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Book Review: The Nature Fix

31/10/2017

3 Comments

 
We all need our regular fix, no use pretending otherwise. It’s just the dosage, or perhaps the effective dose, which may vary slightly. And the earlier we can stand up and admit this, the better for everyone. I’m one of those who need quite a lot for their fix. If I don’t have it, I become increasingly irritable, lethargic (as in ‘inefficient’), depressed and over time will start to crumble. By contrast, nothing works as effectively as a really high dose to restore sanity and be my best self. I’m talking of nature, of course.
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Florence Williams, in her book the Nature Fix. Why Nature Makes Us Happier, Healthier, and More Creative backs up with research what most people will long have felt to be true, certainly those interested in plants. Indeed, as she points out with a look back into history, people have sung the praise of nature and harnessed its powers to clear the mind and provide inspiration for thousands of years.

What makes this book unique is the form it takes and the time of its publication. To start with the latter: for the first time in the entire course of mankind more people now live in cities than in rural areas. Or, as Williams puts it: “Homo sapiens officially became an urban species sometime in 2008."

What consequences does that have for Homo sapiens? Does it have any at all? And if so, should we be worried? Should we make any changes to our ways of life, our urban environments to make amends? Does it really matter we left behind “life in the woods”, so to speak, and our ancestors’ connection with nature? Is it just a matter of getting used to the urban, with nature just a romantic notion and not really essential to the day-to-day life – apart from providing food, oxygen and the like, of course – for most of us?
                    Quickly increasing number of studies into how nature affects us

The book starts off with an introduction into the “Mappiness App” project: launched in 2010 by an economist from the (British) University of Essex, this is a “multi-year, big data study with tens of thousands of volunteers across the globe”. It’s aim? To find out the answer to that eternal question ‘What makes people happy?'

Some results have been published already. To quote Williams: “One of the biggest variables, the surprising one, is not who you are with or what you are doing […]. It’s where you are. As one of MacKerron’s papers concludes: ‘On average, study participants are significantly and substantially happier outdoors in all green or natural habitat types than they are in urban environments.’ (And, in case you are wondering, the data didn’t just reflect a vacation effect, since he factored that in.)"

She also quotes another study in the book’s introduction, saying that participants “consistently overestimated how much they’d enjoy the tunnels [i.e. walking a very urban environment] and underestimated how good they’d feel outside [walking a path along a canal]. Social scientists call these bad predictions ‘forecasting errors’. Unfortunately, they play a big role in how people make decisions about how to spend their time."

I’m sure most people will have encountered this phenomenon in themselves. The feeling of – having dragged yourself outside despite feeling a bit lazy and not really keen to begin with – suddenly realizing that, actually, it’s not that bad, you feel better for it and at the very least (whatever the weather) don’t regret having gone outside in the first place. This, then, is the thesis and thrust of Williams’ book: “We don’t experience natural environments enough to realize how restored they can make us feel, nor are we aware that they make us healthier, more creative, more empathic and more apt to engage with the world and each other."

                 Nature deficit disorder: Do we even realize what's missing?

She references Richard Louv, author of bestseller Last Child in the Woods (published by a truly poignant coincidence also in 2008), and what he termed nature deficit disorder – defined as “what happens when people, particularly children, spend little or no time outside in natural environments, resulting in physical and mental problems” Likewise, Louv coined the term ‘nature neurons’ “to highlight the essential link between our nervous system and the natural world they involved in."

So is that link ignored? Williams says: “The dramatic loss of nature-based exploration in our children’s lives and in our own has happened so fast we’ve hardly noticed it, much less remarked on it. […] Most of us don’t know we are missing anything. We may have a pet and occasionally go to the beach, so what’s the big deal? Well, what is the big deal? That’s what I wanted to find out.” And also: “We think of nature as a luxury, not necessity. We don’t recognize how much it elevates us, both personally and politically. That, ultimately, is the aspiration of this book: to find the best science behind our nature-primed neurons and to share it."

And that’s just what she does: seeking out and tracking down scientist across the globe who are studying the effects of nature on humans – from various different angles, starting points, cultural backgrounds and with varying intentions.

Starting out with how it affects humans – from those who, in the interest of economy, want to make workers’ more efficient, focused and creative to those with a more holistic approach. She then determines to find out how much nature we need and what kind: is it enough to have a poster on the wall, have a window with a view of some greenery, take a walk in nature via virtual reality? Do you need to have access to the real thing? And what constitutes the real thing, i.e. how wild does it have to/ how “tame” can it be? And how long does it take for nature to work its magic? Three seconds? Three minutes? Three weeks?
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How much nature do we need? This much...
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... this much
The book is divided into five parts. Most main chapters have two or three subchapters, each dealing with a different strand of her quest. It’s a theme: Williams travels somewhere, talks to the scientists about their approach and research, and if they are doing a study she’ll not just report on these but will have the setup tested on herself, strapped into all sorts of devices to measure brain activity, heart rate, etc.. Early on, for instance, she familiarizes herself with the Japanese and Korean practice of forest bathing (and the reasoning behind it). I must admit I especially loved the description of how in one experimental setup she “immersed” herself in “nature” via walking on a treadmill and wearing a virtual reality headset! (The outcome? It simply made her feel dizzy and sick.)

For other chapters she accompanies undergraduate students on a track in a desert area, children with ADHD on a rock climbing session or a group of army veterans with posttraumatic stress disorder on a five day trip down a wilderness river – always in order to witness what effect nature has on these people.

Time and again I found myself nodding along in recognition, for instance to the passages describing the effects of noise. At one point Williams notes: “Noise, at least for me, really is a problem. The test showed that it’s simply harder for someone who is noise-sensitive to fully unwind in an urban environment, regardless of its nice parks and nesting ducks. As Smyth [the scientist whose experimental set-up she had had tested on herself, measuring heart-rate variability and other indicators] put it: ‘Your recovery was clearly disrupted by the experience of noise. […] For you, walking in a park, the benefits of nature may be offset by the noise of planes. […] Those aren’t trivial effects.’ "

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... or this much, to satisfy our physical and mental needs?
                                         Wide range of voices and sources

In the Nature Fix Williams references and quotes from a long list of people: from philosophers to neuroscientists, from literary writers to reformers of education, Eastern and Western, past and present. From Beethoven who literally hugged trees (apparently) in order to find mental peace and inspiration, to modern economists driven by a desire to cut down on the costs of health care to the national budget. If I have one small niggle it’s that I feel sure there are many more Northern and central European voices and studies that could have been included here as we have such a longstanding tradition and love affair with, not to say quasi-religious approach to, nature and woods in particular.

Williams does acknowledge that, especially in her chapter on Finland. As mentioned above, she has travelled widely in her search and if, as an American, she has concentrated on American voices and scientists to frame her quest, I can’t fault her for that. It’s natural to concentrate on what’s most accessible to you and draw on what you are most familiar with.  So if, as a continental European, I would have loved to see more continental Europeans mentioned that’s as much my own cultural bias, I guess, as Williams has hers.

                                Not the author's fault: Culturally biased expectations

Speaking of cultural bias: For me the form of the book – i.e. this personal quest – took some getting used to. (I mentioned form as one of the book’s unique features above.) For Williams, it began with her move from a small town in Colorado to Washington D.C.. Struggling to adapt to the latter’s noise and lack of nature, she quickly found herself depressed - despite having spent her childhood in one of the most urban environments on earth, namely New York City. Realizing that the mountains in Colorado had become her “tonic”, she started pondering about the questions raised here: what does nature do to us - and what does a lack of nature do to us. In the Nature Fix then, she mixes anecdotal style you’d expect in a report with “hardcore” science. Nothing wrong with this. But as a German, I’m somewhat preconditioned to expect either a full-on scientific work or a report.

You see, German academics (or, more broadly, intellectuals) are infamous for using complicated language: there seems to be a general assumption that the more difficult terms you use, the more difficult your language is to understand, the more learned and important you must be… (And I sincerely apologize if you sometimes feel I subscribe to the same silly principle! It’s hard to shake off one’s roots.) By the same token: if everyone can easily follow your writing you surely must be shallow, superficial and sort of a fraud in your chosen field.

Of course, you also have books in the “popular style” where the writer will make it his or her mission to enlighten the outsider to a subject in a language they too can understand. This is more the kind we are talking about here. But in my experience these texts rarely take the form of a personal quest, mixing research findings about e.g. the workings of the frontal lobe, neurons or a “mathematical fractal dimension (called D) of between 1.3 and 1.5” (to cite just some of this book’s examples) with anecdotal details such as:

I met him [a Korean park ranger Williams accompanied for an experiment] after a basic country lunch of eight kinds of kimchi and a plate of neatly sliced homemade tofu. Eating the tofu was a little like biting into air and earth at the same time, a barely solid cloud of undemanding goodness. The kimchi, on the other hand, had a flavour as subtle as a firecracker.
One thing is certain though: it makes reading this book easier as it gives you a break between the more demanding bits (demanding of concentration, that is).
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                    Interesting facts and findings for everyone working with nature
                                                  and the human environment


Apart from and notwithstanding this, however, a great many interesting, valuable and sometimes surprising findings are scattered throughout the book. Such as the fact that “human-caused noise actually makes parks look worse, not just sound worse. Visitors hearing loud vehicle noise rate parks as 38 percent less scenic than those who don’t hear it.“ Surely a broad hint for landscape architects everywhere to look into counter measures such as noise protection walls, gushing water features etc. as a matter of routine?

For those keen to make a difference, there are many such snippets of information which can provide advice or guidance. Too many - and too varied – to even try list them here. While much of it seems science simply backing up what common sense suggests, or at least what many people who love nature will have expected and have felt to be true all along, you will still learn a lot. This then, is what I consider the book’s greatest strength: Bringing together so many voices, theories, approaches and findings regarding the effects of nature on humans. If you are coming new to the subject, you will find pointers galore where to go for further study. At the very very least, this book provides you with ammunition to fight the cause for nature, for conservation, for greening the urban environment: black on white, scientifically proven, much of it cutting edge.

               Now all we need is to heed the advise and implement change

It’s heartening to see that what once was a trickle of studies has, across the world, become a little wave. I’m looking forward to it swelling further and hopefully make a true impact across many fields – from laws strengthening conservation efforts to changes in urban design to new therapies or preventative measures being developed and sanctioned by bodies like a government’s Department of Health. Or indeed spurring ordinary companies into becoming proactive because management and shareholders realize it is in everybody’s interest, including their own long-term economic success.


Oh, and if I may suggest one thing to the publishers: For the next edition of The Nature Fix PLEASE include an index, it would make finding names, theories etc. again so much easier.

P.S.: Timely reminder - article on the BBC UK website from Nov 22nd:
                     "Forest nursery demand in London rises as expert calls for more research"


You may also enjoy the following posts:
 
                              Nature in the urban future: The first European Landscape Conference

                              City nomads against the gloom: Building a community

                              Green walls, green roofs, green rooms - Green infrastructure



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Of builders, autumn colour and the conflict between being plant mad and good garden design

12/10/2017

2 Comments

 
It doesn’t seem quite fair. This year, my little plot is more colourful than ever before in autumn yet I can’t really enjoy it. For weeks now our block, a converted former Victorian school, has been scaffolded in: the window frames needed painting.

If I’m honest, I’m glad it happens now rather than during late spring and summer as was originally announced. With all our windows facing the same way there is no escaping the view of planks, poles, builders and decorators at work anyway. But as the aspect is South, more than anything I dreaded the heat, increased by netting around the scaffolding and not being able to open windows for most of the time. Anything above 27 degree Celsius and I start switching off. And from a gardener’s point of view, of course, the prospect of missing out on spring and/ or summer was devastating. So I breathed a sigh of relief when the schedule was changed.

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Only a snapshot from a very dull day; backlit by sun, nerines and the Virginia Creeper positively glow

Having avoided the worst, right now of course it feels different. Chilly nights and crisp mornings in September followed by mild days have turned the Virginia creeper into a truly spectacular blaze of red and orange. Most years it tends to stick to yellow with flecks and streaks of red only, due to its very sheltered position. The ornamental sages, many from cuttings that this year have come of age and grown into strong plants, flower their hearts out: red, cornflower blue, deep purple, neon pink. Michaelmas daisies, toad lilies and Japanese anemones add to this, as do nerines, pelargoniums (still going strong), fuchsias and a whole host of others. It’s an orgy of colours. Yet little of it is visible from the windows.

Moreover, when I squeeze through the door (the scaffolding only allows it to open for a small gap) almost the only choice I have is to water the plants or stand and admire. There’s no room for anything else right now. Every square inch is occupied by pots, safe a narrow path to access them all for watering. So is the garden table where otherwise I would love to sit and work on fine days: on top, there are all the pots usually homed on the windowsills, underneath I stuffed empty pots and bags of compost (I don’t have a shed) so I can’t even pull out a chair.


We were told we had to vacate the first three metres of the garden in order for the scaffolding to be erected. This more or less meant moving half the garden into the other half. As on this side most of these were pots on pebbles and slabs it sort of worked. But there was one victim: the Pohutukawa.

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The Pohutukawa (Metrosideros excelsa) in question has lived here before me. When we arrived, it was in a sorry state of neglect; in fact, it was near dead. I repotted it and slowly nurtured it back into a nice specimen. A few years ago I forgot to put a saucer back underneath the pot for summer which I'd taken away so that during the colder months it wouldn't sit in water making the roots rot. That summer, the Pohutukawa really started taking off. It took me a while to realize why: its roots had escaped the confines of the pot and extended into the layer of gravel and pebbles below, taking advantage of every drop spilled and every nutrients from the detritus that had accumulated there.

By this September, not only had the Pohutukawa grown so much it reached the second floor, it also covered almost the entire kitchen window. The decorators needed access. So we got a saw out and I hacked back the tree to a more or less leafless stump. I'll spare you the details of my emotions, suffice to say I felt like a murderer and - I kid you not - blubbered like a child whilst sawing off branch after branch. I don't easily cry.

But it wasn't enough. I still needed to shift the pot. This probably meant the death sentence. For the roots had made the most of their freedom and - as I was to discover - had turned an area of about four square metres into something like felt: pebbles woven together by fine roots. The main root growing out of the hole at the bottom of the pot was almost as thick as my wrist. Giving in to fate - or rather: the builders' order - I cut it off at the pot's base. I don't know whether my Pohutukawa will survive this butchering. It's still there and I keep it on the dry side. Perhaps there is hope, though I'm not overly optimistic.

After that, though, I flatly refused to move the other Metrosideros nearby. That one I have grown myself from a seed the size of an eyelash, gathered in a friend's garden in New Zealand almost twenty years ago. It would have been too much to bear. So I got the foreman in, explained and pleaded with him, under shameless use of my own eyelashes. He appears a bit like a slightly grumpy old uncle, but he had enough of a heart or sympathy to not insist: I just had to tie the branches tight to a scaffolding pole to keep them out of the way. While I usually refer to it as a Pohutukawa, too, in reality it probably is a Southern Rata (Metrosideros umbellata), another New Zealand endemic. Its branches - at least with my plant in a pot - are more pliable so the tying up tight proved no problem.

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From this...
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... to that.

One thing that has been thrown into even sharper focus by having to move the pots closer still is that my garden lacks design. Sure, the hard landscaping is there: a strip of gravel, then three steps up to a patio or terrace surrounded on three sides by a narrow strip of open soil. It was thus laid out when the building was first converted into flats. Other than that, though, the almost empty canvas I found when moving in has been turned into a painter's palette rather than a painting.

For a long long time I have toyed with the idea of re-training in garden design. In fact, when first out of school after A-levels and a horticultural apprenticeship, I applied for a landscape design diploma course at uni. It was coincidence rather than – ahem – design, that I ended up doing something entirely different. Still, the idea never left me.

Very slowly and reluctantly over the years, however, I have come to the realization that this is not for me: I don’t think I’d ever make a really good designer. Why? Well, design is about restrain – at least this is how I’d describe it for this purpose. I on the other hand love plants. For the sake of plants. Apart from the fact that I probably wouldn’t come up with very ingenious solutions to tricky sites (hard landscaping isn’t something my mind thinks creatively about), I’d ruin any design by cramming in far too many plants or at least far too varied a planting.

It’s the same indoors. While I long for and sigh at the sight of elegant, even minimalist interiors, I could not for the life of me manage to keep a place like that. Within hours of me moving in, bits and bobs would
start to gather on the clean shelves and surfaces – shells, pebbles, ceramics… I just can’t help it.

Outdoors, faced with one of the truly elegant designs that only come about by having a restrained palette of plants (but those in greater numbers), I’d sit and admire – and would feel excessively bored. Someone told me garden designer Jinny Blom advises that if you have a list of say 20 plant species for a design to cut it back to seven. I love Jinny’s gardens. It’s just not for me.

I love to fuss and care, experiment and try, mollycoddle and despair – all for the sake of it. For nostalgic reasons, for the individual specimen. Otherwise I’d never bother with frangipani as it’s just not likely to ever thrive with me. I wouldn’t have small pots everywhere, with seedlings and cuttings that I often took for no other reason than try and see whether I can make the seed germinate and grow. One or two of a kind, the rest given away, mine is a hodgepodge rather than a design. I love the actual nurturing, the propagating, the raising of plants. A fellow gardener once said I should open a nursery. Maybe I should. Visiting my plot, no-one ever suggested I should design gardens…

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Mind you: that’s not to say that I do not assemble and group with a keen eye for matching or contrasting shapes, colours, heights and textures. I very much do! But I suffer from that not uncommon gardeners’ ailment of wanting to grow as many of the plants I love as I could possibly get away with cramming in. Lack of space means there is just one individual of each species, two at best. It makes for a varied diet for the local insect wildlife but it sure doesn’t make for a coherent picture. At the moment, I prefer assembling treasures. But I do think that one day, when I strike it big [well, you can always dream…] and have more space to play with, I’d like a bit of co-ordination, a more restful view to the eye.

Perhaps I will eventually get bored with this mishmash. Perhaps I’m still at this “beginners’ stage” where you want to have and grow everything. Perhaps I too eventually will arrive at – and, more importantly, adhere to – the wisdom that you simply have to find out, by trial and error, which plants are happiest in your garden and then grow lots of these. In theory I know this, of course. I just don’t want to accept and bow to it yet.

So, until then, I continue experimenting and hoarding and will enjoy the pathetic two stalks of blooms where there should be a big drift of this species to make any impact. And when the builders have left in the afternoon, I’ll go outside and feast on the colours and smells in my little garden and try to bottle them into my mind for the grey winter days to come.

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Same season two years ago. Quite a few pots have been added since...
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    About the Author,
    Stefanie


    Born and raised in East Berlin, Germany. Has moved a few miles west since, to East London. Gardening since childhood, though first attempts were in what should properly be described a sandpit (yes, Brandenburg’s soil is that poor). After 15 years of indoor-only gardening has upgraded via a small roof terrace to a patio plot crammed with pots. Keeps dreaming about a big garden, possibly with a bit of woodland, a traditional orchard and a walled garden plus a greenhouse or two. Unlikely to happen in this lifetime - but hey, you can always dream.



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