For several years now, I have been reading these early theorists, thinking that their vision of geological and evolutionary time might give me a context for understanding not just the age of mountains but something more current. It’s one thing to hear of the millions of years it took the Andes to rise; it’s quite another to hear that, in mere centuries, the oceans may reach levels of acidity not seen in 300 million years, or that the earth is the hottest it has been in the past 125,000 years. These days, geological forces, formerly the stuff of earthquakes and volcanoes, have escaped the confines of deep time to present themselves daily, winter, spring, summer, and fall.
In the 1980s, as Americans were swept up in a fitness craze and growing obsession with personal wellness, self-betterment projects extended from the outdoors to domestic interiors. Bathrooms in particular got larger and larger (some large enough to do cartwheels in), as did bathtubs and showers. Interior designers promoted renovating one’s bathroom to feature the latest high-tech gadgets and encouraged people to reconceive of these spaces as “luxury spas.” These architectural changes imagined that media practices and hygiene practices could seamlessly coexist. Over time, bathroom culture expanded well beyond basic hygiene.
I can trace my personal descent into what science journalist Ed Yong calls “birder derangement syndrome” back to when I started referring to myself as a “sewage lagoon aficionado.” It wasn’t just that I had taken to setting my alarm for 4 a.m. during spring migration to be in position just in time for the peak dawn chorus, or that I was cancelling all non-bird-related social engagements in May, but that I had started planning vacations around proximity to wetlands and sewage lagoons to maximize roving insect populations, which translate into bird sightings.
I wasn’t always like this. I used to be what some might call a “normal person”—waking up at civilized hours, going to the movies, and wearing something more presentable than ultraviolet-safe hiking pants with a bird-themed T-shirt, trail shoes, and a Tilley hat. But I’ve realized that I’m at my best when I’m birding: curious, my sensory antennae on high alert, attuned to the nuance and detail of the world around me, fully present. I agree with Yong that birding is “more meditative than meditation.”
Thanks to Edmond Albius, an unsung Black botanical genius on the French island of Réunion in the 19th century, vanilla literally flowered. And thanks to Gaëlle Bélem, the Réunionese novelist long-listed for the 2025 International Booker Prize, Albius’ remarkable story has found its champion.