A Primer on Biomimicry

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If we are so out of balance with nature, how can we hope to get back into balance? There is, of course, no single answer, but there are places from which to start. Biomimicry is one of them.

For those unfamiliar, let us start with a definition. Biomimicry seeks to mimic the design of biology to solve problems. It attempts to imitate nature's solutions to common issues, whether of transportation, water storage, physical movement, etc. 

Some simple, common biomimicry solutions are already in widespread use and have been for some time. These come to us from the civil engineering industry, where engineers have long used berms, erosion-resistant plants, and boulders to slow the flow of water and limit erosion. 

We see in nature how scree and rocks on a mountainside stabilize the slope and limit erosion, and we apply this principle to slow the flow of runoff from rainstorms in open channels and culvert outlets. Hardy native grasses serve not only as food sources for ungulates, but as drought-resistant coverage that protects the land, as those who lived through the Dust Bowl found out first hand. Engineers use similar hardy grasses to stabilize slopes and prevent erosion from both wind and water.

While not commonly considered in this manner, we also use a form of biomimicry in our systems of motion. Consider the repetitive vertical motion of pistons in an engine or the repetitive circular motion of bicycle pedals. These repetitive motions used to propel us forward are reminiscent of the motions of a hummingbird's wings, which generate lift in both the forward and reverse motions. Similarly, consider how we use specialized shoes that clip to the pedals of a bicycle in order to mimic this principle and generate power with both the upward and downward movement of the leg. 

We also mimic the flight produced by larger birds' wings in our design of airplanes, particularly those large predatory species like hawks that make use of their speed and the leading edge of their wing to generate and maintain lift. The very same happens as air flows across the rounded leading edge of a fast-moving airplane wing. This works for these larger birds, and consequently for airplanes, because of their thicker and more robust wings as compared to those of a hummingbird. It allows for a more efficient motion which requires less energy to maintain. 

But there is room for improvement. Our cars and planes operate, for the most part, by burning fossil fuels for their energy source, rather than the biological conversions of energy that inherently are used by birds for flight. Our model is unsustainable. Recent inroads have been made in the field of electric aircraft, however. And we are getting more efficient at capturing the sun's readily available energy and converting it to a usable form, as trees and plants do to sustain their very existence. 

As is often the case in the doings of humanity, economics plays a role in our slowness to move toward sometimes obvious, but potentially more difficult, solutions. Progress is being made in reducing the cost of solutions such as solar energy and making our systems for accessing and storing these readily available energy sources more efficient. Due to advances in technology, subsequent reduced costs, and adequate investment, the world's use of solar energy grew by 300 times between 2000 and 2019. Other renewables also saw tremendous growth, driven both by economics and necessity as awareness of the current climate situation increases.

Ample subsidies are provided to the fossil fuel industry, and the cost of us driving our cars is even subsidized by the subsequently lowered fuel prices that we see at the pump: it becomes a positive feedback loop that promotes further use of our inefficient vehicles. In turn, this feedback loop leads to negative outcomes beyond climate issues, including degraded health due to poor air quality. 

We could spur further innovation by providing subsidies of similar magnitude to the renewable energy industry. And we must be patient in this process, as we also must allow adequate time and investment for our energy grid to be updated and adjust to storing and distributing energy from renewable sources. Priorities are shifting, but the overall investment in renewable energy sources still lags that of fossil fuels, especially when considered in the historical aggregate. Investment in renewables is an investment in biomimicry, in powering our society with the methods and materials that nature has amply supplied. 

Biomimicry is inherently sustainable. And the applications of biomimicry principles are limitless: from studying nature for solutions to prosthetic limbs, to dealing with the waste of food due to spoilage, to addressing energy needs, to developing innovative ways to collect and provide clean water for a more equitable world. There is no limit to what we can learn from nature. And we learn best when we listen and observe. So let's observe, and start putting to use what we've learned.

Quiet, or The Art of Listening

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Listen. Do you hear it? No, no, sit still and really listen. 

What sounds surround you? The chirping of a bird. Conversation at the table next to yours. The sound of an air conditioner or heater running. The snow falling light upon the ground. The voice of the still small voice inside your head. Someone telling you about their day, sharing their experience with you. Perhaps it's some combination of all of these. Or perhaps it's nothing at all, and you can bathe in the silence.

It's a topic that's been addressed so often that it has become a trope, but still, it's worth discussing. And better still, it's a perspective worth listening to. It's a topic dear to me, perhaps because of a propensity for silence that one might attribute to my introverted nature. 

Regardless, examples of the importance of prioritizing listening abound, especially in a source as veritable as the Bible. In James 1:19-20 (NKVJ) we find: 

"So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God."

First, James says that we must be "swift to hear, slow to speak..." James calls upon his "beloved brethren" to behave in this manner. We can surmise that James wished only the best for those close to him, and therefore, we can surmise this to be advice supplied lovingly to induce a positive outcome.

And we should look to James as a model on this topic, as a brother of Jesus who at one point did not believe in Him (John 7:5). Obviously James listened to the witness of his brother, for he went on to be a devoted follower and martyr for the cause. As Proverbs 11:14 (NKJV) states:

"Where there is no counsel, the people fall;

But in the multitude of counselors there is safety."

We can presume that part of what brought James to belief, in spite of doubts or differing opinions he may have held, was the steady counsel of his brother, Jesus. Listening can indeed do wonders.

 

Even devoid of specific examples, ask yourself whether it is better to be quick to hear and slow to speak, and you will intuitively feel it to be true. When we listen, we open ourselves up to hearing and experiencing truth, novel perspectives, and stories of others, all of which can help us to better navigate this world.

Notice also how James progresses from quickness of speech to wrath. It is unclear whether this is intended as a progression of states of being, but it seems a fair way to interpret it. The implication is that speech is closer to wrath than is the act of listening. When we are quick to speak, we risk drowning out the calming influence of measured thought, silence, and quiet, and can work ourselves into a fury. 

When we do not listen, but only speak, we do not lend credence to the experience or perspective of others. Being adamant of speech insists that what you have to say is of more value and importance that what someone else might contribute. In this way, speech casts judgement; it can lead to wrath. If we are not careful, an insistence on our own perspective as inherently more worthy can even indicate the belief that you as a person are more valuable than others, not just your speech. This is dangerous, for once these feelings begin, it is difficult to learn from others as instincts lead us to become defensive.

Now I'm not advocating that you should never speak; that is not at all my intent. I am asking merely that we all learn to better weigh the benefits of speaking versus listening. Let's each examine the ratio at which we practice speech and silence. When we listen to each other, we can learn much and everyone can be lifted up. Take if from one of America's classic authors, Ernest Hemingway: 

"When people talk, listen completely...Most people never listen."

Thus, in listening intently, we set ourselves apart from the crowd. We mark ourselves as different. And we make for good friends. As Sherlock Holmes remarks to Dr. Watson in one of his sleuthing adventures:

 "You have a grand gift of silence, Watson...It makes you quite invaluable as a companion."

Sometimes all that we need is for someone else to listen. In listening, we share in others' triumphs, joys, fears, irritations, concerns, and lives. We allow each other to ask for advice, to reason through problems aloud, and to generally make sense of this complex world with each other. As Sherlock continues from the quote above:

"'Pon my word, it is a great thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over-pleasant."

The power of listening cannot be overstated. Taking the time to listen allows others to feel heard. It is an act of empathy, it is a humane act, it is an act of love to listen to another. For in listening, what we are really doing is showing respect to a fellow human being. We become not just participants in, but observers of, the world around us.

A Primer on Climate

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How at odds are we with nature? What a question to ask. Quite. And bad things happen when we get out of balance with nature. 

The Dust Bowl. A decade of repeated drought events. Poor soil management. Non-existent crop rotation. The ripping up of sod on a scale unmatched. We simply asked more than the land could give, year after year, and the land lashed out. And recent research has shown that current elevated carbon dioxide levels make an occurrence like the Dust Bowl twice as likely.

Deforestation. The World Bank estimates that roughly 500,000 square miles of forest were lost between 1990 and 2016. For comparison, that's about 90% the size of Alaska. Wow. And harvested trees release stored carbon into the atmosphere, exacerbating the current runaway atmospheric carbon content issue.

Rising sea levels. According to satellite data, sea level in 2014 was 2.6 inches above the 1993 average, the earliest comprehensive satellite data that we have. Yes, 2.6 inches seems small to me, too. So let's examine that in further detail.

Picture an acre. Have it in your mind? One acre is 43,560 square feet. Yes, I have that number memorized from my days in engineering school. Still, it seems abstract, so let's zoom in. 

For those of you who live in suburban America, your house likely sits on one-fifth of an acre, give or take. So five of the plots of land that your house sits on make an acre. Good. Now rainfall, in both hydrology and agriculture, is often measured in acre-feet. One acre-foot refers to one foot of water depth that covers an entire acre. 

Seawater accounts for approximately 139 million square miles of the earth's surface. There are 640 acres in a square mile, so that makes for 88.96 billion acres of seawater on the earth's surface. A rise of 2.6 inches across this surface therefore equates to 19.27 billion acre-feet of water. Perhaps that number sounds a bit larger than 2.6 inches and more accurately conveys the scale of what is happening.

Furthermore, as the planet continues to warm, sea levels will continue to rise due to thermal expansion of the ocean itself. And because of climate change, glaciers and polar ice caps continue to melt at an increasing rate, driving levels even higher. This is bad news for communities in low-lying areas, including the Seychelles Islands, the Chesapeake Bay region of Virginia and Maryland, the Netherlands, and countless others. And we spend billions of dollars desperately fighting to keep the water at bay rather than changing our energy needs and usage.

Water scarcity. Growing populations, increasing urbanization, and greater industrial use of water further stress the availability of this critical resource. While total water content on the planet remains relatively stable over time, usable and accessible water does not. As we draw more water out of aquifers and reservoirs and drink it, flush it, irrigate fields with it and pump it full of nitrogen, and send it on down the river to the ocean, it ultimately becomes brackish seawater. We can't use saline water for much, short of costly desalination. And we are sending water to the ocean at a faster rate than it is replenished over the landscape as freshwater via precipitation.

https://legacy.lib.utexas.edu/maps/world_maps/water_scarcity_2025.jpg

And before you respond that it's rained quite a bit recently where you live, or conversely, that your region is in a severe drought, let me stress that the overall effect of climate change is to produce greater extremes. Lengthier droughts, stronger hurricanes, more intense rainfall and storms, a prolonged wildfire season, etc. And all of this can be tied directly back to human activity.

The above examples are just a sampling of the current state of the Earth's climate. It's a complex problem. A wicked problem, in fact. We seek economic growth, greater access to food, shelter, and water for all, improved quality of life; all good things. But we are finding it difficult to reconcile the manner in which we go about it with negative long-term effects on the Earth. Let's be clear, though; the Earth will be fine. It is our own position that we make more precarious as we march ever forward in the pursuit of growth and advancement. We scar the world, time and again, and continue to ask it for more. History has shown us that there comes a time when the Earth lashes out.

Deep Roots Are Not Reached by the Frost

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"Deep roots are not reached by the frost."

We encounter another quote from Tolkien. Yes, Tolkien is a favorite here at Deliberately Aimless. In fact, this quote is drawn from the same poem as the one regarding wanderers. It seemed a natural follow-on, but also worth a deeper dive, as it were.

What do you think of when you hear the word roots? Trees, no doubt. Your hometown and your family, perhaps. A vague sense of where you "came from." The band from Philadelphia. Alright, maybe only a few thought of that last one.

Whatever the case, though, the term roots generally refers to some sense of groundedness, of being on a firm foundation. And the goal is to build upon a foundation that cannot be shaken. The focus is always, therefore, on the structure built upon the foundation, and never on the foundation itself. We like to admire the architecture – the soaring rooftops, the walls of glass, the intricate façades – and appreciate the foundation only insomuch as it prevents these architectural elements from crashing down, whether due to wind or seismic or snow loads. 

You see, the foundation enables the construction of what we term success. The visible building is the success. Our public lives are the successes – or failures. What matters in our world is that which can be seen. We do not give thought to that which the visible is built upon – unless it fails.

We recognize that things can come crashing down around us, but rarely do we consider that something can also be upended. The soil beneath the foundation can fail. The foundation itself can fail through tension, compression, shear stresses. Frost can grab hold of the foundation and heave it upward. Yes, even deep foundations – drilled piers, driven piles, etc. – can be reached by frost. 

It's an imperfect metaphor to describe the spiritual in terms of the physical, but it is nevertheless enlightening. Foundations fail – humans fail – because we fight against nature. We seek to build taller structures  in more remote and arduous environments. We seek greater status and wealth. Collectively, we build cities of millions of people in deserts that cannot support them and then transport water to them unsustainably via aqueducts and pipelines (Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Phoenix). We build upon improper foundations and ignore them, until they fail.

Conversely, trees (and other such plants that grow literal roots), do not battle nature. They are nature and are simultaneously one with nature. Roots form a symbiotic system with bacteria in the surrounding soil to aid in the growth of other organisms. Groupings of quaking aspen trees sharing a single root system, known as clones, can grow to cover up to 100 acres of area and live, in one case, for an estimated 80,000 years. The hardy mesquite tree  of the southwest can grow a taproot to depths of almost 200 feet, and its root system can regenerate and keep growing even if the tree above is killed. A firm foundation, indeed.

It is not that trees cannot be uprooted or toppled that makes them remarkable – for they surely can be brought down. It's that they are true to their nature in their growth. One might even say that they are fulfilling their purpose. With few exceptions, a tree builds that which it can support. It seeks that which nourishes it: the sun. It does not grow lofty in order to garner praise. In drought years, its growth contracts and slows as needed. In the cold season, a tree's above ground growth may go dormant, but its root growth can continue on, buffered as it is from the frost via the soil and snowpack. An expansive root system gives a tree its resilience. May we learn to be so resilient.

It stands to reason that this is what Tolkien meant by deep roots not being reached by the frost. In a sense, even the deepest of roots are reached by calamities. There is no way to prevent the frost from occurring, even to depths not previously imagined. But when calamities befall us, when the hard frost comes, we do not utterly fail if we have made our roots resilient. And we make ourselves resilient by being true to our nature, by living with purpose.

On Tolkien, or The Nature of Wandering

"Not all those who wander are lost."

I can practically hear it in Gandalf's voice, though this particular quote did not find its way into the movie adaptations. It's a wonderful phrase from the venerable Mr. Tolkien, though it perhaps has been diminished in our day and age, repeated ad nauseam as it has been on coffee mugs, t-shirts, satchels, bags, and so forth. But don't let its ubiquity diminish its meaning.

From the man who wrote the much beloved The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, he should know a thing or two about wandering, even if by many accounts he rarely ventured far from his Oxford residence in his elder years. His stories are by their very nature about wandering. In The Hobbit, we follow Bilbo and a band of dwarves as they wander their way to the Lonely Mountain to reclaim that which was lost – taken, rather, by Smaug the dragon. In The Lord of the Rings, we follow Frodo and Sam as they venture forth with the One Ring on their wandering way to Mount Doom, a task that they believe themselves entirely unfit for.

Wandering, perhaps, does not convey the right meaning here. Or, at least, it is misunderstood. These characters were, more accurately, seeking, which is to say that they were wandering only insofar as they did not always know precisely where they were going. But they did not lack for purpose. 

Bilbo's task as the burglar may have been unclear to him at times, when he was wandering through the forests of Mirkwood or riddling with Gollum in the depths of the Misty Mountains; but his purpose was quite clear: to help the dwarves reclaim their homeland, a rather noble purpose. In a similar vein, Frodo (and Sam) may have wished to not have the burden of the ring, losing their way often and being caught up in a quest far greater than themselves; but that added weight is precisely what gave their journey purpose. Without the task of destroying the ring, they would have had no greater purpose and would have been reduced to mere wanderers.

And so it is with life, though the difference may not always be as obvious as in literature. Many of us appear to be wanderers and hopelessly lost, when we are, in fact, seeking. Someone fresh out of college, dispirited in their job search and wondering – not for the first time – whether they chose the right major, takes a job at the local golf course until they can find the opportunity they are looking for. Are they lost? Or merely seeking? The answer is not always clear. 

To some extent, nearly all of us seem to be seeking in our own imperfect ways. It's just that one man's seeking appears to another as idleness. And, conversely, one man's seeking appears to the other as desperation. Some wish to keep up with the Joneses, while others have different aims. Neither is wrong. Too often we believe that there is a narrow path to success which must be adhered to, without acknowledging that success looks different to everyone. Different paths cannot simply be written off as wandering.

Some of us are indeed lost, but not all of us. And that does not mean that lost wanderers, once lost, cannot again be found. At times, one must go with the current. At others, one must take the bull by the horns. But either of these actions will take time, and we must do our utmost to be patient along the way. And, as Tolkien's characters demonstrate, the purposes we unearth are rarely focused solely upon ourselves. Sometimes our purpose is to be found by looking to a higher power (or trusting to fate, as some would have it), and striving to be deliberate in our actions but aimless in our direction, so that we may better discern where we are being led. And so we wander, but are not lost. We are deliberately aimless.