Jamie Litton | Professor Michelle Bastian | Exploring Situated Methods | Initial Submission 24 April, 2024
PRINCES STREET GARDENS, EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND
HOLYROOD PARK, EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND
FOCUS / EXPLORATION
The call to “make kin, not cities!” (Houston et al., 2017:190) asks planners and designers to re-evaluate longstanding practices that reinforce human exceptionalism and challenges the status quo by looking to foster spaces that are inclusive of non-humans within city environments. A guiding principle of this call to rethink cities is that of multispecies entanglement which aims to examine situated nonhuman connections. Houston asks planners to acknowledge that their influence extends beyond human lives and into the lives of multi-species urban inhabitants and encourages “connectivity thinking” to develop strategies to incorporate these multi-species relationships within cities (Houston et al., 2017:197).
“On a planet where urban life is driving planetary change and is conditioned by it, re-enchanting urban connectivities through multispecies relationships is a vital component of refiguring rights to the city and finding ethical, just and inclusive forms of urban planning. Connectivity thinking situates urban planning in ecological terms and thus gives us cause to consider how we can develop planning discourses and processes that are alert to, and respectful of, multispecies entanglements necessary for all urban life.” (Houston et al., 2017:197)
Using the appeal for wide-reaching and inclusive processes as motivation, I aim to use Juniper as an approach to guide situated research experiments in the City of Edinburgh. My aim is to investigate existing connections to inform understanding of multi-species entanglement in an era of urbanization and biodiversity loss. The selection of Juniper as a case study is due to its ecosystem significance within Scotland (see Appendix A). Both upright and prostrate Juniper were previously widespread throughout many Scottish habitats, but populations are currently in decline due to human development and changes in climatic conditions (FCS, 2009). While Edinburgh is not Juniper’s typical wildland ecosystem, Juniper still makes its way into the city in a variety of ways.
With Juniper’s diversity of situated significance, my aim is to sit with Juniper using a variety of methods to open insight into ways that connectivity thinking can centralize more than human lives. Looking for ways that life coexists and connects in city environments may advise us on how we can shape cities to promote more entangled, diverse, sustainable futures.
EXPERIMENTATION & METHODOLOGY
To explore the situated relationship of Juniper within Edinburgh, the methodologies I implemented first had the goal of encountering Juniper, then sitting with Juniper. These explorations required physical and temporal commitment followed by method-driven reflection. The aim was to provide insight into how these methodologies can assist in exploring Juniper within the context of multi-species cities, biodiversity loss, and urbanization.
Walking
Initial explorations were done through walking in and around Edinburgh that I believed would be more likely to have Juniper specimens based off initial searches for Juniper distribution in Scotland and personal background knowledge.
Citizen Science
Throughout the exploration process, the citizen science application iNaturalist was used as a tool to familiarize myself with local flora and fauna through plant identification.
Phenology
The act of noticing and recording phenological phenomena was used throughout the experimentation process, with the aim of understanding Juniper within not just a spatial but temporal context. Throughout the experiments, visual shifts from Winter to Spring were noted in a field journal. These include changes in flora and fauna, human activity levels, sound, light, and weather patterns, etc.
Note on Diary Process
Indigenous scholar Kimmerer (2013:385) critiques English grammar rules that exclude nonhumans from ‘proper noun’ capitalizations. Her critique is heavily influenced by Indigenous perspectives that acknowledge equal personhood of humans and nonhumans. Inspired by this analysis, I experimented with capitalizing nonhuman names, attempting to combat human exceptionalism within my own reflective processes and show respect to nonhuman subjects included in this fieldwork diary.
KNOWING & NOTICING
Holyrood Park: February 22, 2024
“To know, in the sense Thoreau developed in these years, is rather to exist in relation with, to be acquainted with, as neighbors are acquainted with one another.” (Case, 2014:119)
Figure 1: The walk into Holyrood Park, February 2024
In an effort to become acquainted with Edinburgh, as Case (2014:119) describes, I left my flat in the city center, and paced myself for a long walk. Quick steps straight downhill led to a short incline, and after that, down zig-zagging stairs between large apartment buildings. The smell of fresh soil greeted me briefly as I walked through a small, wooded area before crossing Queen’s Road and onto the jogging path that curves uphill around the base of the Salisbury Crags. The turf was too muddy to walk on, so I stayed on the pavement.
I veered off the main road. Given a choice, I turned to a gravel path on the left, away from the groups of people heading on the most direct climb to Arthur’s Seat. As I stepped along the trail cutting across the hill, I was surrounded by dense foliage, and I realized I was alone. After a quick moment of dislocation, I reminded myself to ignore my instincts to listen for movement in the brush. I know it as a sign of mountain lions, but that kind of vigilance is not needed in Scotland. I wondered what the equivalent of listening for mountain lions in Edinburgh will be when I am elsewhere.
Figure 2 Mountain lion territory in Holyrood Park, February 2024
My goal that day was to find Juniper, but I knew I was not likely to find any on the shady North-West slope. I continued, pausing to upload some photos to the iNaturalist app (see Appendix C). I was excited to get an identification for Gorses, since the hillsides were covered in their showy yellow displays. The aptly named Scotch Broom with its mostly green broom-like stems and intermittent small, lime green buds was next to be uploaded. Realizing just how unfamiliar I was with the local flora made me appreciate the time and persistence this knowledge takes to acquire. Even a few identifications helped me feel more comfortable, but I wonder how much knowing the names of these plants allows me to understand their place (Altrudi, 2021:125) when I have not seen who flies around them, or scurries under their stems. I did not know when the hillsides began to turn yellow, or when they would stop. I did not believe I could say I “know my neighbors” (Thoreau, cited in Case, 2014:113) when I only had just found out their names. The path led me to a peak just below Arthur’s Seat, so I joined the crowd and stopped to take in the view. Still hopeful I would encounter Juniper on my way home, I kept an eye out while walking beside the sunny Southern slope. Eventually the sheer drop of the hill prevented exploration, so I decided to just enjoy the afternoon (see Appendix D).
Though I did not return to Holyrood Park after my initial visit due to the absence of Juniper, my experience led to a greater understanding of methods of knowing. My unfamiliarity with Scottish ecosystems provided me with insight into methods of connection, and the dedication required to do so. While the enthusiasm I experienced when identifying plants through iNaturalist may be enough to encourage further exploration, as Altrudi (2021:138) explains, the use of iNaturalist does not inherently create more profound feelings of connection with nature. This was reflective of my own experience; my walk through Holyrood Park did not create the same type of relationship I have experienced in other places which I have visited frequently over long periods of time. For example, my initial identification of Gorses was exciting, as I could identify the yellow flowers, but knowing its name did not give me a layered understanding of place. When researching Juniper, however, it allowed me to understand additional connections, such as how the Scottish Wildlife Trust (2018) removes encroaching Gorse around threatened Juniper stands, as they compete for habitat. iNaturalist, in my experience, was best used as a tool to create surface level connections and open avenues of knowing.
Figure 3 My new acquaintances, Gorses, in Holyrood Park, February 2024
Whitelaw (2021:97) eloquently describes different “modes of observation” as “identification of (the classification of observations), or identification with (measuring one’s relation to another organism).” During my walk in Holyrood Park, my iNaturalist-aided identifications of did not necessarily place me within Edinburgh, or in relation to anything I observed that day, but allowed for understandings of later connections. Because I had no history with Holyrood Park, my identifications with were generally made in relation to my own past experiences in other familiar places. For example, my feeling of disconnection that occurred when I entered an enclosed shrubby hillside was reflective of my many experiences in rural California landscapes. This relationship with was not in relationship with Edinburgh, but only existed as a contrast of my past experiences. As someone who has spent an overwhelming majority of my life in places that require mountain lion precautions, it is unrealistic to imagine that with time I would never again feel dislocated in a similar situation. What I do imagine is that with time, a new collection of situated experiences would allow for different kinds of relationships and understandings of place. These experiences would not be based in contrast, but as a continued process over time within a single place. Being open to connections will not create layered situated knowledge within a single visit, but over time may contribute to a more profound connection.
Applying Whitelaw’s (2021:97) “modes of observation”, to Case’s (2014) examination of Thoreau’s Kalendar, Thoreau started his explorations of Concord, Massachusetts, USA through identification of local plants, which over time allowed him to then explore connections and identify with his floral neighbors. Within his account, Thoreau describes how he initially began his attention to plants through walking, identifying, then collecting samples, a form of identification of (Thoreau, as cited by Case, 2014:113, Whitelaw, 2021:97). Quickly, Thoreau moved on to noting phenological phenomena and consistently re-visiting specific specimens (Thoreau as cited in Case, 2014:113). As he began to feel more connected to the places he explored, he inserted himself into relationship with them in his records, noting personal experiences such as temperature and comfort (Case, 2014:125). Even further, he questions the boundary between himself and his neighbors, in defiance of common scientific practices which enforce separation (Case, 2014:123).
As I can relate to Thoreau’s desire to know his neighbors, and questions of how best to do so, following his template of exploration seems an appropriate place to start within the context of Juniper’s relationship to multi-species cities, urbanization, and biodiversity loss. To move beyond my initial surface level connections, as experienced in Holyrood Park, a consistent commitment to exploration will be required moving forward.
Princes Street Gardens
Figure 4 Juniperus communis in Prince's Street Gardens, February 2024
I discovered Juniper at the end of my first walk through Prince’s Street Gardens, close to where I had entered through the gates. I walked all the way through the gardens on a loop, and took my time to check every conifer and planting bed. I almost slipped several times walking across the rain-soaked muddy lawns and got strange looks from pavement-walking pedestrians. Finally, just before giving up, I found a Juniperus communis sitting at the edge of a sloping bed below a large statue. It had been pruned back from presumably extending its reach over the pavement, even though that section of the walkway was protected from the streams of pedestrians by a line of benches. Thankfully, its location meant I wouldn’t have to wade through soft soil on future field visits.
I reached down to touch it, and it pricked my finger. Though Juniperus communis does look sharp, it still surprised me; Juniperus californica are smooth and waxy. My association of Juniper with Juniperus californica was one reason I had trouble identifying the Juniperus communis. I knew that Juniperus communis had pointed leaves and had brought a botanical drawing with me to assist (see Appendix B), but still initially confused it with what turned out to be Yew earlier in my walk. Upon reflection, I recognize this as another moment of dislocation rooted in contrast. iNaturalist confirmed my final identification through its algorithm.
The leaves on the Juniper were wet with rain and shivered in the wind. Icy blue-green new growth at the tips of branches was followed by forest green leaves which hid small olive-green berries tucked at the base of the stems. Closer to the ground, the plant got woodier, and some of the leaves had browned and stayed attached to the stems. A few dead grassy stalks popped through the plant, and one big leafy volunteer was successfully thriving in the middle of the Juniper. Acting as a “nurse plant” is not uncommon for Juniper; in some plant communities, Juniper colonizes steep exposed sites and provides protection and ideal growth conditions for seedlings, often Yew (Thomas et al., 2007:1410).
I strategically snipped off a small portion of the new growth to inspect it further, remembering Thoreau’s cue (Case, 2014:113). Deterred by the rain, I took note of the location and made my way back home with the sample. Each time I walked through the gardens after that day, I uploaded plants to iNaturalist as they caught my interest (see Appendix C). I would often sit on the bench next to the Juniper and take photos and notes of my observations (see Appendix E), or sometimes slowly walk past on busy days when the benches were full. I paid attention to the sounds, smells, colors, blooms, weather, human and nonhuman presences, and took note of how these observations related to seasonal change. I intended to reflect primarily on the life of the Juniper, but due to its relatively slow processes, I found myself observing the park ecosystem that surrounded it and attempted to immerse myself in the patterns of Juniper’s corner of the gardens.
Selected Reflections from Journal Entries: February
Netted Iris are popping up in grassy areas that are still too wet to walk on.
Witch-hazel’s sea anemone-like blooms stand out among bare stems.
White Cherry blossoms have started blooming. Rotating passersby stop to take photographs with them. I noticed that the branches had several red and white strings tied on, which I researched and discovered is a Balkan tradition, Martenitsa, intended to bring prosperity in Spring (UNESCO, 2017).
The sounds of wind and rustling dominate, with the intermittent passing of buses.
Many people walking through the gardens are on their way somewhere, with their heads down, rain hoods up, walking quickly.
A Robin near the steps down to the gardens had a small crowd of people taking photos before it flew away. The Robin didn’t seem bothered by the interaction, so I joined and snapped a photo for iNaturalist. I received four confirmations of Erithacus rubecula.
Selected Reflections from Journal Entries: March
Swaths of Daffodils are followed by white and blue Squills which decorate otherwise leafless and woody planting beds.
A lone Star Magnolia has several blooms, though most of the buds seemed to be waiting.
I can hear the distant sound of the bagpiper at the corner of Prince’s Street and The Mound wafting into the gardens. There seem to be more groups of meanderers, who speak a variety of languages.
It isn’t too crowded to find a seat by Juniper.
Selected Reflections from Journal Entries: April
The buds that were slowly plumping on the magnolias have bloomed into white stars.
Periwinkle Rhododendrons appear alongside the white Cherry blossoms.
Fuzzy fat Bees (that remind me a little of the Magnolia buds) balance on freshly planted Petunias.
The pink Cherry trees are just starting to pop, soft pink blooms with rust color leaves are illuminated by the sun in breaks between passing clouds.
People are lounging in sunny spots on the lawns, as the previously soft soil seems to have mostly stabilized.
Seagulls squawk and soar below the cliffs of Edinburgh Castle, their white feathers a stark contrast to the rough brown rocks.
There are a hundred different bird songs, as loud as the chatter from the people walking by.
Walking through the gardens today I had a handful of spontaneous pleasant interactions with other parkgoers. Spring has not only brought blooms and sun, but apparently chit-chat?
Figure 5 Juniperus communis' planting bed, Prince's Street Gardens, April 2024
The slow humming buildup between Winter and Spring boomed between March and April. My continued efforts to use iNaturalist and observe phenological changes seemed to contribute to a greater appreciation for the coming of Spring. The act alone of sitting with Juniper also seemed to foster a sense of care and interest in its world. Ignoring warnings from van Dooren et al. (2016:8) against unnecessary anthropomorphism, on many days I could almost imagine I was sitting with a companion enjoying the afternoon. Even with these reflections, I do not believe that observation alone would be enough to truly know Juniper, especially in a single Spring. Juniper are extremely slow growing plants, particularly in Scotland where they grow only about 3-5 centimeters per year (Thomas et al., 2007:1414, SWT, 2018). Given its slow growth patterns and long lifespan, it would take many years of sitting with a companion like Juniper to understand it. The Juniper itself seemingly stayed consistent throughout the months, even when the low Winter hum of life boomed into Spring. The unripe berries stayed olive green, and though I did not count, it seemed there might be fewer. The new growth was still icy blue but featured new buds of misty lime green. Several new cones had appeared, hidden among the new growth. Around it, the steep planter bed has filled with white candytufts, lime green leaves, heather, and a Scotch broom.
Further Analysis
As van Dooren et al. (2016:6) describe, the act of passionate immersion goes beyond surface level enthusiasm or encounter; it involves “’thick’ accounts” and explorations of their worlds, including their lives and connections and attachments. My hope in exploring Juniper was that due to its ecosystem significance, it would potentially be an abundant resource for witnessing nonhuman interactions. Unfortunately, I did not find an active swath of Juniper within the city center as I had hoped. I chose to sit with the single Juniper I found in Prince’s Street Garden’s due to its central location and opportunity for interaction within a city landscape. Its small size and isolation did not encourage much visible interaction, which limited my ability to explore direct connections to Juniper outside of research contexts. For this reason, I am left considering what might be different in Edinburgh’s city center if Juniper was encouraged to thrive. While a lone Juniper does not have the capacity to support a vast park ecosystem, Juniper communities provide key ecosystem benefits within many wildland habitats in Scotland. Understanding Juniper within wildland environments may provide a basis to consider Juniper’s potential within urban Scottish landscapes.
Juniper typically form communities that are found on rocky slopes, open woodlands, or as pioneer species in pasturelands (Thomas et al., 2007:1413-1414). The larger the population size, the more likely Juniper is to be able to reproduce (Broome et al., 2007:406). As dioecious plants, Juniper require separate female and male plants for pollination, which occurs through wind distribution (Thomas et al., 2007:1420, FCS,2009:1). The Juniperus communis in Prince’s Street gardens is effectively isolated, reducing its chances of reproduction. The berries, which are botanically classified as cones, may or may not indicate the presence of another Juniperus communis nearby. Juniper cones hold on to pollen for 12 to 13 months before fertilization occurs, and because of this, unfertilized cones may not be aborted until their second year (Thomas et al.,2007:1420). Even then, in Northern areas such as Scotland, unviable cones may not abort or even look very different from the healthy cones (Thomas et al.,2007:1420).
After cones (berries) change from green to blue in their second year, they mature in the fall, and birds and small mammals consume them over the winter (Thomas et al., 2007:1405,1421, Broome et al., 2017:398, FCS, 2009:1). Most commonly, seeds are eaten and distributed by Mistle Thrushes, Blackbirds, Song Thrushes, European Robins, and potentially Grouse and Crested Tits (Thomas et al., 2007:1421). Though I did see Robins and Blackbirds in Prince’s Street Gardens, they likely would not intentionally visit the Juniper until fall when the berries ripen. Juniper also provides sustenance to over forty insects and moths (SWT, 2018) such as Juniper Pug Moths and Juniper Shieldbugs (Newland et al., 2019:110, Thomas et al., 2007:1428). In harsh winters, larger mammals utilize the berries, though large quantities can be toxic (Thomas et al., 2007:1421). Because of these and many other connections, Juniper is considered a key woodland species, and a priority species for biodiversity in the United Kingdom (SWT, 2018, SF, 2024, JNCC, 2007).
Because of aging Juniper stands, under or overgrazing causing poor regeneration, isolation of small populations, expanding tree cover, climate change, and an increase in deadly soil pathogens due to changes in soil moisture, wildland populations are declining as well (Donald et al., 2020, Broome et al., 2017, SWT, 2018). As Juniper is a key element in many Scottish ecosystems, decline means a loss of connections; species that rely on Juniper will have to adapt or disappear alongside it. Unfortunately, the declining status of Juniper in wildland systems seems to be reflected in its absence from Edinburgh’s city center.
Juniper is a key element within Edinburgh, even if its representative in Prince’s Street is largely invisible to passerby. Cultural ties to Juniper can be seen through the consumption and advertisement of gin, which uses Juniper as a main source for its aromatic flavor (SWT, 2018). During Hogmanay, Juniper was traditionally used for the practice of saining, where it is burned in the home for protection, blessing, and cleansing (Watts, 2007:309). Additionally, from spices, jellies and jams, advertisements to abortion pills (juniper oil pills were discontinued in the 1980’s) and business names, Juniper has commonly made appearances in Edinburgh (See Appendix F) (SWT, 2018). It was also used for protection against witchcraft and served as a clan badge for more than one Scottish clan (Kermack, 1946, Martynoga, 2022).
There is a dissonance in Juniper’s prevalence through import and consumption, and it’s all but invisible presence in Edinburgh. Tsing (2010:191) is critical of this type of city-making which isolates humans from the processes that sustain them, stating that “we have built our cities through destruction and simplification, chopping down forests and replacing them with food-growing plantations while we live on asphalt and concrete.” Houston et al., (2017:192) explain how city planning is often based in ideas of “urban exceptionalism” that places cities as outside the influence of ‘nature.’ The exclusion of certain forms of nature through framing cities as inherently devoid of it reinforces insulation and separation of humans and nature. Urbanization born from urban exceptionalism has broken the connection of human practices from their origins and does not acknowledge human interaction with nonhumans as a basis for human life (Houston et al., 2017:193). Juniper’s exclusion from the city could be seen as an example of this type of planning; a plant that was widely used within Scottish ecosystems does not have an equivalent prominence in the city center.
If planning has facilitated the decoupling of humans from the environment they emerged from, how can we imagine a future where these connections are re-established? While Juniper could create human and nonhuman connections, repairing these connections within urban environments requires ethical consideration for practical implementation. When planners consider whether to plant Juniper within a park environment, connectivity thinking encourages a broadened perspective to show that the action of planting extends beyond the plant, and into human and nonhuman life that benefit from it. A swath of Juniper can encourage Robins, Pug Moths, Humans, and Blackbirds to interact within that space. Creation of parks and gardens might be better thought of as creating what Houston et al. (2017:187) call “spaces of encounter,” or places that allow for “coming together of human and nonhuman bodies and things.”
While simply planting Juniper would not create human and nonhuman connection, creating spaces of encounter might encourage dialogue. Tsing (2010:199) gives an optimistic example of how humans can re-establish relationships through examining movements in Japan that create collaborative spaces of encounter in disturbed areas. These examinations show that humans are not inherently destructive, but when existing within, rather than upon or outside of, an environment can be mutually beneficial. In an effort to preserve a particular mushroom in Japanese forests, locals clear forest beds and harvest (Tsing, 2010:199). Similarly, Kimmerer (2013:162) describes the relationship of sweetgrass harvesters with plant health; wildland plots that are sustainably harvested are far healthier than unharvested plots. As Kimmerer (2013:163) describes, “human beings are part of the system, a vital part.”
In their exploration of cultural keystone species, or species that have a disproportionately large influence on situated cultural systems, Garibaldi and Turner (2004:3) describe how cultural and ecological systems interact with one another. “The ethnosphere is born out of the biosphere within which it is situated, but it has its own particular features, history, and development. In its turn, the ethnosphere modifies, manages, and therefore influences the biosphere” (Garibaldi and Turner, 2004:3). Human cultural systems have evolved within direct relationship to ecological systems. These systems continue to exist whether reciprocal or damaging, acknowledged or not.
Given the opportunity to foster reciprocal relationships between humans and nonhumans within urban ecosystems, Juniper might create spaces of encounter with Edinburgh’s city fabric. Juniper thrive given some level of disturbance. As Thomas et al. (2007:1412) describes, there is an optimal level of animal grazing, while too much damages the Juniper, but too little does not allow for seedling establishment. Adopting a connectivity approach might see pruning as a substitute for large animal grazing, encouraging growth and reproduction, rather than solely an aesthetic practice. This, in combination with reintroduction of cultural uses, has the potential to be mutually beneficial. For example, if sustainable harvests were encouraged before Hogmanay festivals, could there be a potential benefit to the Juniper which extends to humans and nonhumans through increased growth and reproduction? Imagining how to re-establish multispecies connections requires examination of human cultural history’s situated interactions with nonhumans (van Dooren et al. 2016:13). Further explorations of Juniper and other key species within Scotland might examine similar cultural connections in more detail. While Juniper connects human and nonhuman worlds, it is only a part of the picture of Edinburgh’s ecosystem. As seen with Ana Tsing’s (2010) exploration of mushrooms in Japan, and Kimmerer’s (2013) example of sweetgrass, implementation of cultural situated knowledge can create mutually beneficial multi-species connection. Within many cities, much of this cultural situated knowledge has been disconnected, and must be reintroduced.
Just as knowing your neighbor’s name, or identification of, does not constitute knowing, simply seeing Juniper, or knowing its name would not encourage identification with. Instead, what if Edinburgh knew Juniper as a plant that Robins visit in Winter, or whose berries could be harvested to add to a stew? Actively creating a world where encountering, knowing, and living in relation with is possible might allow for diverse and equitable urban multispecies worlds that are mutually beneficial. De-centralizing humans through multi-species approaches acknowledges that humans cannot exist in isolation, as we have emerged from a connected world (van Dooren et al., 2016:14). In attempts to create equitable multispecies cities, approaching urbanization through connectivity thinking acknowledges that human and nonhuman connections are not inherently damaging. Combating human exceptionalist urbanization, habitat loss, and biodiversity loss requires and must encourage these kinds of multi-species connections. If we create spaces of encounter, if living with is encouraged, knowing our neighbors might be possible.
APPENDICES
See gallery below.
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