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Golaleh Poorsoltan

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Nature Musings

I take a 25 minute Uber ride to Cimatario National Park southeast of the city. Most of my traveling is typically done on foot, so this entire area is new to me. The main path is made of cobblestones. It's beautiful, but it isn't the easiest for walking. I walk for a few minutes trying to find the spot the guard had indicated--my Spanish skills are still very basic. I find a wide dirt path that leads to a pond. I take it. As I get closer to the water, I realize I'm not alone. Three horses are eating and strolling along the water. They are large and majestic animals. Their coats glisten in the sunlight. The water sparkles. It all feels quite magical. I am in awe, but I am also scared. I feel small and ignorant of how to be with them. I am alone. When they start walking towards me, I take off. I'm ashamed of my discomfort--I scold myself for my cowardice as I walk away.

There are mountains in the distance. There is smog in the distance too. This forest has muted colors. There are browns, tans, khakis, yellows, different shades of beige. At first, the olive green is what stands out the most, but then I notice the many shades of green. The sky is bright baby blue. No clouds. The sun is bearable only in spurts. There are many cacti with sharp, thick, spiky thorns. They look meaty and their colors stand out from the rest of the vegetation. Everything else is flat and dry; crunchy and yellow. The tall eucalyptus trees creak a little in the breeze. I can hear the wooshing of the wind. I hear birds chirping nearby, and from far away too, when I pay attention. Their wings cut through the air with force over my head. I hear insects, or maybe lizards--small things--rustling leaves. I want to be more comfortable with everything here.

I return to the park with more time and courage. It feels cooler today. I walk uphill until I can't hear the trucks in the distance any longer. I hear the wind rustling through the leaves. The air smells fresh. I see three different types of giant cacti, eucalyptus trees, jacaranda trees. It's dry up here on this old volcanic mountain. Everything has sharpness to it. There are triangles everywhere. Thorns, spikes, points, spines, briers. The ground covers are prickly too. Are they protecting themselves this way? Are the spurs and bristles their armor against one other? Maybe they are for keeping the birds and insects from devouring them. Or does the sharpness catch the moisture, like a kind of sharp funnel, and help deliver it in bits to the plants better?

The sun is extreme up here. A few minutes of direct contact is too much, but it feels too cold in the shade. There isn't much shade though. Maybe the many spikes and thorns are to shield the more delicate parts of the plants from the sun? The sun is so harsh up here. I wonder if that's also why many of the plants are growing close together and underneath one another, each functioning as a bit of shelter from the sun for the others. I also see some fluffy and fuzzy plants. I imagine that's so the wind can pick them up and deliver them or their seeds all throughout the forest. The fuzziness must help them attach themselves to other things. I see some of them in between the rocks on the ground. I imagine that's how some of the plants in this forest were planted. From that angle, the wind and breeze also serve the function of spreading and delivering things about.

I return to the pond where the horses were the other day. They aren't there. I assume it is, at least in part, because of the two screaming preteens chasing each other with large sticks around the pond. It's windier down here. There are more eucalyptus trees. I hear many birds here too. Many are in the eucalyptus trees over my head. When I slow down a little more, I notice there are others in the distance singing completely different songs. Suddenly, I see a little red one flying nearby. The colors around me are so muted that the red of that bird really stands out. I'm reminded of the value of contrasts. Perhaps everything in this volcano forest is part of a muted-colored super system to detract from the sun, predators, and even each other from encroaching on their spaces. If the function of the muted hues is to detract from everything, then what is the function of that flashy bird? Or did I just answer myself?

I also can't help but think that nature is reminding me that, in harsh environments, one needs better armor, or else to have a great getaway plan like the birds do. In this forest, the turtles have shells, the horses dwarf the other animals, the plants have spikes and thorns and briers, and the rocks are jagged. Everything is packed tightly together, yet the jagged ends prevent encroachment. The sun too, it is brutally strong. And water is hard to come by, except for the pond that I've only seen horses and wild preteen humans near. Metaphorically, the human world is no different. Have I missed the point of everything? Is one lesson to take away from this that in harsh environments, one must build a hard exterior and spikes? Or maybe just a proper one, even if not prickly--an exterior that is suitable for the specifics of the environment. Also in this forest, the living and dead things are inextricably intertwined. Each is constantly feeding the other in the layers of life. It isn't always apparent what is living and what is dead. Either way, they retain their values.

Life's Principles

This is how I recently explained the concept to four adults who are interested in nature and sustainability, but who had never heard of biomimicry before. It is so important to me that I don't try to sound like I know more than I do, and that I don't try to sound too fancy or attempt to elevate my importance in the world with the words that I use. But it is also very important to me to share the knowledge I have about anything with anyone who has the time and patience to listen, as there is no point to coveting information that could be useful to someone else.

Biomimicry is born from the realization that nothing in nature is arbitrary or an accident. In nature, just about everything is the way it is because of the function(s) it performs. It could be its smell, its shape, its color, its texture, where it lives, what it eats, what it does, how it sounds, or anything else about it, and most likely, it is that way to perform a type of function. Biomimicry aims to mimic biological functions that are observed in nature to create better and more sustainable human innovations. Because nature is intelligent with its designs, and has managed to exist for 3.8 billion years, and people aren’t doing quite so well, maybe we should consider looking at everything the way nature does.

So how does it all work? Well, nature uses a set of guidelines that are referred to as Life’s Principles in the world of biomimicry. These are the basic strategies that nature uses to solve its issues, and by emulating them and incorporating them into the human world, we can try to do the same for human challenges. There are three truths about earth that provide the basis for these guidelines. They are that earth is: in a state of dynamic non-equilibrium (it maintains balance in spite of constant fluctuations), water based, and subject to limits and boundaries.

The principles are, in no particular order of significance:

Life is resilient (consider the many catastrophic disturbances nature has experienced, and it just keeps going)
Life runs on cyclic processes (consider the seasons)
Life is locally attuned and responsive (consider the resourcefulness of ants, or the annoyingly opportunistic mosquito that waits and waits for its turn)
Life optimizes rather than maximizes (consider all the functions of one little apple tree)
Life is interconnected and interdependent (consider the many symbiotic and cooperative relationships that exist in nature—such as the important work of honeybees)
Life uses benign manufacturing (consider that everything in nature can be returned back to nature at the end of its life)

With these basic principles, we can harness the power of nature to create better products and a better future for ourselves and the generations that haven’t been born yet.

BCI 4

February 24th, 2023

At Colonia Cimatario, Querétaro (nature around my house as I am still recuperating from a bad cold)

Sunny with blue skies. Breezy. 81°F

Reflection theme: Natural functions as muses for innovative product designs

It’s hard to get a pure slice of nature in Querétaro. I have to tune out the ambulances, the cars, the trains, the car alarms, the car engines, the car screeching, the car honking, the cars sputtering uphill, cars being turned on, cars idling...the birds let me know they’re there. The trees are dancing with the breeze. Hummingbirds sit on the electrical wires. Nature is here--I only need to look for it.

Here are....

-Fragrances...as in the sweet smell of citrus blossoms. Thank you, nature. The rosemary plants smell woodsy and more astringent. What is the purpose of such smells in nature? Attract, detract? The bees hovering around the orange and lemon blossoms tell me 'yes' with their presence. “I'm here for pollinating.” I can’t help but see the parallels here with perfumes in the human world. What about the rosemary? I don’t know why or what it’s saying, but it’s saying something. So then at the most basic level, it is a form of communication. What if people didn’t use guns, but instead had smelly things to ward each other off? Not like pepper spray, but like skunk. I’d like that. I’d like a concentrated skunk stick that attaches to my key chain. I want one for Nina’s lunchbox for the inevitability of creeps.

-Stripes…the bees with their striped backs don’t care a second about my staring. The striped tree trunks and stripes in the leaves, the stripes on the cats’ coats. Stripes are for hiding? Stripes are for blending in with the environment? I want a shirt that makes itself as stealthy as these striped things so I can be a fly on the wall. It would have to be a striped wall, of course.

-Hues. Variegated things. All of the leaves I’ve encountered, the flowers, the many shades on the trunks of these trees. There are so many gradations of color in everything out here. I don’t think this is one function. Again, it’s communication, but in various ways. It shows age. It shows health. It shows dryness. I like the idea of something that changes colors. What if a jacket could change colors to work with the weather? Lighter for sun reflection and darker for sun absorption?

-Flexibility-these giant trees blowing in the wind remind me of the importance of flexibility. That which sways doesn’t break. This is everywhere here. I am not creative enough for product ideas centered on flexibility. Seems important enough to keep for later.

-Circles, spots. There are dimples on the lemons and oranges. The oranges and lemons are spheres. There are spots on the leaves. All the blossoms are globular. The seeds embedded in the leaves are round. What is the function of circularity? Maybe the shape is a metaphor for the circularity of things. But what is the function? Pores are circular for breathing. The circularity of the seasons or things that go round and round (birth/life/death, birth/life/death). What is that–balance? Aren’t circles really strong because there isn’t an obvious point of entry or breakage? I don’t know—a protective spherical bubble? That’s goofy. My own personal human-sized fishbowl? My own personal bubble of safety? What is it with me and safety today?

BCI 5

February 26th, 2023

At Colonia Cimatario, Querétaro (nature around my house as I am still, still, still recuperating from a bad cold)

Sunny with blue skies. Little patches of clouds here and there. Breezy. 78°F

Reflection theme: 30 organisms that perform relevant functions for design challenges

Trying so hard to catch up, so staying close to home again. How is it that there is no room in life for getting sick? Nature does it better, I think. No, no. In nature, staying behind due to illness may mean getting devoured. Anyway, onward with the design challenges and the 30 organisms.

How can (what is perceived as) trash and other underutilized materials be used to create affordable housing?

Ant plants provide housing for many species.
Oyster reef shapes create safe havens for their young.
Bees and wasps’ honeycomb structures are space efficient and strong
Rock ant nests are dynamic.
The ovenbird constructs a free-standing domed nest by adding mud pellets in a set pattern.
Wasps have sturdy nests because they incorporate fibers in a parallel pattern.
Jet ants collect wood particles and impregnate them with a sugar solution, which creates a nutritive substance for the fungi. As the fungi grow, the thread-like hyphae that make up their mycelium bind the particles together, reinforcing the wall materials the ants have built up.
Diatoms build strong, intricate cases using proteins to arrange minerals.
Song thrushes create cup-shaped nests that are lined with wood pulp, and as they harden, they become a protective, cardboard-like material.
House sparrows keep their houses parasite free by lining them with insect-repelling neem plant leaves.

How can refugees and in general, people fleeing from war, disasters and the like, stay comfortable (warm or cold) in changing temperatures, with little money and resources?

Emperor penguins huddle in groups to protect themselves from the cold.
Mallee fowl keep their nests warm through the help of rotting vegetation.
Numbats make their hair stand up on end to allow the sunlight to warm up their skins and creating an insulating layer of air to reduce heat loss.
Edelweiss have wooly hairs that intercept and de-energize harmful ultraviolet radiation before it reaches the plant’s cells.
Snake scales have micro-and nano-structures that create ultra-blackness by reducing light reflection (thus allowing them to absorb all the light that hits them).
Euphorbia plants’ waxy stems protect them from heat and drought.
Camels’ fur and sweat glands combine to form a powerful temperature management system.
Black-tailed jackrabbits use their large ears for cooling by radiating heat via an extensive network of blood vessels.
Cacti’s corrugated shapes create pockets of shaded, cooler air that help them shed body heat.
African bush elephants direct blood flow to their skin surface in areas scattered over their bodies to dissipate excess body heat.

How can small businesses partner up to reduce waste and costs?

Mangroves provide an environment where multiple participants benefit.
Honeybees collaborate when foraging, selecting a new hive through knowledge sharing.
Mycorrhizal fungi use underground networks to sustain diversity in a forest by transporting nutrients and water.
New generations of bottlenose dolphins adapt to changing situations by learning from peers and not just mothers.
Soil ecosystems consist of a diverse community of organisms that interact to break down and recycle chemicals and maintain the soil fertility.
Chimpanzees teach younger generations skills by sharing tools with them.
Clownfish and sea anemone help each other survive through a symbiotic relationship.
Ant colonies distribute food effectively and safely after famine using a decentralized response to quickly spread food.
Fungi thrive by tapping into resources few if any others want—horse manure, fallen leaves, dead animals, and the like—and breaking down the natural chemicals they contain into a source of energy and molecules to nourish themselves.
African wild dogs make group decisions through versatile voting system.

Whoever was practicing the trombone in their house nearby is taking a break. Thank you, sir or madame. Now I just hear kids chasing one another screaming and laughing. Crows are cawing. People are talking in the distance. Cars. I’ve become obsessed with the car sounds I can’t tune out. Maybe I have misophonia. Or maybe I just don't like the sound of cars. I’ll focus on the cawing of the crows. Giant gorgeous crows. One is cleaning itself above my head on what I think is a mesquite tree. Now another has joined in, and that one is shiny from bathing in what’s left of the pond. Half the pond is gone, and no rain is on the horizon. This is a problem.

I’m here to contemplate my design, a tent for people fleeing disasters (manmade and natural), performing several functions using biological inspirations. My challenge is to help the people using the tent cope with temperatures (either heat or cold).

Seeing the pond half gone makes me think of water. None of this can exist without trapping water somehow. How can my design trap water? How does nature capture water when there is none? Nature is opportunistic. It takes advantage of the morning dew. The leaves capture what they can and deliver it down to their roots. The birds have gathered around the little remains of the pond to bathe and cool down. Regarding my design, I can’t think of additional ways to capture water–only the air well (condenser) idea I had earlier. That is already mimicking nature somehow, although I don’t know what creature does that. Probably something with a hard and shiny exterior—maybe a leaf, or a bug that would frighten me. I’ve learned that there is always water in the air, so this is something to play around with for my design. I need to learn more about air wells. I need to see what other ways nature captures water.

Nature is layered. This tall mesquite tree I’m sitting under is providing shade for all sorts of plants and creatures beneath. The birds rest on its branches and swing in the breeze. Even the tree has the bark to protect its skin beneath. A kind of armor, I suppose. There are layers and layers of organisms. Maybe this is another way of being opportunistic, since the plants and animals beneath the tree are being sheltered from the heat of the sun. Perhaps layering is a strategy to consider more deeply as well. Instead of trying to come up with a single way to reflect the sun, perhaps a layering technique would help each section to not have to work so hard. But how do you harness the power of the sun for cheap? I think of solar panels as expensive things. How else can they be made? How crazy to think of reflecting the sun away in places where the sun is insanely abundant and could be used for powering electricity.

How do these plants handle all of this sun? Many of them thrive in it. That’s my issue–I’m thinking of how they survive in the sun and how they can handle the torture, when they’re thriving in it. They’re using it. They’re living with the sunshine, and have come up with ways to do so. But everything can’t, so what are they doing? How can I do that for my design? People can’t be cacti. Wait, but people can use what the sun offers. Do refugee camps in deserts have solar powered everything? Why not? How about other forms of energy? Do they use renewable sources of energy? Do they even have energy? I guess there's no single answer here. They’d need to have access to solar panels, wind turbines, etc. I wonder what they do with their trash. Can they use their organic waste to heat their spaces (I’m thinking of mallee fowls and their rotting vegetable mound nests )? Not quite like the mallee fowls…but more like biofuel.

Wait a minute. I’m layering ideas. That’s it. There isn’t going to be a single BINGO idea. It is about layering techniques and ideas, designs and innovations. The tent itself can’t do everything. It needs other parts and pieces to deal with various parts of nature (heat, cold, rain, sun, etc.). This problem needs a layering of solutions and for opportunities to be seized.

BCI 7

May 6, 2023

7 a.m., 7:30 a.m., and now 8:22 in the morning (the story of why it occurred this way would have to go into a new BCI, but let's just say it involved at least two large Dobermans, a taxi, and me).

In a park near my house in Colonia Cimatario in Santiago de Querétaro, then in my backyard, and now upstairs in the room where I do my work.

67°F, mostly sunny, 52% humidity (which is basically tropical for Querétaro, where it is so very dry).

Reflection Theme: Observing Nature in a New Light

The more time I spend in nature, the more I know I don’t know anything about it. Everything is doing its thing, and none of it cares one bit that I’m there. I’m neutral. I’m air. No, air is much more than me. I’m literally nothing unless I threaten their existence, which of course I do just by existing. There are infinite parallel universes. Everything is doing its thing. Everything is being. None of us really have a clue about one another. What does the bee see when it enters the jacaranda tree through that hole up there? What does it do there? Where does it go when it leaves the hole? If I could just follow it for an entire day…well, I’d probably understand very little still. If I stop to listen, I can hear 50 birds saying something—maybe more. They have so much to say. What are they telling each other? Why do they get quiet and then suddenly so loud all at once? Is it just that I’m noticing it now, or is it something they’re doing? Or are they even talking to each other? I’ve seen the same bird sitting quietly on the nest in the orange tree for 3 days now. I don’t know if she’s moved at all. Is she keeping new eggs warm under her belly? I wonder.

From the first BCI to now, I see additional layers. There are many more layers than I can see. I consider functions. I consider things zoomed in and zoomed out. I am aware that I see things from my own perspectives. I am aware of the limitations of my senses, of my body. I can adjust for this sometimes now. It’s a blind spot though, so I need to keep it in check often. The class and the BCI exercises have given me new ways of being with, seeing, and analyzing nature. I have a different type of curiosity than before. I truly wonder what is going on more than I did previously. I want to observe it all more.

Maybe my natural inclination is to approach nature from an anthropomorphic perspective. It’s what makes me an animal rescuer and a nature lover—I can’t help it because I imbue the things around me with feelings and emotions. That’s how I interact with them in my head, and that’s how I care about them. I create their stories for myself. I’d have to say that now, with the course nearly behind me, I have some other tools, some other ways of seeing and being with nature and the world around me than I did before. I’m noticing new dots from which I can connect meanings and gain inspiration. There are other layers of significance that I wasn't seeing like this before. How wonderful to be able to go to nature for inspiration and lessons. How wonderful to be reminded that it’s the ever-present teacher, source of knowledge and ideas. It's helpful to have new way of seeing things. All of this reminds me of the Marcel Proust quote: “The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” That's what's changed for me, now that I'm nearly finished with this course.