General Description / Cultural Significance The island country of Malta lies in the center of the Mediterranean Sea. Beyond the low-lying, rocky coasts, the remains of once flourishing Holm Oak woodlands stand, rendered sparse and nearly destroyed by timber harvesting overtime. Malta’s vast steppe is home to abundantly growing thistle, and upon its limestone reliefs, Malta’s most common habitat, the garrigue, is found. This arid, windy environment of hardy rocks and low-lying shrubs produces many different types of aromatic plants whose essential oils prevent them from being eaten by grazing livestock. Even in the face of drought, the essential oils contained in these aromatic plants evaporate before their water content does, keeping the plants hydrated and healthy for longer during times of stress.
One such plant which flourishes in this environment is the eye catching and fragrant Thyme, Thymbra capitata. The flowers of Malta’s indigenous, wild-growing Thyme bloom from May to July, brightening the brown landscape of dying or dormant flora with their vibrant violet flowers. Although Maltese chefs and average people alike know exactly where to find Thyme in the garrigue and atop valleys, they are encouraged to seek out their culinary Wild Thyme from markets so as to prevent overharvesting. Thyme is added for flavoring to meats, marinades, and stews where even a small amount of the herb produces a potent, herbaceous, aromatic signature. The Maltese use every bit of the plant, often saving the stems of Thyme to decorate baby cribs.
Thyme’s medicinal uses are boundless. Traditional Maltese medicine instructs those with a sore throat to gargle an infusion of dried Thyme and honey, and to drink up the pleasant and healing mixture at the end. Because it is high in antioxidants and has antibacterial activity, balms and ointments which include Thyme are known to treat bacterial skin infections, athlete’s foot, and ringworm. During times of war and conflict, of which Malta has experienced extensively, people turned to Maltese herbalists for a treatment of shock and panic after surviving traumatic bombings and witnessing death. What these healers created was a boiled reduction of aromatic plants known as The Jaundice Medicine, Id-Duwa tas-Suffejra, which includes Thymbra capitata. Many Maltese recall their mothers brewing this mixture throughout their childhoods, infusing the fragrance of Thyme with the collective Maltese memory of war, survival, and healing.
Malta’s fusion of beekeeping and herbalism traditions have produced a world-famous Wild Thyme Honey, known as Ghasel Tas-Saghtar, which is made traditionally from Thyme harvested directly from the scrublands of Malta. An integral practice since the 12th century, the beekeeping community of Malta is dwindling today under the pressures of land restriction and pollinator population shifts. Combined with the recent environmental and developmental threats reducing Thyme populations, it is now difficult for the Maltese to produce consistent yields of this iconic honey. Wild Thyme Honey is one of many culinary and medicinal Maltese concoctions in which Thyme plays a key role. The plant’s decline is a heartbreaking example of how the disappearance of one aromatic plant represents both an economic and cultural loss for Malta, and also serves as an indicator for an ecosystem at large suffering at the hands of increasing climate change.
Climate Change / Conservation Status
Like much of the world, Malta has not been immune to the growing threats of climate change. Changing temperatures have made hot summers harder to endure, and changed the scheduling patterns of tourists which the Maltese must now adapt to. This makes the country financially vulnerable as Malta is highly dependent on tourism and foreign trade due to its historically exploited natural resources. Malta’s roads and port infrastructure are unprepared for the sea levels rise predicted to continue through the 21st century.
Through the 19th and early 20th centuries, Thyme was so overexploited for culinary and decorative use that it was made illegal to harvest in Malta in 1932. With the help of this legislation, the original Thymbra capitata population has recuperated slowly, though Malta’s changing weather has introduced new stresses on the plant and its ecosystem. The country’s warm summers have begun to extend into fall causing gross aberrations in the blooming cycle of Thymbra capitata, which is now flowering as early as November. This means the plant’s energy reserves are used to produce blooms far earlier than normal. Botanists insist that, with those sources of energy used up so early, Thyme is far less likely to survive the year ahead. This also affects the bees of Malta, who depend on Thyme’s nectar to produce honey, and are then thrown off of their annual pollination cycles. More unnatural phenomena are popping up in the once natural order of Malta’s landscapes. For instance, birds such as the Blue Rock Thrush, Malta’s national bird, is breeding out of season. This seemingly small change to Thyme’s annual flowering proves how quickly the delicate balance of an environment is being disrupted by climate change. If Thyme disappears, with it will go many other indigenous species of flora, insects, and birds, to say nothing of the aromatic and cultural character of Malta so integrally formed around centuries of close contact with Thyme.
Neighbored by Belgium, France, and Germany, Luxembourg is a small country of forested highlands, deep river valleys, and fertile pasturelands. The Rose, Rosa, is the most significant scent to Luxembourg, known as “Ville des Roses,” the City of Roses. It is the country’s national flower, cultivated in world renowned gardens across the city. During the 1900s, Luxembourg exported millions of Roses internationally with an emphasis on prestigious and royal clientele. The First World War put an end to this momentary golden age of the Luxembourg Rose, but the cultural importance of the flower has since been revived with the formation of new community-led Rose gardens that promote Luxembourg’s Rose-growing tradition. These groups train Luxembourgers in the art of Rose pruning, give tours of famous Rose beds, and provide workshops which teach the culinary uses of Roses in cooking. In Luxembourg and throughout the world of fine-dining, Rosa petals are included in food for their fresh and sweet aroma, floral flavoring, and visual appeal. Between Rose water, preserves, syrups, and infusions, there is no shortage of forms the Rose has taken on our plates.
The plant’s petals are cherished not only for their beauty and fragrance, but also for their nutritional value, being high in potassium, magnesium, calcium, and iron. Since antiquity, the Rose has been used for its many properties as a medical plant. Today, scientific studies have reported on the Rose’s anti-cancer, anti-bacterial, and anti-microbial activities, along with many more beneficial qualities. Rosehips, the small, edible seeds of Rosa, also provide many nutrients. They are particularly high in Vitamin C, B, and E. Rich in antioxidants, Rosehips get their color from carotenoid pigment which contains lycopene and beta carotene that supports skin and eye health. Luxembourg’s community groups continue to share this knowledge of the Rose with local cooks, farmers, and ordinary people alike, keeping the spirit of Luxembourg and the Rose’s rich, historical relationship alive.
Climate Change / Conservation Status
In recent decades, Luxembourg has experienced a rise in average air temperature, especially during the winter season which sees less and less frost each year. The annual mean temperature of Luxembourg is now officially above the 30-year average for the last century. Luxembourg has stated that this change in annual mean temperatures is having an impact on the life cycles of local plants as well as birds and insects.
The pollinators of Luxembourg– bees, hoverflies, and butterflies– have suffered immensely due to parasites, urbanization, agricultural practices, pollution, and climate change in the country and surrounding countries. Between 68 and 88 percent of bumblebee species have declined in abundance and range over the last century in Luxembourg. Rosa depends on both bees and butterflies for pollination. Therefore, not only does the flora and fauna of Luxembourg suffer, but as climate change intensifies, the Luxembourg farmers could face a devastating loss, both culturally and financially.
International Rose production has been a consistent source of CO2 emissions. In fact, sending around 100 million Roses to the United States for a typical Valentine’s Day emits 9,000 metric tons of CO2. Ecofriendly growers encourage those seeking to gift a beautiful bouquet of Roses to look towards local farms, flower shops, and herbalists to purchase Roses in a more sustainable manner.
Alternate Names
Japanese Rose
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Climate-ADAPT, 2017. Climate Change In Luxemburg. European Environment Agency. [website]
Luxembourg.lu, 2021. Luxembourg’s Rose-Growing Heritage. Luxembourg: Make it Happen. [website]
Davidson, K., 2019. Rose hips: Benefits, forms, uses, and side effects. Healthline. [website]
Great British Chefs, 2021. How to cook with rose petals. Great British Chefs. [website]
Permanent Mission of Luxembourg to the United Nations. This statement can be found on the World Sensorium original website.
Peterson, F., 2021. La vie en rose. Luxembourg Times. [website]
Renaut, J. & Hoffman, L., 2018. Close monitoring of pollinators in Luxembourg. Luxembourg Institute of Science and Technology. [website]
Vijayanchali, S. S., 2017. Nutrient, Phytonutrient and Antioxidant Activity of the Dried Rose Petals. Journal of Research, Extension and Development, 6(2).
WhatsAnswer, 2018. What is the National Flower of Luxembourg? WhatsAnswer. [website] Whelan, C., 2009. Blooms away: The real price of flowers. Scientific American. [website]
Libya is a North African country that looks over the Mediterranean Sea. Much of its population is now concentrated on the coast as the interior of the country is covered with the vast desert and semidesert of the Saharan plateau. Libyans did not always live on the coast, though. The Tuareg people, decedents of the tribal Berbers, are known to have spread the traditions of Islam, and have inhabited the desert for more than a thousand years. DNA studies have shown that most of the population now living in cities comes from these tribes that once lived nomadic lifestyles.
Across Libya’s sand dunes, salt marshes, plains, and coastal limestone mountains, the smell of Orange Blossom, Citrus sinensis, permeates the air. The plant was introduced to the country and is now well established, a part of Libyan flora. It is primarily cultivated in orchards throughout the country. Orange Blossom water is an aromatic substance made through the distillation of bitter Orange Blossoms for their essential oil. The distillation ritual is depicted in abundance throughout Libyan literature, poetry, and art. Rich portrayals can be found describing the plant’s dizzying scent filling the air where flower petals are gathered and distilled for perfume and other products out on the patios of Libyan homes. Libyan women often fragrance themselves with the scent of Orange Blossom. From their city balconies, the Libyan people have a tradition of sprinkling Orange Blossom water over people during parades.
Orange Blossom water is used in many culinary traditions, desserts, and meals. One such significant recipe is Khoshaf, a fruit salad sprinkled with Orange Blossom water that is served in small portions break the fast before the sunset prayers of Ramadan. Orange Blossom flavors sweets for the Eid holiday and is even added for its aroma to Libyan’s daily coffee. This scent memory is widely remembered and enjoyed by Libyans across time.
Climate Change / Conservation Status
Libya is rich in oil and incredibly scarce of water. Some areas of the country’s desert don’t see rainfall for years straight, which researchers predict to only worsen as climate change continues to impact the region. Even the Mediterranean coastal region of Libya is experiencing increased drought, decline in fish stocks, and ocean acidification. Water access is such a concern for Libyans that The Great Manmade River Project, called the world’s largest irrigation project, began development in the early 1960s. Non-renewable fossil water from the last ice age is pumped all the way from the Nubian Sandstone aquifers under the Sahara to the coastal cities of Libya. This aquifer supplies eighty percent of the country’s water, but is not being replenished, making it an unsustainable, temporary solution to Libya’s water problem. More and more farmers are leaving their land and moving to cities as their crop yields no longer produce a reliable income. Across the Middle East, desertification is predicted to cause significant damage to the production of Citrus sinensis exports while increasing plant diseases and pests that harm the Orange Blossom trees. Furthermore, climate change induced temperature increases and extreme weather events have been destroying honeybee hives in Libya. Not only is the generational tradition of beekeeping suffering, but the decimation of honeybee populations has greatly affected the success of Citrus species which depend on honeybees for pollination. Combined with Citrus sinensis’ sensitivityto the country’s daily water stress, the Orange Tree will be in a perilous position if sustainable irrigation methods are not implemented and the bee population is not stabilized.
Alternate Names
Queen Orange
Sources
Sugar, Spice and Life, 2017. An Eid Tradition – Libyan Magrood (Semolina, Date & Honey Cookies). WordPress. [website]
Climate Links, 2022. Climate Risk Profile: Libya. US AID. [website]
Libyan Food, 2011.Dried fruit salad: Khoshaf. Blogger. [website]
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Fallaha, A., 2021. In pictures: War, climate change and cheap imports squeeze citrus crop in Syria’s Idlib. Middle East Eye. [website]
Keshlaf, M., 2014. Beekeeping in Libya. International Journal of Agricultural and Biosystems Engineering, 8(1).
Office of the Ambassador, Mission of the Socialist People’s Libyan Arab Jamahiriya to the United Nations. This statement can be found on the World Sensorium original website.
Roumani, J., Meghnagi, D., & Roumani, J., 2018. Jewish Libya: Memory and Identity in Text and Image, Syracuse University Press.
Shafieizargar, A., et al., 2012. Yield and fruit quality of ‘Queen’ orange [Citrus sinensis (L) Osb.] grafted on different rootstocks in Iran. Australian Journal of Crop Science, 6(5), pp.777–783.
Shafqat, W., et al., 2021, ‘Climate Change and Citrus’, in M. S. Khan, I. A. Khan (eds.), Citrus – Research, Development and Biotechnology, IntechOpen, London. DOI: 10.5772/intechopen.95488.
Jara hive. Producing honey in Jara hives has officially been granted an Intangible Cultural Heritage status by the National Agency for Cultural Heritage Preservation of Georgia, Courtesy of the Jara Beekeepers Association
Bee transhumance in Shkhara Valley, Samegrelo-Zemo Svaneti Region, Georgia, Courtesy of the Georgian Beekeepers Union
The Many Secrets of Georgian Honey
By Braden R. Bjella
Honey from Georgia, the post-Soviet land nestled within the Caucasus mountains, is unparalleled, possessing unique aromas and flavors which tell a story of the country that made it. It makes sense that Georgian honey tastes so elegantly crafted and refined; after all, the Georgians have had a lot of practice. The history of honey cultivation goes back at least 5,500 years in the country, the oldest recorded honey cultivation on record.
Until recently, however, Georgian honey could really only be found in Georgia and neighboring countries. Now, as the country develops and Georgian foods like khachapuri and khinkali can be found around the world, the land’s cherished honey is setting itself up to be the next culinary delight to make a splash on the international stage.
Priest taking care of hives in the Lamaria church yard in Ushguli, which is the highest continuously inhabited settlements in Europe recognized by the UNESCO World Heritage Site. Courtesy of the Georgian Beekeepers Union
Getting to this point was not easy. The average Georgian who remembers the mass production of the Soviet period is still skeptical of the sweet treat, swearing that Georgian honey is not what it once was, that honey bought from markets has been artificially sweetened, or that the flavors listed on the jar won’t actually be present once the lid has been removed.
This fear—that Georgian honey had lost the tradition and care it once had—told local beekeepers that, if they wanted the world to experience the beauty of Georgian honey, they needed both to set standards for Georgian honey and, crucially, understand what made it so special in the first place.
On the way to Mestia, Samegrelo-Zemo Svaneti Region, Georgia, Courtesy of the Georgian Beekeepers Union
Groups like the Georgian Beekeepers Union have been essential in doing this. Through their work, they’ve set standards for select honeys like the country’s famous Chestnut honey—a rare, bittersweet and intensely aromatic honey made by bees that harvest nectar of the flower of the chestnut tree; and others like the land’s Alpine honey, a polyfloral honey made by bees in the meadows of Georgia’s alpine zone.
While all these honeys are dear to Georgia, there is one honey that holds a firm grip on the hearts of the Georgian people—the 100% pure and wild harvested Jara honey.
Beekeepers working in beekeeping apiary, Samtskhe-Javakheti region, Georgia, Courtesy of the Georgian Beekeepers Union
No one knows exactly how Jara honey came to be, but Georgians will exercise their storytelling strength to tell you their theories. The story as it is commonly understood goes like this: in ancient Georgia, early people noticed that bees would frequently make their homes in certain trees. Once they discovered the delicious honey the bees produced within them, they started to try to artificially replicate the process, gathering wild bees and placing them in hollowed-out wooden logs high in the trees, where bears could not reach them. These hollowed logs became known as “Jara,” and thus, a beloved practice was born.
A beekeeper checking frames in Guria region, Georgia, Courtesy of the Georgian Beekeepers Union
The honeys produced from the Jara were truly without compare; however, so was the difficulty of getting them. And so, over time, the practice fell out of favor, with beekeepers opting to use the more traditional hive methods found around the world today. Still, not wanting to lose this treasured honey, some dedicated beekeepers have been keeping the tradition alive over generations, making and harvesting the honey in the same way ancient people did centuries ago.
Hives taken on transhumance in Kakheti region, Georgia, Courtesy of the Georgian Beekeepers Union
Jara honey remains special because, in a world with plenty of mass, mechanized production, the simplicity and beauty of the process of procuring Jara honey is reflected in its depth of flavor. Today, only ten dozen beekeepers cultivate this honey, using wild bees and zero artificial wax to produce the uncompromised result. Furthermore, the process is now monitored and regulated, ensuring that every jar of honey bearing the Jara name was produced in the same manner that originally brought the honey its acclaim.
Jara apiary in Ajara region, Georgia, Courtesy of the Jara Beekeepers Association
The only barrier now is perception—and slowly, that too is changing. In 2019, Georgian honey made a big showing at the 46th Apimondia Congress, the most significant event in beekeeping worldwide. Local beekeepers have also been consistently improving their quality, documenting their successes through the Georgian Beekeepers Union site.
Beekeepers treating Jara hive in Ajara, Georgia, Courtesy of the Jara Beekeepers Association
Now, even the Georgian public is coming around. While older Georgians may have lingering hesitation about their native treat, for young Georgians, honey is on trend. In the Georgian capital of Tbilisi, a chain called Zzip has opened—a cafe and bar that sells Georgian honey both in jars and in various products like vodka and beer. One can even buy honey water—water infused with shots of various varieties of Georgian honey.
Jara beekeeper harvesting honey from Jara hive in Ajara region, Georgia, Courtesy of the Jara Beekeepers Association
The question of Georgian honey quality is settled; now, it’s only up to the world to discover it.
Braden Bjella is an American culture journalist based in Eastern Europe covering music, politics, history, the environment, and the intersections therein.
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With the new work Euglossini cologne, interdisciplinary artist Hsurae has made a case for why the new scent she has created is not merely metaphoric and why reconstructed scents are intellectual structures, really little more than a metaphor or an abstraction of what once was.
Orchid bees (Euglossini) have a unique fragrance biology— they are thought to be the only species other than humans that gather ingredients and make fragrance compositions. In decline from Mexico to Brazil, these bees are the sole pollinators of many flowers including the Vanilla Orchid. Hsurae has created a computation of the fragrance of this bee through “scientific instrumentality.” She has written, “When their ecology is dead and the species long gone, this may serve as the only memory of the orchid bee.”
We had a conversation about this work this week–
Please tell us about Euglossini cologne and what inspired you to create this work.
Even though it’s about this sense of this organic animal, it’s really about how the memory of thisspecies can become encapsulated by scientific means, and how science tells its stories about this relationship with nature. I was very inspired by this collaborative project between Daisy Ginsberg, Sissel Tolaas and synthetic biologists, that took place at Ginkgo Bioworks in Boston.
The project “Resurrecting the Sublime” that was about reviving the scent of extinct plants?
Yes, they went through extinct species in the Harvard Arboretum and extracted DNA and analyzed it. Then they revived some of the aromatic compounds that were used to create the scent of that particular plant.
What about this scent resurrection project did you find inspirational?
I was drawn to this project because it felt like a very poetic move, trying to recreate a scent of something that’s extinct. At the same time, Ginkgo Bioworks is a biotech company, so it’s very scientific and deterministic. However, in the project, with the DNA that Ginkgo analyzed, there could be a lot of ways the different kinds of compounds could have been mixed together in any number of ratios to create the very specific scent to this plant, so the reconstruction of the flower’s smell still may be lost. What they have is a variation they came up with, even though it’s based on some sort of scientific DNA analysis, it’s just one of the million possibilities of the scent that this plant could hold that nobody living has smelled before. But the way that the story is told is that the scientists collaborating with artists have managed to revive the scent of an extinct plant species. It got me thinking about the relationship of science with nature and how it turns nature into specimens, which can only specify their value as a thing, as an object to be observed.
The first thing that struck me about Euglossini cologne was that the fragrance was contained in this machined, corrosion resistant, stainless-steel vault of a bottle. Can tell us about that?
I really wanted that kind of monolithic scientific authority. I wanted it to have an important presence in this scent piece. And that was the reason for the container. It is a vessel for high pressure and high temperature chemical reactions. Inside the steel is a little Teflon tub and that’s where the liquid is held. You might have noticed that there’s a key, a steel rod that goes through it to create a very tight secure encapsulation. That’s the key to tighten that seal. It gets you more leverage to really tighten it down. When you remove it, you’re not supposed to be able to open the chamber by hand. In that way, it also functions as a kind of time capsule. And so that goes with what I was saying about the timeframe of this piece.
How did you arrive at the need to preserve the smell that the orchid bee creates?
Well, I actually first arrived at bee orchid by way of the XKCD comic strip. There’s this kind of sexual reproduction replication happening in certain species of orchids that binds the bee species pollinating them to itself. Certain species of orchids rely on a specific kind of bee to pollinate them. A lot of them form these one-to-one mutual relationships. And through time, the sexual organs of these orchid flowers evolve to look like the female species of that bee that they want to pollinate them.
There was this comic strip by XKCD that is about this bee orchid. It narrates that there’s this kind of orchid, whose partner bee has gone extinct, so the only memory we have of this bee that once existed lies in the interpretation of a flower of what the genital of this kind of bee looked like. It’s quite a touching comic. The last frame stated that “the only memory of the bee is a painting by a dying flower.”
Then Donna Haraway wrote about this. So, I first came to this little anecdote through that comic strip, but then reading Haraway’s book, “Staying with the Trouble” in the chapter about sym-poiesis, which means ‘making with’, she was talking about this particular comic strip, commenting on how it’s special because it didn’t mistake lures for identity. It’s not saying that this bee orchid is exactly what the female bee’s reproductive organs look like. It is a rendering of its image through the interpretation of the flower.
I arrived at the orchid bee by chance, when I was googling bee orchid but typed it in reverse. But then I saw how these bees were really the first species in nature to create perfumes. That was the part that got me interested in orchid bees. So, I started reading more and more about them. There are many types of orchid bees. I feel like the scent they collect is really a map of the territory that they inhabit. It’s like a scent map. It’s also a lot of the bees’ agency that goes into creating their particular types of scent. I was thinking about that and reading accounts of how more and more of these kinds of bees are going extinct because their habitats are being destroyed. That’s one of the reasons why my statement for this piece is in a style that mimics that last line of the comic where it says the last memory of the extinct bee is painted by a dying flower. I was thinking about how, when all the habitats are gone and all of these species are extinct, how science might claim to recreate this ephemeral smell that they made during their lifetimes…
In Euglossini cologne,the scent compounds used in this smell are mimicking the scent traps that are used by scientists to trap orchid bees for study. It’s a synthesis of the smell through science, but it’s also an interpretation, a very human interpretation through the tools of science of what the scent could smell like, and how that serves as a more accurate memory of this species.
So, the scent that you have created is based on the hormonal chemical components that research scientists deciphered that attract the male bee? The bee’s perfume that it compiled on its body was not scientifically analyzed?
Yes. What scents they collect is dependent on which species of orchid bees they are and their particular habitat. They’re known to collect from sources that we humans find disgusting, like feces or rotten meat or rotting wood, but it’s the complexity of their perfume that really counts when it comes to mating season, and not really how pleasant smelling that perfume is. It’s that unpleasant aspect of it, but I really wanted the skatole to come out.
The work takes one into insect cognition and perception of scent, questioning the difference of scent perception in human species and insect species. What’s actually perceived as pleasant and what’s conceived as important.
What is conceived as a culturally important scent? I’ve also been reading a lot about olfactory racism and how scent is construed in the social life and how power lacks scent. When you go into institutions that are supposed to be some kind of institute of authority, like a bank or a museum, you don’t smell anything. The lack of smell is a symbol of power. And what humans find disgusting is very much conditioned through the colonial era. And so, how what we deem as pleasant and unpleasant is already racially coded, are some facets that really interest me about scents. It’s not just how good it smells or how bad it smells, but it’s all really ingrained in there.
Right. Social exposure and conditioning.
Conditioning and intergenerational conditioning also.
When did your interest in the smell and the chemical communication enter your work? Is this your most important work so far in that area?
Yes, kind of. I guess that interest developed as I was fermenting different kinds of materials. So, SCOBY is one of them. I also ferment vegetables, seafood sometimes, and it’s become a real interest of mine. And in the beginning, it was more about the material that I was interested in using, as in using in my own practice. But then in the process of fermenting these things, the scent of it really starts to impose on you. And for me, especially in New York where living space is so small and tight, I was really living in those quarters with all these different scents. And I was just really interested in this medium as its own medium of communication that we humans really don’t understand as much as we like.
I have always been interested in the scientific side of scents. My work with the SCOBY was heavily about the microbiome and how we’re outnumbered by other cells and how we can reconstruct our own sense of identity and individualism through this knowledge that we’re always more other than ourselves, like what we can see to be ourselves. And so, in all these microbiome studies, I would be drawn to scent repercussions in microbiomes. There’s always been the knowledge that, for example, we choose our partners subconsciously on the kind of scent that they emit. And we’ve never really understood why. And now there’s a microbiome interpretation of that saying that it’s this subconscious form of communication that’s not to the human, but maybe to the immune system, to the cells in the immune system or the bacteria in the microbiome of the human that communicates that this person’s microbiome and hence immune system is complimentary to your own.
So that scent that we’re drawn to is us looking, subconsciously looking for compatible immunological profiles to form partnerships with, because it maybe evolution that gave us an advantage to form family units with people whose health is complementary to our own. I approached or arrived at scent in these two very different ways. One is a very embodied, very lived-in relationship with different scents. And then the other is really more cerebral or more intellectual engagement with its scent. It all kind of came together with this new piece in the exhibition New York/New Fumes.
Considering you have this background with the biome and the fact that bacteria manufacture different volatile compounds— smells, what do you think about the idea that the bees might be collecting the types of microorganisms that they need. Bacteria produce characteristic odors.
That could be. That could very much be. Maybe they’re collecting their own little microbiomes. However, I don’t think I’ve read anything about it. I’ve read about microbiomes and bees that exist under guts, but for these orchid bees, they collect these scents into these two pouches under their hind legs and they rub them against their front legs which covers the scent compounds in lipids and fat, and stores it in that pouch. So, some sort of chemical reaction I think happens in the pouch. I’m not completely sure there is a live bacterial community inside those pouches, but it could be that maybe there’s more to what they’re collecting than just thinking of them, oh, how cute, these bees collect and make their own perfumes. Maybe it serves another kind of purpose that we don’t understand yet.
Speaking of which, I’m aware that Orchid bees do a particular performance to push the scent into the air, into the perceivability of the female. Can you tell us about that?
I’ve seen videos of this behavior and I think they all vary a little bit, so it’s not like they all do the same dance, but they all do a kind of dance with their wings and their legs that creates like a pumping motion that sprays the scent they’ve collected in their hind leg pouches into the air in front of the female during mating season.
The fact that Orchid bee courtship behavior involves creating and sharing a cologne is an interesting phenomenon.
Science understands it as a means to serve the purpose of getting the scent out in a mist form, but I like to think about it as a ritualistic dance or ceremonial dance, it gives it another dimension to be understood by. Maybe this is a spiritual experience for them. Maybe it is just pleasure. We tend to write about it as this tool they use for mating, like the Bowerbird that collects beautiful objects and makes a house out of it to impress the female. Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe there’s something to it that we don’t get, and that’s ok.
Pretty much all our observations of behaviors, especially in animals and insects, are given Darwinian-based interpretations. What are your hopes for this piece in terms of thinking about the ecological and biodiversity extinction crisis that we’re in? I felt like you were a making a big statement about chemical communication in nature and the key role pollinators play in life cycles of aromatic flowering plants. These are complex relationships. Can you talk a little bit about it?
I would hope someone would walk away from the piece with a feeling of a lack because that smell is, like I said, it could be one in a million of interpretations that’s made on what a perfume collected by an orchid bee may smell like. And so that itself is already a loss. And then to think about this scent in terms of extinction really puts it in a timeframe where the situation we’re in now might really feel like, as something that’s already bygone. If that makes any sense. I hope someone could encounter this piece and, well, be left with a chance to think about the times we’re in and what could be done to provoke some sort of emotion and then perhaps action.
That’s part of the reasons why World Sensorium/Conservancy is working conserve aromatic plants. To actually preserve the scent, we must preserve the plant. But what we are really talking about is conserving ecological communities. I felt that Euglossini cologne brings attention to the pollinators and how the symbiotic relationship between pollinators and the plants are intertwined in the survival.
The work took me to the plants are severe decline and threatened with extinction. The artwork brings attention to the fact that there’s really no way to preserve their smell yet. There is progress in chemical analysis and recreations but these really aren’t accurate- they’re high concept. We must save the plants, and the community of species that create the smells. it means also saving the ecosystems because the bacteria are often the producers of the smells and you have to save the bacteria. We need to be conserving whole ecological communities. These are very powerful and primal relationships that are jeopardy.
I completely agree. We need to be thinking about the rhizomatic connections in an ecology that interweaves into each other’s survival, instead of viewing each plant as a specimen. I was brought up with a positivist mentality, and even though I’ve come to find much joy in science, I’m also learning that there are no technofixes. It is tempting to buy into the narrative that scientists will engineer bacteria to digest plastic waste or that extinct wooly mammoths can be resurrected in a lab, but as we’ve witnessed with each case, there can be no isolated solution for a global ecological crisis. The scientific community didn’t learn about the underground mycelial wood wide web until 1997 (while sylvan communication has been described in many indigenous epistemologies), and we are slowly coming to terms with the impact that our microbial communities have on us. Our understanding of conservation needs to be as networked, grounded and interconnected as the microbial inter-glot that sustains our environments, inside and out, with or without our (scientific) knowledge.
HsuRae (Taiwanese) is an artist and educator of Bioart and endosymbiotic aesthetics. HsuRae holds a Masters of Science in Art, Culture, and Technology from MIT and currently teaches at Parsons, The New School, New York University and School of Visual Arts in New York City.
You can experience Euglossini cologne in the exhibition New York / New Fumes at Olfactory Art Keller, New York, NY, January 6 – 22, 2022.
Gayil Nalls, Ph.D., a pioneer of Olfactory Art and the creator of World Sensorium, also has a work in the exhibition.
Plantings cultivates innovative ideas and fresh perspectives, nurturing the global conservation community. Our readers find inspiration in forward-thinking individuals and approaches dedicated to fostering a better life for the planet and all its inhabitants.
The 2023 edition of Plantings is available in our store for shipping.
Plants are intelligent beings with profound wisdom to impart—if only we know how to listen. And Monica Gagliano knows how to listen. The evolutionary ecologist has done groundbreaking experiments suggesting plants have the capacity to learn, remember, and make choices. That’s not all. Gagliano, a senior research fellow at the University of Sydney in Australia, talks to plants. And they talk back. Plants summon her with instructions on how to live and work. Some of Gagliano’s conversations happened in prophetic dreams, which led her to study with a shaman in Peru while tripping on psychoactive plants.
Along with forest scientists like Suzanne Simard and Peter Wohlleben, Gagliano raises profound scientific and philosophical questions about the nature of intelligence and the possibility of “vegetal consciousness.” But what’s unusual about Gagliano is her willingness to talk about her experiences with shamans and traditional healers, along with her use of psychedelics. For someone who’d already received fierce pushback from other scientists, it was hardly a safe career move to reveal her personal experiences in otherworldly realms.
Gagliano considers her explorations in non-Western ways of seeing the world to be part of her scientific work. “Those are important doors that you need to open and you either walk through or you don’t,” she told me. “I simply decided to walk through.” Sometimes, she said, certain plants have given her precise directions on how to conduct her experiments, even telling her which plant to study. But it hasn’t been easy. “Like Alice, [I] found myself tumbling down a rather strange rabbit hole,” she wrote in a 2018 memoir, Thus Spoke the Plant. “I did doubt my own sanity many times, especially when all these odd occurrences started—and yet I know I do not suffer from psychoses.”
Shortly before the COVID-19 lockdown, I talked with Gagliano at Dartmouth College, where she was a visiting scholar. We spoke about her experiments, the new field of plant intelligence, and her own experiences of talking with plants.
You are best known for an experiment with Mimosa pudica, commonly known as the “sensitive plant,” which instantly closes its leaves when it’s touched. Can you describe your experiment?
I built a little contraption that allowed me to drop the plants from a height of maybe 15 centimeters. So it’s not too high. When they fall, they land in a softly padded base. This plant closes its leaves when disturbed, especially if the disturbance is a potential predator. When the leaves are closed, big, spiny, pointy things stick out, so they might deter a predator. In fact, they not only close the leaf, but literally droop, like, “Look, I’m dead. No juice for you here.”
You did this over and over, dropping the plants repeatedly.
Exactly. It makes no sense for a plant or animal to repeat a behavior that is actually useless, so we learn pretty quick that whatever is useless, you don’t do anymore. You’re wasting a lot of energy trying to do something that doesn’t actually help. So, can the plant—in this case, Mimosa—learn not to close the leaves when the potential predator is not real and there are no bad consequences afterward?
After how many drops did they stop closing their leaves?
The test is for a specific type of learning that is called habituation. I decided they would be dropped continuously for 60 times. Then there was a big pause to let them rest and I did it again. But the plants were already re-opening their leaves after the first three to six drops. So within a few minutes, they knew exactly what was going on—like, “Oh my god, this is really annoying but it doesn’t mean anything, so I’m just not going to bother closing. Because when my leaves are open, I can eat light.” So there is a tradeoff between protecting yourself when the threat is real and continuing to feed and grow. I left the plants undisturbed for a month and then came back and repeated the same experiment on those individuals. And they showed they knew exactly what was going on. They were trained.
This is who I am. And nobody has the right to tell me that it’s not real.
You say these plants “understand” and “learn” that there’s no longer a threat. And you’re suggesting they “remember.” You’re not using these words metaphorically. You mean this literally?
Yes, that’s what they’re doing. This is definitely memory. It’s the same kind of experiment we do with a bee or a mouse. So using the words “memory” and “learning” feels totally appropriate. I know that some of my colleagues accuse me of anthropomorphizing, but there is nothing anthropomorphic about this. These are terms that refer to certain processes. Memory and learning are not two separate processes. You can’t learn unless you remember. So if a plant is ticking all the boxes and doing what you would expect a rat or a mouse or a bee to do, then the test is being passed.
Do you think these plants are actually making decisions about whether or not to close their leaves?
This experiment with Mimosa wasn’t designed to test that specific question. But later, I did experiments with other plants, with peas in particular, and yes, there is no doubt the plants make choices in real decision-making. This was tested in the context of a maze, where the test is actually to make a choice between left and right. The choice is based on what you might gain if you choose one side or the other. I did one study with peas that showed the plants can choose the right arm in a maze based on where the sound of water is coming from. Of course, they want water. So they will use the signal to follow that arm of the maze as they try to find the source of water.
So plants can hear water?
Oh, yeah, of course. And I’m not talking about electrical signals. We have also discovered that plants emit their own sounds. The acoustic signal comes out of the plant.
What kind of sounds do they make?
We call them clicks, but this is where language might fail because we are trying to describe something we’re not familiar enough with to create the language that really describes the picture. We worked out that, yes, plants not only produce their own sound, which is amazing, but they are listening to sounds. We are surrounded by sound, so there are studies, like my own study, of plants moving toward certain frequencies and then responding to sounds of potential predators chewing on leaves, which other plants that are not yet threatened can hear. “Oh, that’s a predator chewing on my neighbor’s leaves. I better put my defenses up.” And more recently, there was some work done in Israel on the sound of bees and how flowers prepared themselves and become very nice and sweet, literally, to be more attractive to the bee. So the level of sugars gets increased as a bee passes by.
You are describing a surprising level of sophistication in these plants. Do you have a working definition of “intelligence?”
That’s one of those touchy subjects. I use the Latin etymology of the word and “intelligere” literally means something like “choosing between.” So intelligence really underscores decision-making, learning, memory, choice. As you can imagine, all those words are also loaded. They belong in the cognitive realm. That’s why I define all of this work as “cognitive ecology.”
Do you see parallels between this kind of intelligence in plants and the collective intelligence that we associate with social insects in ant colonies or beehives?
That kind of intelligence might be referred to as “distributed intelligence” or “collective intelligence.” We are testing those questions right now. Plants don’t have neurons. They don’t have a brain, which is often what we assume is the base for all of these behaviors. But like slime molds and other basal animals that don’t have neural systems, they seem to be doing the same things. So the short answer is yes.
What you’re saying is very controversial among scientists. The common criticism of your views is that an organism needs a brain or at least a nervous system to be able to learn or remember. Are you saying neurons are not required for intelligence?
Science is full of assumptions and presuppositions that we don’t question. But who said the brain and the neurons are essential for any form of intelligence or learning or cognition? Who decided that? And when I say neurons and brains are not required, it’s not to say they’re not important. For those organisms like ourselves and many animals who do have neurons and brains, it’s amazing. But if we look at the base of the animal kingdom, sponges don’t have neurons. They look like plants because when they’re adults, they settle on the bottom of the ocean and pretty much just sit there forever. Yet if you look at the sponge’s genome, they have the genetic code for the neural system. It’s almost like from an evolutionary perspective, they simply decided that developing a neural system was not useful. So they went a different way. Why would you invest that energy if you don’t need it? You can achieve the same task in different ways.
Your food is psychedelic. It changes your brain chemistry all the time.
Your critics say these are just automatic adaptive responses. This is not really learning.
You know, they just say plants do not learn and do not remember. Then you do this study and stumble on something that actually shows you otherwise. It’s the job of science to be humble enough to realize that we actually make mistakes in our thinking, but we can correct that. Science grows by correcting and modifying and adjusting what we once thought was the fact. I went and asked, can plants do Pavlovian learning? This is a higher kind of learning, which Pavlov did with his dogs salivating, expecting dinner. Well, it turns out plants actually can do it, but in a plant way. So plants do not salivate and dinner is a different kind of dinner. Can you as a scientist create the space for these other organisms to express their own, in this case, “plantness,” instead of expecting them to become more like you?
There’s an emerging field of what’s called “vegetal consciousness.” Do you think plants have minds?
What is the mind? [Laughs] You see, language is very inadequate at the moment in describing this field. I could ask you the same question in referring to humans. Do you think humans have a mind? And I could answer again, what is the mind? Of course, I have written a paper with the title “The Mind of Plants” and there is a book coming called The Mind of Plants. In this context, language is used to capture aspects of how plants can change their mind, and also whether they have agency. Is there a “person” there? These questions are relevant beyond science because they have ethical repercussions. They demand a change in our social attitude toward the environment. But I already have a problem with the language we are using because the question formulated in that way demands a yes or no answer. And what if the answer cannot be yes or no?
Let me ask the question a different way. Do you think plants have emotional lives? Can they feel pain or joy?
It’s the same question. Where do feelings arise from, and what are feelings? These are yes or no questions, usually. But to me, they are yes and no. It depends on what you mean by “feeling” and “joy.” It also depends on where you are expecting the plant to feel those things, if they do, and how you recognize them in a human way. I mean, plants might have more joy than we do. It’s just that we don’t know because we’re not plants.
We have only talked about this from the scientific perspective, which is the Western view of the world. But I’ve also had a close relationship with plants from a very different perspective, the indigenous world view. Why is that less valuable? And when you actually do explore those perspectives, they require your experience. You can’t just understand them by thinking about them. My own personal experience tells me that plants definitely feel many things. I don’t know if they would use those words to describe joy or sadness, but they are feeling bodies. We are feeling bodies.
Science is full of assumptions and presuppositions that we don’t question.
You’ve studied with shamans in indigenous cultures and you’ve taken ayahuasca and other psychoactive plants. Why did you seek out those experiences?
I didn’t. They sought me. So I just followed. They just arrived in my life. You know, those are important doors that you need to open and you either walk through or you don’t. I simply decided to walk through. I had this weird series of three dreams while I was in Australia doing my normal life. By the time the third dream came, it was very clear that the people that I was dreaming of were real people. They were waiting somewhere in this reality, in this world. And the next thing, I’m buying a ticket and going to Peru and my partner at the time is looking at me like, “What are you doing?” [laughs] I have no idea, but I need to go. As a scientist, I find this is the most scientific approach that I’ve ever had. It’s like there is something asking a question and is calling you to meet the answer. The answer is already there and is waiting for you, if you are prepared to open the door and cross through. And I did.
What did you do in Peru?
The first time I went, I found this place that was in my dream. It was just exactly the same as what I saw in my dream. It was the same man I saw in my dream, grinning in the same way as he was in my dream. So I just worked with him, trying to learn as much as I could about myself with his support.
This was a local shaman whom you identify as Don M. And there was a particular plant substance, a hallucinogen, that you took.
I did what they call a “dieta,” which is basically a quiet, intense time in isolation that you do on your own in a little hut. You are just relating with the plant that the elder is deciding on. So for me, the plant that I worked with wasn’t by itself a psychedelic in the normal way of thinking about it. But of course, all plants are psychedelic. Even your food is psychedelic because it changes your brain chemistry and your neurobiology all the time you eat. Sugars, almonds, all sorts of neurotransmitters are flying everywhere. So, again, even the idea of what a psychedelic experience is needs to be revised, because a lot of people might think that it’s only about certain plants that they have a very strong, powerful transformation. And I find that all plants are psychedelic. I can sit in my garden. I don’t have to ingest anything and I can feel very altered by that experience.
You’ve said the plant talked to you. Did you actually hear words?
When you’re trying to describe this to people haven’t had the experience, it probably doesn’t make much sense because this kind of knowledge requires your participation. I don’t hear someone talking to me as if from the outside, talking to me in words and sound. But even that is not correct because inside my head it does sound exactly like a conversation. Not only that, but I know it’s not me. There is no way that I would know about some of the information that’s been shared with me.
Are you saying these plants had specific information to tell you about your life and your work?
Yeah, I mean, some of the plants tell me exactly how wrong I was in thinking about my experiments and how I should be doing them to get them to work. And I’m like, “Really?” I’m scribbling down without really understanding. Then I go in the lab and try what they say. And even then, there is a part of me that doesn’t really believe it. For one experiment, the one on the Pavlovian pea, I was trying to address that question the year before with a different plant. I was using sunflowers. And while I was doing my dieta with a different tree back in Peru, the plant just turned up and said, “By the way, not sunflowers, peas.” And I’m like, “what?” People always think that when you have these experiences, you’re supposed to understand the secrets of the universe. No, my plants are usually quite practical. [laughs] And they were right.
Do you think you are really encountering the consciousness of that plant? Maybe your imagination has opened up to see the world in new ways, but it’s all just a projection of your own mind. How do you know you are actually encountering another intelligence?
If you had this experience of connecting with plants the way I have described—and there are plenty of people who have—the experience is so clear that you know that it’s not you; it’s someone else talking. If you haven’t had that experience, then I can totally see it’s like, “No way, it must be your mind that makes it up.” But all I can say is that I have had exchanges with plants who have shared things about topics and asked me to do things that I have really no idea about.
What have plants asked you to do?
I’m not a medical scientist, but I’ve been given information by plants about their medical properties. And these are very specific bits of information. I wrote them in my diary. I would later check and I did find them in the medical literature: “This plant is for this and we know this.” I just didn’t know. So maybe I’m tapping into the collective consciousness.
What do you do with these kinds of personal experiences? You are a scientist who’s been trained to observe and study and measure the physical world. But this is an entirely different kind of reality. Can you reconcile these two different realities?
I think there are some presuppositions that a scientist should just explore the consensus reality that most of us experience in more or less the same way. But I don’t really have a conflict because I find this is just part of experimenting and exploring. If anything, I found that it has enriched and expanded the science I do. This is a work in progress, obviously, but I think I’m getting better at it. And in the writing of my book, which for a scientist was a very scary process because it was laying bare some parts of me that I knew would likely compromise my career forever, it also became liberating because once it was written, now the world knows. And it’s my truth. This is how I operate. This is who I am. And nobody has the right or the authority to tell me that it’s not real.
Steve Paulson is the executive producer of Wisconsin Public Radio’s nationally syndicated show “To the Best of Our Knowledge.” He’s the author of Atoms and Eden: Conversations on Religion and Science. You can subscribe to TTBOOK’s podcast here.
This article was first published in Nautilus magazine
Plantings cultivates innovative ideas and fresh perspectives, nurturing the global conservation community. Our readers find inspiration in forward-thinking individuals and approaches dedicated to fostering a better life for the planet and all its inhabitants.
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Like family members announcing themselves on the phone, sperm whales, those giants of the ocean, with the largest brain of any animal, call out their names. Technically they click their names in various rhythm patterns, fractions of seconds apart, called codas. (If the whales made their clicks on land, they would sound as loud as rifle shots.) The whales roam the seas in matriarchal families: daughters, mothers, grandmothers. Young female whales live with their mothers for years (males leave within two to four years) and the family groups swim hundreds of miles to hunt squid, often in the range of predators like orcas and humans, and so communication is paramount. Some sperm whale families share codas whose patterns signify group affiliation. Clearly the whales, like teenagers, know the importance of their clicks.
Thanks for the Memory
The Venus flytrap, like most people in the Internet age, has about a 30-second attention span. But that’s a blessing for the carnivorous plant, which relies on memory to survive. The lobes of the plant are laced with three or four “trigger” hairs. When an insect enters the plant and rubs the trigger hairs, the lobes snap shut and the plant consumes its prey. Each stimulation generates an electrical charge, but it generally takes two charges to spark the electrochemical signal that triggers the closure, so the plant must “remember” the first charge as it waits for the second. It has only enough energy to remember for about 30 seconds, so its survival depends on short-term memory and the ability to forget. Similarly, in a human brain, a neuron builds up an electrical charge when stimulated by other nerves, approaching a threshold above which it will fire an electrical signal—the basis of everything from recognizing a plant, like a Venus flytrap, to contemplating the meaning of life.
Democracy Is a Hive
When a honeybee colony grows too big for its nest, thousands of bees suddenly split off and look for a new tree to call home. The group bivouacs at a branch and sends out hundreds of bees to scout for new locations. When a scout finds a potential nesting spot, she comes back and performs what scientists call the waggle dance, revealing the location of the tree. The closer to ideal the site is—large, high off the ground, with a small entrance hole facing south—the more she repeats the movements—up to 100 times. Other bees pick up on the news and fly out to investigate. Once about 75-100 bees “vote” for one tree by assembling there, they achieve a quorum, and the swarm’s “decision” is made. But no one—no human, that is—knows how bees tally their votes. Bee scouts scramble through the swarm, pressing their bodies against other bees. The resting bees begin shivering to warm up and prepare for flight. The vibration sounds like a race car revving. The destination set, the newly born colony is ready to roll.
It Takes a Herd
Around the world many elephants from broken homes appear to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. In South Africa, adolescent male elephants have raped and killed hundreds of endangered rhinoceroses. In some places, 90 percent of male elephant deaths are caused by other males. Those are not the only victims. Around 500 humans a year are killed by elephants, according to National Geographic. Zoologists say the killer elephants are ones that have been exposed to violence, or grew up outside of normal elephant social groups, due to poaching, culling, or relocation of their relatives by humans. But wildlife experts at the Pilanesberg National Park in South Africa have found a way to get young bulls under control. They airlift in older males from other areas. Just hours after an aggressive young male gets into a scuffle with an older, more dominant bull, it begins to come out of musth, a sexually active, aggressive state. They settle down. It seems that to live healthy lives, elephants need healthy communities.
This article was first published in Nautilus magazine
Plantings cultivates innovative ideas and fresh perspectives, nurturing the global conservation community. Our readers find inspiration in forward-thinking individuals and approaches dedicated to fostering a better life for the planet and all its inhabitants.
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My grandfather wasn’t a big farmer, but his small garden in Kentucky was a miracle. There was rhubarb, corn, and peppers a-plenty, but mostly I remember the tomatoes. He bred his own, saving the seeds of the best specimens every year. By the time he was getting well into life, his tomatoes were outlandishly proportioned, irregular in shape, and incredibly delicious.
Her paintings are based on realities of the modern food supply and how we are dependent upon and built from the foodstuffs we consume.
I thought about his garden when I saw paintings by Mia Brownell, in her show Delightful, Delicious, Disgusting first exhibited in 2014 at Juniata College Museum of Art in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania. Brownell has been painting what she calls “molecular still lives” for over a decade. She begins most works with a base of abstract, swirling forms inspired by the structures of proteins, and then adds foods typically seen in traditional still lives. Grapes are a favorite of hers, as their orb-like shape lends a cellular look. Brownell strives to raise awareness and evoke primal questions about our food supply, from how it is grown and how it functions in our bodies, to how it impacts society.
Still Life with Dendrite Dreams by Mia Brownell
“The paintings represent attempts to get entangled and occupy the ideas and images of food,” she says. The works also address emerging agricultural concerns. “Anything that can help raise awareness to what the industrialized food complex and big money is doing is good,” she says. To get there, Brownell often delves into the aesthetics of the digestive process, visualizing what happens inside our bodies when we ingest food from the outside world. If her paintings are not based on scientific data, they are based on realities of the modern food supply and how we are dependent upon and built from the foodstuffs we consume.
“I would love for the art to speak to what it means to be human in the age of biotechnology and how we are merging with other organic life forms from the inside”
“In Still Life with Double Helix [below], the DNA and proteins symbolically embrace, in a merger of living organisms,” she said. “I don’t want to direct the viewer too much, but ultimately I would love for the art to speak to what it means to be human in the age of biotechnology and how we are merging with other organic life forms from the inside.”
Still Life With Double Helix by Mia Brownell
Other works examine the worrying disappearance of insect species. For instance, Still Life with Lost Pollinators and Still Life with Lost Pollinators II show honey bees huddling together, no longer seeking pollen from nearby blooms. Both paintings directly address colony collapse disorder.
Still Life with Lost Pollinators by Mia Brownell
CCD causes honey bee workers to mysteriously abandon their hives. Current research points to disparate potential causes, including pesticides, nutritional problems, and pathogens. A solution has been hard to find.
According to the USDA, CCD killed off a third of the U.S. honey bee population last winter. (Typically, around 20 percent of honey bee hives die each winter. CCD drives that number up to abnormal levels.) Every third bite of food we eat is dependent on the pollinating work of honey bees, and those crops generate $15 billion annually in the U.S. The honey the bees make brings in\ $150 million each year.
Still Life with Lost Pollinators by Mia Brownell
The beginnings of CCD may have been first reported by French beekeepers in the late 1990s. Perhaps this should be no surprise: French farmers remain closely tied to the land. They are legally required to use centuries-old farming practices that reliably produce their famously delicious foods. Certain pesticides and genetically modified organisms are banned. In the case of the bees, French researchers found that a pesticide called Gaucho was disorienting them, and they would stay outside their hives, where they would die from the cold; beekeepers called it “mad bee disease.” Gaucho was banned for use on sunflowers and corn.
Still Life with Roundup Ready by Mia Brownell
One of the biggest recent trends in American agriculture is the boom in genetically modified crops, like Monsanto’s Roundup Ready corn, which is resistant to the company’s Roundup herbicide. By virtue of its very usefulness, Roundup Ready has been a disaster for American monarch butterflies. Farmers have used the pesticide and associated crops to more effectively eliminate weeds from their fields. Unfortunately, those unwanted plants include milkweed, the one plant that monarch butterfly larvae eat. This is part of the reason for a recent huge decrease in the insect’s population, and it’s attributable, indirectly, to the effectiveness and huge popularity of one genetically modified plant.
Still Life with Lost Migration by Mia Brownell
I wonder what my grandfather would think about the state of modern agriculture. It was over 20 years ago when we sat together on his porch swing. The light had faded out of the summer day and the buzz of insects rose in our ears. The swing moved comfortable and slow, like my grandpa’s voice.
“There just aren’t as many bees as their used to be,” he said, “and that can’t be a good sign.”
For me, now living in New York City, these memories seem to be from another planet, not from a town just 10 hours away. Like so many of us, I’m detached from the land I live on, except perhaps for the locavore meals my friends and I happily pay for. Meals with seasonal pea shoot salads with chervil vinaigrette, goat-milk feta and watermelon, all grown within 100 miles, is one way I still feel attached to nature.
For Brownell, food is nature. Especially these days, when nature is getting pushed further and further out, past the urban landscape, past the suburban sprawl, out past the highways, past the monoculture farms, and finally, to the country.
“Besides the trees next to the sidewalk and maybe watering plants,” she posits, “the food we eat is the most frequent encounter we have with nature.”
Heather Sparks explores art and science at Science Sparks Art. She studied molecular genetics at The Ohio State University, has a graduate degree in science journalism from New York University, and currently lives in Brooklyn.
Plantings cultivates innovative ideas and fresh perspectives, nurturing the global conservation community. Our readers find inspiration in forward-thinking individuals and approaches dedicated to fostering a better life for the planet and all its inhabitants.
The 2023 edition of Plantings is available in our store for shipping.
As global commerce grows, the movement of goods is occurring at ever-faster rates. And with increased global trade comes the spread of non-native species. This includes invasive insects that are making life difficult for domestic bees.
Non-native species get introduced both intentionally and accidentally. However they migrate, though, their spread can lead to devastating results. Non-native species can dramatically reshape their invaded habitats and disrupt the interactions between native species.
After direct habitat loss, invasive species are the second greatest threat to biodiversity. Biodiversity is crucial to a healthy ecosystem, providing us services such as food, the natural resources that sustain our current lifestyle, and the building blocks of medicines.
Invasive species come in all forms – plants, animals and microbes – but all share common traits: they are non-native, they are increasing in prevalence, and they negatively affect native species.
Native bees in North America are declining drastically. Habitat loss is the number one reason for bee decline, with pesticide use, invasive species, and climate change also playing a major role. With the growth of cities and farms, habitat suitable for our native bees shrinks. And with competition and habitat degradation from invasive species, suitable habitat becomes even less.
We depend on native bees, like our humble bumble bees (Bombus spp.), to pollinate native flowers and crops. Bumble bees pollinate tomatoes, peppers, blueberries and many more of our favorite food items. Honey bees, which are widely used in agriculture and are suffering from colony collapse disorder, are a non-native species, and can’t replace the pollination services provided by native bees such as bumble bees.
But one invasive species in particular is threatening the livelihood of bumble bees.
New bee on the block
The European wool-carder bee was first discovered in North America in 1963 near Ithaca, New York, and since then, its impact has been felt from coast to coast. Wool-carder bees get their name from the nest building behavior of the female bees. Females collect plant hairs, called trichomes, by cutting them with their mandibles. The up-and-down motion they use during trichome collection to cut the hair-like fibers and ball them up is reminiscent of carding wool.
My research has shown that carding behavior induces chemical changes in the plant similar to what occurs when insects eat plants. These chemical changes signal other wool-carder bees, attracting them to the plant, which causes further damage.
In addition to damaging plants, female wool-carder bees compete with our native bees for flowers. Bees depend on nectar and pollen from flowers for food, and increased competition from invasive species raises concerns over the future of our native bees.
But the behavior of male wool-carder bees appears even more sinister. Males aggressively defend flower patches in order to attract mates. Males use evolved weapons on the base of their abdomen to attack any interloper who isn’t a potential mate, often causing severe injury or even death to the attacked bee. By decreasing competition for flowers, the male wool-carder bee hopes to entice more female wool-carder bees to visit his patch, thus increasing his chances of mating.
Male wool-carder bee. Photo credit: Ilona L
Of all our native bees, bumble bees (Bombus spp.) receive the brunt of attacks from male wool-carder bees. Therefore, my research focuses on the impact of these attacks on bumble bee well-being. My preliminary research shows that bumble bees avoid foraging for nectar and pollen in areas with wool-carder bees – likely to avoid attack. Because they stay away from areas defended by wool-carder bees, the number of flowers available to bumble bees decreases.
As bumble bees are already facing a shortage of flowers due to habitat loss, this additional restriction on flower availability is causing serious concern about the sustainability of local bumble bee populations. Because the population of wool-carder bees is growing, my current research is trying to determine the extent of the negative impact they are having on our precious native pollinators.
Native pollinators, such as bumble bees, cannot easily be replaced by other species. This is because our native bees perform a special form of pollination, buzz pollination, where they use a unique vibration pattern to shake loose pollen from flowers. Many of our native crops, such as tomatoes and blueberries, need buzz pollination for efficient pollen transfer. So for the health and well-being of our native plants, we must care for our native bees.
Plant native wildflowers – Ornamental non-native plants are often easy choices for the garden, but they promote the spread of invasive species such as the wool-carder bee, and often go unvisited by our native bees. So while you may think you are helping the bees by planting flowers, make sure that you are planting flowers that our native bees will actually visit. Native wildflowers help mitigate the effects of urbanization on our native bees by increasing the availability of food in an otherwise challenging urban environment.
Opt for a more natural yard – Treating our yards with herbicides and cutting the grass very short can lead to a perfectly manicured lawn, but at what cost? Lawns with no flowers are food deserts to our bees. Allowing wildflowers such as clover to blossom in your yard provides much-needed resources for our native bees. If you absolutely can’t give up the manicured look of your lawn, opt for a wildflower garden at the perimeter of the yard instead. The bees will thank you!
Buy organic – Pesticides, particularly neonicotinoids, have devastating effects on bees, and are linked to the decline of both bumble bees and other bee species worldwide. Lessen your pesticide footprint by buying organic produce when you can.
Kelsey K. Graham, PhD, is a research entomologist and pollinator conservation specialist, USDA-ARS Pollinating Insects Research Unit
Plantings cultivates innovative ideas and fresh perspectives, nurturing the global conservation community. Our readers find inspiration in forward-thinking individuals and approaches dedicated to fostering a better life for the planet and all its inhabitants.
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As a gardener I know how important insects are to nature and I’m also well aware that many beneficial insect species are in dangerous decline. So, in the past few years, in addition to my other conservation projects, I have taken on the challenge to make my property as supportive as possible to local insects with pollinator friendly plants for spring, summer and fall.
One of the biggest draws by far has been the giant fragrant anise hyssop (Agastache foeniculum), a perennial in the mint family and North American native.
I have created several new plant beds of native plants and wildflowers and enlarged my medicinal and herb garden. I’m happy to say that this summer these additions provided pollen and nectar for a huge variety of insects. Besides the many species of bees and butterflies, there were insect species I’ve seldom seen over the years and even ones I’ve never seen before.
One of the biggest draws by far has been the giant fragrant anise hyssop (Agastache foeniculum), a perennial in the mint family and North American native. (Despite its name, it is not related to either the European healing herb hyssop or to anise.) However, the plant’s aromatic leaves do smell and taste pleasantly like licorice or anise but with more floral sweetness.
It’s wonderful to surround yourself with healing plants. The leaves of Anise Hyssop can be harvested anytime, however they are highest in essential oil just as the lavender edible flower spikes are winding down, so now through Fall is a great time to harvest the leaves for culinary and medicinal use. Pick them in the morning after the dew has dried and before the sun starts evaporating the essential oils. You can add the fresh leaves to summer salads, vegetable pastas and soups, and use them to flavor jams and marinades. Dry the leaves for year-round use as tea or infusions. The flowers also make a beautiful edible garnish for iced teas and mixed drinks and the seeds, loved by birds in the fall, can be used in baked goods.
The plant has a long history of medicinal use with indigenous tribes of the US, especially Cheyenne and Chippewa, and with early Americans. It continues to be used as an expectorant to treat respiratory infections and fevers. Due to its antibacterial qualities, it is also used in salves to treat wounds and infections.
large colorful swallowtail butterflies, a few monarchs, and a happy, playful group of cabbage white butterflies have constantly danced around the plant
The flowers are highly attractive to many pollinators that work the columns of dense little tubular flowers, and because of this, the plant became an endless source of fascination and entertainment this summer. I ending up learning new things about bug routines, community and territory by observing the flowers buzzing with so many species of bees and watching them work each individual florets by day with some species sleeping on the flowers at night. Several different species of butterflies, including large colorful swallowtail butterflies, a few monarchs, and a happy, playful group of cabbage white butterflies have constantly danced around the plant, and there have been visits from moths, flies, and humming-bird hawk moths. Much to our delight, colorful and fast-moving ruby-throated hummingbirds regularly visited, loving this great supply of nectar. I have to say, trying to create a healthy landscape to help prevent ecological collapse has also made my family happier.
I have to say, trying to create a healthy landscape to help prevent ecological collapse has also made my family happier.
If you want to know more about how to use your property to effectively make a holistic difference for your community of life, in all its sizes, I highly recommend Doug Tallamy’s book Nature’s Best Hope: A New Approach to conservation That Starts in Your Yard. This book will be a wonderful help to your own backyard conservation projects.
Gayil Nalls, PhD, is the creator of World Sensorium and founder of the World Sensorium/Conservancy
Plantings cultivates innovative ideas and fresh perspectives, nurturing the global conservation community. Our readers find inspiration in forward-thinking individuals and approaches dedicated to fostering a better life for the planet and all its inhabitants.
The 2023 edition of Plantings is available in our store for shipping.
