Struck down: but not for long

A picture taken by Claire on her visit to the Peak District. The grassy banks and blue but cloud spotted sky are struck either side of the stacked rocks.

One day you’re striding the dales, and the next you can hardly move. That was my experience about 10 days ago. 

I knew they were a lot of flu lurgies around so I thought that’s what I had. It wasn’t until I realised I’d lost my sense of smell that it dawned on me… aargh, the dreaded COVID-19. The test confirmed it. I’d gone from a Novid (someone who’d never had it) to a Covid.

Aside from doing all the things you’re supposed to… resting, ginger honey and lemon for the sore throat, painkillers for the nightmarish headaches… I also read a lot. I tend to have a few books on the boil and all are linked to the theme of regeneration. (Sorry, I just can’t help myself ;)) 

This quiet time also gave me a chance to sift through my notes and interviews I’ve done so far for my book project. I’ve been wanting to distil what I know. It helps me figure stuff out. And I’m hoping it will help pique your curiosity too.   

So, what is regeneration?

Obviously, it’s the opposite of degeneration. That’s about loss. This is about life. 

Its basis is not in the material world of mechanics or engineering – the entropic world. Its roots are in the living world of life – or the negentropic world.

So it reflects what is deeply innate within us. As you read this, the cells of your body are regenerating. The ground beneath your feet is shapeshifting with the processes of millions of microbes. Your gut – or biome – is evolving.

  

View across the dales, the Peak District. Green grass and ferns stretch into the distance with two ridges visible in the distance.
View across the dales, the Peak District.

But what does this have to do with business?

Regenerative theory and development has taken some of the fundamental principles of living systems theory, together with complexity theory, philosophy, Indigenous cultures, new economics (to name but a few) and aims to put vitality and viability back into the system we all share. 

Simply put, to heal the damage done.

Regeneration: a verb not a noun

Unlike sustainability which tends to focus on metrics and targets. Being regenerative is not an end state. It’s not a noun. It’s a verb — and it’s a principle to live by. 

Former Head of Regenerative Design at the RSA, Josie Warden, puts it like this: Being regenerative is both “a mindset and a way of seeing and being in the world.”

3 questions to alter your perspective:

  1. How is this project/decision contributing to life? 
  2. Who do I want to be in this moment? (I find this question shifts where I put my attention before I meet with a client.) 
  3. How can I best serve the wider system that the person in front of me represents. (This question immediately reminds me of the vast hinterland behind each of us… and gives me a broader perspective than if I just approach the individual.) 

How about you? What systems do you have the opportunity — and the delight — to influence? 

I would love to hear your thoughts. 

A picture of Claire at Avebury Henge before being struck down by Covid. She is wearing a maroon rain jacket and standing with one arm stretched out to touch the rock.
Claire at Avebury Henge before being struck down by Covid.

Hi, I’m Claire. Through my business Wordstruck we help companies bring their sustainability strategy to life. As the Founder of Regenerative Storytelling, we’re helping leaders do more for their people, their community and the planet. I publish regular content about storytelling, regenerative leadership and reframing how to address our rapidly heating world. To see more of my content, please sign up – and join the conversation by sharing a comment below.

Our kids can’t play in the front yard – Regenerative stories from the frontline of climate change  

Aunty Rose Elu standing by the Cop27 sign in Egypt - Regenerative Story

McRose Elu is one of those unstoppable aunties. A veteran climate change campaigner, social rights advocate, and 2021 Queensland Senior of the Year, she can’t imagine ever putting her feet up. “There’s so much to do,” says the 70-something-year-old.

Last week I had the privilege of meeting Aunty Rose – as she’s known – on Thursday Island in the Torres Strait. This archipelago of around 270 islands are located off the northern tip of the continent. They are the frontline of Australia’s climate emergency. 

I don’t use that expression “climate emergency” lightly. It’s a phrase, if you hear it too much, becomes irrelevant. But when you’ve got saltwater lapping over your roads and your kids can no longer play in the front yard due to storm surges…. This is a real emergency.

Aunty Rose has experienced this first hand. 

When sea walls cannot stop the storm surges

Saibai Island in the Torres Strait facing inundation from rising sea levels.
Saibai Island in the Torres Strait Islands. Image © Brad Marsellos. Used with permission. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/
The sea wall at Saibai Island in the Torres Strait no longer holding back rising sea levels.
Saibai Island in the Torres Strait Islands. Image © Brad Marsellos. Used with permission. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/

‘I’m from one of the outer low-lying islands of Saibai. Even back in the 1940s the salt water was coming. My father decided to move us all to the mainland. We grew up on Seisia – land given to my father and his brothers by the Aboriginal people of the Cape.”

Out of the seventeen inhabited islands of the Torres Strait, seven are becoming inundated as sea levels rise a shocking 6-8 mm per year. Soon, these seven islands will become uninhabitable.  

We often feel forgotten and alone,” Aunty Rose continues. “Australia feels so far away and the politics of Canberra and climate change feel so out of touch. The government thinks that just building a new sea wall will fix the problem. But I’ve told politicians — including Scott Morrison [the former Prime Minister of Australia] that’s not enough. People who think that climate change is not an issue need to see and understand what is happening to us.” 

“We can’t grow veggies anymore. Too salty. We are losing our grave sites and the places of our ancestors.” She places her palm flat on her chest, her voice low and wistful. “But I still love that place, bub. That’s our home.”

Thursday Island - Connecting to country

Colourful welcome when the ferry arrives from Horn Island at the wharf on Thursday Island (TI).
Colourful welcome when the ferry arrives from Horn Island at the wharf on Thursday Island (TI).
Monsoon storm clouds gathering on TI.
Monsoon storm clouds gathering on TI.

On the first morning of my short trip to Thursday Island (TI), the administrative centre of the archipelago, we are given a tour of the island by a local, Uncle Frank Cook, in his mini-bus. 

The first thing he says, “Where your placenta is, that’s where you are from. And I’m from this beautiful island of TI.”  

Among First Nations peoples, the sense of belonging and of connection to country is so palpable, you can feel it.  For Aunty Rose, this is what gives her strength and the will to keep campaigning.

In regenerative thinking, we often talk about “the story of place”. 

This is where we start when designing a project. Each place is different, so we need to design any project according to the unique attributes of the place it is situated in. We sometimes talk about “place-sourced potential”. This is a fancy way of saying… what are the unique attributes of this place, this island and the community who lives there? What is the potential of this place to change, to heal, to regenerate?

By designing from the ground up, we have a better chance of finding solutions because we aren’t aiming for a one-size-fits-all. Instead, we are aiming for harmony with the locality around us.

Aunty Rose: meditation as her motivator

Aunty McRose Elu with Annastacia Palaszczuk and Dr Jeannette Young being presented the 2021 Senior Award of the Year.
(l to r) Annastacia Palaszczuk, Premier of Queensland, Aunty McRose Elu - veteran climate campaigner, Dr Jeannette Young, Governor of Queensland
Aunty McRose Elu in Hawaii for the Social Anthropology in Oceania Symposium.
Aunty McRose Elu in Hawaii attending a Social Anthropology in Oceania Symposium.

When Aunty Rose was presented with her Queensland Senior of the Year award, the Premier, Annastacia Palaszczuk, said, “Since 1980 Aunty McRose Elu has been drawing attention to the impact of climate change in the Torres Strait, speaking at the United Nations and to business and political leaders.”

That’s forty years of campaigning. A long time for anyone. 

Last year Aunty Rose travelled to Egypt to attend COP 27 (see photo at the top of the post). She’s just returned from delivering a paper on Food Sovereignty at the Social Anthropology in Oceania Symposium in Hawaii. Yet, she has such strong energy, warmth and – despite the knock backs – optimism. Her faith supports her (she’s a committed Anglican). Her daily 4:00 am meditation practice strengthens her.

“I always meditate at that time,” she says. “It is dark and peaceful.” Her hands turn over in front of her, as if she is running them through water. “Meditation renews my energy. It has always been a great help to me.”

Speaking to Aunty Rose reminded me, too, of another regenerative principle: to grow our inner capacity to face the challenges of our external environment. This is where you find balance and harmony. 

The spiritual is as important as the physical… and she’s testament to that. 

3 things you can do

  1. Especially, if you live in Australia and don’t know much about the Torres Strait, make a point of learning more about this rich and varied culture. 
  2. This map here gives you its location, or click here to find out more.
  3. Take a moment today to connect to your country. Walk barefoot, touch the earth, really notice where you are. 
A digital map of the north cape of Australia and the Torres Strait.
Map of the north cape of Australia and the Torres Strait. © Torres Strait Island Regional Council 2016.

Hi, I’m Claire. Through my business Wordstruck we help companies bring their sustainability strategy to life. As the Founder of Regenerative Storytelling, we’re helping leaders do more for their people, their community and the planet. I publish regular content about storytelling, regenerative leadership and reframing how to address our rapidly heating world. To see more of my content, please sign up – and join the conversation by sharing a comment below.

The wood-wide web: How forests can teach us about regeneration

The wood-wide web: How forests can teach us about regeneration

Imagine if your industry was like this. Everyone is connected – not just digitally, but really connected in a way that they care about each other. Some of the big players do more than advise newbies or budding entrepreneurs, they actively help with resources, insight and energy.

In the neighbourhood where these workplaces are located, there’s a central hub. This is like the wellspring of wisdom, creativity and growth. Ideas are exchanged. Strategies are shared. This hub helps everyone in the system thrive. Instead of competition across your industry, there’s genuine co-operation. You’re all working to the same end: to create more life, more vitality. And this co-operation extends beyond the four walls of the office block. It supports the barista in the corner cafe, or the community garden in the central mall.

This isn't fiction

If this sounds like the latest Avatar movie, you aren’t far wrong. In fact, this scenario describes the “wood-wide web” — or how forests and trees communicate with each other.

Canadian scientist, Suzanne Simard, first floated this theory back in 1997. Her initial research headlined in Nature magazine. A fourth-generation forester from British Columbia, Simard had grown up hearing stories of how her grandparents had clear-felled ancient western red cedar forests by hand. The massive logs were hauled out by horses, and then launched down river to be milled as timber. “Grandpa taught me about the quiet and cohesive ways of the woods, and how my family was knit into it,” she says.

The giant stumps of these trees are still visible today in Canada, just like they are in old-growth forests in Australia. When I’m walking in places like Dorrigo National Park, I often think the cuts in the base of the stump are like two haunting eyes. These marks show where two men would stand on a plank of wood as they used axes to manually cut the tree down. It was a painstaking, slow and dangerous process for the men involved (we don’t know, of course, how it was for the trees…) Now, however, an entire forest can be bulldozed in a matter of hours.

Photos below: From Old Treasury Building, Reproduced courtesy of Museums Victoria.

like us - Trees are social and cooperative

I read Simard’s book, Finding the Mother Tree, over Christmas. Even if some of the science went over my head, her story is compelling. But what she shares is even more instructive.

When Simard started work as a forestry ecologist she became fascinated (to the point of obsession) about why some reforested plantations thrived, and others failed. Over decades, through hundreds of painstaking experiments, she helped uncover the existence of the mycorrhizal (fungi) network that connects forests. She also proved that the oldest “mother trees” are like “hubs” that share their excess carbon and nitrogen with understory seedlings. Trees, she says, are “social and cooperative”. They’re connected through underground networks… “with communal lives not that different from our own.”

FLIPPING THE SCRIPT

For decades, Simard was excluded and dismissed by the male-dominated forestry industry. Her research contradicted their exterminate-all-weeds clear-cutting policy. Over time, Simard proved that different species of tree actually support each other – rather than compete. Her work, like that of other scientists, questions the Darwinian theory of evolution and survival of the fittest: which is what capitalism and modern economics is built around. (In an interesting aside she also mentions that Darwin developed his theories at the same time as Adam Smith penned The Wealth of Nations which is still the basis of liberal economics today.)

Inevitably, she does have her detractors. Kathryn Flinn in Scientific American, questions Simard’s anthropomorphism and use of “culturally weighted words” like ‘mother’ to describe the older trees. Flinn also makes the good point that “plants are fundamentally unlike us” and we need to respect those differences.

REGENERATION CARES - LIKE TREES DO

But, ultimately Simard is working to change centuries of Western colonial thinking that views forests (and everything in them) as resources to plunder. She flips the script. Instead of us saving the forests, she suggests that the forests can save us.

Simply put, she wants us to care. And that’s what regenerative businesses do – in fact, that’s the principle that regeneration is based upon – CARE.

Thoughts? Can you imagine your workplace or industry transforming like this over time?

Photos below: Dorrigo National Park – my arms are stretched around a 1000-year old eucalypt tree.

The wood-wide web: How forests can teach us about regeneration
The wood-wide web: How forests can teach us about regeneration

How 45 minutes can change everything

Climate emergency

Outside my office-studio is a mango tree. She’s pretty old and craggy limbed. Fourteen months ago, her branches were stripped bare.

It was a warm October afternoon. We’d had a few warnings about freak storms. Then a supercell hailstorm hit our beachside suburb on the mid-north coast of NSW. It got so loud I hid under my desk – until I realised water was pouring through the roof in three places. Our nearby shopping centre roof also collapsed as golf ball sized hail pelted down (see 7News below).

It’s the first time I’ve been in an area declared a disaster. And the weirdest thing? When I stepped outside of my studio, I didn’t recognise where I was. In 45 minutes, everything had changed.’

Climate emergency
Climate change
Climate change
Our suburban street had become a snowfield. A neighbour’s son, shirtless and in board shorts, was using a shovel to dig out his dad’s pickup truck from thick ice. The leaves on the trees were shredded. The poor birds. My vege patch was a bunch of sticks. My husband’s car, a right-off. I remember looking around me, and thinking, I don’t know where I am. The locals and shoppers in this 7NEWS report clearly felt something similar. (Although in Aussie style, surfers were soon snowboarding on the nearby Sawtell Beach!)

Welcome to my new newsletter: The Regenerative Leader.

Stories about people + business doing things differently.

It’s taken over a year for everything to get replaced and fixed. Both our roofs have been replaced. And we’re lucky, we were insured. I’ve heard that people sheltering during cyclones feel a similar sort of dislocation – obviously on a more acute, terrifying and catastrophic scale. Those 45 minutes were so disruptive that something shifted inside of me. I’d been making changes in my life and work for at least three years. But this was a catalyst.

In storytelling terms, a lived experience is what I call a “shift moment“. It changes our narrative and how we make meaning of our lives. This is what Regenerative Storytelling can offer. A new language to understand what’s happening and a new way to respond.

I wish it was as easy as flicking a switch.

But it’s not, of course. It’s about incremental changes, internally and externally. In slightly laborious language (which I promise I will limit), it’s about “building capacity”.

This is what you can expect from my Regenerative storytelling newsletter:

Stories that illustrate the small steps (and the occasional leap) to help us all adapt to our rapidly heating world. Stories of leadership in likely and unlikely places. Some might alarm you, others will entertain, inspire and encourage. Together, we are finding a new language for this time.

A couple of weeks ago, a year after the hailstorm, our mango tree suddenly grew leaves. It was almost as if they were sprouting before our eyes. The birds have come back. Birds that we never saw before.

While nature (and us) can regenerate fast… can we do it fast enough?