Lichens - Our Ancient Mentor

They blow like green scarves from trees, crust rocks, frost fences, paint bark, and glow on roofs, tombstones, blue tarps — really anything that will stay still for a bit can be a swell home for a lichen.

Lichens delight, confound and inspire. A thing unto themselves on the tree of life, they have puzzled scientists for more than a century as to just what they even are. One of earth’s most adaptable forms of life, lichens live on every continent and have passed multiple tests of their ability to survive in outer space, even for months.

Beyond their persistence, lichens are productive: They bind and build soil. Work as bioindicators of air pollution and climate change. Produce nitrogen from thin air that feeds the forest floor and wildlife. Hummingbirds and bushtits gather lichens to wind into their nests. Ungulates, including caribou, elk and deer, subsist on lichens in winter, when other foods are scarce.

Lichens provide dyes, food and medicines for people, too, with their antimicrobial, antifungal and immune-support attributes deployed in traditional herbal medicines. Extracts of lichens also are used in deodorant, toothpaste, salves, extracts, teas and perfume.

Self-sufficient, lichens have no roots, no vascular tissue, make their own food and don’t need pollinators to reproduce.

[—]

Quiet and immobile as they may seem, they are actually articulate storytellers. The presence — or absence — of a lichen species, and changes in either, can indicate a shift in air quality and narrate the march of climate change.

And for all their fixedness — lichens are remarkably slow-growing — they are not passive. Some lichens wage mighty battles to define their boundaries, deploying chemical warfare, visible in a black line around their borders, to keep other lichens or their mortal enemy, moss, from encroaching, and even growing right on top of them, snuffing them out.

[—]

It was Spribille who revealed that lichens are not a twosome at all, but actually a ménage à trois, with a hitherto overlooked partner — for some 140 years.

Spribille and his collaborators shared their discovery in a 2016 scientific paper published in Science. Their genetic analysis found that lichens aren’t just the result of a single fungus and a photosynthesizing partner (be it an alga, a cyanobacteria, or both.) They found there also is a second fungus, a yeast, in the mix. Follow-up DNA analysis by Spribille and his colleagues — of 52 lichen genera from six continents — also detected the second fungus. The initial breakout from the one-lichen-one fungus paradigm was not a one-off.  

Scientists are still exploring whether the yeast is truly a symbiotic contributor, or just along for the ride. But even discovering its presence was a shocker, revealing lichens to be ecosystems unto themselves, with complexities that scientists are still trying to understand.

“We underestimated lichens for a very long time,” Spribille tells me. “It is not so much that people in the past got it wrong, as that they were missing a part of the picture, with the tools they had available to them, before the advent of genomics and modern molecular DNA sequencing.”

[—]

“Why wouldn’t they matter?” Goward says of lichens. “There are animals that feed on them, reindeer and caribou would not exist without them, they are beautiful, they color our world, they grow where other things don’t grow, they can live where nothing else can, they have the capacity to grow everywhere.”

And they are that example in nature in which one plus one equals … three. Perhaps that is why lichens have challenged science for so long.

“Science is reductionist,” Goward said. “The study of biology reduces life to its parts, the whole disappears. Lichens challenge that.”

To him, though, it goes much deeper. Lichens provide a window to see how in life things really work.

“It is still gobsmacking, the idea that lichens are a portal through which you look in one direction, and what you look at is the organism, and you turn around and what you see is the ecosystem, and they are a variation on the same thing.”

[—]

The way forward to a better future is an empathic relationship with the living world, Goward says, a future in which we recognize and honor our connections to the earth, and one another. Lichens, he continues, are our ancient mentors in this, reliable truth tellers about how the world really works.

“You can see the whole world in lichens.”

- More Here

Wisdom Of Ronald Sandler

It is terrible that there are no longer enormous migrating flocks of passenger pigeons in the United States or freshwater dolphin pods in China … what is even more terrible is that this is no longer a world for them.

- What Is ‘De-Extinction’ Really For?

Underdeveloped Prefrontal Cortex = Obsession With Childhood Dreams = Mars Delusion

It’s ridiculous people hold on to their childhood dreams when their prefrontal cortex was extremely underdeveloped and neither have a mature view of common sensical reality. Alas, only if they focused on making life on earth a little better for every living being… 

Another reason for kids to give importance to Biology more and not overfit on Physics and Engineering.

Mars Delusion is part of those moronic people who refuse to shed their childhood fantasies:

Zubrin, arguably the world’s most prolific Mars evangelist, appeared on my laptop screen, sitting behind the desk at his office in Boulder, Colorado. His Mars obsession had begun as you might expect for a man in his 8th decade. He was 5 years old when the Soviets launched Sputnik. But while the adults around him seemed terrified by its implications, a young Zubrin saw only opportunity. “We were going to be on the Moon by 1970, Mars by 1980, Saturn by 1990, Alpha Centauri by the year 2000. This is what the future looked like,” he told me.

In the late 1980s, Zubrin was working as an engineer for the defense and aerospace contractor Martin Marietta when his bosses asked him to draw up a proposal for getting humans to Mars. By then, NASA had become a bloated enterprise. As part of the George H.W. Bush administration’s “Space Exploration Initiative,” its planners had come up with a Mars mission architecture so complicated that it seemed like they were “rewriting a play in order to give a part to every kid in the room,” Zubrin told me. Zubrin proposed a more streamlined plan called “Mars Direct,” in which an unmanned “Earth return vehicle” would land on Mars and automatically refine propellant to fuel a subsequent manned mission’s journey home.

[—]

Some of this conviction, Zubrin admitted, was “a question of belief.” But as he continued to summarize his justifications, I found myself thinking back to Percival Lowell at his eyepiece, seeing only what he wanted to see. Zubrin’s framing of Martian settlement as a civilizational imperative gave him the latitude to gloss over its irreducible complexities and dangers in the service of essentially questionable abstractions: that human genius knows no bounds; that our Lebensraum is infinite; that freedom will always prevail against tyranny.

I suggested that forging new frontiers has not always been universally beneficial; the bloodstained history of colonization betrays that it has usually been the opposite. What was it about Mars, specifically, that promised to break the mold? “Is it a foolproof guarantee against folly? No,” Zubrin conceded.

 

Why You Should Hug Trees & Touch Grass

Trees release a certain chemical, known as phytoncides, which is a natural compound that can protect individuals from disease. When a person hugs a tree, the phytonides are absorbed by the body through the surrounding forest air, enhancing immune system functions.

As an individual hugs a tree, the Natural Killer (NK) cells inside the human body increase, which kill virus infected cells and tumors through the release of perforin, a pore forming protein encoded by the PRF1 (Perforin-1) gene, and granzymes, a family of lymphocyte granule serine proteases which induce potentially harmful cells (Li, 2010). It also reduces stress and levels of blood sugar due to an increase in oxytocin production and levels. Hugging a tree for 21 seconds or more helps elevate oxytocin levels and increase the state of serenity (Asher, 2023).

Similarly, touching grass also helps the overall well being of individuals. Feeling nature and connecting with it helps reconnect with the physical word, while disconnecting with a virtual one. Individuals exposed to a natural environment, such as forests, showed a significant reduction in blood pressure and cholesterol in comparison to those who are not exposed to greenery (Mao et al, 2012).

Therapeutic effects enhance and inspire preventative issues against health risks, including cardiovascular disorders, diabetes, asthma, stroke, and more. Mental disorders, such as depression, can also be healed through nature therapy, as your mood increases after being exposed to nature for a certain time.

Walking barefoot, also known as grounding and earthing, in grass and green spaces helps detoxify the body due to the absorption of negative ions, and it relaxes the nervous system by shifting blood flow to the frontal region of the brain. Walking barefoot for about 15–30 minutes a day can also accentuate sleep quality and reduce stress within the mind and body.

As sensory feedback increases, awareness and control over the body also increases, with greater movement and fluidity in the body. Although there are positive effects to the mind and body, there are also certain negative effects while walking barefoot, including joint stress if moving abnormally, increased risk of injuries, and contact with fungi.

The concept of nature being a vital role for mindfulness and guidance has been prevalent for centuries and is embodied through various cultures. Practices of using nature are found primarily in Eastern cultures and traditions, including India, China, Japan, Indonesia, and more. Trees specifically are considered as a vital source of life in Hindu, Buddhist, Maori, Maya, African, Norse, Celtic, and so many other cultures.

- More Here

Morel Mushrooms - The Last Incorruptible Thing!

The morel is the Last Incorruptible Thing. You cannot plant them. You cannot buy them in stores. You can only spot them in the wild. Morels demand complete surrender to nature’s whims. They grow for three to four weeks each spring, and no one knows when or where. They pop up like middle fingers to corporate control.

Morels encourage revolt against the digital panopticon. No self-respecting morel hunter posts their hot spots online or reveals their finds in real time. Morels cannot be recorded by Ring or tracked by GPS. They are immune from AI chicanery. Make an AI morel and watch no one care: digital tricks hold no power here. Morel hunters guard their secrets in the analog world: in the depths of the forests and the recesses of their minds. Morels are escape artists, and you escape with them.

[—]

A proper morel hunt requires that you walk the woods for hours with eyes to the ground. The outside world fades into irrelevance, a distant realm of misplaced priorities like mortgages and jobs. In the real world, the morel world, you seek loamy soil, south-facing slopes, fallen sycamores. You go slow. You dodge branches and climb creek beds. You take nothing for granted.

With this knowledge, you learn not only the mushroom but the land. What you can grasp from the crunch of a leaf or the rise of a flower. You sense when the season is starting and when it’s getting too late. You know that you could be wrong, and that being wrong is the most pleasant surprise of all.

[—]

Did I actually find morels in these places? Shit if I’d tell!

I got scratched, bruised, bloodied, and sore, but never bored. My thoughts stayed captive to the forest floor. When grief ripped through me, I retraced my steps, wondering if I’d missed one, and often I had. That’s the mercy of morels: they are reticent by nature, and when they reveal themselves to you upon your return, it’s like getting the do-over you don’t get in life.

Live fast, die young, leave a good-tasting corpse. Morels aren’t meant to last, so you can’t mourn them when they’re gone.

- More Here

Curiosity Is No Solo Act

The Foucauldian assumption that networks of information precondition ways of thinking, doing, and being has an ancient, rich, and still robust precedent in Indigenous philosophy. Rooted in the wisdom that everything that exists is connected to everything else, Indigenous philosophy foregrounds the vast and complex system of relational networks. While Western philosophy, especially post-Enlightenment, has typically emphasized the individual nodes of knowers and knowns, Indigenous philosophy has consistently contributed to a thinking on the edge, or edgework. (It is not insignificant that the English language is 70 percent nouns, while Potawatomi is 70 percent verbs. Or that Western settlers conceptualize land as private property and commodity capital, while Indigenous peoples understand it as a connective tissue in a larger gift economy.) The difference in ethos between piecemeal and of a piece with could not be more pronounced.

In an Indigenous onto-epistemology, one is always coming to know in intimate relationship with other knowers, including not only community members, but also all the components of the earth itself. In “Braiding Sweetgrass,” Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer tells the story of her own Indigenous curiosity. Growing up surrounded by “shoeboxes of seeds and piles of pressed leaves,” she knew the plants had chosen her. Declaring a botany major in college, she soon learned to stockpile taxonomic names and functional facts, all while letting her capacities to attend to energetic relationships fall into disuse. It was not until rekindling her connections with Indigenous communities — and specifically Indigenous scientists — that she remembered how “intimacy gives us a different way of seeing.” Her scholarship and outreach are now focused on honoring this ray of scientific and social wisdom.

What is perhaps most distinctive about Indigenous philosophy is its imbrication of a relational cosmology with a relational epistemology. At the heart of this worldview is “the eternal convergence of the world within any one thing,” writes Carl Mika, such that “one thing is never alone and all things actively construct and compose it.” From this perspective of deep holism, talk of knowing any one thing is “minimally useful.” As such, knowledge is not properly propositional but instead procedural; it is less concerned with knowing what than with knowing how. And its wisdom lies in “sharing” more than “stating.”

- More Here

The Ideology, Economics, & Psychology Behind The Modern World's Draining Of Color From Homes, Cars, & Everyday Objects.

If you go to slums of Bombay to Brazil to Mexico to Kenya, you will notice a riot of colors. Yes, there is crime there, most people who live on day to day paycheck are content and happy. 

Color helps psychologically! It’s “Biophilia" of living in a rainforest - its one of the least studied simple psychological boosters. 

Max’s home is a riot of colors - living room is yellow, basement is pink, bed rooms are other colors - no no to neutral colors. I learned this a long time ago and even my dress has a variety of colors. 

I noticed something weird maybe a year or two ago, 5 plus years since Max passed away - a lot of my new t-shirts etc., were greyish… so I cleaned up my wardrobe and brought back color to my life. I was subconsciously depressed without Max. 

Color is the simplest and easiest confidence and psychological booster we have but alas we, sapiens even tend to ignore it. 

Very good history of why this transformation of color to grey happened in US and spread to across the globe: 

From Hawaii to Maine, from Alaska to Florida, the most popular shade for your home’s exterior is some variation of gray, off-white, beige, or greige — a hue so existentially undecided that it can’t commit to being either gray or beige, and so ends up neither, and both.

But how can this be? America is anything but monochrome. It contains multitudes of cultures, climates, and landscapes, and people who disagree, loudly and publicly, about nearly everything. So why, when Americans need a tin of house paint, do they so often reach for the neutral shelf? Why does the average house in this great and varied nation look like it’s been dipped in a vat of Resigned Indifference®?

The answer is a phenomenon dubbed “the grayening”: a gradual but relentless draining of pigment, not just from exteriors but also from interiors and from the stuff of everyday life, like cars and phones. In 2020, researchers at the Science Museum Group in London found evidence of the trend’s longevity. Feeding roughly 7,000 photographs of everyday objects — kettles, lamps, cameras — from the late 1800s to 2020 into an algorithm, they then asked it to track color distribution over time.

The result: a striking shift toward achromatic — that is, neutral — colors in material culture.

[---]

In his 1908 essay “Ornament and Crime,” Austrian architect Adolf Loos argued that ornamentation was not merely unnecessary, but a sign of arrested moral development. Truly evolved people, he suggested, would gravitate toward clean lines and plain surfaces. Applied ornament, including the use of color as decoration, didn’t enhance; it cluttered and distracted.

Loos’s polemical target was Art Nouveau, then in full frothy bloom. His arguments were influential on the Bauhaus school of art, which canonized restraint and straight lines. It, in turn, informed the International Style that swept global architecture from the 1930s onward, a style that favored glass, steel, and concrete. All gray: not just by default, but as a statement of seriousness.

Le Corbusier, pioneer of what we now simply call modern architecture, made the point with characteristic charm, declaring that color “is suited to simple races, peasants and savages.” Ouch.

The desaturation didn’t stop at buildings. Car colors have been meticulously catalogued since the dawn of the automotive age, making them a useful proxy for the broader culture’s chromatic pulse. Black had its first heyday as a car color about a century ago, when Henry Ford famously quipped that his Model T was available “in any color the customer wants, as long as it’s black.”

Living As A Crane!

Wonderful souls doing this rewarding work since 1973!

Thank you! 

The International Crane Foundation was set up in 1973, with the aim of safeguarding the world’s 15 crane species – most are endangered or vulnerable due to habitat loss, climate change and hunting. As senior aviculturist at the headquarters in Baraboo, Wisconsin, I’m involved in everything from daily feeding to overseeing chick-rearing.

Whenever possible, chicks are raised by their biological parents or adopted by other adult cranes, but when that isn’t possible, we have to raise them, and teach them how to behave like cranes. Some chicks will later be released into the wild, so it’s important that they learn to stay away from people and other predators.

Young birds identify the first large moving object they see as their parent – a process called “imprinting” – so it’s important they don’t see us as humans while we’re raising them. At one time, feeding was done from behind a barrier to reduce interaction, but this wasn’t really practical.

One day, a colleague threw a sheet over himself. A lot of the staff thought he was crazy, but he started developing a more elaborate costume, adding feathers and even wearing pants that matched the colour of cranes’ legs.

Amazingly, the chicks responded well, and followed him as they would an adult crane. The outfits we use now have detailed puppet crane heads on one arm. The other arm is our “wing”. We did away with the feathers to make laundering the costumes easier. Now, any time we spend among the chicks is done in costume.

[---]

It can be tiring work – my arms get sore. Usually we rotate who’s in the costumes every hour or two. Wearing them provides anonymity, so it’s easy to ham it up.

When I started here in 1986, I learned a small amount of crane vocabulary and could mimic the scolding sound made by adult cranes if chicks were fighting or putting themselves at risk. Now we hide an MP3 player under the costume and play recordings of real adult cranes. The coloration of the puppet heads also matches that of real birds – for example, whooping cranes have a patch of red skin, which they tilt towards other birds to warn if they’re too close. I’ll sometimes do that to get a chick to back off.

[---]

Before they leave us, it’s important that the cranes are good flyers and able to get away from predators. Coaching them can be a challenge but we have a prairie where we encourage them by running and flapping, right up to the point where a real crane would leave the ground. We mimic adults’ “pre-flight” call and stretch out the puppet head. Whenever I see a video of us running and flapping, it does look kind of ridiculous, but the chicks get the idea. It makes me feel like a proud parent to see them take flight.

I do dream about work – sometimes, in my dreams, I would finally be able to fly. In others, my volunteers would take to the sky while I couldn’t, or I’d be the chick at the back of the flock, unable to keep up with the rest, and I would feel very sad.

Currently, 10 of the 15 crane species are still threatened with extinction, though the number of whooping cranes in the world has grown over the past 80 years from the low 20s to over 800. Ultimately, our aim is to help create a self-sustaining population where all the youngsters will be reared by real cranes, so we can get rid of the costumes. Although I would miss my interaction with the chicks, what an amazing outcome that would be.

 

Why Not Mars?

Funny, brilliant and insightful piece:

But fifty years of progress in miniaturization and software changed the balance between robots and humans in space. Between 1960 and 2020, space probes improved by something like six orders of magnitude[6], while the technologies of long-duration spaceflight did not. Boiling the water out of urine still looks the same in 2023 as it did in 1960, or for that matter 1060. Today’s automated spacecraft are not only strictly more capable[7] than human astronauts, but cost about a hundred times less [8] to send (though it’s hard to be exact, since astronauts have not gone anywhere since 1972[9]).

The imbalance between human and robot is so overwhelming that, despite the presence of a $250 billion[10] International Space Station National Laboratory, every major discovery made in space this century has come from robotic spacecraft [11]. In 2023, we simply take it for granted that if a rocket goes up carrying passengers, it’s not going to get any work done.

As for that space station, the jewel of human spaceflight, it exists in a state of nearly perfect teological closure, its only purpose being to teach its creators how to build future spacecraft like it. The ISS crew spend most of their time fixing the machinery that keeps them alive, and when they have a free moment for science, they tend to study the effect of space on themselves. At 22 years old [12], the ISS is still as dependent on fresh meals and clean laundry sent from home as the most feckless grad student.

[---]

If the head of NOAA Ocean Exploration (budget: $25 million) or the U.S. Antarctic Program ($350 million) held a press conference announcing a plan to fulfill human destiny, they’d be carrying their belongings home in a cardboard box before sundown. But our space agency is held to a lower standard.

All this would be fine if it was just talk. But NASA spent more on their Moon and Mars programs in 2022 than the total budget of the National Science Foundation. And in 2024, they plan to start launching pieces of a new space station, the Gateway, which by the laws of orbital bureaucracy will lock us in to decades of having to invent reasons to go visit the thing.

Somehow we’ve embarked on the biggest project in history even though it has no articulable purpose, offers no benefits, and will cost taxpayers more than a good-sized war. Even the builders of the Great Pyramid at Giza could at least explain what it was for. And yet this project has sailed through an otherwise gridlocked system with the effortlessness of a Pentagon budget. Presidents of both parties now make landing on Mars an official goal of US space policy. Even billionaires who made their fortune automating labor on Earth agree that Mars must be artisanally explored by hand.

The whole thing is getting weird.

[---]

The chief technical obstacle to a Mars landing is not propulsion, but a lack of reliable closed-loop life support[48]. With our current capability, NASA would struggle to keep a crew alive for six months on the White House lawn, let alone for years in a Martian yurt.

The technology program required to close this gap would be remarkably circular, with no benefits outside the field of applied zero gravity zookeeping. The web of Rube Goldberg devices that recycles floating animal waste on the space station has already cost twice its weight in gold[49] and there is little appetite for it here on Earth, where plants do a better job for free.

I would compare keeping primates alive in spacecraft to trying to build a jet engine out of raisins. Both are colossal engineering problems, possibly the hardest ever attempted, but it does not follow that they are problems worth solving. In both cases, the difficulty flows from a very specific design constraint, and it’s worth revisiting that constraint one or ten times before starting to perform miracles of engineering.

What makes life support so vexing is that all the subcomponents interact with each other and with the crew. There’s no such thing as a life support unit test; you have to run the whole system in space under conditions that mimic the target mission. Reliability engineering for life support involves solving mysteries like why gunk formed on a certain washer on Day 732, then praying on the next run that your fix doesn’t break on Day 733. The process repeats until the first crew makes it home alive (figuratively speaking), at which point you declare the technology reliable and chill the champagne.

Unlike the medical research, there’s no way to predict how long these trials might take. A typical exploration profile[50] needs two different kinds of life support (for the spacecraft and the surface) that together have to work for about 1000 days. The spacecraft also has to demonstrate that it can go dormant for the time the crew is on Mars and still work when it wakes up.

Twenty years of tinkering with the much simpler systems on the space station have brought them no closer to reliability. And yet to get a crew to Mars, we’d need to get this stuff working like a Swiss watch. Humanity does not need a billion dollar shit dehydrator that can work for three years in zero gravity, but a Mars mission can’t leave Earth without it.

 

Trade, Trees, and Lives

This paper shows a cascading mechanism through which international trade-induced deforestation results in a decline of health outcomes in cities distant from where trade activities occur. We examine Brazil, which has ramped up agricultural export over the last two decades to meet rising global demand. Using a shift-share research design, we first show that export shocks cause substantial local agricultural expansion and a virtual one-for-one decline in forest cover. 

We then construct a dynamic area-of-effect model that predicts where atmospheric changes should be felt – due to loss of forests that would otherwise serve to filter out and absorb air pollutants as they travel – downwind of the deforestation areas. Leveraging quasi-random variation in these atmospheric connections, we establish a causal link between deforestation upstream and subsequent rises in air pollution and premature deaths downstream, with the mortality effects predominantly driven by cardiovascular and respiratory causes. 

Our estimates reveal a large telecoupled health externality of trade deforestation: over 700,000 premature deaths in Brazil over the past two decades. This equates to $0.18 loss in statistical life value per $1 agricultural exports over the study period.

- Full Paper Here

Very Good Sentences

This is not to say that human design has no place in nature. But it does mean that our models — rooted in symmetry, hierarchy, and predictability — are often a poor fit for systems that thrive on variation and response. The more we learn from ecology, the more we see that strength often lies not in perfect order, but in the capacity to bend, absorb, and shift. Nature’s designs are not clean, but they work — and they last.

[--]

To see beauty in nature is easy when it fits our expectations — when a flower is symmetrical, a bird unblemished, a landscape orderly and undisturbed. But much of the natural world does not conform to these standards.

This kind of beauty isn’t immediate. It asks for more attention, and a willingness to look past surface regularity. In biology, what may seem imperfect often reveals a hidden logic — structures shaped by use, behavior, or necessity rather than by visual appeal. A limpet’s uneven shell tells of wave exposure; the patchiness of a savanna shows where animals have grazed or fire has passed through. The landscape holds memory, but it does not preserve it cleanly.

Learning to recognize this kind of beauty means shifting our sense of value. It means seeing that irregular forms often tell us more about how life works than polished ones do. The complexity, resilience, and history embedded in these structures is not ornamental — it is essential. And when we begin to see that, the natural world becomes less like a picture and more like a living record.

- More Here

Scientists Are Tracking Worrying Declines in Insects—and the Birds That Feast on Them

In fact, 90 percent of the more than 10,700 known bird species rely on insects for food during at least part of their life cycle. Even the most dedicated seed-eating songbirds must eat insects and other arthropods, that many-legged group of creatures that includes spiders and millipedes, to produce eggs, to grow new feathers and to feed their young. Without insects, in other words, they wouldn’t survive. 

[---]

People may not be motivated to save the insects for their own sake, but a world without insects is a world without birds. It’s a world where no college student will hear the fluty song of a white-throated sparrow across a mountain lake and have her life changed. It’s a world where nature offers no song to the rising sun. It’s a silent spring. 

In the long term, it would become something even worse. “Without insects, everything dies: all mammals, all reptiles, all birds and even humans,” Ware says. “If you want to conserve any of those other things, including us, you should want to conserve insects.”

- More Here

Personally, I learned about this couple of years ago and the change I made was to turn off the patio lights. Living in the woods, I used to leave the lights on all night but I learned that killed so many insects. 

Obviously, I never use any pesticides nor do I classify some random plants as "weeds" and destroy them.  

Habitat Destruction & The Extinction Debt

My dear Sapiens; I will see, when I see you. 

And yeah, I am part of this moronic species who celebrates self-destruction. 

An important cause of extinction of any species is the destruction of the habitat that it needs to survive.

From Wiki: 

The term extinction debt was first used in 1994 in a paper by David Tilman, Robert May, Clarence Lehman and Martin Nowak, although Jared Diamond used the term "relaxation time" to describe a similar phenomenon in 1972.

In ecology, extinction debt is the future extinction of species due to events in the past. The phrases dead clade walking and survival without recovery express the same idea.

Extinction debt occurs because of time delays between impacts on a species, such as destruction of habitat, and the species' ultimate disappearance. For instance, long-lived trees may survive for many years even after reproduction of new trees has become impossible, and thus they may be committed to extinction. Technically, extinction debt generally refers to the number of species in an area likely to become extinct, rather than the prospects of any one species, but colloquially it refers to any occurrence of delayed extinction.

Extinction debt may be local or global, but most examples are local as these are easier to observe and model. It is most likely to be found in long-lived species and species with very specific habitat requirements (specialists). Extinction debt has important implications for conservation, as it implies that species may become extinct due to past habitat destruction, even if continued impacts cease, and that current reserves may not be sufficient to maintain the species that occupy them. Interventions such as habitat restoration may reverse extinction debt.

1994 paper by David Tilman, Robert May, Clarence Lehman and Martin Nowak:

Abstract

Habitat destruction is the major cause of species extinctions. Dominant species often are considered to be free of this threat because they are abundant in the undisturbed fragments that remain after destruction. Here we describe a model that explains multispecies coexistence in patchy habitats4 and which predicts that their abundance may be fleeting. Even moderate habitat destruction is predicted to cause time-delayed but deterministic extinction of the dominant competitor in remnant patches. Further species are predicted to become extinct, in order from the best to the poorest competitors, as habitat destruction increases. More-over, the more fragmented a habitat already is, the greater is the number of extinctions caused by added destruction. Because such extinctions occur generations after fragmentation, they represent a debt - a future ecological cost of current habitat destruction.

 

The Law Of Entanglement - How the World Works When No One’s Looking

You are not meant to climb endlessly upward. You are meant to root down, open slowly, and turn again toward the light — in whatever form it finds you.

[---]

In the wild, survival is not awarded to the strongest, nor the smartest, nor the most beautiful. It belongs to those who can change.

[---]

Adaptation is wisdom in motion. It’s the art of listening with your whole being — and answering, not with resistance, but with a new shape. 

Take a deep breath. Read this piece. Meditate on what you read. Re-read it. 

Your nonsensical individuality should dissolve immediately or maybe, like most sapiens it might dissolve only in your death bed. 

You should prefer the former because later is like getting an erection for the first time in death bed. 

Good luck. 

After I finished reading this, I looked at Max's photo and tears rolled into my rugged beard. 

Thank you Gonzalo Kern for capturing the essence of "everything" eloquently. 

The law of entanglement

Step into a forest, and nothing is alone.

The tree depends on the fungus. The fungus feeds on the root. The root drinks from the soil, which is made by worms and time and death. The deer eats the leaf, the coyote eats the deer, and both carry seeds in their fur to feed the next season. Even the wind is shaped by the trees that receive it.

This is not metaphor. This is ecology. This is fact. And it is also philosophy.

If nature has a first principle, it is this: All things arise in relationship. Nothing exists in isolation.

Modern thought, especially in the West, often begins with separation — subject and object, self and other, mind and body, human and world. But nature begins with entanglement. With reciprocity. With systems within systems, all nested and interdependent. And the closer we look — through microscopes or through stillness — the more we see that boundaries are not borders, but places of exchange.

A tree is not just a tree. It is a colony. It is a network. It is an intersection of sun and soil and lineage. It breathes out what we breathe in. The carbon in its trunk may once have been part of a volcanic sky or the bones of an ancient animal. The minerals in its bark were once part of a mountain, slowly weathered down by rain.

To live by the philosophy of nature means to begin here — with this deep recognition that you are never alone, and never not affecting.

The heartbeat you feel right now depends on the oxygen made by algae in the sea. The food you eat depends on pollinators you may never see. Even your body is not entirely yours — it’s an ecosystem of bacteria, water, inherited genes, and borrowed air. The self, when seen clearly, is not a fortress. It is a confluence.

And yet, we are trained to forget this.

We speak of independence as a virtue. Of success as something achieved alone. But no being in nature thrives alone. A lion without a savannah is not a lion. A human without a living world is not a human — at least not in any whole sense.

You belong to a web you cannot see.

Your life is an unfolding of countless unseen contributions.

And everything you do — every word, every action, every silence — ripples back into that web.

Nature doesn’t judge. But it does respond. It shows us, again and again, that harmony is not found in isolation but in relationship — and the health of a system depends on the quality of its connections.

[---]

Because true beauty in nature doesn’t ask to be remembered. It asks to be met.

And it does not flatter us. Nature’s beauty is not designed for human pleasure. It has its own logic, its own form of coherence. The lichen’s subtle architecture, the elegance of decay, the eerie bioluminescence of deep-sea creatures — these exist for reasons far older and deeper than our gaze.

To recognize beauty without trying to own it is to step out of the consumer’s posture and into the witness’s. It is to say: I do not need to hold this to be moved by it. It is to participate in the sacred economy of nature, where value is not measured by permanence or control, but by presence and attention. 

[---]

We have wandered far. Through empires and engines, ideologies and algorithms, we have built a world so loud it drowns the quieter truths. In our pursuit of control, we mistook nature for a backdrop — a setting to shape, rather than a wisdom to follow. But the forest remembers. The river remembers. The body remembers.

To return to the philosophy of nature is not to retreat into some primitive past — it is to recover something foundational. A way of being that honors complexity, interdependence, and the deep intelligence that moves through all things. Nature does not argue. It does not demand belief. It simply shows — and invites us to notice.

There is no dogma in this philosophy, no commandments chiseled in stone. Only patterns, relationships, rhythms. The spiral of a fern, the give-and-take of wind and branch, the tension that holds a spider’s web. These are its scriptures. These are its teachings.

 

 

Finding Awe!

I am blessed. 

I lived for over 13 years in a state of Max's Awe and I still do.  has become our awe paradise. 

Thank you my love. "I" became irrelevant living and one day soon dying with you. 

Awe Is Good for Your Brain:

Some attribute the beginning of the study of awe to the Apollo 8 mission. In December 1968, three astronauts entered a small capsule—the vehicle for mankind’s first trip to the moon. (They orbited ten times but didn’t land.) Major William Anders glanced out the window in time to see his blue home planet rising above the stark lunar horizon. “Oh, my God,” he said. Then he took a photo.

Later called Earthrise, the image became one of the most famous photographs ever taken. Fifty years after Anders captured it, he said that the view of Earth changed his life, shaking his religious faith and underscoring his concern for the planet. “We set out to explore the moon,” he wrote about the experience, “and instead discovered the Earth.”

Dubbed the overview effect, the profound experiences shared by Anders and many astronauts helped usher in a wave of academic interest in transcendent events and their attendant emotion—notably, awe. Experimental psychologists tried to induce the emotion in laboratories, showing people pictures of earth taken from space, as well as videos of a flash mob performing the “Ode to Joy” movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, or Susan Boyle wowing the world when she sang on Britain’s Got Talent. (If you haven’t seen Boyle doing her thing, look it up; I dare you not to feel some tingles.)

For research purposes, subjects let scientists measure their goose bumps, supplied cortisol samples before and after whitewater rafting, performed tedious cognitive tasks, and were fitted with suction probes to measure something that’s called “awe face.”

Researchers pondered many aspects of awe, including why experiencing it caused some people to feel greater belonging or generosity. They speculated that awe may be the primary pathway through which therapeutic psychedelics help so many patients suffering from trauma, depression, anxiety, and addiction. They even asserted that experiencing awe may be the defining feature of our species.

For an emotion with so much riding on it, what seems surprising is that it took the academic world so long to take awe seriously.

“Science got into the awe game really late,” says Dacher Keltner, a psychology professor at the University of California at Berkeley, and the author of the new book Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life.

Keltner grew up in 1960s California, raised by progressive parents. All around him people were exploring Buddhism, experimenting with mind-altering drugs, and communing with nature. It was also the golden age of spaceflight. “I was raised in a historical period that was in some sense devoted to awe,” he says. “But it was a neuroscientific and cognitive mystery.”

In 2003, Keltner and the psychologist Jonathan Haidt published one of the first academic papers on the experience. In “Approaching Awe, a Moral, Spiritual, and Aesthetic Emotion,” the two scientists tried to pinpoint what exactly awe is. They combed through historical accounts by philosophers and mystics; what they arrived at was both eloquent and expansive.

“We said that awe is really an emotion you feel when you encounter something vast and mysterious that transcends your understanding of the world,” he says. The vastness part, he explains, doesn’t have to be literally vast, like a view from a mountaintop. It can be conceptually vast, like the anatomy of a bee or string theory or a late-night stoner realization that every mammal on earth must have a belly button.

In the two decades of research that followed, an even more remarkable conclusion emerged: that this state of mind could potentially alter us by unleashing feelings like humility, generosity, and a desire to reassess our lives. And sometimes even existential terror. Whether it’s cataclysmic or gentle, an awe experience could be an effective antidote to burnout, post-traumatic stress, heartbreak, and loneliness.

[---]

I had to admit, I hadn’t really been thinking of this spectacle from the plant’s perspective. It suddenly seemed a totally reasonable thing to do. Most of these plants have been around a lot longer than humans have. The seeds that created this bloom were made in the past. They finally germinated during this precious wet year, but the whole thrust of the extravagant effort was to make seeds for a future bloom in an outrageous cycle of hope. Godoy and I were standing, accidentally, in the middle of a space-time continuum that had absolutely nothing to do with us. We humans just need to not screw it up.

Then it hit me: the risk of chasing awe, of making it about personal growth, is that you dilute its strongest power. Because improving ourselves really isn’t the point of awe at all. I’d been doing it wrong, and it had taken a 27-year-old human and a cluster of yellow tickseeds to help me realize it. The point is this: by listening, we find a small seam in the universe through which to feel ourselves entirely irrelevant.

 

What Has Travel Ever Done for Me?

Why should I feel this way about travel? What has it ever done to me? Travel is one of those things one generally doesn’t attack in polite company, the world of letters excepted. Its wholesomeness is assumed. It broadens the mind. It makes us empathetic and, by rewarding our curiosity, encourages it to develop further. It teaches people the just-right amount of relativism —the amount that makes them easygoing in company, perhaps usefully pliable in exigencies, but not nihilistic. Only a fool or a misanthrope would criticize travel.

[---]

Given travel’s salutary reputation, it is no wonder that I am biased against the whole topic. A writer is someone who resents being told that something is good for him, and that this is therefore why he must do it. It’s no wonder, either, if such people repeatedly fling themselves against this broad, smiling enemy, hoping to smite it.

[---]

Similarly, the well-worn complaint that travel banalizes places—that, if too many people start to go somewhere, the place reconfigures itself in order to please the almighty tourist’s gaze—doesn’t take the absolute otherness of human beings seriously enough. For example, in “Consider the Lobster,” David Foster Wallace writes that tourism is good for the soul, not because it broadens tourists, but precisely because it constricts them, in a painful yet educational way:

To be a mass tourist, for me, is to become a pure late-date American: alien, ignorant, greedy for something you cannot ever have, disappointed in a way you can never admit. It is to spoil, by way of sheer ontology, the very unspoiledness you are there to experience. It is to impose yourself on places that in all noneconomic ways would be better, realer, without you. It is, in lines and gridlock and transaction after transaction, to confront a dimension of yourself that is as inescapable as it is painful: As a tourist, you become economically significant but existentially loathsome, an insect on a dead thing.

[---]

In fact, you can treat this performance as information in its own right. Before every place was spoiled, assuming that there was such a time, we could go observe what we took to be the unselfconscious manners and ancient customs of the people there. Today, we can observe self-conscious manners and generic customs—each with its own little flutters of imperfection and telling gaps in performance. And these, again, are information. You can learn as much about people from thinking about the way they act themselves out for you as you can from analyzing their less artful, less premeditated moments. So I agree with Wallace that there is no “unspoiledness” to experience, but the curious and attentive mind can do just fine with spoiledness. Wallace certainly did, in several of his classic essays.

[---]

We love, as well, to mock the privileged Westerners who go somewhere far away and realize one or two momentous, banal things about themselves, especially if these same people then have the temerity to make art about their epiphanies. Consider, to name two much-discussed examples, Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love, and Alanis Morrissette in “Thank U,” that song in which she thanks India. It happens that I, too, dislike that book, and that song. But to have an epiphany in Italy or India is no sillier than to have one in the woods or at work or on a walk around one’s neighborhood. Abroad, one is surrounded by billions of strangers who presumably have better things to do than serve as one’s backdrop, but that is also true at home, or even in the woods. (Look at all those trees! Do you, solipsistic walker, even know their species names?) Yet we dare to have interior lives anyway.

[---]

Agnes Callard criticizes tourism as pointless “locomotion.” (She does so, tellingly, only after distinguishing tourism from several more benign forms of faraway-place-going.3)“The single most important fact about tourism is this: We already know what we will be like when we return,” she writes. This is a hell of an assumption. I don’t really know what I will be like next week, at least not in every important detail. To judge by her other writing, Callard is also, and not infrequently, a surprise to herself; her ability to describe these moments in fine, perhaps unintentionally comic detail provides her work with much of the insight and entertainment value it possesses.

In disconnecting us from the ongoing and sometimes nightmarish dailiness of our lives, travel allows us to “do nothing and be nobody.” For Callard, this makes it a preview of death, the nothingness that will put an end to our quotidian boredom forever. “Socrates said that philosophy is a preparation for death,” she concludes. “For everyone else, there’s travel.” This is funny because, like many of Nietzsche’s witticisms, it is a melodramatic overstatement of something that is, perhaps, five percent true. When we disrupt our routines, we do not do nothing, or become no one; we do different things, we try on other selves. This is why we frequently come back from even rather silly jaunts, pace Callard, a bit different.

[---]

So the antitravel position, broadly conceived, doesn’t seem to work. Yet I feel a sour satisfaction, as I have said, whenever someone decides to take travel down a peg. Partly, this is because the cases for travel are often sillier than the cases against, and I think it’s important to question them. If, for example, travel broadens the mind, why are at least some of the best-traveled people the worst blockheads one has ever met? If travel increases tolerance, why did it not have exactly that effect on so many of history’s conquerors—monomaniacs who could not let stand any place that failed to give back their own image?

- More Here

Grow Up - Enough With the Fireworks Already

Growing up in India, I enjoyed celebrating Diwali because I could play with fire and be macho. 

As time passed, I grew the fuck up. I grew the fuck up. I learned how much fireworks harm animals, ecosystems and the environment. 

So grow the fuck up and stop using fireworks in name of god knows what. Fireworks has nothing to do with you political ideology. 

Margaret Renkl reminds us that same but more politely than I do: 

For 15 straight years, our old dog Clark — a hound-shepherd-retriever mix who was born in the woods and loved the outdoors ever after — spent the Fourth of July in our walk-in shower. He seemed to believe a windowless shower in a windowless bathroom offered his best chance of surviving the shrieking terror that was raining down from the night sky outside.

Did he think the fireworks, with their window-rattling booms, were the work of some cosmic predator big enough to eat him whole? Did he think they were gunshots or claps of thunder spreading out from inexplicable lightning bolts tearing open the sky above our house?

There’s no way to know what he was thinking, but every single year that rangy, 75-pound, country-born yard dog spent the Fourth of July in our shower, trembling, drooling and whimpering in terror.

Clark was lucky. We have friends whose terrified dog spent one Fourth of July fruitlessly trying to outrun the explosions. The next day a good Samaritan found him lying on a hot sidewalk miles away, close to death. Other friends came home from watching the fireworks to discover that their dog had bolted in terror from their fenced backyard and been killed by a car.

And those were all companion animals, the ones whose terror is clear to us. We have no real way of knowing how many wild animals suffer because the patterns of their lives are disrupted with no warning every year on a night in early July. People shooting bottle rockets in the backyard might not see the sleeping songbirds, startled from their safe roosts, exploding into a darkness they did not evolve to navigate — crashing into buildings or depleting crucial energy reserves. People firing Roman candles into the sky above the ocean may have no idea that the explosions can cause seabirds to abandon their nests or frighten nesting shorebirds to death.

Then there’s the wildlife driven into roads — deer and foxes, opossums and skunks, coyotes and raccoons. Any nocturnal creature in a blind panic can find itself staring into oncoming headlights, unsure whether the greater danger lies in the road or in the sky or in the neighborhood yards surrounding them.

And all that’s on top of the dangers posed by fireworks debris, which can be toxic if ingested, or the risk of setting off a wildfire in parched summertime vegetation. Little wonder, then, that fireworks are banned in all national wildlife refuges, national forests and national parks.

[---]

“All flourishing is mutual,” writes Robin Wall Kimmerer, a botanist and enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, in her best-selling book, “Braiding Sweetgrass.” This is one of the most repeated lines in contemporary environmental literature, and for good reason. It reminds us that all creation, human and other than human, is interconnected. At a time when life on this planet is faltering in every possible way, Dr. Kimmerer gently points out that our own flourishing depends on the flourishing of planetary systems that we are barely beginning to understand.

Addressing climate change and biodiversity loss on a planet with eight billion human residents won’t be simple. How to grow affordable food without using petrochemical fertilizers and pesticides that poison pollinators, for example, is a challenge. How to build enough housing for human beings without also disrupting natural ecosystems is a challenge. Such things are doable, though they won’t be easy.

But there are easy things we can do at no real cost to ourselves. We can eat more vegetables and less animal protein. We can cultivate native plants. We can seek out products that aren’t packaged in plastic, spend less time in cars and airplanes, raise the thermostat in the summer and lower it in the winter. As Dr. Kimmerer points out in “The Serviceberry,” her forthcoming book, “We live in a time when every choice matters.”

In that context, surely, we can give up fireworks. Of all the little pleasures that give life meaning and joy, surely fireworks don’t come close to the top of the list, and it costs us nothing to give them up. This is one case in which doing the right thing requires no significant sacrifice, one case in which doing the right thing has an immediate, noticeable, undeniably positive effect on a suffering world.

The conflation of selfishness with patriotism is the thing I have the hardest time accepting about our political era. Maybe we have the right to eat a hamburger or drive the biggest truck on the market or fire off bottle rockets deep into the night on the Fourth of July, but it doesn’t make us good Americans to do such things. How can it possibly be American to look at the damage that fireworks can cause — to the atmosphere, to forests, to wildlife, to our own beloved pets, to ourselves — and shrug?

The truly American thing would be to join together to make every change we can reasonably make to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, human and other than human alike. The truly American thing would be to plant a victory garden large enough to encompass the entire natural world.

 

Cattle-Aided Mental Health

While relatively rare, cow cuddling—or cow hugging as it’s sometimes called—may be an effective form of animal-assisted therapy (AAI), per a study out today from researchers at New York University and US Military Academy at West Point.

The investigation, by Katherine Compitus of NYU’s Silver School of Social Work and Sonya M. Bierbower of the Department of Chemistry and Life Science at West Point, also added a new twist: women were more receptive to bovine-assisted therapy than men were.

The researchers arranged for a group of 11 volunteers to spend 45 minutes each with one of two steers with varying degrees of gregariousness; the study was conducted at  a micro-farm called Surrey Hills Sanctuary in New York State. Volunteers ranged in age from 13 to 79. After the sessions, they filled out a survey and discussed their experience.

One of the voluntary participants responded that “it wasn’t a big deal to me that he” – one of the bulls, named Callum – “was shy. But when he finally started to approach me, I felt so good! Like I was special.”

Another participant offered that while she was worried that bulls would be aggressive, she “fell in love with cows” after the session. Another stated: “there is something about cows that is so therapeutic,” according to the study.

According to the researchers, the predominantly positive responses add to prior research suggesting that time with farm animals holds potential benefits for those engaged in psychotherapy and cognitive behavioral therapy for mental health conditions such as depression and anxiety.

[---]

Therapy animals typically are dogs, cats, horses or rabbits. But the range of animals can be extended to farm animals including cattle when the therapy is conducted ethically and with special care for both humans and animals.  

“We have discovered in the current study,” the authors concluded, “that bovine-assisted therapy may not only be an effective treatment model that benefits human participants but appears to be enriching to the cattle participants, as well, as shown by their proximity to and continuous interactions with humans.”

- More Here

The Internet of Animals - Discovering the Collective Intelligence of Life on Earth

The researchers had turned their jalopies into labs on wheels: They sliced holes in the cars’ roofs, through which they inserted pole-mounted antennas. “We drove like tornado chasers behind a single bird each night,” Wikelski writes, “constantly rotating our antennas to determine where the bird was going and to receive the strongest signal possible. All we needed to do was speed after the thrushes while recording their sounds continuously.”

This gonzo research effort yielded breakthrough insights into how birds communicate: A bird would fly up to a certain altitude, call out, and listen for other birds’ responses. If the replies came, the bird would know it had found a good, safe pathway. The research, Wikelski writes, revealed “a highway in the sky, where birds were providing each other with key information on how high to fly, where to go, and who to follow.” This “ancient organic symphony,” he writes, is “created by animals as they exchange information across species and continents.” And it is high time, he argues, for humans to “tune in.”

[---]

Why is building an internet of animals so important that Wikelski has devoted decades of his career to it? The route we are on, particularly in the West, of viewing the natural world only in terms of what we can extract from it for our own gain, is a path to ruin. Wikelski believes the “next chapter in human evolution” is the Interspecies Age, where humans recognize that we are partners with other species, consider their needs when we make decisions, and “link the knowledge these other species have to our own knowledge.” Among many other benefits of this Interspecies Age, he says, will be the ability to draw on animals’ sixth sense to help us predict “when something big is happening in the environment” — a buildup of toxins in a landscape, the onset of an El Niño event, the emergence of a plague of locusts.

All these are important. My one gripe about “The Internet of Animals,” though, is that it places too much emphasis on what animals can tell us about things that might harm us — like predicting earthquakes — as opposed to what they can reveal about how our actions might be harming them. Perhaps this is simply a tool to convince a broad audience of the project’s potential. But the true value of an internet of animals goes back to the meadowlarks. If we don’t know what routes they follow, where they land along the way, what pitfalls — natural or human-made — may cause their journeys to end in tragedy, then we can’t work effectively protect the habitat, food, and other resources they need to survive. An internet of animals would help us see the currently invisible parts of our world — how animals distribute seeds, how they cope with the impacts of climate change, how they interact with one another when there isn’t anyone around to watch.

- Review of the new book The Internet of Animals: Discovering the Collective Intelligence of Life on Earth by Martin Wikelski

Incarcerated Women & Buttery Redemption

One of the greatest failures of our generation is crime against incarcerated men and women. 

There is nothing even remotely close to rehabilitation nor reformation for these people. Loss of complete life while living, disintegration of families, economic cost and worst perpetuating cycle of violence. 

I am glad there is some hope with this change. No surprise, this is coming via our fellow sentient beings we share the planet with. This is just hope for incarcerated people but maybe a precursor to who we rewrite our economics and how we work. 

Heather wears her dark hair in braids. She’s also wearing a bright red sweater marked DOC for Department of Corrections, identifying her as an inmate of Mission Creek Corrections Center for Women, a minimum security prison located near Belfair, Washington. Heather is not her real name. She says she feels lucky to be participating in this work while she serves her sentence here. She shows me around with a proud, almost parental smile. Along with eight other incarcerated women, Heather is entrusted with the care and feeding of nearly 4,000 members of an endangered species, the Taylor’s checkerspot butterfly. With this trust comes the privilege of working just beyond the razor-wire fence during the day before returning to life among the general prison population each night.

[---]

Recognizing the need for urgent action, the Oregon Zoo began a captive breeding program for the species in 2003. In 2011, the zoo helped establish the breeding program at Mission Creek as part of The Evergreen State College and Washington State’s Sustainability in Prisons Project. Since then, the work undertaken by these incarcerated women has become one of the last best hopes for the species’ survival.

On this mid-March morning, the air inside the program’s two greenhouses is warm compared with the shade of the surrounding forest and the adjacent prison yard. Metal racks containing hundreds of identical plastic cups house hungry caterpillars waiting to be fed the leafy green plantain the women grow in a garden outside.

After spending six months in a hibernation-like state known as diapause, the caterpillars roused in late January and have been busy bulking up ever since. After they’re released, they will continue to eat and grow through mid-March to mid-April, after which they’ll pupate beneath dry wood and vegetation and undergo metamorphosis. Their chrysalises, with cream-and-gray bands alternating with orange and black dots, offer a pastel preview of the butterfly to come. Only a few chrysalises have been found in the wild. In April or May, they emerge as adults and take to the air on wings of vivid red or orange and white, outlined in black, calling to mind the brightly hued geometry of stained-glass windows. Their life as butterflies is fleeting—just one to 14 days—but they use that time to mate and lay clusters of approximately 100 bright yellow, quinoa-sized eggs that take on a maroon hue before hatching. A single butterfly can lay up to 1,000 eggs. From those eggs, new caterpillars will appear, fatten up, enter diapause in June or July, and then awaken in January or February to, hopefully, continue the cycle in the wild.

[---]

“When I told my family what I do,” Brooke explains, “they said, ‘we’re so proud of you, that you are doing something that has such a profound mission in the world.’” She finds the work meditative, and despite the “shocking” amount of data she must record, she says the work provides a feeling of satisfaction at the end of the day.

Heather agrees, and admits the job is also on her mind at night. “I literally have dreams about being able to sleep in these greenhouses.”

Over the course of about a week, most of the caterpillars are taken away for release in the wild. For the women who raised them, it’s surprisingly hard to let go.

“I just didn’t think you could form a bond with an insect like that,” Heather declares. “I cried yesterday, saying goodbye.”

Before they leave, she has a message for them: the fate of the species is riding on your shoulders. “You got this,” she says.