​The word gaslight may inspire the image of old-fashioned lanterns along a dark, cobblestone street, dispelling the damp and fog with their warm glow. In contrast, the term as we use it today is more about encouraging fog and definitely doesn’t leave one warm and glowing.

Here’s how the word gaslighting is defined at Merriam-Webster.com:
psychological manipulation of a person usually over an extended period of time that causes the victim to question the validity of their own thoughts, perception of reality, or memories and typically leads to confusion, loss of confidence and self-esteem, uncertainty of one's emotional or mental stability, and a dependency on the perpetrator.

Our usage of the term stems from the 1944 film Gaslight, directed by George Cukor, and starring Ingrid Bergman as Paula Alquist and Charles Boyer as Gregory Anton. The movie, originally a 1938 play by Patrick Hamilton, is the story of a wife who is psychologically manipulated and controlled by her husband. She begins to doubt her own sanity, relies heavily upon her husband, and withdraws from relationships outside of her household. 

Bergman’s Oscar for this role is well-earned: watching elegant, loving Paula unravel is excruciating. The tactics Gregory employs become especially cruel as Paula believes he is the one person she can trust. By film’s end, Paula and her strength win out - in no small part because someone validates her and supports her. 

The film is an example of gaslighting in romantic relationships. But gaslighting can occur in other areas of life. Here are a few examples:

• Medical gaslighting - telling the patient it is all in their head, disbelief.
• Workplace - someone calling attention to a toxic work environment or sexual harassment is told they are misinterpreting or overreacting.
• Political - denying something that was said or done in the past; rewriting history

Seeking support and talking to trusted individuals are among the steps to take if one feels they are being gaslit. 

Learn more

• Simply Psychology Article: Origin of the Term Gaslighting
• Newport Institute Article: How to Tell If Someone Is Gaslighting You

Originally published July, 2023

Zip! 
Zing! 
Zonk! 
That’s the sound of the squirrels of Thompson Park. They sprint around and up the tree trunks, spring from branch to branch, and pause once in a while to hurl a piece of bark or a hard berry at us as we gaze up at their antics. 

Thompson Park, in Longmont, Colorado, is a favorite of young Charlotte and mine. It consists of five acres of green grass in summer turning to snowy fields in winter, with a large play area and a few bushes perfect for hide and seek. The huge shade trees are perfect for sweltering days, and the squirrel population is busy year-round. We often meet our friend Kate (Charlotte calls her Cake), and her two charges, boys a little older than Charlotte. Secretly I think the squirrels are aiming for the boys. 

One day a game of tag brings us to the little gazebo at the southeast corner of the park. Curious, I look at the posted signs inside and discover a bit of history. It seems that the magnificent trees, including Hedge maple, Littleleaf linden, Greenspire linden, Ohio buckeye, European mountain ash, and Turkish filbert, were planted by the women of Longmont sometime in the 1890’s. They carried buckets of water from the St. Vrain river, about a mile away, to nurture the trees. This astounds me. I imagine the women, their thankless days of rearing children, doing laundry and other household tasks, meal preparation, and dressed in those long-sleeved, stiff-collared dresses and pinchy-toed black boots, toiling uphill from the river to the park with heavy buckets of water for the saplings. This, indeed, was a labor of love.

The definition of the expression “carry the water” is: to perform menial tasks for; to serve; to assist; to be forced by politics or pragmatism to endorse or promote a belief, individual, or organization that in reality one does not fully support. (Wiktionary)

I think it’s time to overhaul the meaning of the phrase. To carry the water is a way of serving that is an honor and a privilege. I carried water to my daughter when she was young and not feeling well. I carried a bowl of water to my dog, her panting tongue halfway to her knees after chasing the ball long and hard. To a client in skilled nursing who couldn’t hold the glass on their own. To a runner heading out for the next difficult leg of an ultramarathon. 

For the women of Longmont, carrying the water might have been tedious and strenuous, but it was in service of something meaningful to them. Perhaps they had a vision of young saplings dressed in the bright new green of spring. Perhaps they knew that years in the future, the broad canopies of mature trees would provide shade for their grandchildren to have picnics. That the trees, in their stately and stalwart presence, would create in Thompson Park a home for critters to scamper and birds to sing, and a welcoming place for the entire community to spend time.
Carrying the water is something we do to nurture what we believe in. Actions we take for the people we care about, whether or not we know them. Efforts we make on behalf of our natural world and non-human inhabitants, whether or not we think it directly affects us. Carrying the water is humble service, an open-hearted, open-minded generosity for what truly counts. Think of all we can do with the water we carry.

Sources/Learn More

• City of Longmont, Thompson Neighborhood Park
• City of Longmont Forestry, Longmont Tree Tour 
• Colorado Encyclopedia, Longmont Historic Districts 

Originally published November, 2024

​
​Biomimicry (bai·ow·mi·muh·kree) is a practice that learns from and mimics the strategies used by living organisms to solve challenges comparable to the ones we face as individuals and societies.  -Biomimicry Institute


Nature has much to teach:  peatlands store carbon (twice as much as all the world’s forests); the water filtration and nitrogen reduction by oyster beds nestled amongst mangrove roots (a single oyster filters as much as 180 liters of water per day, and mangroves absorb at least 50% of the nitrogen passing into open water); and a leaf’s use of chlorophyll, sunlight, carbon dioxide and water to create energy via photosynthesis. When we look to nature as teacher and mentor, and implement or mimic what we see, the solutions are fascinating and effective.

I first heard about biomimicry on a podcast interviewing Janine Benyus. Benyus first coined the term in her 1997 book Biomimicry: Innovation Inspired by Nature. Growing up, she’d spent a lot of time outdoors, encouraged by her parents, who moved more than once to be distanced from developed neighborhoods, allowing Benyus many hours interacting with and observing nature.

What struck me about the interview was the perspective Benyus shared. She spoke of biomimicry not as a way to get what we could from nature, but to see nature as being wiser than us. Nature has been around much longer than we have and has developed brilliant systems. When we view what happens in nature with wonder, and begin to learn about innovative solutions to our current problems, we can be students of nature and work in harmony.

In the interest of innovative solutions, the Biomimicry Institute, co-founded by Janine Benyus, funds and trains companies demonstrating those solutions through its Ray of Hope Accelerator program. One of my favorite examples is Mycocycle, founded by Joanne Rodriguez. Mycocycle addresses the problem of construction and demolition waste which is largely petroleum-based. In the U.S. alone, 660 million tons of construction debris is produced every year. 

Mycocycle mimics the way trees in a forest are broken down by fungi and from the resulting material new trees grow.  Mycocycle uses fungi (think mushrooms) with the optimal enzymes to break down and detoxify construction and demolition waste. When the fungi break down the waste into its components, those components are then absorbed into the system to create a new product that is durable and lightweight. This product can be used in things like flooring and concrete, and is both fire and water-resistant. Check out the details and video here.

The concept and various applications of biomimicry is something Janine Benyus discusses in her Ted Talk. This opens up a whole new world of ways we can thrive on this planet without causing harm. Benyus also calls attention to the arrival of spring, that riotous show of color and life emerging from the receding blanket of winter white. Bright green buds, blossoms unfurling, robins everywhere you look. Nature inspiring life.

Learn More
Smithsonian Science Education Center: 5 Things to Know About Biomimicry

Originally published January 2024

I push off from the dock, my board sliding through the quiet reflection of still-grey clouds and sky. I dip my paddle carefully, not wanting to disturb the calm, and settle into the rhythm of my circumnavigation of Pearl Lake. Neoprene booties keep my cold feet from freezing, and I’m glad of my warm lined pants, thick gloves, and soft knitted burgundy hat. When autumn hits I’ll be adding a down coat to my current jacket, so I’m grateful now for the relatively warm temperature. 

I move out of the quiet cove in the direction of muted golden light, shyly peaking over the mountain tops, not quite sure of committing to the full brightness of a new day. Grass, the rich green of deep summer, and July wildflowers - yellows, whites and purples - spread across the meadows and spill over into the water, as if the land can not quite contain them all. Little crawdads skitter across the lake bottom as I move by, and mama duck urges her little ducklings from their hiding place amongst the shore grasses into the open water, keeping plenty of distance between themselves and me.

I recall the one morning a duckling, with better things to do, didn’t immediately follow the family away from the shore. Suddenly realizing how far off the others were, the little one sprint-paddle-flapped to catch up, and rejoined its siblings while mama delivered a serious earful to her recalcitrant offspring.

Tucked away in several cove-edges, curls of steam hover a foot or two above the water’s surface, lending a touch of atmosphere to the whole scene. Eventually the sun comes fully over the mountain, bringing out the blue of the lake. I absorb the warmth, breathe in the pungent pine wafting across the open water, the gentle breeze fresh and cool on my face.

In the midst of this stillness, I notice a disturbance: frantic ripples from something in the water. It is a butterfly, mostly black with white stripes and markings, who has danced too close and whose wet wings will not lift her above the blue surface. I swing around to go back, to rescue her. I try scooping her up with my paddle, but can’t get the right angle. She is weakening: her wings becoming more sodden, her struggle less frequent and lacking the conviction that she’d succeed. I maneuver forward and back, then sideways, starting to panic as I try again and again, worried I’m going to drown her rather than save her. I get the paddle under her body but then she slides off, back into the depths of the smooth dark water. 

I try once more and I succeed, gently placing her on the front of my board where she can bask in the full sunlight. She doesn’t move. I still have about half of my morning paddle to go, and I keep watch over her. Eventually there’s a tiny movement, then a pause, then more movement. I glide into the final cove, feeling confident she’s going to make it.

But as I coast my board onto the sand near the dock, she seems reluctant to lift off from her comfy platform - or maybe her wings are still not dry enough. I carry my board to the foliage at the edge of the dirt lot, then lift her with the lightest touch I can manage and deposit her onto a large, white, many-petaled flower I hope she’ll like. I wish her well and slowly back away, feeling hesitant to relinquish my watch over her. My last glimpse is of her calmly resting on that cloud of a flower, surrounded by many other blooming wildflowers, with the aspen leaves above filtering the sunlight to a green-gold.

Later, I do some research and learn that she is a Weidemeyer’s Admiral, named for John William Weidemeyer, a 19th-century entomologist whose specimen from the Rocky Mountains was used to describe the species. (Wikipedia: Limenitis weidemeyerii)
I also learn that one of their preferred flowers is cow parsnip (Heracleum) - which is the flower I set her upon.