i grew up embodying these legacies, learning to take as much of what’s given because you never know when the safety around you will crumble away. to watch out for myself and my people and always be aware. to be skeptical and cautious and prepare for the worst. while i believe that people are intrinsically good, i also carry practices of not trusting those around me. these lessons are rooted in experience, resulting in constant precautions.

my family home has weathered break-ins and my father’s car was recently stolen a few streets from our home. i’ve been harangued on the street for seemingly no reason (was it because of who i am? what i look like?), questioned about where i or my family are from or what my “heritage” is seemingly a billion times, made to feel small and incompetent simply because i didn’t look like anyone else present or like anyone who had been present before. in the name of protection, i was raised with a scarcity mindset, as well as my forebears’ belief in the american dream. 

learning about trust on huahine

this past fall, i had the incredible opportunity and privilege to study in the south pacific. one of the professors, josiane, is a tahitian ethnohistorian, teacher, author, botanist, linguist, and wonderfully kind person. in discussing culture and community in the french polynesian islands, she said, “you can’t trust someone who doesn’t trust anyone.” other similar maxims exist – trust people and they will become trustworthy. over the last few years away from home, i’ve learned about more worlds than the childhood worldview i grew up with.

i’ve worked hard to assume the best intentions and motivations, love all people, have empathy, and be generous with second, or more, chances. but in the rigid, individualistic cultures prevalent in the u.s., i’ve struggled with the balance of giving the benefit of the doubt while also still remaining safe. spending time in french polynesia, i was exposed to a different, more trusting lifestyle. i began to understand how these community values can be one of the most important ways to tackle climate change. 

some of the highlights of my time in the south pacific were on huahine, where josiane lives. huahine is known for its strong womxn, pride, and self-sufficiency. people live intentionally, practicing culture and traditions as their ancestors did. most of our programming that week was focused on learning about life there, especially related to food, as well as connecting with josiane’s home and friends. one whole day was spent with all of our professor’s friends at a couple’s, sofia and gus’, home and garden. they live off the grid with solar power, big rainwater tanks, no doors, barely any walls to their house, a couple of sailing canoes for transportation, and composting toilets, buying minimally from the island’s grocery store.

my class spent the morning walking through the huge garden with sofia as she told us about many foods i had never even heard of, as well as how they like to grow. she passed on so much of her knowledge in a couple hours, replete with years of best practices, things she had learned from just trying–planting seeds in every single place imaginable to see what conditions and companions each plant liked. the rest of the day was spent with all of josiane’s friends preparing a huge meal.

from each we learned different skills, ideas, and values. together, we husked coconuts, cracked them open, shredded the meat, squeezed the shreds to make coconut milk, made bowls out of the coconut shells, made coconut pancakes with the meat and fresh cassava flour we ground, chopped up a beautiful fruit salad and greens salad, and made carpaccio with fish they had caught yesterday. i talked to one about jewelry and traditional polynesian craft. another showed me how to better husk coconuts. one heard us mentioning a fruit that we’d never tried and shortly thereafter presented us with the fruit prepared in its juiced and fermented form. there was an air of abundance, of both time and joy.

sharing knowledge, building community

all of the food, knowledge, and skills to prepare this feast came from the garden and people present. all were open, willing to teach and to answer our (silly) questions, and they moved with grace and gratitude in the time we spent together and the generosity of the earth. the lack of hesitation in welcoming a group of foreigners into their community, which had never before been done, the generosity with which they shared their knowledge, demonstrated clearly to me what living closely with the earth can look like, in reality.

i had read and theorized and imagined and envisioned back in my ivory tower at school, but this was a genuine way of living that was joyful, fulfilling, and full of love. all of the friends knew nature’s rhythm and showed their gratitude to her by living in relationship with every other being. and they all did this in community. although it was sofia and gus’ home, all of the friends, and then us students, too, were so invited and so comfortable that we moved around their home with ease and care.

together, the friends, each offering their knowledge and skills, teach workshops to the surrounding polynesian community, not open to any tourists, of how to live close to the earth and use low-tech devices like sun-drying food racks and rocket stoves that use little wood. not only do sofia and gus exemplify a life with little harmful environmental impact, they also share that with many others, helping build and give to a community. 

a pampelmousse for everyone

another memorable experience of kindness was on nuku hiva at the arboretum papua-keikaha. the arboretum aims to preserve native and culturally significant foods, while also helping provide food to the community as the island has been stricken with drought for many years after the introduction of palm trees for plantation farming by colonizers.

when we reached the citrus groves, the man giving us the tour picked a few different pampelmousse (or, grapefruit) for our sampling. there were four different varieties that we were able to try and after our murmurs of deliciousness, he started picking pampelmousse after pampelmousse, handing them to people and telling us to take them with us! we were overwhelmed with fruit; everyone had at least a couple in their hands. whatever backpacks people had brought with them were overflowing with fruit. he was incredibly giving, wanting to share his work and the food important to his people.

had the citrus not gone to us, it would’ve, along with the rest of the fruit produced at the arboretum, gone to local schools for lunch meals. but it wasn’t a question of saving the juicy, ripe fruit for the schools, more of an assumption that there were visitors to this place and when they left they needed to take something with them–a mark of the kindness and mindset of abundance in people.  

living in rhythm with nature

building and extending generosity and trust in communities is an important way to address climate change. all of josiane’s friends and the man at the arboretum showed me this explicitly. they produce their own food, take and emit little in terms of housing, transportation, or waste, and share what they know with others so more people can live with the land. in recognizing the earth and others’ generosity, there is more gratitude, which can develop more responsible and intentional living. knowing that the breadfruit trees are abundant when they fruit and having gratitude for the amount of food the earth provides leads people to make sure they steward and care for those trees and do what they can to make sure they can keep reproducing year after year.

rather than keep these ideals siloed and individual, sofia exemplified these values in her community. she trusted a group of foreign students she had never met before to walk through her garden and harvest all kinds of food on our own. she, and the rest of my professor’s friends, shared their time, their hard work, and their knowledge with all of us. from that day, i truly came to understand that it’s possible to live in right relation with the earth, surrounded by and embedded in a community.

the people we met have little negative and harmful impact on the earth while teaching others to live closely, not pollute nor emit, and bask in the generosity of the planet and reciprocate with care for the land and waters. climate change has and will bring food scarcity, individualism and escapism, irregularity and the inability to depend on historically accurate cycles or trends, resulting in barriers to community building. but in building communities that are trusting, kind, and generous, that live in rhythm with nature, climate change solutions become everyday actions that are accessible and contagious to many people. 

developing the capacity to trust is not an easy task, nor is it fair to ask uniformly of all people. some people are skeptical, self-protective, and wary for good reason. the world they live in is not built for them or their benefit, happiness, or ability to thrive. bad things can and do happen. greeting the world with trust and care can sometimes take an unexpected or harmful turn. 

it begins and ends with trust

at the end of the program, my family came to visit and spend the holidays together. within a couple of days, i noticed the generosity and goodwill i was accustomed to greeting and giving out shifting a bit. it was raining as my family drove up a narrow, bumpy, dirt road looking for our rental house. not a good road to be on in the rain with a tiny car with tiny tires. when we reached what seemed like the end of the road, with no luck on finding the house, a person came out from his home and tried telling us in mixed french, tahitian, english, and hand gestures to turn around and get off the road. it made perfect sense to me and i thought i understood what he was saying.

but for the others in my family, having just arrived in the country, they didn’t expect this behavior. this man was standing out in the rain, having come out of his house where we were on his property, telling us with zeal to turn around and leave. as the guy tapped on the window again to emphasize that we needed to go, someone said, “roll the window up” as he was speaking. i was astounded and frustrated! this person was trying to help, to be kind. i trusted him and saw the generosity, whereas that wasn’t shared within my family.

they did not expect interactions with strangers to be filled with generosity. it’s hard to be generous without trust and it’s hard to trust without being part of a community. with a little bit of trust in someone else, they will put a little bit more trust in you, as josiane says. that trust is the foundation of relationships that become communities, which can be filled with generosity and openness. community building is one of the most essential ways to contend with a rapidly warming world where suffering abounds. trust people and they will become trustworthy. 

as vallejo-marin spoke to the harvard scholars in late 2021 about his goal to use a vibrating source to conduct a controlled study on the characteristics of pollination in different species of bees, an eager hand shot up in the audience. the hand belonged to noah jafferis, ph.d., a professor of electrical and computer engineering at the university of massachusetts. jafferis felt that he could help vallejo-marin achieve his goal by using a completely novel bio-robotic bee to replicate certain types of pollination in experiments. vallejo-marin’s first thought was one of skepticism, as the two researchers come from entirely different scientific backgrounds, but the more they talked, the more they realized that their interests seem to intertwine perfectly.

in march 2022, within months of meeting each other, vallejo-marin and jafferis secured an $840,000 grant from the human frontier science program, an organization that promotes international interdisciplinary research related to living organisms.

“this is one of the best pieces of news that you can receive as a scientist,” vallejo-marin said, with excitement in his voice. “grant writing and getting funds in science is a very difficult process where there is a lot of chance, luck, and being in the right place at the right time.”

vallejo-marin’s biology lab in scotland is filled with the deafening sound of buzzing, which shakes the entire room with high-pitched vibrations. the source of this buzzing becomes clear as vallejo-marin walks over to a large tank in the corner of the lab, looking affectionately at the hundreds of yellow and black insects flying and landing on artificial flowers. the focus of this lab is buzz pollination, which is a fairly rare and under-researched type of bee pollination that is vital to the health and fertilization of over 20,000 plant species and crops across the globe.

“buzz pollination is used on many different plant species, including a number of crops that humans rely on for food sources such as tomatoes and blueberries,” vallejo-marin said. understanding how bees do it and which species do it could improve agriculture and help explain the importance of protecting rare species to maintain bee biodiversity.

not all bees buzz… pollinate

only certain bees can buzz pollinate, and only certain plants can be pollinated in this way. most bees pollinate by landing on flower petals and passively collecting pollen in the hairs on their bodies, which is then spread throughout the area as they fly. however, when the right kind of bee lands on the right kind of flower, the bee will contract the muscles in its thorax and start actively producing vibrations that make the entire flower shake. this motion causes the pollen grains inside to bounce back and forth and eventually shoot out of the flower.

“you can see a shower, almost like a jet stream of pollen coming out of the flower,” vallejo-marin said. “this happens in a fraction of a second, and it takes less than a hundred milliseconds for the bees to shake free thousands and thousands of pollen grains.”

the main challenge that vallejo-marin has faced throughout his research is determining the morphology of buzz pollinators. this information would allow him to decipher what enables buzz pollinators to biologically pollinate in this way, compared to species of bees that cannot produce buzz vibrations. 

“we know very little about what makes a bee buzz a certain way, whether it’s size or speed or ecology or a combination of all of those factors,” vallejo-marin said. he has found that it is extremely difficult to replicate the incredibly fast vibrations that a such a tiny insect produces on a flower. this is where dr. noah jafferis comes in, and this is where bee research will take a turn into the unknown.

creating the prototype

jafferis has been interested in bio-inspired microrobots since he was in graduate school at harvard university, where he helped develop a winged microrobot that was able to fly like a bee and simulate some of the aerodynamic aspects of insect flight. 

“the wings in those robo-bees were powered by piezoelectric actuators that bend back and forth, similar to the muscles that pull a bee’s wings back and forth,” jafferis said. “i realized that these same muscles also produce the vibrations for buzz pollination, and my microrobots may be able to help in mario’s research.”  

piezoelectric actuators are mechanical devices that take electrical energy and convert it directly into linear motion with high speed and force. unlike larger robotic mechanisms, these actuators would be able to vibrate the body of the micro-robotic bee with extreme accuracy and precision while still maintaining the weight and size of an actual bee. although the robo-bee pollinators are currently just prototypes, jafferis is confident that he will be ready to begin the coding process in the near future. 

over the next year, vallejo-marin will be using biomechanical equipment to analyze the buzz patterns of different bee species in his lab, even attempting to put tiny monitors directly on the bees to measure their movements during buzz pollination. 

“there is a variety of information that mario will be measuring, such as the frequency and amplitude of the vibrations in buzz pollination, which i can plug directly into our robo-bees and tell that to vibrate with the same frequencies and amplitudes,” jafferis said. 

but, what can these robotic bees actually tell researchers that living bees cannot, and how would the data influence bee conservation and crop production? 

bio-inspired robots have been utilized to study the behavior and anatomy of many animal species in recent decades, and their use is only growing as they are able to provide novel information that scientists have never before been able to retrieve.

“biomimetic robots enable us to control individuals in experiments, and we can pinpoint differences in the behaviors of live animals, which we cannot do in any other setting,” said david bierbach, a bio-robotics researcher, in a 2021 press conference at the university of konstanz.

jafferis believes that robotics could be the key to achieving detailed analyses of buzz pollination, illustrating how a bee’s characteristics affect their ability to buzz and what types of vibrations are most effective for pollination.

“we can’t tell an actual bee, ‘hey we want to see what happens if you let go of one of your feet,’ but with a robot we can,” jafferis said. “we can tell the robots to vibrate and grab flowers and do things in different ways that a bee is not doing on its own.”

the need for bees

bees are in a current state of worldwide decline, and their biodiversity is suffering in a way that may lead to the complete extinction of certain rare species in the near future.  

“we fear bee decline,” said michael roswell, ph.d., an entomologist at the university of maryland. “with 4,000 species of bees in the united states and 20,000 species on earth, we expect that some will be doing better than others at any given time, but we’re certainly afraid that many rare species are doing worse and worse.”

roswell published a study in april 2022 that highlighted the importance of rare bees in plant-pollinator networks. he and his team were able to show that less common species, many of which were buzz pollinators, often fertilize plants that more common species do not pollinate at all. roswell believes that vallejo-marin and jafferis’ study would expand his research in a way that could help to target bee conservation efforts towards the buzz pollinators that are most in need of protection and that are needed most by their ecological environments.

“we are trying to use this project as a platform to help people realize that not all bees are the same and that different bees do different jobs,” vallejo-marin said. “it is important to maintain the biodiversity of bees so that not just one or two species are doing well, because every species is vitally important.”

if the robotic bees are able to successfully replicate buzz pollination, they may be able to aid in sustainable methods of crop production as well.   

“if one bee species is suffering, the robots could tell us if there is another species that can fill in and pollinate these vital crops instead, or if we need to focus all of our resources on the conservation of that species,” jafferis said.

the researchers are optimistic that they will eventually be able to pair the optimal bee with the optimal crop, which would not only supply humans with an effective and environmentally conscious method of crop fertilization, but would also help bees to strengthen their populations in areas with bounties of plants that match their pollination styles.

over the next three years, vallejo-marin and jafferis will be working toward these sizable goals, combining their expertise to create a groundbreaking interdisciplinary device that may be able to positively influence bees, humans, plants, and the environment as a whole.  

“it is hard to work with bees and not fall in love with them,” vallejo-marin said. “they are such charismatic creatures, and once you care about them you will care about them forever.”

the landscape around me has a muted, yet vibrant color palette. leaves of all kinds—a concoction of green if you will. flowers blend into this mixture – a subtle harmony of browns, purples, and greens. desert plants appear, reminding me that beauty can grow anywhere if given the space to grow. there are few trees. layers of exposed dirt. with each step, my view widens. i see how this mountain range shapes the contours of the city below. i notice a thick layer of smog. it distorts the colors, the yellows and oranges that serve as a harbinger of sunset.

insects, bugs, filled every nook and cranny that the rocks have left exposed. their small bodies look much bigger as they fly and crawl from every edge. i follow several of the bugs to the edge of the mountainside, and for a moment i feel light and free-floating as if i was one of them. i look down and see people inching along in their cars. choking traffic. but up here, i can’t hear anything.

i normally listen to music, but here the wind uses the trees as an instrument – a muted trombone perhaps, while flying insects make a bass-like sound. the heaviness in my body seems to lift, even if momentarily. the sounds of this place appear to be shifting, each rock’s irregular shape and jagged edges softened by the wind, the tall, swaying grass producing a faint “sh” sound.

when i reach the peak, it is still. i am still. the birds appear to stop chattering. my feet have stopped shuffling, even the wind has stopped rustling the bushes. all of the weight i was carrying in my mind, and body, seem to disappear. i can finally catch my breath. never have i felt such a sense of peace in a single moment. 

shadows cover the path to the river, protecting us from the scorching sun. i feel the sweat running down my back as i readjust the basket under my arm. skirting a big branch, beds of clay, and lines of rock, we arrive at our destination: a flat patch of grass overlooking the river — perfect. with picnic blankets spread and the eno set up, i hop into the hammock and look up.

the water oak on each end of the hammock leans at the perfect angle to cover the space around me with a cool shade. i watch the branches above me, each twisted in its own unique way. they looked almost like the towering branches i would climb as a child when my babysitter took me to a local park. i’d climb a magnolia tree, take home its white blossom as a prize, and watch it wither away on my bedside table.

my daydream doesn’t last. i hear a loud, “omg josh, stop!” there are four teenagers horsing around near the river. one, a girl, is pushed into the water. she quickly finds herself in the middle of the river. the current is strong and fast-flowing and she is pulled away. i jump out the eno, and with my friends, we run to the river, to a point where we might be able to reach to her.

i see a protruding branch from a tree. i grab it, break it, and carry it to the river’s edge. along with my friends, we stick it out just in time. the girl grabs it, and manages to stumble out onto the rocks near the river, safe.

after thanking us, she returns to her friends. i crawl back into my eno, exhausted. i look up at the branches above me again — this time with a new appreciation for them. this tree that i am lying under must have seen so much: children clambering up, teenagers breaking its branches, and adults slumbering in hammocks. and so, as the music from our speaker begins to play again, i silently thank this tree.

i, on the other hand, had a plan. well, to be more precise, i had yearning. for getting away, for getting into nature. i was going to the canyon. no, not that canyon. something closer to home. cloudland canyon, in the northwest corner of georgia, bordering alabama and tennessee.

however, i would have to leave soon if i were to make it in time for sunrise — it was just after 2:00 a.m. and i had a three hour drive ahead of me. i racked my brain and gathered everything i thought i may need, shoved them into my car, and got on the road— i would not sleep that night.

my drive was long, quiet, and peaceful  — and then i was there. i got out of the car, took a deep breath of green, and began walking to the first overlook on the edge of a cliff. i had the place mostly to myself. distant waves of fading green and amber. singing birds gliding about. i then realized that the main trail of the canyon was the other way, so off i went.  

sitting at the head of the trail was a set of wooden adirondack chairs set up to take in the view.

the wood was soft, chilled, smooth, and inviting, so i plopped down and gazed at the landscape.  these chairs sure had a good thing going for them. they faced a tree-spotted cliff with a wooden fence to corral guests from going off the edge. beyond it were grassy hills rolling into the nothingness of the horizon.

i sat a long time. i was in no rush. finally, my stomach growled, as i had not eaten all night. so, it was time to head back and find that restaurant i had seen a few miles away.

with some fuel in my stomach, it was time to hike the trails. there was green everywhere — i would have to come back in autumn to see fall colors. as i went on, i noticed how the opposing side of the valley had another tree covered rock outcrop—like a mirror. i  found a large stone ledge i could stand on, unguarded by a fence, that would allow me to witness it all, undisturbed.

i continued, eventually reaching a large natural pool. i waded my legs into the translucent water, flinching at the cold.

i heard a low rumble and looked up to see that the pool was being filled by a small waterfall surging over the cliff. as i grew closer to the fall, the rumble took on specific notes. on some rocks, the water fell in tones of a low rumbling bass, on others, a jolting treble. people were standing on these rocks, using the fall as a makeshift shower of sorts. i joined in, clothes and all. they would dry.

i started back, but when i reached the entrance of the pool, i noticed another trail going in the opposite direction. this trail was littered with debris — rocks and large tree limbs. i ducked under the limbs, most of which were fallen trees that had gotten stuck between the sides of the cliffs. i crawled, climbed, and maneuvered around the rocks, trying not to fall into the pools of water trapped in their floors. finally, i reached the end. it opened up to water flowing off the edge of a rock. it was beautiful. there was a small snake squirming around. i found a dry spot on the rock to sit — it was cool to the touch — and hung my legs over the edge. when i looked down, i saw the same people who were just in the pool with me. i realized i had gone around the back to the source of the waterfall. i sat and took in this view for a while, before deciding it was probably time to head back to my car. back to the suburbs. back home.

when you pull into the gravel lot outside the visitor nature center, you realize that this is the last point of contact with civilization for the next 36 hours. suddenly, you’re pulling your canoe packed with all the basic survival necessities into the dark marshy waters and sending yourself off into the great unknown. the first waterway is underwhelming. it seems like many other small rivers in georgia, lined with overgrown brush and grassy banks. but as you turn the bend, the greenery on either side opens up and you are met with a view, the likes of which you have never seen. the large river is perpendicular to your boat, extending on either side for as long as the eye can see. there is a clear view of the sky, which is overcast but coats the scene in a serene gray beauty.

a steady sort of quiet hangs in the air, a settled sense of stillness that does not exist in the day-to-day life of suburban america. the water smells fresh, not dasani fresh, but rather the fresh scent that comes from the earth. your canoe paddle slices into water so dark that it acts as a mirror, reflecting the cyprus knees, slash pine, loblolly, and other trees of this place.

floating downstream, your stomach drops when you catch a glimpse of this land’s queen: the american alligator. the upper half of the intimidatingly enormous creature cuts through the water, her body elegantly moving forward. you row hard and try and keep up, and your shoulders burn as you watch her disappear into the scenery.

the sun begins arching downward, and you start to make your way toward your campsite after a long day of navigating narrow streams that wind through groves of bald cypress trees emerging out of the murky swamp. your body feels exhausted in a way that is reminiscent of the days you spent as a child playing all day in the yard with your friends, and you feel a great sense of relief when you arrive at the campsite. you bring your canoe parallel to the dock floating among the shining lily pads and gleeful golden trumpet pitchers.

once you finish setting up your tent and sleeping bag, you settle in for a snack as the day finally rests into night. the air shifts from hot and wet humidity to a misty coolness. just as you feel your eyes start to close and you drift off to sleep, you are awoken by the sight of a sparkling night sky. gazing upward, it seems as if the space is taken up more by stars than darkness. a paint splatter of stardust fills the vast dome and the water reflects it below you as well, creating an all-encompassing cocoon of magic. you wrap yourself tighter in your puffy sleeping bag to the sounds of bugs chirping and frogs humming. this melody peacefully lulls you to sleep.

there is something so wonderful and eye opening about traveling into an environment in which you are forced to immerse yourself into a different culture. in fact, i would argue that nature itself has a culture. one all but forgotten to people in overpopulated cities and even the suburbs.

after the race we caught a bus headed back to the start line, and walked the remaining distance, maybe a mile, back home to our motel room. by that point, it was almost afternoon, but wanting to make the most of every minute, we decided to squeeze in one more hike before we got on the road for good that evening. we packed up as fast as we could, with all the rest of our belongings thrown messily in the trunk of our dusty silver hyundai santa fe rental. the hike itself was beautiful and we stayed there for the remainder of the day, playing in the rocks, taking pictures and tracing where other hikers had traveled before us. when it started getting darker we turned back towards the trailhead. i remember thinking on the walk back, how much i was looking forward to sleeping while my mom drove the next three or so hours to moab.

i tried to close my eyes that drive, but as we traveled further away from the faint lights of the last small town, the light from the stars began to keep me awake. at one point they grew so bright i could see the outlines of the canyons surrounding us across at the other end of the valley. my head still pressed against the glass of the window; i heard the audible rush of the wind outside the car roaring around us. aside from some animal whose silhouette crossed the road far ahead, we were the only living things in sight. going 80 down the freeway, it felt like we were flying.

my mom, at some point during the drive, asked me if i’d like to play some music, seeing that i was still awake. unsure of what would fit the mood or time of day, i just hit shuffle on some disco music, and softly beaming out of the speakers sang the band chic, followed by some kc & the sunshine band and donna summer. we each took turns dialing up the music, song by song, until it was suddenly blaring out of the speakers. my mom opened the sunroof so i rolled down the windows. then for the rest of the drive, as were cutting our way out of the last stretches of the canyons, we were singing every word together. i do not even remember arriving in the next city, but my mom and i both remember every moment of that drive together. that night kicked us both off on a new chapter in our relationship as best friends and adults.

i did not realize it at the time, but i would come to savor that night and the relationship with my mom it left me with. the carefree events of the day encapsulated what had been the theme of my entire life and childhood prior and served as a wonderful conclusion to that chapter of my life. when we got home from that trip everything would soon be different. what i did not know that night was that my gran would die just a few months later of a cancer that we, at that time did not even know she had. her death would send both my mom and me into a series of emotional hardships that, while we could not have survived without each other, still led me to transfer schools in the middle of a semester. i was also inspired by that trip to stick with distance running and the peace it gave me. my mother is still my best friend.  

in my life now, i still think daily about the blessings i received from my time in the canyons. when i hear disco music, i am reminded of how the person who i was when i entered the canyons trail was not the same one who left them. concealed in darkness across hundreds of miles of the most beautiful part of america, i thank that section of utah for that serendipitous moment and the joy, freedom and friendship it brought me. the place gave me a joy i knew would be waiting for me again. in hindsight of it all, the blessing from god given to us in the canyons gave my mom and me the gift of each other and still gives me a moment to root into when i feel disconnected from the important parts of everything else.

through social gatherings and workshops led by indigenous mentors, the program seeks to build community and communication skills to empower the next generation of indigenous storytellers. planet forward’s lisa palmer recently spoke with cotnoir and lafrance about what inspired them to create the program. 

palmer: can you tell us about your background and what made you want to focus on creating a space for indigenous environmental storytellers? 

cotnoir: kwaï! ndeliwizi alexander. nojiawi mamlawbagok. my name is alexander, and i grew up along the shores of lake memphremagog. i am a citizen of the nulhegan band of the coosuk-abenaki tribe. my family comes from trois-rivières along the saint françois river, as well as coaticook, quebec and vermont’s northeast kingdom. i’m passionate about food systems and understanding how climate change impacts northern forests, including the species and communities that depend upon them, given my experiences growing up in a family and community that makes maple syrup from the woods behind our home each spring, carrying on our community’s long tradition of making local food. i’ve witnessed firsthand how many of our local practices — from ice fishing, snowshoeing, and ash basket making to maple sugaring — are threatened by warmer winters and the associated influx of invasive species brought about by climate change. 

lafrance: kahay! baalaashe iichiinmaatchileesh huuk. basammalíaxxia biiuuwuutasshiik deelé koon biixúhkaalaxchebaakaatik. binnéesappeele kookakawook. iikooshtakáatbaatchaache kookakawook. hello. my apsáalooke name is fortunate with horses and my english name is joree lafrance. i come from the greasy mouth clan and i am a child of the ties the bundle clan. i come from the river crow band. i am from the mighty few district at the foothills of the big horn mountains on the crow reservation in southeastern montana. 

cotnoir: my passion for environmental storytelling comes from recognizing that, although indigenous communities have contributed little to global carbon emissions, we are disproportionately impacted by the loss of species and habitats brought about by global warming. this disproportionate impact is because our spirituality and identities are formed through interactions with local plants, animals, medicines, land, and waters. thus, anything that threatens the health of local ecosystems threatens our community’s health.

today, my work in science communication is grounded in the recognition that science is but one among several ways of understanding the world. if we are to fully combat and adapt to climate change, we need policymakers and scientists to value other ways of knowing, including indigenous knowledge. indigenous knowledge is powerful because it is imbued with ethics, and it’s time and field-tested. indigenous knowledge teaches us what to look for — so it can help us better predict and adapt to environmental changes. i seek to honor indigenous ways of knowing, as well as the knowledge-bearers that have passed down their experiences to the younger generations through the stories i tell. 

lafrance: i am the 7th generation of chief déaxitchish/pretty eagle, the last principal chief of the apsáalooke nation, and one of the first five apsáalooke delegation members to travel to washington, d.c., on behalf of our people. i am proud to come from families who are known for our horsemanship, horse parade sets, our original red elk tooth dress, kindness, love, and hard work. my ultimate goal is to return to my homelands and continue my heart’s work. i strive to live in a world where my people can be unapologetically apsáalooke and am working hard to be a good ancestor.

palmer: where did the idea for the ilíiaitchik: indigenous correspondents program come from? what are you hoping to accomplish with this program?

cotnoir: we recognized the need for an indigenous space where students interested in sharing their experiences and communicating environmental issues to the general public can gather, form a community, and strengthen their communication skills by learning directly from indigenous leaders in the communication field. 

lafrance: although representation of indigenous writers, podcasters, filmmakers, and storytellers has grown in recent years, reporting about science and the environment has not always been inclusive nor respectful of indigenous communities and knowledge systems. 

cotnoir: in the past, reporting on “native issues” was typically done solely by non-indigenous reporters, with little to no continued connections to the communities they reported on beyond the interview period. today, a lot of work remains to make journalism — a process steeped in colonial ideas about who holds the right to tell stories — more accessible and equitable for native people. 

lafrance: although indigenous communities are disproportionately impacted by climate change and global biodiversity loss, only a very small percentage of scientists, professors, and science journalists at u.s. universities and news organizations are indigenous. despite modest increases in indigenous representation among stem professionals in recent years, recent research from the institute for scientific information shows that between 2010 and 2020, there “was virtually no change in the representation of black, hispanic, and native american researchers among authors of scientific publications” a symptom of structural inequality, including underfunding of bipoc academics. this lack of resources and representation influences the coverage and perspectives around environmental justice, climate adaptation, and environmental policy issues while perpetuating harmful stereotypes about native communities. 

now is the time for indigenous people to write their own stories about their communities. we have the power to tell our own stories, we just need the space and the right tools. as indigenous graduate students working in environmental storytelling, we have worked hard to build the ilíiaitchik: indigenous correspondents program in the hopes that it will create a native space where our voices and perspectives inform and uplift one another.

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stay tuned to planetfoward.org for an introduction of the incredible indigenous correspondent team and updates from the program!

it is hard to believe there was a time when what was renamed as the c&o canal national historical park was unknown to me and not a part of my life. but once i reached it, there was simply no turning back. that very same place i had avoided because it seemed too far from home, now became a part of my life, requiring hours at a time for wandering the towpath, mountain trails, tunnels, across wetlands, and always taking field notes and pictures. having been a teacher meant that i was always wondering how to convey this sense of exploration and discovery to others, especially the coming generation that was losing its contact with the natural world.

when biodiversity took off

over the next three decades, separately, but soon to be interconnected, came a growing awareness of the world’s biota. in 1986, scientists dr. e.o. wilson and dr. thomas lovejoy led a national forum on biodiversity, which catapulted this subject into prominence. at this particular meeting, the national parks lacked a formal spokesperson regarding the biota within their boundaries.

one goal of this forum was to gain attention to the need for management and attention to our living, global species. as time passed, the concept and meaning of biodiversity grew from a novelty of the 1980s to the subject of global conventions and reports. reflecting on the interconnectedness of life, biodiversity came to stand for the study, discussion, and conservation of the various species that live on our planet. as this message reached out to the public, those crafting educational standards for science in grades k-12 also recognized the significance of biodiversity, albeit in a very truncated form. standards for such were instilled as part of the next generation science standards, a product of the national research council published in 2012.

eventually the national parks were recognized as another location where biodiversity could be found and studied. this recognition came as visitor’s interests were increasing and diversifying. thus, parks had to scale up efforts to meet both the new interests of visitors and programs for the protection and conservation of biodiversity. an early example of such came in 2004 with a report titled, “the potomac gorge conservation plan,” which marked the first set of biodiversity surveys in the c&o canal park. this was done cooperatively between the national park service and the nature conservancy. however, it was not until 2018 that a strategic plan emerged for conservation to enter park planning.

a more recent document, from our national academy of sciences is titled biodiversity at risk, which highlights extinction rates of 10 to 100 times those recorded before human domination. it also finds that at least 1 million species are further threatened with loss of life and concludes by recognizing how such losses cause decline in the world’s functioning ecosystems.

sadly, in late december 2021, these global losses were again brought to our attention, but this time marked by remembrances and obituaries telling of the deaths of two scientists, who, more than any others, pioneered our understanding of the significance of the earth’s green treasures, and whose thinking would come to influence the national parks as well.

first, lovejoy, 80, known as the person who produced the word biodiversity, passed away on saturday, dec. 25, followed just a day later by wilson, who died at age 92 on dec. 26. their lives’ work became synonymous with the practice of understanding the birth, death, and loss of species, and how this understanding would guide conservation.

lovejoy first ventured into the tropics in 1965 and continued to expand his research by opening an educational camp in the tropical forests of brazil. from his forested camp 41, award-winning research on fragmentation of forests was born. it became a place where those most interested in the workings of a rainforest could be housed and informed by lovejoy himself of the often-unseeable entities hiding among the towering canopies.

among things championed by wilson was the bioblitz, an event of citizen science at its best. one such event was held in 2016 to locate and identify species from the chesapeake and ohio canal national historical park.

responsibilities for biodiversity in the c&o canal park became part of its current strategic plan (2018 to 2023), to “maintain and protect wisely, to ensure towpath continuity, and protect and preserve cultural and natural resources.” it is this section that contains a strategic plan to develop and implement resource management by prioritizing critical natural areas and species of special concern. thus, while not yet embracing biodiversity by name, actions that lead to the conservation of species are now part of the park’s strategy.

a world canal conference

all reservoirs of biodiversity are a painting of inter-connectedness. this applies to the c&o canal park as well, along with the possibility to serve as a wildlife and conservation corridor. this suggestion was highlighted at the most recent world canals conference, held in august 2021 in hagerstown, maryland. in my presentation (“the capital’s corridor: from purveyor of goods to conservation corridor,” and two others), the emerging focus of biodiversity alongside the canals was discussed for the first time in this series of annual meetings, and participants could begin to consider this issue in relation to the more traditional history and interpretation and canal infrastructure discussions. a personal questionnaire was also distributed to seek guidance on how these issues should be managed by the c&o canal park.

in this talk, it was mentioned that the c&o canal park offers possibilities for exploring biodiversity and as a wildlife/conservation corridor. to do so, the corridor would take the same route as the canal and towpath, as if a passenger on a train. and as the canal stretches northward, so does the potential for a corridor, cutting through six geologic zones, climbing in altitude over 600 feet, each having different biota. as with all national parks, such diversity, remaining natural formations, historical and engineering artifacts, combined with our new and increasing understanding of biodiversity make the park more than the towpath and locks.

an alphabetized guide to the chesapeake and ohio canal national historical park

in fact, this park can open visitors up to life in nature, something that is getting harder to accomplish this close to major metropolitan areas. complete with great falls, and the kayak riders that dare the rapids, one finds a form of wilderness built of unique parts, sitting, waiting for others like justice douglas to ponder. with this thought in mind, a new guide to the canal park was begun with the intent to help readers rapidly locate those things of greatest interest. 

the question then became how to put this all together with old school and new school; a little bit fun, a little bit learning; a little bit art, a little bit science, and a hint of natural history and american history. it’s all for you, so put it to work. our response to this seemingly immense challenge is to provide excerpts from a book under production, titled, “an alphabetized guide to the chesapeake and ohio canal national historical park.” it is structured and illustrated to provide immergence for what is seen from the towpath and what the viewer knows already. it is like having a guide to ask, “but what is that and what does it do?”

however, while this book points one in the right direction, this national park and its exiting pools of biodiversity would benefit even more by modifying educational and research approaches conceived by lovejoy and wilson for establishing longer term programs. secondary students could undertake biodiversity studies that are consistent with educational standards from ngss (next generation science standards). in this time of restricted travel, financial pressures, and a virus complex still largely misunderstood, the opportunity to conduct work on populations, species, wetland, and fragmentation would go far in accelerating learning prior to graduate school or employment.

in summary, the book might best thought of as a guide to the constellations. so, think for a moment, how do we learn the constellations in the nighttime sky? at first, you see thousands of stars looking all the same, but as study their brightness and color, you suddenly see the major stars come forward in your eyes and voice in your ears, whispers, “that is the one, now look to your right and above, and there is another.” then slowly one star at a time, and following those clues whispered in your ears, the entire constellation appears in the sky, that very same sky where before there was nothing but he unknown twinkling of a thousand points of light.

except in our book, the night sky becomes an outstretching of green, blues and browns that slowly come into focus, completing a picture of a sycamore leaf swaying, waiting for the sun, and from there, we go inside the leaf, from cells to photosynthesis. you start with what you see or what’s on your mind, and next thing you know, like hearing voices in your ears of lovejoy, wilson, rachel carson, margaret mee, jane goodall, wangari maathai, fred urquhart, and on and on they come, a song that won’t stop and a melody that won’t let your feet stop dancing till the book is closed. you know that feeling, don’t you? so, take a walk on the towpath, any ol’ time of day and be surprised by what you see and learn.

conclusion: camp 41a, an education between the potomac river and the c&o canal

the canal was saved once, by the efforts of many who conceived of it as a national park rather than a parkway. thanks to their foresight, the canal was opened for a second time, only this time for nature not commerce. we hope that the book previewed and excerpted here will help bring together a place and its artifacts; its species and the science behind what is visible, the elements that bind its parts together, and help open eyes once again and fire up the engines of wilson and lovejoy to take us all place still unknown.

it is in lovejoy’s memory that “camp 41a” could be established for the canal where students could undertake much as lovejoy did, field studies on migration, fragmentation, speciation and the effects of corridors, thus enriching their education.

why be concerned about this park in particular? right now, it offers the potential to be the capital’s corridor, meaning that it becomes akin to a strip of “natural” habitat bringing together two or more other habitats, which then counters the effects of fragmentation, enriching the means by which organisms can move, encounter new genetic populations, and migrate. this could be the future of the biodiversity study in c&o canal park.

the university of mississippi recently joined the worldwide efforts to save honeybees and prevent pollinator extinction by becoming a pollinator friendly campus. as part of this campus initiative, umfs recently became home to the university of mississippi beekeeper club‘s honey bee hives.

club president katelyn pennington and staff advisor douglas sullivan-gonzalez reached out to field station director scott knight in 2019 to use part of their land for their 3 hives. knight said he was happy to help. the hives now reside on part of the 800 acres of land in an old yam field.  

“i love having students, helping with projects, and facilitating that,” knight says. “it’s really rewarding to inspire folks and getting them to come out to the field station, enjoying the property and using it.”

the field station benefits the bees by avoiding the use of insecticides as well as providing a pollinator garden full of wildflowers. the bees, however, are not the only ones benefiting from their new home. knight said he believes the bees have positively impacted the field station by pollinating their facility’s plants as well as teaching him the importance of pollinators and the dangers that come with their decline. 

“we are losing pollinators all over the world,” knight said. “there is a lot of debate as to why. it could be insecticide use or other pollutants that we are not even aware of. habitat loss is usually a factor in any animal that is beginning to disappear, and then there is a mite that is a problem for bees.”  

the um beekeepers have been tending the hives at its new location for one year, but the field station has been involved in pollinator research for about 5 years now. for instance, david wedge from usda natural products laboratory said his hives were at the field station to conduct research on natural mite repellent. he had read that the oil from mint leaves could be used as a natural repellent of mites, so the field station helped wedge in his experiment by planting mint and assisting with data collection. 

the beekeeper club is focused more on learning the art of beekeeping, but also play an active part in saving the bees. sullivan-gonzalez said he started um beekeepers organization when students heard he had hives and showed interest in learning about the hobby of beekeeping. he said the best way to help pollinators is to plant trees, shrubs and plants. 

“pollinators in general within the insect world have diminished drastically, and their loss represents a fundamental threat to the food chain,” he said. 

this new relationship between the umfs and the um beekeepers has made it possible to reduce the threat in a small way and move scientists closer to solutions. the field station has provided the trees, shrubs and plants needed to support pollinators, and it has allowed um to educate others on pollinator issues through hands-on experience.  

ultimately, this relationship has allowed the university of mississippi to become an important part of the global effort to save the bees.