much more careful definition than it is likely to get, but the presence of rarely-noticed slime molds seems like another invitation to enjoy the amazing intricacies of nature.

There is another way to think about ambiguity in the ways we commonly use language. In many cases where people talk about interactions with nature and natural processes, ambiguous terms like "natural resources", "sustainability", and "management" all seem to lead in one broad direction: some attempt to control. Usually this "control" seems directed at the goal of some form of future profit. The interactions of our ideas about things like control, nature, and profit lead to feedback loops that amplify ambiguities.

It is one thing to try to control your home's surrounding landscaping, but the same impulses make no sense when directed at trying to "control" an entire planet teeming with complex ecosystems - or even one ecosystem, really. Not only are those natural processes barely dimly understood, but there are billions of humans with conflicting definitions of "control" striving to control conflicting definitions of things. Cultivating profound ignorance of planetary ecological complexities may have seemed expedient and efficient heretofore, but only on the fleeting time spans that humans experience. Curiously, as we have more recently slowly begun to understand the vast temporal extent of nature's evolutionary changes, we have not really begun to appreciate the transience of humanity's existence on geological time scales.

In often-quoted lines in Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll had an exchange between Alice and Humpty Dumpty regarding language (mis)use:

"The question is" said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."

"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master -- that's all."

Language as "control". The human desire to "control" the environment, or some portion of some popular conception of it, is only one aspect of the rational/irrational manifestation of human psychology. For some people, small topiary displays can feel satisfying, and for some it can seem satisfying to follow the leaders who proclaim that "development" can "grow" forever. Widespread pursuit of the illusion of "control" runs deep and broad in human cultures, and does not seem to have attracted enough serious examination. The role of the use of ambiguous language in local and global efforts to "control" other people and the environment may never get the scrutiny it deserves. If humans could somehow learn that the idea of "controlling" nature is delusional, the future could be significantly better for all. 

I've been musing about some of the problems I think our misuse of language is causing, particularly as that facilitates the degradation of natural spaces and processes. Some other people seem to think that the ambiguity inherent in our language is actually beneficial, as in poetry, and theatre. Some even think that the use of jargon in specialised fields of research is good and necessary to counteract that ambiguity. Looking around very broadly at the current state of the world, I think it is hard to justify positive claims about ambiguity. Linguistic ambiguity seem to create an environment that facilitates the proliferation of plain old lies.

Now we have the Large Language Model (LLM) so-called "AIs" trained to match word patterns based on all the "ambiguity" - the misinformation, disinformation, and blatant lies - embedded in their training text. Unsuspecting, uninformed people are being told that these "AI" programs are now "intelligent" (the bit that comes after the Artificial...and "Oh, hey, you can't stop progress", you Luddite.) Without the pervasive ambiguity, it would be much harder to pull off that sort of bait-and-switch (the many contentious definitions of "intelligence" have long been debated). Fans of the "AI" technology insist that it should be accepted because it can accomplish useful tasks "efficiently". That depends on how you define "useful" and "efficient" - and who benefits. Many technologies provide a few benefits that are outnumbered and/or overshadowed by negative uses. And maybe it is best not to look too closely at the environmental costs of all the massive amounts of energy, water, and material required to train the "AI" software. The same sorts of ambiguity that confuse us with the concepts of "economy" and "nature" also confuse us when we think about "intelligence".

Context, including what we know about a speaker or author, their sponsors, and the time and place of their pronouncements, plays a big part in how we interpret and understand the words of other people. That context, combined with its relation to our prior experience and understanding of reality, is one small part of human intelligence. If we know someone tends to lie, or has a bias or agenda, we may parse their words accordingly. These sorts of trust-measuring assessments are often continually updated over time. Misplaced trust in poor or malignant sources of information causes many people to be deceived, and that might be best described as an issue of impoverished context. Context generated by actual human interactions is completely lacking in the training of LLM "AI" programs, which focuses on existing text. There is far more to people than the words they produce.

Whether all this is seen to make any "economic" sense seems to depend on how the many inherent ambiguities are perceived - or not perceived. Various "natural resources" (forests, fisheries, water sources, etc.) have been severely depleted by the use of evolving technologies that promised ever greater "economic" advantages. Can people who have been trained to think with impoverished context make an accurate "cost/benefit" assessment?  We now live in a world of "economics" where environmentally-expensive on-line "AI" bots can try to influence other on-line "AI" bots to buy more stuff, so maybe not.

The more I think about the concept of "economy", the fuzzier it seems. We have never had an actual "trickle-down economy" - it appears that what we've been presented with is a trickle-down economic illusion. When people are given enough power, they are inclined to impose their worldview on others. Misrepresentation of imaginary benefits from "economic activity" leads people to believe that the world works in certain ways. Much of what gets described as "economic activity" consists of converting aspects of nature into all sorts of human infrastructure. In the time scale of natural processes, humanity has expanded extremely rapidly from small tribes cutting down trees for dug-out canoes, to spreading megacities populated by tens of millions of bustling people with voracious desires. There wasn't much GDP back in the dug-out days - and relatively little disruption of what we call nature. In other words, not many "jobs" were available.

The phrase, "Jobs versus the Environment", represents many people's understanding of economic "reality". This shorthand summary surfaces during protests over projects that are seen to pose threats to the environment, and of course "jobs" almost always prevail. There are many reasons for this, not least that the "economy" is believed to run more smoothly when people are kept busy, both making and spending their money. Now that there are so many people, it is ever more complicated to keep things running smoothly. Many interests and agendas conflict. Perhaps people sense this increasing complexity subconsciously, and the discomfort this generates inclines them to seek simplistic answers to whatever problems confront them. Also, not many people are happy with their jobs, and this broad dissatisfaction may add to the general distemper.

So...lots of humans, lots of conflicting desires, lots of linguistic shenanigans, and a shrinking natural world to prosper in. On top of that we have the current popular movement to disregard science and evidence-based reasoning. In such a reality dominated by some form of the language of "economics", nature is deceptively offered at a discount. It's as if the advertisement were: "Nature - lowest prices, free delivery." But the accounting applied is incomplete wishful thinking.

While all this is going on, there are places where it is now possible to get a medical prescription for free outings and experiences in natural settings. For mental and physical health benefits, it is possible to be referred by a doctor for time spent in a nature preserve. Would that be an "economic" benefit of nature, or would it be a benefit of nature that is "economical"? For the person benefiting, it might seem to have nothing to do with "economics", and only to do with "well-being". From the perspective of the current state of natural spaces, viewed globally, "well-being" could be thought to be "uneconomical".

To say that the ability of many people to appreciate nature is limited by "economic" obstacles, while "true" enough, barely scratches the surface of a very complicated topic. Words like "economic" - and of course "nature" - are far from straightforward. In written and verbal discussion, people usually default to a very simple understanding of such words. It seems blatantly obvious that people's options are limited by "economics". On the other hand, some of the most economically impoverished people I've ever met have spent long stretches of time as recluses, isolated and immersed in remote natural settings. That's not to claim this could provide any sort of a general model of existence.

One problem with a simplistic use of the word "economics" - stripped of all complexity - is that any reasoning based on its use gets similarly truncated. Such words can become linguistic "sacred cows" that are never investigated. If you lift the lid on the word "economic", it becomes apparent that there's a lot going on underneath. For example, we have become accustomed to the implicit assertion that whatever is "economical" must be "good". (Or at least good enough for enough of the right people.)

Very broadly, something is said to be "economical" if it is "worth doing", or "profitable". (*To whom* is often unclear.) What that boils down to is that money can be gained by certain activities - but not by others. Activities that cannot produce a profit are classed as "uneconomical", and generally not "worth doing". And then, many activities that damage nature and human health are believed to be very "economical" by many people.

Should we "improve" the definition of the word "economical"? That might not be the best question. The current use of the word represents one level of understanding of societal interactions, and provides potential insight. Rather than focusing on improving any particular definition, it might be better to focus on our general acceptance of the oversimplification of numerous terms in numerous domains. "Economic" obstacles are certainly real, but they seem far more complicated than commonly recognised. While they can keep poor people from experiencing the remaining natural spaces, they also keep the wealthy from preserving such spaces for the future - or even really understanding their significance. Some terms that we accept uncritically seem to short circuit our reasoning processes.

Last week I mentioned some of the ways our many technologies - most prominently represented in urban settings - frame and structure our perceptions of nature, and limit our mental and physical interactions with it. Previously I've considered the overuse of natural spaces like National Parks, where quota systems or lotteries have been introduced to limit the degradation of ecosystems - and even the "guest experience" itself. People's prior "training" results in a very wide range of awareness and expectations that people bring along when "visiting nature". While people who are accustomed to an urban environment might be pleased to experience "taking a break" in some natural setting, they will inevitably have elements of "infrastructure barrier" between themselves and any natural setting. Our habitual surroundings condition us to experience nature in particular ways.

I also noted that some people now seem to feel relatively contented living insulated from nature. Those who don't feel contented, are encouraged to seek out "therapeutic" benefits in natural settings. There is an extensive industry of professionals offering to "reconnect" people with nature through various "natural products", treatments, and therapies. The entire Province of British Columbia was once advertised to potential tourists as "Super Natural", which might be construed as being extra therapeutic. Setting all the hype aside, there are clearly very real positive effects that many people experience through various engagements with relatively natural places - or even through hobbies like bird-watching.

I think this suggests questions about what sorts of relationships urban residents enter into with nature. Maybe an analogy with the different reasons why people choose organic food might apply. Some consumers seek out organic food, despite a higher price, because it generally tastes better and has low pesticide residues. Beyond that, some people additionally value the fact that organic agriculture is generally better for the health of soil, water, workers, and the broader environment. It is also obvious that many people cannot afford such choices, and at the same time would find it very difficult to grow their own organic food.

Similarly, many people value healthy populations of wildlife and scenic forests, and may have favourite animals or trees. Beyond that, some people know enough to understand the importance of biodiversity more broadly. The more people know about reality, the better they are equipped to appreciate more complex inter-relationships. They are often limited in this regard by "economic" obstacles.

There are many fine "nature" videos available that can provide people with interesting, informative views of the natural world. Of course, the number of nature videos pales in comparison with all the big-budget productions featuring car chases, explosions, sporting contests, animated talking insects, and so on. Nature isn't generally seen as much of a spectator sport. There are also many fine nature photographs and wildlife paintings. Of course, there are many more celebrity and "people" photographs.

Even nature videos and photographs are consumer items, yet nature is incompatible with consumerism. In the context of a city, even a park with some natural elements becomes a consumer item. Not only does modern technology limit and channel our ways to experience natural processes, it is now possible for some people to feel relatively contented living essentially insulated from nature. Well, yes, there are always the dandelions and the ants...

People living in cities and suburban areas are surrounded by many manufactured objects that require attention. Even travel from a city to a more natural environment will involve automobiles or other forms of insulating infrastructure - all of which shape our minds. The city tends to come along on the ride. Humans are obviously the only species that has evolved to consciously alter the global environment, although other species have done and still do so unwittingly. On the other hand, it is arguably unclear how "conscious" humans have really been about their impacts on natural processes.

In exchange for food, clothing, and perhaps shelter, millions of people, over time, contribute to the erection of cities. No individual or group will have designed more than small fractions of each, and many current inhabitants will view them with resignation. Nevertheless, cities proliferate and expand. While from time to time people can make small changes - more "green space", better highway access - it is difficult to recognise, let alone counteract the artificial assumptions urbanisation builds into our minds each day.

We are trained to think that at least some of us can "control" our environment, and to some extent our actions can give that illusion - manipulating manufactured elements within an environment could be misconstrued as "controlling" that environment. But actually, our environment shapes us: we must continually adjust our actions in accordance with its present construction. Maybe the point of understanding this is to better consider where to find those spaces where we are shaped in ways we approve of.

Children grow up with soft, cuddly stuffed animals, and it is perhaps not so surprising that, as adults, they might try to take a selfie with a wild animal in a National Park. Not many children grow up with stuffed spiders or giant cockroaches, but there are people who study spiders and like them - a lot. Or at least, they respect and appreciate them. Creatures come in many, many amazing shapes and sizes, and all are important for ecosystems in some way. People might have learned to fear or hate their "looks", but such sentiments are dangerous at multiple levels.

People who have learned to fear and hate bugs, spiders, wasps, ants, cockroaches, and hundreds of other smaller and larger organisms have become divorced from nature. At the most personal level, that means they have become cut off from a vast source of potential enjoyment and understanding. Their overwhelming negative emotional reaction to these elements of the environment can restrict and diminish their lives. (And no, this is not to suggest they should open the doors and invite all the bugs into their houses, or embrace their inner mosquito.)

An emotionally-based lack of awareness and understanding can also have much wider consequences. Nature - natural processes - can be understood to consist of countless interactions between all sorts of amazing organisms and their environment. The less a person understands about such interactions, the more likely they are to have their decisions and actions shaped by overly-simplified emotional impulses developed since childhood. When large numbers of people behave this way in concert, the earth's ecosystems are likely to be degraded. The climate emergency becomes ever more unavoidable. Denial becomes dogma.

While it might seem totally insignificant that people hate "creepy crawlies", or slimy slugs, or "dirty" ants, the demonstrated lack of understanding may have much broader ramifications. We live in a natural world full of many small interactions contributing to much larger events.