Bugging Me

Orchid cuckoo bee from Levon Bliss Microsculpture. Beautiful green and blue colours.

Have you ever imagined being an insect? Like, really imagined. 

When we told friends we were going to Scotland, the first thing they said: don’t get midged. Summer on the west coast is notorious for black swarms of these microscopic biting flies. 

For the first week in August, no problem. My husband Aden and I kept the windows open. One evening, there was a brief rain shower, then a burst of sun. Perfect breeding weather. That night there were, literally, thousands of midges in the bedroom, on the wall, on the ceiling, on the lights. 

I shrieked. Ran around like a crazy person, arms flapping. Both of us desperately Googling for solutions. 

Bowls of apple cider vinegar with washing up liquid? Diffuser with lavender? Nothing worked. Luckily we’d kept the bedroom door shut so they were confined. The next two nights we camped in the lounge and Aden vacuumed the room enough times to get rid of them, until finally, they were gone.

The role of insects from a regenerative perspective

Worldwide insect populations are declining faster than scientists can identify them. We’re losing our pollinators (like bees) at an alarming rate. In the last three decades, insects have declined up to 75% in Europe. What purpose, we wondered, do midges have within our ecosystem? 

Surely, like so many insects, they are food for other species (birds, marsupials, snakes). Without insects as pollinators, says Prof Simon Potts from the University of Reading, our food supplies and quality are in peril. 

So, how can we care that bit more about these tiny creatures? (Clearly, I failed on the midge front.) They are integral to our biodiversity.

Three ways to care (regeneratively) for our critters.

Tortoise beetle microsculpture taken by Levon Biss. It has a intricate reddish brown pattern on its rectangular body.
Tortoise beetle, Platypria melli (Coleoptera, Chrysomelidae), China © Levon Biss.
Marion flightless moth microsculpture by Levin Biss. Long legs, and pincers on a brown and greyish body.
Marion flightless moth, Pringleophaga marioni (Lepidoptera, Tineidae), Marion Island, South Africa © Levon Biss.

1. See insects in a new light

Photographer Levon Biss has made an art form out of insects (see photos above). In collaboration with the Oxford University Museum of Natural History, his work marries creative innovation with science. I happened to see a tiny exhibition ‘Microsculpture’ of his massively blown-up, carefully-lit photos that capture the extraordinary form, colour and evolutionary detail of insects.

Each image is created from around 8,000 individual photographs, taking around three weeks to shoot and retouch. The result is a series of photos of insect specimens (they are from the museum collection and each is pinned ‘on an adapted microscope stage’) that change how you see them. 

His photos don’t make them look any less weird or strange. But the detail of the Tortoise Beetle, for example, with its scaly back and spiky spines is like a Genghis Khan of the insect world. I see it in a new light.

2. Name insects in your garden or park

My sister posted the picture below of a caterpillar on our WhatsApp ’virtual gardening’ chat. Anyone know the name? My other sister looked it up. 

Start with butterflies. They’re pretty. Try to name every new butterfly you see. You’ll be amazed at how you relate differently to them.

Naming helps us identify — and get closer — to our more-than-human world.

A picture taken by Claire's sister Jane from a book of insects. It shows sixteen species of caterpillars.
Picture taken by Claire's sister Sarah. It shows a close up of a yellow and brown fluffy caterpillar resting on bright green leaves.
Picture taken by Claire's sister Sarah.

3. House insects wherever you can

I’ve talked about rewilding in this post. Letting weeds grow and encouraging insect-loving plants in your garden all helps. Or, if there’s a patch of grass on the pavement, plant wild flowers. Central London have taken this one step further. In Regent’s Place there are now ‘Bug Hotels’ (see below). These encourage ladybirds, butterflies and beetles to ‘thrive on campus’.

A sad irony, though. Across the road are a row of tents where homeless people live. (The council is providing for bugs not people… obv, not a regenerative approach.)

A sign displaying information on a 'bug hotel' in Regents Place. It explains the role of insects and their importance for biodiversity.
On display in Regent's Place Plaza.
A picture showing a hexagonal wooden structure under a tree to help attract insects. Highlighting the important role of insects.
'Bug Hotel' in Regent's Place Plaza.

Insects face an existential crisis

However, there’s another framing for this. Aden commented on it when he read the blog. He’s First Nations, a Gumbaynggirr man from the east coast of Australia. He tends to see how everything is interrelated — he’s a pattern thinker. ‘While we’re facing a cost of living and a housing crisis,’ he commented. ’For insects, ”cost of living” has a whole new meaning: it’s existence itself.’

Something to ponder on, next time I go to swat a mossie.

What about you? Can you cope with the crawly, jumpy, flighty ones? If you can’t, can you try? 

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.

Doing community regeneratively

A photo taken by Aden shows the regenerative community of Tarbert - a row of pink, blue and white houses reflected in the water of the harbour, and green hills in the background.

Community — what does it look like for you? It’s something that I keep thinking about as we travel and stay in different places. What sort of community/communities do I want to be part of? To invest emotionally. To cheer on. To rely upon. 

Island communities buying land together (rural Scotland). Knitting groups and wellbeing walks in the city (central London). Wild swimming Wednesdays (Sheffield). In-person. Online. WhatsApp groups. There are many ways to do community. 

 Here are three examples that I’ve glimpsed upon recently. Each has regenerative aspects.

Community-owned castle: Inner Hebrides of western Scotland

We were staying near a small pretty harbour town called Tarbert (see above photo). It’s got a ruined castle: not unusual in this part of the world! The signage proudly describes how Tarbert Castle Heritage Park is ’owned by the community and entirely cared for by volunteers.’ 

They do the fun stuff: senior pupils from Tarbert Academy illustrated Medieval characters on the historical displays; and the less fun stuff: picking up litter and emptying waste bins. 

As a way to increase biodiversity of the castle ruins, the community have created a woodland and orchard, and own a flock of Hebridean sheep to keep the grass cut. They’ve partnered with a local supermarket and rely on donations to ‘achieve their sustainable maintenance plan’. 

I like the fact that the community are flipping the script on ownership and how well they’ve thought it through (including using sheep to regenerate the land). Their sense of pride is palpable. Even as a passing visitor, you sense it. 

A picture taken of Hebridean. They are used in the regenerative community of Tarbert.
Hebridean sheep. © Pinterest.

Community buy-out: Island of Gigha

Not far from Tarbert is the tiny island of Gigha (pronounced Gere, as in Richard). Scotland is notorious for absentee landlords. When the entire island came up for sale in 2001, the islanders clubbed together to buy it. 

With support from grants and loans from the Scottish government (via the National Lottery and another enterprise), they raised the millions of pounds required. From soup ‘n’ sandwich days to quiz nights and ‘sponsored rows around the island’ they made their vision a reality. According to the Gigha website, this put them ‘in the vanguard of the Scottish land reform movement.’ 

Clearly, they needed a structure and proper  governance to make it work. The Isle of Gigha Heritage Trust was formed. Its aim: to promote ‘community regeneration, employment and sustainability.’ 

A photo taken by Claire shows the regenerative community owned island Gigha - the green hilly landscape with some small houses nestled in the middle and the sea behind.
Dramatic landscape of the island Gigha.
A photo taken by Claire of a white sand beach in Gigha - the regenerative community owned island. Sunny blue sky spotted with fluffy clouds, turquoise clear water and white sand below.
A beautiful beach in Gigha.

‘The Island is part of me’

Island life might not be perfect. But this short clip gives you a flavour — watch it for the hypnotic Scottish accent. When we spent the day there (travelling via ferry), we were lucky to get a table at the renowned restaurant on the island, the Boathouse. The campsite was busy and so was the tourist trade. 

The islanders have overhauled run-down housing and the population decline has been reversed. Plus, they have a viable long-term income through their four wind turbines, selling renewable energy to the mainland grid with all profits ploughed back into the Trust. (According to their website, back in 2004, Gigha was ‘the first community-owned grid-connected windfarm in Scotland.’)

Regeneration: creating a sense of care in the community 

According to an article on the Seeds of Good Anthropocenes, not only has ‘community ownership built local self-confidence…. It’s changed the way people on Gigha relate to nature and one another.’ This speaks to the regenerative quality of care. So much easier to care about where we live if we have a vested interest in the place itself. (Another way we talk about this in regen is ‘place-sourced potential’: a bit jargon-ny, I know.)  

Green spaces and heatmaps

We left Scotland reluctantly. But now my husband Aden and I are finding our ‘London legs’, staying in Bloomsbury.  Just in the past day, I’ve seen a host of signs that point to the community initiatives here. From the Marchmont Community Centre to ‘improve the quality of life of local residents’, to farmers markets (everywhere in London these days, like in Sydney), to awareness about heatmaps. (Inevitably the less green in a city, the hotter they become. You can chart the hot-spots through heatmaps.) 

City community does things differently. In central London the garden squares create a focal point. I’ve missed Bloomsbury’s ‘tell the stories behind the trees’ event. But I’m signing up for the ‘wellbeing walk’ to increase my weekly step count. Last night our lovely 94-y-o neighbour, Betty, invited us for drinks. (Lovely, as we are only here a week!) She told us ALL about the colourful characters she’s known living here since 1976. 

Each place has certainly given me ideas on how I want to see communities thrive. 

What about you? How does community feed and nourish your life and work? Thoughts? Stories? 

Taken by Claire the image of a sign for a Farmers Market in Bloomsbury, London.
A picture taken of a sign for 'wellbeing' walks in the area of Bloomsbury.
"Not a guided tour".

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.

Why Stories About Climate Change Need a Hook

Catrina Davies reading from the start of her third book based on the recollections of Hedley Ralph Collard. Why Stories About Climate Change need a hook. She sits in a small marquee on a seat, with a guitar to the right of her.

Finding an emotional hook is the first place I start when crafting a story. Now, as I’m getting knee-deep into my next book, I’m grappling with how to do that when writing about two big, abstract topics: climate change and regeneration. 

In May, I caught up with my literary agent. She was clear: ‘You need people to care about the climate in an emotional way. Read this.’ 

She thrust a hardback book into my hands. Once upon a Raven’s Nest by Catrina Davies. It’s beautiful and sits (unopened) on my desk like a talisman. Meanwhile, I pace around, drinking too many cups of earl grey as I try to find this illusive ‘hook’.

Meeting author Catrina Davies

Last Saturday I saw Catrina Davies speak at an author event. It was pouring outside the marquee and the venue was noisy. She sat, quietly, wavy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and picked up a guitar at her feet. In a raspy voice, a voice that suited the wild weather of this temperamental English summer, she sang one of her own songs. My husband Aden nudged me. ‘You’ll have to expand your repertoire.’ 

Then, Catrina read from the start of her third book based on the recollections of Hedley Ralph Collard. She told us that when staying in Wales in 2014, she met him on a walk. He was in a wheelchair. They  struck up a conversation, and over time, developed a remarkable friendship. 

In her book, she writes as if she is him: in the first person. ‘The book wasn’t working when I was writing about him. I had to inhabit his voice,’ she said. With his permission that’s what she does. (No mean feat.)

Catrina Davies reading from the start of her third book based on the recollections of Hedley Ralph Collard. Why Stories About Climate Change need a hook. She sits in a small marquee on a seat, with a guitar to the right of her.

Regenerative storytelling: a bridge between us and the planet

What she’s done is really interesting — and smart. Catrina has interwoven the life of one man (who’s name has been changed to Thomas Hedley) and pitched it against the much larger backdrop of life on Earth, starting 4.5 Billion Years Ago.

 By interspersing his human story — which began in the mid-1950s, at the time that we as a species began directly, unalterably impacting the planet  — we care about the individual AND the whole. 

As the rain lashed down, Catrina explained how she’d been trying to capture the fragility of his life. ‘It expressed something universal and urgent about all of our lives at this moment in history.’ 

Thomas, she said, is both an everyman and an extraordinary individual. He grew up on Exmoor in southwest Britain and knew the names of all the trees. He had a tough, rural upbringing, accident after accident, until one left him paralysed from the neck down. 

Davies' book cover: Once Upon a Raven's Nest - Why Stories About Climate Change need a hook.

Stories work best when they are universal AND particular. It’s a Hollywood cliche but it’s true. When we can see ourselves reflected in the life of a protagonist on screen, we leave the cinema with that rush of having experienced a great movie. We feel validated, our lives that bit richer.  

At the end of the talk, I bought another copy of Catrina’s book as a present. I introduced myself and she asked my name. Her forehead puckered. ‘I know that name. What did you write?’ 

I think I stammered. ‘’My first book was Last Seen in Lhasa—’ 

‘Aagh,’ she exclaimed. ‘I read that. Came out about twenty years ago? I’ve still got a copy.’ She handed me hers. ‘It was a great book.’ 

I think I blushed because it’s been a while since I’ve had anything published. It was a sweet moment: my own validation. An unexpected endorsement that I am on the right track with this new work about climate change. 

I still haven’t opened her book. The time isn’t right. But I look at it differently now when I’m procrastinating. It gives me hope. 

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.

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.

Caring: Regeneration in Action

A picture taken by Claire of the stunning coastline of Prussia Cove, Cornwall. To the left, clear turquoise water meets the steep cliff edge. The coastline is covered in green grass and pink flowers.

This week I’ve been on holiday walking some of the South West Coastal Path in Cornwall. Unlike in much of the UK, we’ve had glorious sunshine on this rugged peninsula. (The long winter I mentioned in my last post, a distant memory.) 

The Coastal Path is actually many paths. They are narrow and you walk pressed between wild flowers: magenta foxgloves, white cow parsley, wild gladioli, giant daisies. Walking gives me time to reflect, ponder and percolate ideas. Quietly, I’ve started to map out chapter headings for my next book. 

My friends keep asking what I’m writing about. They’re hoping for another novel. When I tell them I am writing about how we can apply regenerative principles to our work and life, they look a bit disappointed. 

But, that’s okay. I reckon, once they read what I’m learning about… they’ll be interested.

A picture taken by Claire of some of the native plants with their distinctive shapes and colours. They are pink, green and dark purple with some curved and spiky leaves.
Succulents only grow outdoors here.
A photo taken by Claire of the green verge of the coastline with tall pink foxgloves. The background is a clear baby blue sky with bright sunshine.
Tall and bright pink foxgloves stand out in the sunshine.

Paul Hawken: a world-leading author in regeneration

Right now I’m in the exciting phase of interviewing people across industries and from different fields. These include economist and environmentalist, Paul Hawken, author of Regeneration: how to end the climate crisis in one generation. It’s ballsy and bold, like him. There’s an urgency and intensity in the way he talks that is captivating – and makes you believe this is possible. 

And it’s also backed up by solid research. In 2014 Hawken founded Project Drawdown. Since then he’s collaborated with over 200 researchers on dozens of climate solutions – many of which are already happening to create “the largest social movement in history.” Behind the scenes he works with heads of state and global CEOs to help them accelerate economic and ecological regeneration.

When we spoke he reminded me that, “We are innately regenerative, all 30 trillion cells in us.” 

When I pressed him for more, he said simply, “Caring is regeneration in action… Unlike a concept like sustainability, regenerative is a principle. It is a way of seeing… This regenerative impulse is in all human beings. “ 



One of the books Claire is reading to gather research on regenerative principles.
Paul Hawken: a world-leader in regen.

Nature immersion: it works.

Walking in Cornwall felt so regenerative. The profusion of flowers, warm micro-climates where palm trees, succulents and grevillea grow (frosts are rare in the southwest so these species survive the UK winter) add to the rich biodiversity. Carpets of pink “pig face” tumble off cliff faces; gulls wheel above. 

Being immersed in nature like this helped me think more deeply on how to simplify some of the regenerative theories. It seemed apt that the South West Coastal Path spits and diverges… each path has its own character… each adapting to the shape of the land that it travels. There’s a certain etiquette as you walk – you shout “runner” and step aside when a jogger barrels past, you step onto the bank when the path is particularly narrow, and let a family walk by. 

Taking the time to slow down.

All of this spoke to me of the need to be attuned to your surroundings – to the place you are in. (Place-making is essential to regenerative thinking). It’s also about slowing down and taking the time to notice the micro-moments of nature.

This card I found in the port town of Mousehole summed it up well. We cannot direct the wind but we can adjust the sails. That is, our own sails…

By changing our way of seeing, we can achieve so much. Really we can.

A picture taken by Claire of a card. It is an artists print drawing in blue of a sail boat in the waves. Text below it reads, 'We cannot direct the wind but we can adjust the sails'.

                                                         Over to you. What inspires you the most when you are in nature / the bush / on country? 

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