Landscape Therapy: Anxiety, or Talking About the Weather (part 1)
But what continued were the wind that plucked the birds spineless
And the young who left with a few seeds in each pocket,
Their belts tightened on the fifth notch of hunger —
Under the sky that deafened from listening for rain.
From “The Drought” by Gary Soto
For some of us, every unseasonal heat wave or shocking freeze or monstrous hailstorm has come to seem like the end of the world. Not that these individual weather events, which have always been with us, threaten the planet in themselves, but they appear as harbingers of an unfamiliar world. Our memories work on a human scale, so we search for comparisons. Have summers always been this hot for this long? Have we ever gone this long without snow? Have we ever had wildfires this time of year?
I look outside at how dry my garden is this December, how many times I’ve carted water to my young maple tree so far. There are fire alerts and bulbs already coming up, and my heart becomes very heavy in my chest. Does it help to know I’m not the only one? Every time I chat with a friend, we remark, with wrinkled brows, the short-sleeve weather we had on Christmas Day. Conversations like this are likely happening everywhere. Mental health professionals are reporting that more clients are coming to them with “eco-anxiety” or feelings of “climate doom”. The recent paper in The Lancet reported that 59% of young people in many countries said that they felt “very” or “extremely worried” about climate change. And more than 45% said that these feelings impacted their every day life.
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Worry can motivate us to change our practices, dread may freeze us in our tracks. To make lasting change, we must acknowledge that we are feeling those feelings, have apprehension about the future, and figure out a way to make progress anyway. We as a society and, at the local level as a community, have a lot of work to do in the next few years to decide how we’re going to adapt to and mitigate climate change in order to prevent as much suffering as we can. That is such an overwhelming prospect for most of us, that it’s not a surprise that so little has been done. Where to start? Who has the power to make real change? There are the practices we can change as individuals but they seem so paltry when compared to the scale of the problem. But we change those practices because it’s better than doing nothing. We change our practices because it gives us a small sense of empowerment, when the systems we live in seem to be beyond our control. And if a lot of us nudge the system enough, our world transforms. At least, that’s our hope.
So many of us approach our local landscape like a simple problem to be solved. For example, turf sucks up resources and spits back…not much. So we look for those practical reasons to reduce it. If you no longer have to water or mow turf, you save money on top of the environmental wins. You get your Saturday mornings back, unless you are an inveterate garden tinkerer, like me, and want to be there. This is one approach we take to convince others to swap out their lawns — money talks, right? And it is convincing, especially when we add birds and butterflies to the mix, these new neighbors brought in by new colors and textures in our front yards. An individual problem, an individual solution, compounded by more and more making the same changes. A win!
But I’d like to argue that there are landscapes that go beyond solving a simple problem (saving water, attracting pollinators), landscapes that can be a refuge for us when we are feeling the worst of our anxieties about the world to come. I believe that we need to ensure that there are plentiful spaces that provide this balm to anyone who seeks it, through strategic, community-led design and development of green spaces. So, what are the characteristics of these transformative landscapes?
- They have a strong sense of place through taking advantage of view-sheds, using local design and maintenance practices and materials, engaging the community throughout the development process, planting native species and species with cultural utility and relevance and reflecting local seasonal changes. They contribute to community identity by connecting us with where we live and making our lives better.
- They are comfortable spaces. This could mean shade during the summer, accessible paths, plentiful seating. But just as important, representing and including the local community is key for public spaces. Landscapes can foster belonging through thoughtful gathering space design, programming, and inclusion during the development process.
- They are immersive and harmonious. When people are in these landscapes, they use their senses, slowing their experience, allowing other concerns to drift away. They enter a state of “mental flow”. Even if the landscape is not formally designed, even if the landscape is more naturalistic and “messy”, highlighting the experience of delight can root us in our bodies and in the moment, lead to pleasant memories, and a feeling of appreciation, and even awe.
These characteristics result in landscapes that promote belonging and rootedness, as well as a much-needed break from bad news. Habitat gardens and natural areas, food forests, rain gardens, and other climate-friendly landscape types do more than feed bees and save water. The benefit that often attaches people the most to positive landscape transformation is the emotional benefit, the feelings of accomplishment, empowerment, and sensual delight. These feelings can be a powerful counterpoint to fear, anxiety, and powerlessness.
What I am working on myself is nudging my individual action towards the collective, in order to be a part of this transformation. Research has found that our individual actions don’t relieve negative climate feelings as much as collective action. Collective action, working with others to solve a problem demands that we think beyond our private landscapes, whether that’s a stoop, a balcony, or a backyard. When we work together, we feel connected with people who share our goals. We also appreciate the small boosts of joy and delight as we go, while taking care of ourselves and restoring ourselves after hard work.
Finding joy in these changing landscapes and the life they support helps us to see how we are a part of nature, not separated from it. And if they bring us relief and make things better, then they have a better chance of becoming more common and then the default instead of an oddity. What if our future looked less like “Road Warrior”, and more like a meadow? That meadow may not have the species you are currently familiar with, but there is color and movement, and the buzzing of bees. This meadow, planted by many hands, can respond to unpredictable and extremely challenging conditions and continue thriving — the definition of resilience.
Next post, I’ll actually discuss gardening — some actionable steps we can take with the landscapes around us.
