“Nature holds the key to our aesthetic, intellectual, cognitive and even spiritual satisfaction.” — E. O. Wilson
With the passing this past December of pioneering ecologist, entomologist, author, and teacher E. O. Wilson, the world lost one of the most influential guiding lights of our time. His discovery of ant pheromones in the 1960s led him to view nature through a systems lens and to groundbreaking work on the idea that organisms work in concert within ecosystems. He coined the term “biodiversity”, which has become a cornerstone of conversation biology. His work in human behavior, science, philosophy, and conservation highlighted the importance of the planet’s rich biodiversity and our place in it. He showed that cooperation rather than conflict has enabled our survival, emphasized our responsibility to the planet and all living beings on it, and challenged humanity to act in concert to save our biosphere. He was the ultimate observer. While I never met him, his deep fascination with the ways of the natural world always spoke to me. My path, my heart, and my psyche have long been guided, expanded, and soothed by my interactions with the natural world. As a child, I spent untold hours perched on the granite outcrops of New England’s coastline, absorbing the nuances of the sea: the way the color of water shifts towards gray with an oncoming storm; how flotsam gathers on eddy seams; the repetition in wave forms from the largest surges to the tiniest of ripples. I imagined myself a mermaid; the sea compelled me: my education was filled with logarithmic equations describing the arc of a beachform and first order kinetics explaining microbial transformations of chemicals in water. It was on that New England coastline that I honed my powers of observation and developed a deep reverence for the planet. It has shaped the way I experience and move in the world, propelling me to fiendishly study the natural world as a scientist, adventurer, and daily observer; helping me navigate pattern, form, and composition in my paintings; and seeing problems and solutions from the 30,000 foot view. I tend to be hyper-observant of color, pattern, form, energy and the way things, beings, and people interrelate. And, from this vista, the world is a cornicopia of beauty, mystery, and power. Of late, I’ve been blessed with time for deep observation. During early morning walks, I’ve been observing crocodile superhighways—tangled networks of deeply incised and swooping marks in the sand, crisscrossing the floodplain of Rio Nosara. At first light one morning I noticed a pair of eyes—barely discernible above the water surface—and upon further inspection, the contours of a snout tip. And then, as I watched, a crocodile exploded from the water, snapping and arching, ultimately slipping back into silence as quickly as it emerged. This one was relatively small—four feet maybe. The next morning, however, I witnessed “the big one” as it silently lurked in the shaded recesses beneath the overhanging trees on the river bank. It sensed my presence and momentarily glided through the water and disappeared below, all with the stealth of a silent submarine. Last night I went to the river in search of crocodiles. We brought flashlights (and a machete) and walked the shoreline, peering across the water’s surface, looking for eyes. And, we likely saw at least one pair. But, what I saw, what was most incredible to me, was a virtual city of spiders, thousands upon thousand of them, their eyes twinkling like blue and green strobes, strewn across the floodplain, nestled in root balls and riverbank, in cobbles and driftwood, each staking out its individual territory—in a view that resembled the twinkling lights dotting the landscape of inhabited earth from an airplane at night. Absent the reflection of eyes, these critters were entirely indiscernible; even under the direct beam of a headlamp, the brown bodies, camouflaged into the surroundings as they were, might have gone unnoticed without proper attention. I returned to the shore as a morning ritual today, retraced our tracks, and came upon the most exquisite and unmistakable imprint of a crocodile (above), who had nestled itself into the sand, absorbing its heat. The print was clearly new, having been made sometime between our nighttime sojourn and my morning walk. This deeply felt connection to the planet and my place on it has provided the gift of grounding, solace, and meaning during the last couple years—a time that has otherwise been acutely disorienting and disconnecting. I am not alone in this—the mental health and wellness benefits of immersion in the natural world are well-documented. They include helping us to downregulate our nervous systems; reducing anger, fear, and stress; and increasing feelings of presence, happiness, joy, and awe. So, when(ever) you are feeling out of sorts—for whatever reason—my best advice: Get outside. It will always serve you. Check out more of my writing here.
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