An Introduction to the Language of Biodiversity Literacy by Cori

In one of our initial meeting’s with Will Cresswell, the director of the Vertically Integrated Project “Biodiversity Literacy”, he put the question to us: “Why are you interested in Biodiversity?”

As we circled around the table, I listened to the diverse array of responses, personal, unique and equally-compelling stories of connection, inspiration, curiosity, passion. Now that I’ve had a little more time to let the question settle, and to gain a deeper understanding of this project over the past weeks here are a few more thoughts I’ve had about my answer. A few years ago, keen to read another book from one of my favorite authors, Robert Macfarlane, I stumbled across “Landmarks”. Described as “a joyous meditation on words, landscape and the relationship between the two”, it is a glossary and a collection of words fading from the British Landscape that have historically formed our sense of place and connection.

In the opening pages Macfarlane describes his feelings of both shock and curiosity over the changes made in the revised edition of the new Oxford Junior Dictionary, a widely used textbook of words and definitions for our upcoming generation. Everyday nature words that seemed so important to him, and to me and my childhood, such as “acorn”, “bluebell, “kingfisher”, were being replaced by modern terms such as “broad-band”, “voicemail”, “bluetooth”, these being considered more important and useful for children to know. Now, enrolled in the “Biodiversity Literacy” VIP, I find myself immersed in a module that aims to inspire and engage students in connecting with the language of the world around us. While this might not seem out of place for me as an Ecology and Conservation student, conversations with peers have revealed the stark differences in our perspectives and understanding of the natural world that mirrors these changes in the Junior Dictionary and underlines to me how valuable I find having a sense of connection to the natural world to be within my everyday life.

From the joyous experience of waking up to birdsong outside my window, to wandering along lade braes on my way to class, with an ability to identify and name some of the plants I can forage along the way, and knowing where and when to pick handfulls of blackberries and mulberries when I need a pick me up after a three hour coding lab - all of these experiences are integral to my daily routine, strengthening my connection with nature. And that’s not to say that not knowing names and identifications means that going on walks or being outside is any less beneficial, but for me it adds a deeper level of curiosity and inspiration, a deeper sense of connection to greet things by name almost as “friends” and witness how they change over seasons and years.

One of the most captivating aspects of learning about the natural world so far has been the way the world expands when you walk with someone who is knowledgeable or passionate about it, something I’ve experienced previously in learning how to forage and garden from older friends. Up until now, i‘ve mainly learnt about plants, things you can eat and the british woodland flora and fauna, a familiarity instilled by my surroundings during my upbringing. But now, my world expands yet again as I am introduced to the coastal landscape, the

myriad of coastal birds, and the various of gulls that fit under the wider well-known classification of “seagull”. There’s a lot more than what you notice at first glance wandering along these shores.

Sometimes when walking places, I do plug in, headphones on to listen to my current favourite albums, maybe head down responding to messages. Its so easy to get caught up in the little world i’ve collated within my handy little phone, and sometimes it is necessary. Yet, there’s a unique kind of balance in walking along without any kind of distraction, tuning into what birds are singing and getting curious about what they are. Simply being able to identify a bird's song and knowing that it's a robin, because they are the only ones singing at this time of year, feels like a small but uplifting accomplishment. It's a way to gain a deeper understanding of the intricate world happening around us – a world that's all too easy to overlook.

A revelation to me has been the experience of Bird Walks, something I’ve only ever participated in once or twice prior to the VIP. Okay, I must admit, coastal birds did not initially hold much interest to me. Show me a bird of prey, an owl, a corvid, or the brightly coloured garden birds that visit birdfeeders and I would be fascinated and enthralled - our first walk we had robins, wrens, treecreepers, blue tits and great tits! Coastal birds, in my mind, were mostly grey, white or black, mean looking gulls and blurry shapes out on the water that may or may not be a regular duck. It was hard for me to get inspired at first, especially with the prospect of going out at 8am in the rain to look for these in our second week, but inspiration is infectious, and getting to be out connecting over the different species with people so passionate and excited really opened my eyes. And learning that there is so much more out there to see than the gulls and ducks - curlews with their long beaks, redstarts with their bright red legs running along the sand, and the mystical, otherworldly figures of grey herons - and that, actually, with a pair of binoculars and the right attitude, the “boring” gulls were really beautiful, inspiring birds too! But what resonates with me most during these walks is the presence of place. In taking an intentional hour out of my day to immerse myself in witnessing the species teeming around where I live, I feel an intimate connection with it. It does feel overwhelming - the amount of new species there is to learn, as if I am truly learning a new language, but slowly, slowly, I start to recognise their features a little more.

And I’m inspired and excited to see the ways in which these species change and fluctuate throughout the year. As I currently know certain flowers or plants indicate changing seasons, months and weathers, I am beginning to see this reflected in birds as well. Barnacle geese flying overhead, a phenomenon only seen at this time of year, autumn is here. Bands of smaller birds coming together to feign off the cold and sparsity together, winter is near.

Biodiversity literacy, as I've come to understand it, isn't just about knowing names or facts; it's about forging a deep, meaningful connection with the natural world. It's about rekindling our appreciation for the beauty and complexity of nature that can go unnoticed in our fast-paced, tech-filled lives.

Preserving our language and connection to the natural world is not only essential; it's a responsibility we owe to future generations. In a world where "acorn" and "kingfisher" risk being overshadowed by "broadband" and "bluetooth," nurturing our biodiversity literacy is a powerful act of conservation and a connection to the nature we are part of.

As we embark on this journey of discovery, we are reminded that each bird's song, every budding flower, and every change in the natural world is an invitation to connect, learn, and protect. Through biodiversity literacy, we can bridge the gap between technology and nature, enriching our lives and staying connected to the world around us.

GOLDFINCHES by Mary Oliver In the fields we let them have— in the fields we don’t want yet— where thistles rise out of the marshlands of spring, and spring open— each bud a settlement of riches— a coin of reddish fire— the finches wait for midsummer, for the long days, for the brass heat, for the seeds to begin to form in the hardening thistles, dazzling as the teeth of mice, but black, filling the face of every flower. Then they drop from the sky. A buttery gold, they swing on the thistles, they gather the silvery down, they carry it in their finchy beaks to the edges of the fields, to the trees, ... as though their minds were on fire with the flower of one perfect idea— and there they build their nests and lay their pale- blue eggs, every year, and every year

the hatchlings wake in the swaying branches in the silver baskets, and love the world. Is it necessary to say any more? Have you heard them singing in the wind, above the final fields? Have you ever been so happy in your life? Cori Birkin