I first became aware of the biodiversity of a building when I lived in Warsaw, on the top floor of a four storey social housing block. It was a marvellous little apartment looking onto a wonderful 'square' of grass, replete with huge Elm tree and various shrubs. The life that I encountered in and around that flat was often more non-human than human such was the proliferation of green. All manner of birds made the square their home, and nested in the strangest of places, including air vents (blue tits), the eaves (sparrows) and the trees themselves (magpies, woodpeckers et al.). When I returned to Glasgow, I was immediately disappointed with the lack of biodiversity in my courtyard. I had found a little flat in Cessnock, top floor social housing again, that looked onto a slightly smaller square of green. Granted, the courtyard had just been renovated from a wash of middens and concrete, and the council had planted birch trees (they grow quickly) and hedgerows. Soon, within a few years, the birds started coming. Even a pair of seagulls took to the roof and made it their home for 6 months of the year. Blackbirds and sparrows (the most recent visitors) regularly dive in to the courtyard for a butchers, checking out the lawns and the hedges for titbits. Wood pigeons and as well as the more common pigeon regularly come in too, and generally speaking, the neighbours too, especially those who live on the ground floor have made a real effort to welcome in our non-human brethren by planting shrubs and plants that can offer solace and food to these winged visitors.
In terms of 'architecture', space is vital. Not just for humans (let's not forget the dialectic of being human: that you are only human in contact and conviviality with what is not human), but for birds and other animals. Indeed, the French architect Corbusier noted that green space was as vital to the building as the bricks themselves. Nevertheless, you could be forgiven for thinking the opposite when wandering around some of Glasgow's housing schemes ('Spot the Tree' is a game I play), or any city for that matter.
What struck me about Warsaw and Varsovians was immediate: that they had this space, this vital space, in place. Courtyards were overflowing with trees and grass, shrubs and all manner of plantlife. Naturally, insects too, butterflies and birds abounded. Trees had buckets tied around them filled with leftover bread urging locals to please feed the birds (Warsaw winters were horrendously cold). Strings of fat hung from branches, and communal squares (which were actually gardens) had all manner of bird feeders and water baths. The birds loved it, and they showed their love by roosting in the architecture.
After three years living in one of these social housing 'squares', though my knowledge of the Polish language was pretty lamentable overall, I found myself speaking 'Crow' (Warsaw is a corvid crossroads like no other), 'Kafka' (the Polish word for Jackdaw), and 'Woodpecker' (an astonishing variety of woodpeckers even within the city limits) to a pretty proficient standard. I had always thought of language as a uniquely human faculty, but of course I was young and stupid and so 'up my own arse' in terms of 'human superiority' that I could not see very far beyond my own broken nose. I now talk to birds as well as humans, and sometimes they talk back.
In his wonderful book The Ecology of a Summer House, the American naturalist Vincent Dethier makes a note of the plant and animal life that make of his Maine summer house their home during the year. It is a fascinating account of a biodiverse home that has been recognized as such. I am all too aware of people who when they see a spider crawling across their living room carpet make a mad dash for the newspaper. Yet, it is a blessing to have such creatures in your home (unless you live in Australia!). Think about it. They have chosen your home to settle into. When I lived in Jizan in Saudi Arabia we had gekkos coming into our bungalows, and wild arabian dwarf bees nesting in our football goal posts. I was amazed at the number of so-called intelligent people whose immediate reaction was one of fear or murder. The unknown scared them, these big galoots. Their ignorance of the animal world simply revealed an ignorance of their very own selves. I mean, how can you be scared of a bee? Ok, a few thousand bees is a different matter, but they're not concerned with you unless of course you disturb them. The same goes with most animals and insects that come into your home. They know you're there. The last thing they're going to do is jeopordize their tenancy!
Ever since I moved into my flat here seven years ago, I have not killed a single fly. Perhaps, this is because my knowledge of flies (and myself) is a little bit wider than what it used to be. In fact, Dethier himself wrote a book called To Know a Fly. The problem we have here in the west is that we think we have better things to do than to get to know a fly. Yet, getting to know a fly is possibly one of the most amazing things you can do. It gives you insight, knowing a fly. It gives you wings learning that a fly and you are not so far apart.
So, next time, you're ready to squash a poor insect for nothing more than finding your home a pretty good environment to co-habit, or in the case of flies or wasps, getting lost behind those diabolical panes of nothingness (how frustrating must that be?), spare a thought for biodiversity, for all life-forms (ugly and beautiful); imagine how you would feel stuck in a glass box that you can't get out of, headbutting nothing until your brains fall out. Our winged brethren, whether a wasp or a bird, share with us and all animals the horror of being trapped. But you have the power to liberate....
to liberate your Self, through the freeing of a fly...
Think about it..
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