​Grateful for the clouds dialing down the sun’s heat, I hoist myself and my 35-pound pack one more step up Hope Pass. We’ve gained close to 3500’ of elevation in just a few short miles, and though we’ve encountered a few hikers and several groups of runners, it is now silent but for the cool breeze across the alpine tundra. My trekking poles are the only things keeping me from falling over at this point. When I stop to take a look around, I revel in the view of the valley we’ve just climbed out of: dark green conifers surrounding the navy lake in the far distance. I bring my gaze to the beauty right at my feet - wildflowers, so many varieties and hues: blues and purples, yellows, reds, whites and oranges.

Turning back to the narrow dirt trail, I count one - two - three - four, one - two - three - four, one step at a time towards the next of several more switchbacks. I don’t even hope for the summit until I’m standing on it. 

It is the first full day of our CT adventure, my 19-year-old daughter Charlotte and I. We started out last night from Twin Lakes, just south of Leadville, and hiked in a couple miles to set up camp by headlamp. It was a lighthearted evening and this morning it was a lark to set off on the trail. The lapping of waves on the lakeshore seemed a good omen, as did the beaver out for its morning swim. 

Our plan is to do 60 miles of what’s known as the Collegiate West. In its entirety, the Collegiate West is 80+ miles, starting at Twin Lakes and ending at Monarch Pass. This is only a portion of the entire Colorado Trail, which begins at Waterton Canyon in Denver and ends in Durango, a total of 567 miles. That’s 567 if you do the full Collegiate Loop, which consists of East and West branches. If you do just (!) the Collegiate East you do an entirety of 486 miles for a through-hike of the CT, and if you do just Collegiate West you do 491 miles. A “through-hike” is an end-to-end completion of a trail. What Charlotte and I are doing is “segment” or “section” hiking, where we are hiking specific portions of the trail. 

We make it to the summit of Hope Pass and pause to gaze at the expanse of peaks in every direction. We chat with a young woman who is a solo through-hiker. I’m impressed - not just that she’s taking this on, but taking it on alone. Descending the south side of the pass, the terrain is rocky and steep, and my quads cramp, making my unreliable legs slow to a snail’s pace - and this no longer feels like a lark. I’m laboriously picking my way across a talus field when a runner heading north gives us a smile and says “And this is why they call it the Rocky Mountains!” This makes me giggle and brings a little lightness to my step. A genuine and well-timed remark on the trail can literally turn a person’s day completely around. 

We’ve got a ways to go and my pace has slowed to the point that my patient and encouraging daughter looks at her watch and says nicely, but worriedly, “Mom, we’ve only gone one mile in the last hour!”  She takes some of the weight from my pack, I power up with a snack and some fluid, having burned through lunch some time ago, and she leads the way, me focusing on keeping her strong agile self in sight. The last couple of miles are pleasant, travelling rolling terrain through the woods, and we make it to camp before dark. We have some fun hanging out at the creek where we filter water, and after a beyond-delicious dinner prepared by gourmet Charlotte (gluten-free mac and cheese with rehydrated spinach, yellow squash and tofu) we turn in. We’ve clocked 15 miles for the day, and I’m feeling it, but think that surely the following days will not be as difficult as this one was.

Day Two and we’re off to an earlier start, hurriedly slurping our cold, uncooked oatmeal - just add water to the quick oats and dried fruit and choke it down as best you can. There are more passes to climb, and we get a view of the glacial turquoise of Lake Ann. The wildflower-laden alpine tundra continues to amaze us both.  We get just enough rain to put the rain covers on the packs, but as soon as we’ve zipped our rain jackets up, no more drops from the sky. 

I start looking forward to lunch roughly fifteen minutes after breakfast. Today, like most days, lunch is a packet of tuna (albacore or skip jack - variety is important!) - and let me tell you, the tuna juice in that packet is delicious when you’re on the trail all day. A gluten-free spinach tortilla with almond butter rounds out the two-course meal. This is actually scrumdiddlyumptious. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Post-lunch, the afternoon starts to drag, the day feels very long. Though the camp spots we come to late afternoon are tempting, we decide to push on a couple more miles more in order to get a jump on tomorrow’s climbs. 

In a very few minutes I’m silently cursing whoever built this section - obviously sadistic mountaineers who did not believe in switchbacks. We climb, climb some more, and I look ahead through the trees to see that we climb more. I am viscerally longing for flat terrain. At one point, I seriously fear that I will not be able to do this. I wonder how I’d get out of there if my body collapsed - helicopter? Since we don't have cell service I guess I’d just lay on the side of the trail for a few days. This is a strange feeling, because usually my unrelenting mind decides on a goal and my body gets us there. This evening, though, I’ve dug so deep into my physical reserves it feels like I’ve dug through my well and out the other side. I wonder if I’m doing permanent damage. I’m also worried about how slow I am, and that we won’t make it to camp “on time.” Charlotte tells me not to be concerned about when we make camp, and we agree to take frequent mini-breaks. I relax a bit, focus on one step at a time, and we pull into camp with plenty of light left in the sky.

As we eat dinner (Charlotte having prepared a magnificent meal yet again with rehydrated veggies, salmon and quinoa pasta) we see a mama moose and her young one taking a sunset snack stroll through the meadow just below our camp. It is a beautiful evening and I’m thankful and happy to be out here with Charlotte. Yet I can’t keep my fears about the next day out of my mind: will I be able to make it? 

Read: The Colorado Trail Part II: Botany and Apothecary on the CT

​It is a warm July Sunday, and I’m eating a late lunch on my patio. Though I’ve been on an organize-and-declutter binge, my little place is still cool inside so the sunshine filtering through the lush aspen leaves is welcoming. There’s a movement in the mid-air to my right, and I see a robin glide to a low branch, a few feet from where I sit in my wooden rocker. From its perch, the robin sings. Smooth rusty brown chest, dark brown wings, black face with some white markings - and its beak doesn’t close. Is this open beak the way it sings? Is the pulsing throat a part of its vocalizing?

The way a bird produces song is by using its syrinx, similar to the human larynx. Air flows over membranes and cartilage to produce sound in the syrinx, which is the shape of an upside-down Y. Birds can use both passages at once, which means they can sing a high note and a low note at the same time. Still, looking at the open beak and pulsing throat of the bird off my patio, I think something is going on besides singing.

The robin flits down to the edge of one of my freshly planted half-barrel planters, the one with the lavender. Good choice. It balances there, facing me, and I notice that the beak still hasn’t closed and the throat fluttering continues, though there’s a break in the melody. Then it dawns on me. Perhaps the bird is panting. The robin then continues its serenade, watching me as I watch it, admiring its color, its bright eyes, the pretty trills emanating effortlessly from its throat. After several minutes the robin catches sight of another bird, and whizzes away. It seems that I have been granted a gift today. 

I'm grateful and also curious. I do a little searching, and yes, birds do pant. Their form of panting is called gular fluttering, where moisture evaporates via their vibrating throat membranes and open beak. Some research indicates that the size of the bird's bill is related to the temperature of their environment; blood flow to the beak is another cooling mechanism.

Birds use other strategies to stay cool in the heat. Bathing in cool water, as well as spreading wings and fluffing feathers, are effective at thermoregulation. They also tend to feed in early morning or evening hours, finding shade and shelter during the hotter part of the day, thus avoiding the heat and spending their energy more efficiently. 

The expression “birdbrain” as an insult to intelligence is a misnomer as birds clearly demonstrate greater wisdom than many humans. Just yesterday I saw someone floppy-jogging down the black asphalt street during peak heat - better to seek the shade beneath a nice large tree or shrub. Birds have a one-up on us: I wish I could produce beautiful song while cooling myself with gular fluttering.

Sources/Learn More

• Finger Lakes Land Trust: Songs In the Key of Life…
• U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service: How do birds keep cool in the summer?
• Audubon: How Birds Keep Their Cool​

Originally published July 2024

​The eastern sky is glowing, the mountains dark against the rising sun. Pearl Lake is silent, the early morning breeze riffling the glassy surface. I paddle steadily, skirting the lake’s edge, and look to the opposite shore, where I catch a flash of white against the grayish blue water. A few minutes later, I come upon the source of that white - three pelicans move easily amongst the grasses then out into the open water, their strong flipper-feet creating ripples that stretch behind and around them in a large wavy V. 

These are American White Pelicans, and they are native to Colorado. Their winter grounds are along the Gulf Coast, southern Texas, and as far as South America. 

In unison, the three angle their heads slightly to the side and back, the better to keep their literal side-eye on this stranger on a paddleboard. A couple summers ago, there was one lone pelican who seemed elected as the delegate. It paralleled my progress, keeping just a few yards away, never taking its calm, watchful eye away from me. The bird most likely had its reasons, but I attributed its behavior to part curiosity, part suspicion, and part hopeful that I might just have a large tasty fish I’d toss its way. 

The pelicans seem an ethereal presence in this alpine setting. They don’t blend the way the ducks and great blue herons do. They aren’t shy like the greater sandhill cranes, whose presence I am only aware of from their haunting calls echoing through the Pearl Lake valley. The pelicans move in a way that signals self-assuredness, confident of their place on this lake.

There are much larger nesting colonies throughout Colorado, in larger bodies of water. Why does this little group come here? Are they the same group year after year? Do they remember and return intentionally, or randomly find themselves at Pearl?

Imagine the daily feast they have, with Pearl’s fish population mostly all to themselves. Imagine how it would be to take flight over Pearl, wings stretching over four feet to either side, strong and sure.

Sources/Learn More

• Steamboat Magazine: The Pelican Brief
• NoCo Wildlife Center: June 3, 2025 Pelicans really do live in Colorado! 
• iNaturalist Guide: Wildlife of Steamboat and Pearl Lake State Parks: American White Pelican

​​Last August my daughter joined some friends for the final 75+ miles of the Colorado Trail from Molas Pass (near Silverton) to Durango. You can read about that in my post The Million Dollar Highway. Her friends completed the entire length of the trail, 567 miles, over several weeks. At the time, I hadn’t realized that the Colorado Trail, or CT, wasn’t completed until 1987. Though its conception was in 1974, the project languished due to lack of interest and funding until Governor Dick Lamm in 1985 pushed for its finish. Golden spike ceremonies in September 1987 marked the completion of the CT.

This July I’m trekking a few miles of the CT with my adventure-loving daughter. We’re planning five nights on-trail, covering about 60 miles. To be clear, Charlotte could do the 60 miles in three days. I’m feeling very lucky that she’s willing to meander next to me, barely breaking a sweat, while I huff and puff up and down the climbs. 

I’m not sure about you, but I tend to get a wee bit anxious with a trip like this. So I’m taking my training seriously. Dumbbells in my daypack give my legs and back that extra challenge as I hoof it up Mt. Werner or Emerald Mountain. I climbed Emerald twice last Sunday, and messaged Charlotte in a panic on Monday that my sore muscles might not be up to the task at hand on the CT - multiple 12-mile days. She calmly explained that no, you don’t get up in the morning with a spring in your step feeling like a million bucks. You are sore, tired, and use duct tape on your blisters. This is life on the trail.

When I asked a friend of Charlotte’s who is doing a portion of the Continental Divide Trail, also in July, what she’s doing for her training, she told me, very kindly, that well, at her age she really didn’t need to train. Ah, yes. Youth and its many benefits.

But training has its benefits too. I notice that hiking with my weighted pack, though challenging, has actually helped my legs feel better - stronger and more balanced with the need to recruit every one of those leg muscle fibers not only on the climbs, but stability on the descents as well.
I can feel my back getting stronger. And my home strength training is supercharged with the new goal of being as strong as possible for the trail.

On my way up Lane of Pain near the top of Emerald the other day, I was counting my steps, a little trick when I’m tired to get me to the top of a climb. In my tuckered-out state, I was moving pretty slowly through a shaded area and caught a lovely whiff - of the wild pink roses blooming all along the trailside. There were dozens of small orange butterflies taking delight in the almost imperceptible moisture on the ground. Were it not for my training and heavy pack, I might have missed this little piece of paradise.

Learn More
Colorado Trail Foundation: Key Events in the History of The Colorado Trail

Important note: Hiking Hahns Peak is a unique adventure held in many hearts. At this moment, Hahns Peak is in jeopardy, as it is included in the 14.3 million acres of Colorado public lands (250-300 million acres nationwide) that would be for sale under the current Budget Reconciliation Bill. 
Learn more in this Yampa Valley Bugle article.
See map of lands for sale and take action here.
​
*******
June Jaunt Up Hahns Peak
Early one Thursday morning in late June, my daughter and I turned onto the dirt road directly across the highway from the Columbine General Store. The reviews we’d read didn’t exaggerate about the deeply rutted road. Jolting and jouncing, we at last catapulted over a steep rise and into the small parking area. I was grateful that my SUV earned its title on that trek. Compared with the approach, the trailhead parking was luxurious - a peaceful and empty patch surrounded by evergreens. More importantly, it was flat. 

We headed up the lovely alpine trail, with plenty of gorgeous views - nothing but mountains to the west as far as the eye could see. Once we hit the talus field on the ridge at the top, my acrophobia kicked in. My go-to in these fear-of-height situations is to drop down to a pseudo-crawl and speak words of encouragement to myself. Works well for getting to the top, and is pure hilarity for my daughter - I heard her quietly snickering and turned to see her taking a stealth video of her nutty mom. 

The Hahns Peak Lookout is such a cool structure. The view of Steamboat Lake and the 360’ surrounding mountains was fabulous. It was especially lovely to see Pearl Lake from here. The rest of this summer, while on my Pearl Lake paddles, I’ve gazed at the Hahns Peak Lookout lit up by the sunrise, and think of the fun we had that morning.

Hahns Peak Specs

• Elevation is 10,839’ above sea level (the 1972 US Geological Survey says “about 10,840 feet” and in a Google search several different elevations were listed, which I found both interesting and strange). 
• The mountain is an extinct volcano.
• Was known by trappers back in the day as “Old Baldy.”

A Little History
What is now known as Routt County was the summer hunting grounds for the Indigenous Ute Tribes, and possibly the Cheyenne and Eastern Shoshone as well (Interactive Map Native Land Digital: maps Indigenous territories, treaties, and languages - you can type in your address to determine which Indigenous Peoples originally lived there.)

Eventually trappers, explorers and gold miners made their way to the region. That’s where Joseph Hahn comes in - he found gold in the vicinity of present-day Hahns Peak.

The story is that three men, Hahn, Doyle and Way, were prospecting and winter set in. Way was dispatched to get supplies and return - he left, taking with him all the gold in camp, and was not heard from again. After surviving until April, Doyle and Hahn set out on snowshoes. They made it to the banks of the Muddy Creek on April 30, 1867, near Kremmling. The two men sat down for a rest, and this is where Hahn collapsed and died.  
Steamboat Pilot Article Sidebar: Mysterious Fate of Joseph Hahn
Colorado Historic Newspapers Collection: Hahns Peak Monument to Man Who Perished After Gold Discovery

Hahns Peak Lookout
The Hahns Peak Lookout started as a stone shelter when in 1908 it was commissioned by the Forest Service as a fire lookout. Between 1908 and 1912 people and horses packed up concrete, local stone and timber to construct the building. (Colorado Preservation: Hahns Peak Lookout)

The lookout was decommissioned in the 1940s or 1950s, and fell into disrepair. In 2014 it was listed as one of Colorado Preservation’s “Colorado’s Most Endangered Places.” Between 2014 and 2017 the lookout was restored as part of a joint project with Historic Routt County, USDA Forest Service, Historicorps and Rocky Mountain Youth Corps. (Historic Routt County Hahns Peak Lookout)

Hahns Peak Village
Hahns Peak Village began as a gold mining camp, and had the first post office in Routt County. It is the oldest permanent settlement in Routt County, and served as the county seat from 1877-1912. The schoolhouse, opened in 1912, held its last class in 1943.
Hahns Peak Area Historical Society
Northwest Colorado Cultural Heritage Travel: Hahns Peak


​Originally published August 2023

​​It is spring, and Mr. Marmot has made his annual appearance at the gazebo outside my office building. He guards the rocky entrance to his subterranean abode, slouching back against the wooden gazebo base, short front arms resting on his chest, watching the world go by.  His lounging comes to an abrupt end when anyone or anything is too near. He glares, harrumphs, and then disappears down the burrow. 

The marmots living in Colorado are yellow-bellied marmots. Marmots are also known as rockchucks and whistle-pigs. They can be over two feet long, and weigh roughly eleven pounds. They prefer chomping on flowering plant stalks but will feast on green grasses and leaves as well - the important part is to eat, and eat all summer long, as they must put on lots of fat to make it through their long hibernation. They lose half their summer weight during hibernation, and hibernation is a major factor in their mortality: not enough weight going in, or a burrow not deep enough, means they won’t make it to spring.

With the arrival of spring, and plenty of green foodstuffs, the marmots lose no time in mating. Mama Marmot will give birth to anywhere from three to eight little ones. The gestation period is only 30 days - imagine producing up to eight babies in just one month!

No wonder Mrs. Marmot is a rare sight around our gazebo. She needs all of her energy to grow those teensy ones, and once they are born, she needs all of her energy to nurse them in the burrow. At 20-30 days the babies are weaned and begin to step out. This year I’ve counted five baby marmots at the gazebo, all roly-poly miniatures of their parents. These little balls of joy scamper about, though under the watchful eye of Mr. (and sometimes Mrs.) Marmot, and never too far away to quickly dart under the protective gazebo, inquisitive face peering out from the shadows.

Marmots are typically out of the burrow for mid morning and early evening meal times - much of the rest of the day they are in the burrow. This is partially to avoid predators like owls, golden eagles, hawks, coyotes, and weasels. 

Our marmot family doesn’t seem to follow some of the behavior mentioned in some articles. For example, there is no evidence of the burrow harem of several females - it seems Mr. and Mrs. Marmot of the gazebo are monogamous. Also, though eating is most likely high on their agenda, most of the activity I observe is playing, rolling, running around, and basking in the sun. They also don’t do a lot of whistle-warning, they simply slip into their burrow sanctuary. 

As the summer days become warmer, and the marmot babies become larger, Mr. Marmot seems to relax a bit. He waddles around showing off his successful weight-gain, and last year he somehow made it to the gazebo railing where he posed his sleek self for all to admire.

Seeing the marmots each year is something people frequenting the building take great delight in.There is a bit of happy hopefulness to see this furry family in action. Something comforting in their day to day, in the safety of their gazebo burrow, under the luxuriant green shade of old tree friends, in their play, in their cycle of life that keeps on keeping on.

Sources/Learn More

• Yampatika: Wildlife of Steamboat 
• Colorado Parks and Wildlife: Yellow-Bellied Marmot
• National Park Service: Marmot
• YouTube video: Meet Colorado’s Marmots

​The soft breeze riffles the lime-green aspen leaves, popping out with abandon along gleaming white limbs. The ground is carpeted in purple and yellow wildflowers. Red, orange and purple tulips nod their heads, and yellow daffodils push up above lush grasses. It is spring, and birds are singing. 

Bird song is an enchanting accompaniment to the vibrant visual of the outdoors, although it can go unnoticed if we don’t pay attention. The sound of birds singing is a lovely gift. It has real and measurable perks for humans, and serves specific purposes for the birds themselves.

Bird song benefits our mental health. Studies have shown that hearing birdsong decreases feelings of depression and anxiety, and improves mental well-being, even hours later. The studies found significant improvement with listening to audio clips, but being outdoors provides the added benefits of physical exercise and being immersed in nature. 

Nature in general gives us a mental boost and reduces stress. As I wrote in my blog post
Nature Nurtures Our Well-Being, being fully engaged with the experience is where we truly gain positive results. That full engagement requires deliberate focus - not always simple to achieve. 

Has this ever happened to you? You’re wandering along, so lost in thought that you are completely oblivious to your surroundings. You are in a world of outer silence, inner noise. Suddenly, you remember that you’re out here to listen to the birds. Oops. You tune in. And, lo and behold, your ears are inundated by so much singing it’s like being at an open casting call for the musical Hamilton. 

This has certainly happened to me, more than a few times. But when I stop to pay attention to the sounds in the treetops high above me, bird calls and song, shrill and low, short chirps and long bars of sweet music, I am blown away by this free concert. 
Here are a few bird songs I’ve focused on long enough to take note of:

• The haunting call of the Sandhill Crane, echoing across the landscape. It is a repetitive call / gurgle, in the dawn-mist quiet at Pearl Lake. 
• The clicking, trilling, lilting, whistling, chirping, warbling tunes of the Yampa Core Trail Avian Choral Society.
• The panicked, discordant honking of geese as they wobble into flight. Is the fervor of their honking directly related to their wing-flap velocity?

With all this music, I am curious: why do birds sing? This article (Songbird Survival.org: Why do the birds sing) helped me understand why.

The main reasons birds sing:

• To claim territory
• To attract mates
• To take part in courtship rituals
• To communicate. 

In some bird species, only the males sing. A song can indicate - to possible competitors and potential mates - the capabilities of the male. A long, loud song is a mark of strength and endurance, and the ability to defend the territory. A more complex song indicates a male who’s been around long enough to skillfully accomplish that piece.

How lucky that the way in which birds communicate and strut their stuff is such a blessing to our ears. And how lucky too, that the sweet singing of birds benefits our well-being.


Originally published June 2023

​You might notice that going for a walk outdoors when you feel tired, stressed, irritated or sluggish helps you feel better. Time in nature is not only pleasant, it is a powerful component in our well-being. It supports our connection to one another and the larger world and allows us to have greater focus (focused attention is easier in nature than in a big city).

A study at the University of Exeter showed that people who spent at least two hours per week in nature were healthier compared with those who spent less than two hours. Research demonstrates that being in nature helps to reduce fear, anger, depression, anxiety, and even pain. In one study of patients recovering from gallbladder surgery, those who could view a tree from their hospital bed experienced less pain than those who viewed only a wall.

Peter H. Kahn, a professor of psychology at the University of Washington, says that it is important to experience nature not just visually, but to engage fully. The Japanese term for soaking in all of the amazingness of nature is called “forest bathing.” That doesn’t mean you roll around in the dirt, it simply means that you immerse yourself with active awareness in the time you spend outdoors. One of the theories related to forest bathing is that breathing in the scent of the forest aerosols helps increase tumor- and infection-fighting Natural Killer cells. 

Some suggestions for applying all five senses as a way to more completely immerse:

• Listen: birdsong (a soloist bird or an entire choir?), the wind in the trees (needles or leaves?), chattering (squirrels or little kids?!) 
• Feel: the sunshine on your skin, the coolness of the shade, the breeze in your hair
• Smell: sharpness of pine in cold snow, warm musty earth on a sunny trail
• Taste: dust in the heat, ache of frigid cold, tang of rain or humidity
• See: flowers bright and vibrant, grass spring-lime or summer-emerald, pollen-gathering bees, food-gathering chipmunks 

However you choose to engage with nature, know that you are doing your mind and body good.

Sources

• University of Minnesota Article: How Does Nature Impact Our Well-Being?
• Yale Environment 360 Article: Ecopsychology: How Immersion in Nature Benefits Your Health

Originally published April 2023

Have you ever been so stressed out that you can’t think straight? How helpful is the advice to “just breathe” from some well-meaning person? Or you do a quick Google search for taking that high anxiety down a notch, and your result is a picture of a perfect-appearing human in a perfect lotus pose, perfectly blissed out. Not real, not helpful, and, for my money, anxiety-promoting.

A useful strategy for pulling back from the stress-cliff is taking a peek around and becoming aware. If I’m outside, tuning in to the melodic birdsong from the branches overhead, breathing in the sharp evergreen scent, and gazing into the distance - at the Flat Tops or Emerald Mountain - is a sure way to pull me out of my head spin. Inside, I can feel the texture of the floor or the socks under my feet, and listen to the sounds around me - the blowing of the fireplace heat, the hum of the refrigerator.

This awareness, also called mindfulness, is one method of focusing the mind on something other than the stress/anxiety and instead bringing attention to what is actually happening around you in the moment. 

To deepen that, and apply not only to reducing anxiety and stress but reduce the monotony of the daily grind, you have something called “psychological richness.” Philosopher Lorraine Besser and psychologist Shigehiro Oishi have researched and defined the term to mean cognitive engagement. They found that for some, a psychologically rich life surpasses a meaningful or happy life.

The components of psychological richness:

1. Mindfulness 2.0. Paying attention with neutrality - noticing without judgment. That could mean taking in the details of a tree: the roughness and color of the bark, the length of the needles, any bird nests built in its branches. By focusing on the details, you stimulate the mind. 
2. Curiosity. Ask questions to take the mindful details a step further. How does the bark get its different shades of brown? How long did it take the birds to build that nest, and where did they gather those nest-construction materials? These simple questions help expand your perspective.
3. Creativity. Doing something new or differently generates novelty, another way to stimulate the mind. This could be something as simple as taking that walk with the trees and the birds at a different time of day than usual, or reversing the direction of your habitual route. It could mean stopping where you would not typically stop to take a look around and notice something in your surroundings you haven’t before. Breaking monotony, doing something a bit different, are ways to stimulate cognitive engagement.

Psychological richness is an individual concept in that each person will find engagement in their own way. The key is to start simple with using mindfulness 2.0, curiosity, and creativity. You can develop the capacity for psychological richness on a daily basis with small things like the examples above, and it can then be a tool at your fingertips for those stress-filled moments when you need an uncomplicated way to side-step the anxiety and focus on the here and now.

Source/Learn More

• Optimist Daily article: Transform your daily grind with 3 simple strategies for a more engaging life

​
​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