The city and the bug: Dragonflies and treefrogs on the roof.

If you think nature is doing better, you probably live in the city 

This document attempts to build a narrative—a story about living in a city and a way to connect to nature in the city. This story takes place in Montréal but can be applied to any city. 

I argue that we should move from the defensive position of protecting every last “virgin” nature reserve at the margins towards an offensive promotion of biodiversity, from bug to bird, everywhere. And the city is a good place to start. 

I also aim to empower each person in the city to know and care for the bugs and plants around them. 

Many people can try this in their own space: gardeners leave a leaf pile for more biodiversity, build small ponds in the garden, keep some fish on the roof, feed birds, open bee hotels and make nest boxes. These small interventions create microreserves of loosely interconnected nature. This in contrast to the dominant model of large nature reserves segregated from the environment we daily live in. By going on the offensive everywhere, we can break down the dichotomy between nature “reserves” and economically valuable land.  

And than you ask yourself : How did we get here?  

At the Rio de Janeiro “Earth Summit” in 1992, 150 governments signed the Convention on Biological Diversity. The Framework Convention on Climate Change entered into force on 21 March 1994, ratified by  197 countries. Nevertheless, this convention has not made much difference in the sixth extinction or Climate crises. 

Will the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework (GBF) make the difference? If the past is a guide for the future, this will only happen when, at the local level, biodiversity is defended fiercely.  

Indeed, Insectagaddon is evident not only on agricultural land but also in the nature reserves that were set up to preserve biodiversity for future generations. All over the world, insect populations are imploding

Draining the land for agriculture, construction, and industry also dried up nature next door. Overfertilization leads to a loss of species in the vegetation that depend on the same groundwater. Pesticides kill indiscriminately. Fences around a reserve do not stop insects or birds from going into the treated areas, don’t stop the polluted water to seep in the environment.

For a species to flourish, nature reserves would need to be interlinked so the species can migrate and link up to other populations of the same species. However, in the current approach, the wild has no “formal” place outside of conservation areas. It is at the mercy of the owner and of economic forces. 

Consequently, outside of the reserves, there is little left of nature: drainage, overfertilization, and pesticides lead to a very narrow ecosystem with little biodiversity. Even well-meaning efforts, such as the rewilding of roadsides, become monotonous overfertilized strips. 

Moreover, as there is no nature to see outside the reserves, there is also little to love. Alienation from nature leads to less mental stability and less activism. Then, when  conservationists visit nature reserves, they plead for more and more extensive parks. But on the way to those reserves there is no exciting wildlife to see: visitors’ excursions bypass the countryside and what used to be the beauty of the land. 

Human activities are increasingly delinked from nature. The wild is increasingly banned to reserves and removed from the city, farm, and daily life.  

A rural brook in an agricultural zone. Too much fertiliser leads to algae blooms, killing most water life

Everything is a bit sacred 

In his essay Good, wild, sacred (1990), Gary Snyder explained how, when he visited Japan, nature in temples and sacred mountains was exceptionally well cared for, but outside of these sacred places, he saw little respect for the beauty and diversity of nature. 

The past decades of nature conservation in the west have gone in the same direction. While nature reserves are better managed and increasingly closed off to guarantee unspoiled wildlife, the rest of the land is commodified into large, monoculture farms and forests. On a giant cornfield, there is very little wildlife, and the soil has lost much of its microbic ecosystem. Weeds have been successfully eliminated and with them the bees and caterpillars living on them. Birds have no business in the cornfield. There is no biodiversity. Successful monoculture: Corn. This is counterintuitive, wasn’t the countryside supposed to be the place to enjoy nature? Yes, we can still enjoy nature, even quite unspoiled, but limited to the reserve separate from the farmland. Or we can try to equal green with nature, and the fields are still green, no? 

The alternative to the prevailing dichotomy is to see everything as – a bit – sacred. All soil, all land should be respected and the biodiversity on it should be promoted, also where we grow corn. 

Meanwhile,  in the city the formal spaces are increasingly interwoven with spontaneous growth and regrowth, with carefully gardened micro-wilds.  An ivy grows on a brick wall. The Ivy is teeming with life: wild bees flourish, a cardinal finds its nest, spiders build their web, sparrows come and go.  It is now easier to find a lovely wildflower between the cobblestones in the city than in a field of wheat. 

A tree in the city has its uses – like shade and air purification – but its primary value is its inherent value as a tree. Every year the tree is more valuable. Its value is also in relation to its surroundings: the neighbourhood, the names carved in its stem, the birds, the insects, lichen on the stem. The tree becomes more sacred for the neighbourhood with every memory attached to it. 

Moreover, public works in the city are increasingly including  a space for biodiversity. 

The mindful city dweller sees the rewilding from season to season, and is invited to participate in the process. 

Karen Armstrong advocates the same in her book Sacred Nature. She explains: “There is also nature in the city, like that tree behind my house. That tree is full of life, birds fly off and on, you see squirrels running into the tree, and the leaves discolour with the seasons. I look at that tree a lot. That’s a small town in itself. I always feel crazy without a book in my hand, but while writing my book, I started sitting in my garden for ten minutes every day without a book. I watch and listen.”

An old tree, a tree frog on a spring day, and a dragonfly are priceless. The monetary value of the Mona Lisa is irrelevant. This makes her more valuable. The same can be said of a tree in the city. 

But, sometimes, if the urban ecosystem needs it, the tree has to go. The tree is only a bit sacred. The urban ecosystem, including humans, is more important than the individual tree. But you need a very good reason to cut it.  

It is only natural, as a city dweller, to focus on the biodiversity where you are, where you can make a difference: in the city. 

Microreserves everywhere

The antidote to the dichotomy of nature reserves or economic use of land is a more offensive approach. We have to take a strong stance: No more. The onslaught must stop. Defend every tree, every bird, every bug, wherever they live. Win some fights, lose most. Nurture nature, wherever it is, or can be. 

This is also more pragmatic than classic conservationism: it is not (only) about creating fenced reserves with total control. Every little step towards more biodiversity is worth fighting for, cherished. 

As with every major crisis, we need to cast a wide net. Yes, reserves must be preserved and expanded, there must be actions to restore biodiversity in agricultural zones. 

And we need action in the city. This is important because it is where most of us live. If we want to love nature, we must be in contact with it. Not like a museum we visit once in a while, but more like clothes we wear and that “give joy”. 

Moreover, as we discussed before, the city is a place where many functions are interwoven: public, private, abandoned and manicured. This chequeredness is ideal for interlinked spaces for wildlife. 

So let us garden the Urban jungle for biodiversity. We can create microwilds, small natural spaces,  and one-species microreserves everywhere we find them and then expand on them. Even just a sparrow is better than no sparrow. Every wall has the potential to be an ivy microreserve for bugs.  The city is a fertile ground for biodiversity activism. 

 Just a lush Montréal street with trees.

A tree is a nature reserve.  

As a child, I loved the Maple tree. I played for hours with the helicopter seeds, throwing them up and watching them spin and fly. The leaf litter was also a source of delight, with all kinds of critters fleeing: from the scary centipedes to the dull woodlice and the sneaky slugs.  

The Maple tree is also an anchor for the broader ecosystem: the silk moth, the rosy maple moth, finches, woodpeckers, and squirrels. It is a species present in mature forests. This means that in the city, a mature tree can be a foundation for anchoring biodiversity, one bird or insect at a time.

In Montreal, where I live,  tree cover is dense and very diverse:  Ash trees, Elms, spruces, Nordic maple, poplar, and so on. The combinations of trees in the streets are endless. And the possibilities to build diverse ecosystems around them are also unlimited.
There is a good stock of old mature trees, 50 years old and counting (forestry is a long-term process, directed to the seven-generation future, which brings us to 400 years). 

The Montreal environment has elements that are similar to an old-growth forest. For example, some trees are old and provide a perch for birds of prey and nesting opportunities for woodpeckers .There is a broken canopy structure:  there is an uneven canopy and treefall gaps. There are smaller trees in the front yards and the alleys in the back, there may be a missing tree after an accident. Rooftops and gardens have a role as a clearing in the forest. 

With minimal effort, additional elements can be created to make Montreal’s urban environment more like an old-growth forest, such as:  

  • Creating nesting opportunities for birds typical for the tree type: warblers, owls, cardinals with bird houses, Ivy on the wall, planting specific shrubs or trees. ,…
  • Using logs from the same trees as outdoor furniture and to border gardens, providing shelter for arthropods and food for the birds and insects that prey upon them. 
  • Installing leaf composters on the roof or in the street creates, in a small way, a forest soil ecosystem, with all the bacteria, mushrooms and bugs it entails.  
  • Temporary ponds, permanent ponds and wet areas greatly increase biodiversity and are especially synergetic with trees, as the combination opens a space for bugs, amphibians, birds and mammals who need both trees and water. The natural landscape in the region alternates wet patches with forest. Many indigenous species need to have both access to water and woodland.  

Interventions can be directed for specific ecosystem outcomes, strengthening the distinct natural identity of the neighbourhood: 

  • Birdhouses for species of birds that would be expected in the tree mix in a particular area. 
  • The right flowers go with the butterflies that, as a caterpillar, eat from the leaves of particular tree species. 
  • Bee hotels for the unique solitary bees that pollinate these flowers. 
  • Leaf composter crates, litterboxes create an environment to breed arthropods, predatory insects or centipedes, and the bugs that feed the birds that nest in the trees.   

This is a vast field of study and an extensive prospect for citizen science. These ideas are not new and are already applied by bird lovers and tree lovers alike, but there is rarely a coherent effort. In the following, I’ll go through some of the basic steps to make this possible, with the goal of showing how an interconnected system can create urban biodiversity. 

Just soms sparrows feeding

Bugs for birds

Insects are not the only ones disappearing in North America. Birds are too. There are now some 30 % fewer birds than 50 years ago. Endangered birds are disappearing, and the more common birds are struggling. So we need to try anything we can to get the numbers up. 

Avifauna is used as an indicator of biodiversity. Often, conservation efforts focus on threatened bird species. These rare birds are not only the object for preservation; they are also an indicator of the state of their ecosystem. But these birds are an indicator of the result but don’t tell the tale of the process leading to it. Protection efforts sometimes fall short as efforts directed at the birds themselves don’t provide the food, nesting, space, interactions, they need. 

To support endangered birds, it is necessary to improve the underlying ecosystem: the soil must have a suitable composition and moisture content. With the right soil microbiome, the right flora can take root (depending on the soil), supporting a community of plants and bugs that then have birds as their apex predator. 

The value of ecosystems lies not only in the vulnerability of some endangered species. The backbone of ecosystems is very pedestrian: it is mostly the ordinary and ugly critters and plants. But who gives money to preserve bugs?

There will be no woodpecker without enough dead wood infested with bugs. No cardinals without caterpillars and butterflies. No wren without brush piles. The early bird gets the worm, but also: without worms, there are way fewer birds, no matter how early or late they are. 

For each biotope in the city, we can identify the birds already present and support them by empowering the neighborhood and creating better environments for these specific species. This means to embrace the existing biodiversity and to tinker with it, adding complementary plants and bugs, so it becomes more stable and supports more diversity. Eventually, attracting more endangered species. 

Small permanent pondlets

Every time I see a dragonfly, I feel wonder and admiration. A mix of art and science. Mechanic, magic, and eerie. 

To have dragonflies, there must be permanent ponds with enough biodiversity to feed the voracious carnivores that these creatures are. They need to be permanent as dragonflies have a multiannual life cycle. 

Natural ecosystems in north-eastern United States and eastern Canada are built around water. Rivers and lakes, ponds and brooks. Small brooks, with water that does not freeze to the bottom in winter, are where a lot of species thrive. The ponds complement the trees and create a more diverse ecosystem. 

However both the countryside and the city are more and more drained. 

When establishing a pond, it is crucial to keep the neighbours happy and start with a healthy population of carnivorous creatures to eat the mosquitos. Indeed, the number of mosquito-devouring creatures in permanent ponds is enormous.  A pondlet stocked with dragonfly larvae will be low with mosquitos.

Fish, dragonflies, salamander larvae and pygmy backswimmers are very effective. Damselfly and firefly also devour mosquito larvae. It is not rocket science to breed fish and carnivorous arthropods like backswimmers. They could be bought commercially or just shared amongst pond custodians. 

When a microwild pondlet is managed to breed dragonflies, this means the food pyramid below the dragonfly is supported, as are the birds eating them. But that’s not all ponds are good for. Dragonflies are just epic. We need more of them. Just like the maple tree helicopter seeds, dragonflies are priceless. 

Frog puddles

When the snow melts, it leaves puddles behind. They dry in summer. But it is in these fishless summer ponds where frogs and salamanders spawn. Mosquitos breed in these puddles as well, feeding birds, insects, amphibians and dragonflies.

Everybody who knows them likes them: toads, frogs, salamanders. Tree frogs (rainette) are creatures from heaven.  

The story of the protection of the chorus frogs (rainette faux-grillon) is telling. “Loss of habitat” is the primary reason tree frogs like the spring peeper, the wood frog, the chorus frog, and the grey tree frog are in danger. 

What is the habitat they need? : 

The gray treefrog may be found in many tree and shrub communities near permanent water. The species usually lives in woodlands but may also frequent orchards. The gray treefrog is a true “tree frog”: it can be found at the top of even the tallest trees. These frogs are rarely seen outside the breeding season. When they are not active, they hide in tree holes, under bark, in rotten logs, and under leaves and tree roots. Gray treefrogs hibernate under leaf litter and snow cover. Their eggs and larvae develop in shallow woodland ponds and marshes, puddles, ponds in forest clearings, swamps, bogs and many other kinds of permanent or temporary water bodies with no significant current, including ponds that humans have excavated.

Wood Frogs breed in shallow (less than 1 m deep), fish-free temporary wetlands within forested areas. They may also breed in flooded ditches, road ruts, ponds and shallow bays of lakes. Wood Frogs primarily forage in forest habitats and hibernate under leaf litter on the forest floor

.

This environment could easily describe the city if we had more ephemeral and permanent ponds. It is surprising how scarce small ponds and frogs are in this city. But every neighbourhood could have at least one dedicated frog pond—a pond without tadpole-eating fish. 

Perhaps the absence of frogs in Montreal and most cities, is because the measures that eliminate mosquitoes also kill the frogs: treating water with insecticide and eliminating stagnant water. It is however possible to support the frogs and eliminate the mosquitos with natural means (see below). 

Sustainable roofs

Everywhere you look, people are already at work on the weekend: tending the balcony-garden, rooftop farm, tending a bird feeder, repotting flowers, you name it. The neighborhood wants more green and is prepared to put in the work.

Every gardener can assemble, grow, and farm their own paradise. Small rooftop interventions can lead to significant increases in the biodiversity of the system: 

  • Having an open water reservoir (if the roof holds) with mosquito-fighting critters, this reservoir can be in the backyard too. 
  • Some summer ponds, or just gullies, can be seeded with carnivores from the reservoir.
  • Vertical solar panels can be used as a railing for the roof, flat ones as a shade for the compost, the ponds or some chairs. 
  • A compost heap and a litterbox give shelter to bug-eating beetles. 
  • An extensive green roof, even if mostly succulents, adds to the diversity, is home to soil organisms and provides nectar for butterflies, bees and hummingbirds. 
  • You can use some fun engineering using solar power and pumps to bring rainwater up for fountains, waterfalls or irrigation. 
  • Nest boxes for the common and less common birds, that live in the tree species lining the streets. 
  • Bee hotels 
  • Some rabbits to ravage the vegetables. 

The objective of rooftop farming is not only food production. Gardening is often an objective on its own. To garden dragonflies and cardinals can be as rewarding as squirrel-ravaged tomatoes. 

An interconnected approach:  an ecological identity for the neighbourhood 

A wildflower patch in the city, with a bee hotel in the middle. 

An interconnected approach is important to go beyond one species. A red cardinal nests in the ivy on the school playground, forages in the trees, and eats on my birdfeeder.  

For a species to flourish, the habitats need to be interlinked so the species can migrate and link up to other populations of the same species. 

The neighbourhood school can bring the different initiatives together. Have a puddle, line the schoolyard with trees, have ivy on the wall, build birdhouses with the pupils, learn how to manage them and bring them home. 

Based on the existing plants and animals in a neighbourhood surrounding a school, some iconic creatures can be selected to focus on the improvement of the ecosystem: some insects, some plants, some macro vertebrates, and some macroinvertebrates.
The idea is to build on existing wonder and expand it. Birds that are already present, seen by everybody, cherished and pampered. The actions that improve the environment for this critical bird also enhance the environment for less known birds and bugs from the same ecosystem. 

Small interventions, like science projects in class,  improve the environment step by step. The residents can see the results quite quickly. 

The trick is to use interventions that impact both the birds and the biotope they live in. Parents get involved and pay attention to biodiversity when making their roofs winterproof. Biodiversity gets introduced into the urban agriculture of the neighbourhood.  

The big picture

To make this vision a reality, the city must provide backbone biodiversity interventions: microwilds with dedicated frog and dragonfly ponds, little wild spaces where plants and insects can multiply to spread in the neighbourhoods, and provide resources for public institutions like schools and hospitals to play a part in this vision.

Yet, an overall plan is not needed. The schools and parents have to come up with their own programs. The urban farmers can document how to grow vegetables and also the effect of the dragonflies on the most common pests. 

Still, a supportive team or organization would make a big difference.  . This team would service the neighbourhood school with scientific knowledge on how to impact with small, marginal interventions and investments. It would study the underlying ecological realities, the interactions and opportunities, so the ecosystem can be tweaked for maximum diversity.This team must also link up to include social support for helping the neighbourhoods to organize.  

But for everyone, there is already a  toolbox of interventions available, from very simple to elaborate, such as bird houses, bird feeders, litterboxes, and microwild pondlets. Interventions that can engage a community with options for everybody, in line with their own levels of engagement. This is something that everyone can take part in. 

Biodiversity is a daily wonder and everywhere. We can nurture it, each one of us, and make it better. Step by step. If we do it collectively, strategically, it can take off exponentially. The city will harbour more biodiversity and be more beautiful for it.  We can use the existing trees and spaces, our knowledge of local wild ecosystems, and the motivation of the communities neighbors and individuals to develop more diverse and beautiful urban wildlife. 

A patch of goldenrod, waiting for wild bees

Annexes

Three garden improvement projects: litterbox, temporary pond and the small permanent pond

The litterbox

Another name is the wire compost bin: just a square, rectangular or round box made of wire

The leaves go in, and nothing much ever comes out except for bugs and biodiversity. Add also the composting material from the roof garden. Just have some litterboxes on the ground level and on the roofs. 

It just works. It shelters the beetles, centipedes, and woodlice a biodiverse and balanced forest needs. 

A permanent pond. 

Permanent ponds present challenges, but they are vital to biodiversity in the city. They breed dragonflies! Growing dragonflies is a 2-3 year commitment. Aquatic creatures with a multiannual cycle need permanent water bodies. Most ponds in the city are immediately big, dominated by large fish, eating all the biodiversity and tadpoles. Small, diverse pools rule. They are small ecosystems that need careful gardening, though. 

They belong on the ground: most roofs will not support a pond like this. This also means that they can shelter land frogs, like the wood frog. Or toads. 

The pool needs to be deep enough to have a good multiannual survival rate. Sixty cm is often mentioned. There is a balance between the optimal depth for wildlife and the safety of the pool. The by-laws might mention some restrictions too. The size is easy: every pool counts; the bigger,  the better. A pool of 1-2 m2 will already be teaming with life. 

It is best to shelter the pond from the midday sun to limit algae growth. Plants will not come by themselves. It is necessary to plant some, balancing green growth with keeping some open water: duckweed, arrowhead, water buttercup, endless options. Keep it simple. If there is too much green, just put it on the compost. 

Some cleaning will be necessary annually, in mid-September. Otherwise, leaves and debris will fill it up fast. 

It would be a good idea to add from the start some mosquito-devouring species (see below).  

If there are enough permanent ponds in a neighbourhood (every 500 m?), frogs are an option too. It is surprising how frogs can survive in some cities. It is remarkable how few frogs there are in Montréal. 

It is heartening how many of the water insects will manage to colonize from other locations. Many of the water bugs, like dragonflies, backswimmers and water beetles have wings for part of their life cycle. 

The gully, summer pond or ephemeral pond

The ephemeral or temporary pond, is a water body of 15-30 cm deep, left behind by the melting snow and drying up after 4-5 months. It is one of the most typical elements of the ecosystem of Québec. Meanwhile, they are very rare in the city. Probably fear of mosquitos. It is in temporary ponds where most frogs in Quebec breed. 

A gully is all you need if you don’t want fish or are happy with only visiting dragonflies. 

The gully is also the preferred breeding ground for tree frogs and wood frogs because they don’t contain fish. By mid-summer, they could be repurposed for growing vegetables or just for a fun water fountain in the garden. 

To keep the mosquitos in check, it will be necessary to seed the gully with carnivores. The easiest way is to seed the gully with bugs in spring, and they take flight when the gully dries up. Just some water and water plants from a permanent pond often contain enough of them. 

In full management, you could put carnivores in for spring, and take them out for fall. Small local fish (brook stickleback) or even alien fish (like mosquitofish) come to mind. The gully can also be a part of a more elaborated system, with urban agriculture or water features.  Brook stickleback could be somewhat compatible with frogs. 

Controlling mosquitos

To control mosquitos, insecticides and BT are the “normal “way to go. Spraying insecticide or BT seems to satisfy most of the demand. And eliminating stagnant water of course.

Research on biological control, through predators, is limited. Just enough to get a general idea of what works. There is also lots of experience from people observing their own pond. 

A stable, permanent pond, with diverse wildlife (even with only invertebrates), experiences few “mosquito blooms”. Dragonfly larvae, backswimmers, and water beetles come by air and stay. Do their job. 

It is necessary to ramp up predatory capacity fast in spring. Insects breed faster and more than vertebrates. 

A fish pond or a frog pond? Choose!

A pond with goldfish will always be nearly mosquito-free. But there will also be very few tadpoles and biodiversity.

Small fish, like brook stickleback, attack tadpoles too, but much less so. Mosquito fish could be added in summer. They control mosquitos and eat tadpoles too 

The best control is probably with Salamander larvae, but they eliminate tadpoles too. 

Water insects 

Dragonflies and Damselflies need years to multiply, but the larvae in the water are active from early spring. Breeding and seeding backswimmers would be an elegant option. The Pygmy backswimmer seems to limit itself mostly to mosquitos, leaving the tadpoles in peace. 

More experimentation is needed. This could be a field for citizen science too. 

The knowledge about predator-prey relations is sufficient to manage any pool for controlling mosquitos. And if things go wrong, it is always possible to add a goldfish. 

Concluding : The power of language and the beauty of naming

Human language is also a part of the urban ecosystem. Only when we use the right words we can talk with precision about what is happening, what is important and what not. How we talk about our environment defines how we relate to it, and integrate in it. 

Where better to learn this language than at the same schools. 

In his book Landmarks, Robert Macfarlane remarks how important it is to be able to name something even to see a difference. If a forest can only be described as “a bunch of trees”, it is different from a forest with birches, beech, oak, and maple. You can paint a fuller picture if you know more about each tree’s needs, lifecycle, problems, and which birds and insects live on the tree. Black and white, gray, becomes a rainbow.  

When the Oxford Junior Dictionary dropped 40 nature related words, he wrote a book for school children specifically about these Lost Words:   acorn, adder,, dandelion, fern, heron, kingfisher, newt, otter, willow,… 

The city ecosystem is already quite diverse, but this diversity is often accepted as a blank canvas. It is difficult to paint with our words a bird on the canvas if I don’t know their name, where they live, and what they do for a living. When every bird is just a bird, the birdfeeder is boring. If every lane is lined with “trees”, they are “just” green. Not 50 shades of green. Not  50 different biotopes. 

It is not too far-fetched to learn to name the wild in the city: the ten most common species or families of any class on an urban sidewalk will be close to 90 % of the individuals of the class encountered.

Indeed: recognizing maple, elm, ash, spruce, oak, poplar, and linden will identify most trees along the street. So, first, learning to recognize the ladybug, and later we can learn about the 11 species of ladybug in Montreal.

My dog, COVID-19 and me

I have been working from home since the lockdown. So I wake up, tend my milk kefir (and drink a glass of it), walk my dog briefly in the countryside behind my house where she tries to chase some ducks, and where I make a wide circle around other humans, I feed the chicken (the shed also has some bats living in the roof) and prepare breakfast with some bacon and sourdough bread.

Chicken fleeing human and dog, afraid to catch a bug.


While eating breakfast and scanning the news, I am distracted by articles from people who see their existing opinions confirmed. Biologists talk about the danger of zoonosis (illnesses jumping from animals to humans): the cause of this zoonosis is an encroachment on natural habitats, forcing animals to live amongst people. For others, the wet markets are the cause of the disaster: wild animals should not be hunted or mixed with farm animals. Meat-eating and industrial meat production are blamed, but also globalization, global trade and tourism. Others blame small-scale, unregulated mixed farming for mixing people with animals too closely.  Anti-globalists, Marxists, nationalists and racists have a field day: Coronavirus confirms all opinions. And indeed, all opinions have seeds of truth. A very partial truth.

Me as an ecosystem

As I eat my breakfast and distract myself from having to start work, I think about how I myself am an ecosystem of lifeforms. The symbionts and parasites living in my gut, in, and on my body make me what I am. So far this morning, I interacted with my gut, dog, chicken, kefir, cow, sourdough bread, a bat, and pigs. Each one of them are diverse ecosystems on their own, but also part of the ecosystem that I am.

The ecosystem in my body is in a dynamic balance, and therefore it can fight off intruders quite well. Because there are so many good bacteria, the bad ones have little chance. 

Viruses evolve everywhere, but humans transmit them to me. 

The bacteria in my gut and their viruses can exchange genetic material, making harmless bacteria suddenly lethal. I remember my professor in Animal Health, years ago, referred to E. coli as “mostly harmless”. This was before nasty, virulent, antibiotic-resistant strains evolved. Evolution can also make bugs more useful, better for us, better at fighting off lethal bugs, better cheese, bread, cider. 


I cough in my hand, my dog licks me, and afterwards, I touch my face again. This is what people do. I was more afraid of the humans during the walk than of my dog. I was not afraid of the bat in the shed. While Covid-19 might have started as a zoonosis, now transmission happens mostly from human to human. 

If you get sick from a transmittable disease, you probably caught it from a human. Normally transmission is easier the more similar animals are. The line between zoonosis and transmittable disease is in some way just a classification. Where do you draw the boundary? When tuberculosis evolves within our human community to a multi-resistant strain, savaging the third world, we don’t give it a new name.   

We co-evolve 

When I look at some past zoonosis—Swine flu (pig), SARS (bat), bird flu (chicken, duck), smallpox (cow)—my dog (rabies) and I were having a dangerous adventure this morning. It was Mad Max just to prepare breakfast. 

When I walk in the countryside, there is fresh slurry on the fields, from the pig farm nearby. It creates a primeval soup where all kinds of microbes can grow, interact, and exchange genetic material.

However, I felt safe. I was safe. I am in a shell formed by my own biome, surrounded by protecting shells of increasingly bigger, biodiverse shells. 

Humans co-evolve with zoonotic parasites. Some of these parasites, such as liver fluke, have a life cycle that is just too cool, as long as you are not part of it yourself. Snails in the water contaminate vegetables we eat. In our gut, the parasite moves to the liver and eats it, and the eggs go back to the gut, to the water, to the snail. Toxoplasmosis is a cat-mouse-human story, rumoured to lead to risk-seeking behaviour in mice so cats can catch them—but also in humans, with perhaps half of the global population of humans infected.   

Most zoonoses are mostly dealt with by our standards of ecosystem management.  Wash hands, slaughter with clean material, cook meat, cook veggies, spray against mosquitoes, don’t swim where there are snails. Most of the time, people don’t die. Often, people do die, and then we mourn but have no choice to keep going. 

Our health systems are co-evolving with the bacteria and germs. As long as evolution is gradual, we don’t even notice. But sudden jumps take our health systems by surprise. 

Burning the bat cave. 

Attention goes to where the news is.  Today, we focus on this new viral zoonosis. This one comes from faraway dark places, where unknown wild animals and strange customs combine to frightening and foreign diseases. Humans (them, not us) should stop encroaching on “nature’ and abandon their evil ways. Industrial agriculture, with its massive factories full of monogenetic pigs, fowl, is spawning new and terrible disease. If close contact between pigs and humans gives us the flu, we would be expected to respond by building more hygienic, impersonal meat factories, not family farms with farmers in harmony with cute and cuddly animals. Health and safety regulations are drafted. 

Likewise, if wild animals give us deadly viruses, the expected response is to exterminate them. If we don’t, if we simply put them away in a nature reserve, the danger would always be lurking, dark and ominous. Similarly, before long, we’ll start burning bats in their caves. 

These responses are, of course, based on some truth. The more animals live together, the more chance there is that a virus develops. The more humans live in close quarters, the faster a virus will mutate. And when you mix animals and humans, there are more chances something new will jump.

We live in a world with bugs and bats and pigs and dogs and humans. And all of them bring their own risks and benefits. Benefits for the whole of the system risks for everyone else too.  And all of them also bring a seed of something that can destroy humanity. 

And yet, to have this worldview requires looking at nature as foreign, harmful and dangerous, something we should control and fix. But there’s another way of looking at the same issue, and that is as nature being part of us. And that kind of perspective starts with our own microbiome. 

Lines of defence: Our own biome is the first step, but not enough 

A new pandemic, out of the blue, transmitted from an animal, is not something you care about as an individual. If you look at the important ones: Covid-19, Spanish Flu, HIV-AIDS, Smallpox, The Plague… The chance that they happen is perhaps one in a billion. Nothing for my dog, nor me, to worry about for ourselves. But humanity should worry. The chances are slim that the bug jumps from this bat to me, here, now. A Chance in a billion, but we humans are billions, and there are a lot of animals, so regularly  a jump of a virus from an animal to a human is bound to happen. And once adapted to humans, transmission from human to human is easy.  Yes, there is a low probability, but a pandemic is can be fatal. It is not a relevant problem to me as an individual, but it is an existential risk for humans as a species. So we need lines of defence, as individuals, and as a community. 

Our first line of defence is our biome. Taking care of a diverse ecosystem in my body and around it. This helps us resist disease and build a tolerance. So we should not put nature in reserves and make our homes and the barn totally aseptic. Because, if there is no diversity, and our guards are down, the bad bug will come in roaring like a dragon. Nothing can stop it. 

Knowledge

But there are still risks. We have to know how to keep the sty, stable, and home relatively clean, and we learn to wash our hands. So we start managing our environment, mindful of keeping the biodiversity while limiting the pathogens. 

Homo sapiens is the knowing one. Knowledge is our strength to work with the environment. Stupid approaches are simple: one bug, one drug. Ecosystem gardening can only happen when we know a lot about the bug, a lot about the environment, and a lot about ourselves. Driven by knowledge, we can change our behaviour as a social group. We learn that washing your hands after going into the garden or the farm prevents diarrhea, not only for ourselves but also for our friends and family. We learn that eating enough fibre leads to more stable gut flora. We learn that we can bring down the probabilities, but that we never have iron-clad security. 

So, the human approach for defence is based on the knowledge leveraged by the different interwoven ways humans interact with each other and the environment.

Community action is a second line of defence. The knowledge that we need to stay at home, wash our hands and to keep the social distance is useless if we don’t apply this as a community. We act as a community and wash our hands even if we are not old and frail because communities take care of all their members. 

People keep an eye out and step in when they see newspapers are not picked up, garbage forgotten. Scouts volunteer to do the shopping for the elderly, we organize the bear hunt for the children. The village doctor/health center gives primary care and refers people to hospitals when needed. Community, experience, research and education is the basis of how we can respond to the crisis. 

Collective action at scale

But things can still go wrong. Sometimes a virus still jumps, or something happens that we previously knew little about—a cholera epidemic, for instance. And our community institutions are totally unprepared. Elderly care homes are unable to keep seniors from getting infected, we don’t have the infrastructure to prevent cholera from spreading in the water system. 

As a last line of defence, we need an organized network from the local level to the global level for observation of trends, rapid reaction, research, local, national, and global response. Like a Tsunami warning system, this network must be kept on its toes, even if nothing happens in a hundred years. This is difficult. In the East, the response to SARS led to preparedness for COVID19. In the West, the preparations for SARS were forgotten and abandoned. Do these lines of defence work perfectly? No. But as we did not go extinct yet, they did the job.  

Luckily, globally, the WHO exists, but it should be expanded, given a bigger mandate, and be more accountable. In so many countries all the necessary institutions are in place—they just don’t have the support and safeguards needed to react in time to a pandemic. In some countries, they were curtailed, and a lot of countries cannot afford them. In the pandemic, we help each other, as an individual, and as a country, because we cannot afford to have one going down and affect the others. But also, because we share our humanity. To fight the pandemic there needs to be sufficient trust that we will not be left behind if we do what is right for the global cause, but hurts us today.   

The pandemic is a good example of how society works: humans are individuals and have agency, but they are also part of a community. For every level of risk in this pandemic personal agency is important, but as an outbreak leads to a pandemic and has increasingly more impact, we need to be organized with common purpose at every level of community: the neighbourhood, transparent global research networks, and governments that can promote and impose legitimate collective action, on health care, economy, social distancing and safety nets.    

For those who can’t bother with the messy politics of collective action, escape is the solution: some plan on moving to Mars. It might be a good idea for some, but not for me.

I like to walk my dog in the morning, and I take the risk.