Nina stands next to a giant redcedar, BC (photo by Anne Voute)
.
It’s been a few months since I moved back to British Columbia from Ontario.
I don’t have a place to live yet (currently crashing at a friend’s place, thanks to her kindness), but it feels right. And, more importantly, it feels like home.
.
Nina, early days in BC (photo H. Klassen)
.
I first came to BC over five decades ago, shortly after I graduated from Concordia University in Montreal. I started my first teaching job at the University of Victoria on Vancouver Island, first worked as an environmental consultant in Richmond, met my husband-to-be in Vancouver, wrote and published my first novel in Delta and raised my son in the village of Ladner, overlooking the Fraser River Estuary. I have deep nurturing roots here with family and friends. And wonderful memories.
.
Various winter scenes in Ontario (photos by Nina Munteanu)
Nina ‘snowbear’ enjoys a winter storm, ON (photo by M. Cox)
Hayes Line Road in the colours of autumn, ON (photo by NIna Munteanu)
.
As the seasons progress, I find that I do miss aspects of Ontario. I left behind a rich environment that closely reflected where I’d grown up as a kid, in the Eastern Townships of Quebec: the cold crisp snowy winters and colourful windy autumns of maple-beech forests. These feel like home too. I spent many days driving the country roads of the Kawarthas without a map, looking for adventure and a cup of good coffee at the end of it. In winter, I daily walked through knee-deep snow in magical forests, snow glinting under the moonlight. I frequented several favourite forests over the seasons, some old-growth like the Catchacoma old-growth hemlock forest, the Mark S. Burnham Maple-Beech-Hemlock-Cedar forest, the pine-cedar mixed forest of Jackson Creek, the Trent Nature Sanctuary cedar-pine mixed forest and the South Drumlin Maple-Beech forest. These, I will miss. They were a life-line to a sacred and holy part of my existence.
.
Nina studies a lilac bush, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
.
I am building new memories of this new-old home, with more mature eyes and mind. When I left BC 15 years ago after my divorce, and son studying at university, to seek adventure across Canada (I spent several years on the east coast in Nova Scotia), I finally settled in Ontario, where I found fulfillment teaching at the University of Toronto. It was there, in Ontario, where I honed my ecological knowledge and rekindled my love for lichen and fungi. I immersed myself in their study and rediscovered a fascinating miniature world. I studied trees with more diligence, identifying virtually all the key species in the Carolinian forests I visited—and the fungi and lichens that grew on them and around them. I’ve become something of an expert in lichenology, able to identify many of the species I encounter, and also to understand their complex and fascinating ecology.
.
Various lichens, from top left: Punctellia reducta, Xanthoria elegans, Rizocarpon geographicum, Cladonia uncialis, and Cladonia pyxidata (photos by Nina Munteanu)
.
I now bring that new knowledge and appreciation back to coastal BC—my old and new home— with an excitement for more adventure in its magnificent rainforests, its small rural communities and coastal villages—and the cup of coffee at the end of it.
Port Renfrew, BC (photo by Nina Munteanu)
.
Nina checks her camera, Highland Creek, ON (photo by M. Cox)
.
p.s. When you know what to look for, you will see it; not before. That’s likely a tautology; but I found that it has applied to me over the years. And nowhere has it been more obvious to me than in my travels across Canada. My first trip across Canada was five decades ago, as a young sprite, heading west to do my PhD. I went by train and, though I saw much beauty, it passed me at speed. When I drove east to the coast, I recall lots and lots of trees, little else. But, my recent trip west from Ontario was landmarked with a new knowledge and appreciation for so many more layers of my environment; it became eye-opening. What I’d only remembered in the past as “so many trees”, became a fractal journey through boreal layers. I saw so much! I discovered so many ‘friends’: lichens, trees, rock formations, environments that I’d identified in my previous adventures. I became excited by it all. I was in a constant state of wonder. This was how I needed to see Canada. With a wide-open mind and the spirit of adventure.
I look forward to re-immersing myself in these coastal BC ecosystems with that same new understanding, and better informed eyes and mind.
Let it be.
.
Heron oversees activities in Ladner Marsh, BC (photo by NIna Munteanu)
.
Nina walks Highland Creek, ON (photos by M. Cox)
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press(Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her latest novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
Some years ago now, when the Dalai Lama was attending the 2009 Vancouver Peace Summit, he was quoted as saying, “The world will be saved by the western woman.”
This set the media buzzing on what His Holiness meant and—perhaps more importantly—how his statement resonates with us, and how his “call” affects the western woman.
Marianne Hughes, executive director of the Interaction Institute for Social Change (IISC), pondered the idea of the aging woman as hag (originally a representation of feminine power) and how it relates to the Dalai Lama’s statement on her blog. “I’m not entirely sure what [the Dalai Lama] meant,” said Hughes, “But I am wondering if when he travels across the globe and sees so many of our sisters impoverished and repressed he sees western women of all ages in a position to speak out for justice and to take on the responsibilities of “the hag”… to take loving care of the planet and its people.”
The original meaning of the word “hag” in Gaelic originally referred to a saint with great powers who was responsible for the land, the waters and the people. The term has since been distorted through patriarchal propaganda into something far less flattering and powerful. The “Hag” is currently being redefined as a strong, beautiful and ageless woman and has its similarities with “the Crone”, the third stage of a woman’s life and evolution from maiden to mother to crone. Postmenopausal women currently comprise the largest demographic group in America. With our increased lifespan, the ancient tripartite divisions of Maiden, Mother, and Crone are more meaningful in women’s lives as the Crone stage occupies one third of our lifespan. Moreover, our current Crone generation (those born in the forties and fifties) is the first in the history of humankind that can claim (and has already claimed) economic autonomy and power.
According to Dr. Linda E. Savage (author of “Reclaiming Goddess Sexuality”) “Each stage of a woman’s life is organized around what Goddess Cultures called the blood mysteries: menarche, (the first monthly flow of blood); childbirth, which is accompanied by blood from birthing; and menopause, when a woman’s “wise blood” remains inside her to give her wisdom. These are still powerful landmarks, which profoundly influence women’s lives. They function as psychological gateways to the change in consciousness required by each new stage.”
Savage describes the Crone as a powerful shamanic figure in society: “The developmental task of the Crone Stage is sharing wisdom. In Neolithic times, Crone women were the tribal matriarchs. Their heightened awareness of human nature yielded great insight and they were the source of wise counsel for important decisions. Spiritually, this is the Mastery phase. The Wise Woman teaches knowledge gained from her skills and life experience. It is a time of reaching into her spiritual depths, utilizing her powers of intuition, and finding meaning in her visions from the dream world. Some Crone women are masters of healing at the highest level. The Crone Stage of life, more than any other, is a time of giving back to society the cumulative wisdom of the years. Many women have an urge to speak out, to organize others, to take action. They have the energy to get more involved in the world-at-large. It is often Crone energy that leads to changes being made in society. As the Crone woman moves further into her life path she feels the urge to teach others and to cultivate her passions. It can be the most productive time in womens’ lives.”
Crone energy isn’t necessarily limited to Crones. It is an energy that may be carried by anyone at any age. Ariane de Bonvoisin, writing for the Huffington Post, made the following observation:
“Most people I meet have a new fear—the fear of not being relevant, the fear of not making a difference, the fear of working on things that don’t really matter in the important times of transition we live in. We’re hungry to be part of making things better. We want to create, we want to do what we love again and find our voice. We sense intuitively that we have a critical role to play in shaping the future of our world. And yet, so many of us give in to excuses of not being good enough, young enough, smart enough, wealthy enough, creative enough. We still play small, still give in to the ‘victim’ archetype. We still buy into what society’s beliefs are and put them right above our own. But we don’t really have time for these fears. If I could create a vaccine, instead of the flu one, I’d create one against fear. It’s what holds us back, every one of us, in every area of our life. And, while we’re holding back, time just moves on faster than ever. We are at a critical time in the evolution of our planet, a time where each one of us is waking up. We feel it.
Our intuition is growing more acute. Our inner microphone, as I like to call it, is getting harder and harder to turn off, so that we can’t just go along with our normal day. There’s a rise in consciousness where we feel more connected to others, a part of something bigger going on, where we each have a role to play. The most important thing isn’t to get the promotion, or stay in the marriage, or lose those 10 pounds. The most important thing is for us to remember who we are—why we are here—to do the inner work and find what are our ‘spiritual’ reasons for being on the planet. Yes we do have something great to accomplish. Now. At any age. Wherever we are.”
I found yet another revealing comment on her blog post that reminded me of another statement by His Holiness: that the next Dalai Lama might be a woman. The commentator told the story of the Buddhist Goddess Tara, who is highly revered in Tibet and was a most promising student of Buddhism. The monks told her she should come back as a man so that she could reincarnate and finish her spiritual journey and become a Buddha. She responded that male/female has no meaning since spiritual beings have perfectly balance aspects of both and in reality can incarnate as either gender. She made a resolution to always come back as a woman. I see this proclamation as a metaphor for choosing “feminine wisdom” or “Goddess Wisdom”, represented by the depth of forgiveness, kindness, tenderness, openness, vulnerability, tolerance, honor, integrity, sacred courage, humility, trust and faith.
So, why “the Western Woman”? We are not particularly known on the globe for these traits, nor does the western philosophy we espouse typically embrace these ideal traits. The western woman has more often been stereotyped (and vilified) with the following characteristics: vanity, pride, shallowness, self-centeredness, self-serving ambition, competitiveness, and pettiness.
While we can, in fact, accept these as our stereotypic weaknesses (it is part of our shallow consumer culture and capitalist model, after all), it is for this very reason that the western woman represents the salvation of the world. Not only do we have the means, as Marianne Hughes pointed out, but we are in the best position to convince.
We are the necessary paradox that spawns evolution. The darkness that sparks light. The chaos that creates stability. The inertia that initiates change.
Viburnam berries, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
.
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press(Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
When I was little, I wanted to be a storyteller, a cartoonist specifically. I was reading graphic novels before I could read. That didn’t stop me from understanding what was going on. Being a virtual learner and an artist, I understood context: expressions, body language…
Nina, age three, pretending to read (photo by Martha Munteanu)
.
.
I wrote and drew wild adventure thriller detective stories and stories about exploring other planets. While my first love was telling stories, I was called by the needs of the environment. This percolated through me as I grew up and wouldn’t let go. When I could read and write, I still read graphic novels; I wrote and illustrated short stories about the environment, dystopian tales that focussed on how we were destroying our planet.
.
At school, I loitered in the hallways, pasting subversive posters on the walls. They were a call to action: Restrain … Reuse … Repurpose … Recycle … Remain true to the environment. I wrote in the school paper. I quoted global statistics, mentioned global warming (yes, people knew about it back in the ‘60s and ‘70s), and submitted cheesy emotional drawings of pollution and toxic waste.
By the time I was ready to go to university (I’d been accepted early into the fine arts program at Concordia University in Montreal), I switched my major on registration day. Like a horse bolting from a fire, I charged out of the arts and into the sciences. I’d heard environment’s call for help and had notions of becoming an environmental lawyer. I kept a few arts courses as electives but focused on a biology degree in the environmental sciences. I understood that the tools I needed to wield as an eco-warrior in law were rooted in science.
.
A twenty-some old Nina exploring the forest
.
I learned something about ecology, botany, animal, plant, and cell physiology, genetics and biochemistry, and limnology (the study of water systems). The sciences fascinated me and I became entranced in the study of how the natural world worked. I was particularly attracted by lichens, plant-like organisms called cryptogams that grow like miniature forests on substrates—trees,fence posts, rock, cement. My attraction was partly because these often overlooked organisms were actually more of a symbiotic community or mini-ecosystem: an intriguing community of fungi, algae, cyanobacteria, bacteria and yeast growing together. I felt that on some level, lichen had much to teach us on lifestyle and approach to living on this planet. They’d been around for millennia, a lot longer than we’ve been.
Having long abandoned law (I convinced myself that I wasn’t cut out for it; maybe I was but that’s another universe), I decided to pursue lichen ecology for my masters degree. But fate had another path in mind for me. The botany professor who I wished to study under was retiring and no one was taking her place. She referred me to the limnology professor and he got me interested in another microscopic community: periphyton (the algae and associated organisms that colonize plants, rock and cement in water).
Nina and son Kevin explore nature (photo by Herb Klassen)
.
I’d come somewhat full circle to be an eco-warrior, pursuing environmental problems (and corporate mischief) through biology rather than law. I designed and conducted environmental impact assessments and recommended mitigation, restoration, and remediation procedures to various clients from lakefront communities and city planners to mining companies dealing with leaky tailings ponds and pulp mills discharging effluent into the ocean.
.
Various reports, scientific papers and articles I’ve written or been interviewed for
.
It worked for me. I consulted for twenty-some years. It was for the most part both satisfying and encouraging. I felt as though I was making a difference: mostly through educating my clients. But that became less and less the case as the consulting firms I worked for, and the corporations they worked for, seemed to have less and less integrity. They also seemed to care less about the environment and more about profit.
So, just as I’d done on the day of registration at university, I bolted like a horse in a fire and quit my job as a consultant. I never returned to consulting.
Nina photographing pollution of a small creek entering a drinking water source (photo by Matthew Barker, Peterborough Examiner)
My sights went back to storytelling, journalism, and reporting/interviews. Mostly eco-fiction. Creating narratives that would hopefully move people, nudge them to act for the environment. Change their worldview somewhat into eco-friendly territory. Make them care. I’m still an eco-warrior, but my pen and my storytelling is my tool.
The word is a powerful tool. And the stories that carry them are vehicles of change.
Nina Munteanu wandering the Emily Tract forest, ON (photo by Merridy Cox)
.
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
I recently received my copies of the 2025 Wild Canada calendar put out by WildernessCommittee.ca. The calendar has 12 months of gorgeous images of wild and sacred places throughout Canada; heartfelt and informative stories accompany each image.
2025 Wild Canada calendar featuring January spread
My own photo of an old-growth hemlock in Catchacoma Forest, Ontario, is featured for January! Go check out the Wilderness Committee site then go to their store to see the whole calendar. It’s worth buying for its beauty and its meaningful narratives. And it is an excellent way to support a worthwhile cause.
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
Marcescent oak leaves tremble in the cold wind of November, Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
I parked my car by the closed gate and walked inside along the road. The park was closed but not for me, I thought. The walk through this magnificent pine forest with its fresh pungent aromas of coming winter, invigorated me with thoughts of hope and wonder. I felt at home in this unviolated forest. It felt natural and I realized that I was desperately seeking “natural”…
Oak leaves blaze in the grey-green hemlock-pine forest, Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
I live close to a riparian forest and a large river. But there is little natural about it. Despite supporting an abundance of wildlife (e.g., squirrels, chipmunks, muskrat, skunk, groundhog, mink, ermine, voles, and red fox), the forest is disturbed and infested with invasive species. When I walk through this forest, the sounds of traffic are never far away, and I yearn for the sounds and smells of Nature inviolate.
Small trail through pine and aspen to the meromictic lake in Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
Petroglyph Park lies in the Kawartha Region of Ontario and is an hour’s drive north of where I live. Here, the sounds of Nature prevail: the wind raking through pines, the shrill haunting cry of a bluejay or aggressive chittering of a red squirrel. Nothing else. It was gloriously silent; except for the sound of my boots crunching along the trail or when I scared up a deer that scampered with the rush and rattle of leaves through the anonymity of the brush into a deep silence.
Road through tall red pine forest, Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
It was a crisp and fresh November day. I’d packed a lunch and my camera and set off down the road and along various trails to explore the park, not worried about getting lost.
Forest fades from single oak tree into a fog of grey-green pine and hemlock, Petroglyph Park (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
And I did get wonderfully lost, particularly when I ventured off the main trail, seeking adventure. I didn’t mind being lost; when you lose yourself you find another part of you through adventure…
Marcescent beech and oak trees add bronze colour to the grey-green of the pine forest, Petroglyph Park, ON (Photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
It’s early winter, when the chill winds carve through mixed forests in a restless howl, snatching leaves of deciduous trees and sending them flying. But in this primeval ancient forest of evergreens, the few deciduous trees mimic their conifer cousins by stubbornly clutching their leaves. In winter, the leaves of oak and beech trees cling to their branches, marcescent. To the silver greens of pine and hemlock, they add flames of copper and gold
Red pine trees tower over a deer trail near the lake, Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
I found myself walking on the spongy ground, a carpet of leaves, needles and debris, not far from Gilford Lake, among a tall stand of red pines, whose thick canopy created a green ceiling overhead. Breathing in the strong scent of pine and loam, I set up my camera and tripod to capture the mood of a natural path through the forest. I’d just set up the camera, hand poised on the shutter, when a deer wandered in front of me—just three metres away! It saw me and stopped mid-step. We stared at one another in a halting pause, a moment made eternity. Then the deer leapt gracefully away, disappearing within seconds into the dark forest and leaving me in the silence of rapture. I felt laughter tease up my throat; I hadn’t taken a picture.
Road winds through the mixed forest in Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
Winding road through mixed forest in Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
My walk through this natural forest is both thrilling and comforting, uplifting and restful. I am living outside myself, sensing the textures, sounds and tastes of the forest—in sublime discovery. It is here, where the sounds and smells of the natural world abide, without regard to me, that I feel most at home.
I am simply being…
Mixture of oak, beech, pine and hemlock conspire in a wash of colour and texture, Petroglyph Park, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
My son Kevin and his partner Lin cycled 260 km over two days for Tour de Cure BC this August. Starting in Cloverdale and finishing in Hope, they helped raise over seven million dollars for cancer research and equipment.
Kevin’s pledge follows below:
Following Kevin’s Day One 160 km cycle on Garmin…
Saturday was their first day of the Tour de Cure. Kevin sent me a link to follow his ride in real time on Garmin. It was so cool to watch him move along the various roads to the finish line! On the first day, he and Lin (Team Blue Fish Speed) went a hundred and sixty km (hundred miles) at an average of 20-22 kph for over 7 hours from Cloverdale to Chilliwack!
Day Two 100 km route from Chilliwack to Hope finish line
They camped in Chilliwack overnight and started the following morning at 7:30, travelling 100 km toward the finish line in Hope. Good friend Anne and I drove to Hope to greet them at the finish line. It was so exciting and I confess I was very emotional. I was so proud of them both!
Crowd cheers Blue Fish Speed on as they approach the finish line on Walker Street, Hope (photo by Anne Voute)
Blue Fish Speed crosses the finish line in Hope, BC (photo by Anne Voute)
Proud mother gathers in her two amazing riders for cancer (photo by Anne Voute)
… and tighter still! (photo by Anne Voute)
After lots of hugging, we had some burgers for lunch then a beer at the beer garden and visited in Memorial Park (by the finish line). I noticed their mud-covered faces and jerseys, particularly Lin’s—and how very clean Kevin looked—and it was explained to me that cyclists, when riding together, take turns leading and drafting each other (riding directly behind) to get a break while the leader breaks the wind and sets the pace; hmmm… what was Kevin doing? Ensuring that his jersey stayed clean, that’s what!
Kevin and Lindsay at the finish line in Hope, BC (photo by Anne Voute)
Kevin and Lin got a ride back with their bikes and Anne and I made our way back to Ladner, where Anne lives and I was visiting from Ontario. We celebrated with an ice cream cone!
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
People reading “Water Is…”in Vancouver and Toronto
Margaret McCaffery, chair of the PROBUS Toronto Speakers Committee invited me some time ago to speak to their club in June of 2024 on my experience with water: as scientist, mother, and environmentalist. The audience was mostly retired professional and business people with enquiring minds. I gave my Powerpoint talk in the Holy Rosary Parish Hall on St. Clair West and then enjoyed a vigorous session of challenging and interesting questions to which I responded with equal vigour.
Here is the blurb for the presentation:
Canadian limnologist Nina Munteanu explores the many dimensions of water through her journey with water as mother, educator, and scientist. She describes an emotional connection with nature that compels us to take care of our environment with love versus a sense of duty.
Nina’s talk draws on her book Water Is… The Meaning of Water, part history, part science and part philosophy and spirituality. The book examines water’s many anomalous properties and what these meant to us. In sharing her personal journey with this mysterious elixir, Nina explores water’s many ‘identities’ and, ultimately, our own. Water Is… was Margaret Atwood’s first choice in the 2016 New York Times ‘Year in Reading.’ Water is… will be available for sale at the talk.
I started with my story as a child, growing up in the Eastern Townships of Canada
I defined “limnology” and talked about my career as a limnologistand environmental consultant
I discussed some of water’s anomalous properties, all life-giving
I brought in some interesting things about water…
I tied my journey with water to family and friends and my watershed
I ended my talk with a discussion of the Watermark Project to catalogue significant stories to water bodies all over the world
I also brought my latest eco-clifi novel A Diary in the Age of Water for sale. It interested quite a few people and generated several wonderful discussions.
Nina Munteanu and her latest eco-novel
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
I’m an ecologist; I study environmental relationships. Something you’d think is easy to learn and very accessible; we’re surrounded by it, after all. We live, work and play in it. While I learned about environmental relationships with my eco-minded parents, I didn’t learn it or experience it in my school growing up. With the exception of some indigenous schools (which teach respect for the spirit of wildness), most of us certainly didn’t learn about environmental relationships in our schools.
Earthstar sits on moss-covered rotting cedar log as new cedar roots take hold, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
Most Canadians live in a city; we don’t really understand what the natural environment is. Many of us have learned to ignore it, stop recognizing it, pocket it away as we go about our busy lives in the city. A park is a bit of greenery. A tree is a decoration that provides shade. Shrubs border a mall.
Walk through urban forest along the Credit River, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
But if we can’t even recognize the natural environment, how can we understand its functional role in the intricate well-being of this entire precious planet and ultimately ourselves?
It is no wonder then that most Canadians—though we may intellectually accept climate change and its effects on this planet (because we’re smarter than some)—likely do not viscerally understand or appreciate why and how it will drastically change our lives. For most of us, climate change—as with Nature—is something that is happening to someone else, somewhere else. From those far away calamities to the quiet struggles no one talks about. We hear and lament over the flooding in Bangladesh or the Maldives. Or the wildfires in northern British Columbia. Or the bomb cyclones of the eastern seaboard.
Meanwhile, the polar bear struggles quietly with disappearing sea ice in the Canadian arctic. The koala copes quietly with the disappearing eucalyptus. Coral reefs quietly disappear in an acidifying ocean. Antarctic penguins silently starve with disappearing krill due to ice retreat. And while jellyfish invade the Mediterranean, UK seas and northeast Atlantic, the humble Bramble Cay melomys slips quietly into extinction—the first mammal casualty of climate change.
Yellow Creek flows through an urban forest in the heart of Toronto, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
So, those of us who are enlightened speak of climate resilience and adaptation. We talk of arming our cities with words like green infrastructure, stormwater management, urban runoff control, flood mitigation. Ecological literacy. But what are these things to us? They are tools, yes. Good tools to combat and adapt to the effects of climate change. But will they create resilience? I think not.
I’m a limnologist and I’ve consulted for years as a scientist and an environmental consultant. I played a role in educating industry, in the use of mitigating tools, in changing the narrative even.
Trail through urban forest on a foggy winter day in Peterborough, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
But I’ve come to realize that resilience comes only from within and through a genuine connection with our environment. Tools, no matter how proficient, are only as good as how they are used based on intention from a deep understanding. It isn’t enough to achieve the HOW of things; we must embrace the WHY of things. And that comes from the heart. We must feel it in our hearts. Or it won’t work. And we quite simply won’t survive.
Various flowers and trees of Ontario (photos by Nina Munteanu)
Canadians celebrate our multi-cultural heritage. We pride ourselves in our tolerance and welcoming nature. Our national anthem speaks of our land. Our national symbols embrace nature with the maple, beaver, caribou and loon. Yet who of us knows the habitat of the loon—now at risk, by the way (climate change will impact much of its breeding grounds). Who knows what the boreal forest—which makes up over half of our country—is? How it functions to keep this entire planet healthy, and what that ecosystem needs, in turn, to keep doing it? How to help it from literally burning up?
Ecology isn’t rocket science. Ecology is mostly common sense. Ecology is about relationship and discovery. Ecology is a lifestyle choice, based on respect for all things on this planet and a willingness to understand how all things work together.
Various mushrooms in Ontario forests (photos by Nina Munteanu)
Here’s what I’ve learned to keep me caring and remain positive and not become apathetic or fall into despair:
I’ve learned to open myself to discovery. To find Nature, even if it is in the city. To connect with something natural and wild and to find and savour the wonder of it. All that matters will naturally come from that.
Become curious and find something to love.
When you do, you will find yourself. And that is where you will find resilience. What colour is it? It doesn’t need to be green…
Throughout this article I’ve shown you some of my colours…
Red fox skull emerges on a leaf-strewn icy bank of Jackson Creek, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
Here are the steps I taught myself toward healthy resilience (the first two steps are both the hardest and the easiest):
Step 1:Slow down, pay attention. Give yourself the time to relax and look around your local surroundings. Until you slow down to actually look, you will not really take in your surroundings. You need to be in the moment. Only then can you take the time to use all your senses to take in your environment. Try to look at it from a different perspective. Notice the light, the smells and sounds. What is different? What is the same?
Step 2:Lower your guard, open yourself to curiosity. Rely on as many senses as you can (sight, hearing, smell, texture, taste) to sample your environment and show some humility to ask questions. Whenever I go out, particularly in Nature, I make a point of coming home with three gifts, discoveries that make me smile or think and wonder. I’m hardly ever disappointed.
Step 3: Process what you’ve seen and discovered. Do some follow-up research to questions that may arise. Look at consequences. Share with others, discuss. From there it will be easy to ‘take responsibility’ for some section of nature that you really like; perhaps a particular tree in a park or a short path through an urban forest or stretch of urban stream. This can easily lead to good stewardship.
Step 4: Take responsibility for your chosen part of Nature. Get to know it well, how it works, what it needs, what’s right and what’s wrong. Do something about it and share with others.
Step 5: You’re there. You are resilient.
Barred owl hiding in plain sight in an urban forest near Peterborough, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
It started with a simple tweet of mine on X regarding doing research for one’s writing projects. I’d met Isabella Mori a few years ago, when we both contributed to an ekphrastic anthology of flash fiction, inspired by Group of Seven art. We met again when she submitted a story to an anthology I was editing for Exile Editions. After my tweet on research, Isabella and I traded brief stories about rewrites based on research findings and ‘mistakes’ and the arcane revelations in the creative process that may result. I was intrigued by her recounting and asked her to share it with you; so here it is:
“Synchronicities And The Sea”by Isabella Mori
(Trigger warning: Substance use and suicide)
This is about the magic that comes to pass when we let the Muse guide our work and consent to synchronicity. Here is what happened:
When I go away on vacation, I try to visit the local library, and always make sure to check out the community announcements. On one of those forays, I came across a notice of a project that teamed up visual artists with writers for a short story or poem. I love these types of collaborations and immediately jumped on it. Max was the artist I paired up with, and we hit it off right away. After a few conversations, we settled on the painting below, for which I was going to write a story. As you can see, it had a moody, dark feeling. I drafted this text as a response:
The memory of a map showed her the way as she wandered, blinded by the night, along the shore. Numb with cold, her bare feet dug into the wet sand. She could not see that she left no tracks. There was something in her searching; she felt it in the deep pit of her stomach but there was no image in her mind’s eye of what it was, no tinkling that alerted her, no smell, no taste. A sense of despair drained the blood from her heart and tugged at her from the right, where the forest rushed. Foot-dragging ennui invited her onto a soft-moss carpet to the left, and thoughts of numbers, cars and cash register receipts tried to wrangle her back to where she came from. She was near giving up. But at that precise moment there tracked the light only she of the searching could see—a light bigger more forceful than giants could ever imagine; all-embracing, all-revealing, all-nurturing just like the frothy ocean beneath it, just like the sand with its fierce sparkle, each grain a diamond just like the heart-bud that could not help but open under its rays, under those rays that only she of the searching could see.
However, for reasons we have both forgotten, Max decided to lighten the colours, and the dark mood of the first draft didn’t fit anymore. This is the version we ended up with:
Walk With The Angels
The ocean has known her share of angels over the eons. They come and go but the tide is older. When an angel appears in a cloud of glistening light, beats its wings and brings out the trumpets, little humans fall to their knees and beg for mercy and miracles.
But the water stays still.
Great mother ocean has seen it all.
She waits until the angel grows tired, then she takes the worn-out wings and heavenly body into her arms and carries them into her depths. Brings the apparition to visit kelp, salmon, starfish, barnacles, otters and crabs. Anemones. Killer whales. A visit one by one, under the summer sun, beneath the light of the Hunter’s moon, when the snow falls, with the Easter rains. The angel leaves a bit of themselves here, a bit there, a gift everywhere, until only the tiniest of diamonds are left.
And that’s the sand.
Walk with the angels.
There were a few tweaks before we arrived at this text, the major one being that in a previous version, I referred to ‘angel dust’ for the sand until the editor pointed out that that term refers to a street drug, PCP. In my enthusiasm I had forgotten that.
The change away from ‘angel dust’ was very important. When Max read the new version, they called me, their tone of voice both moved and perturbed.
“When I read this,” they said, “it feels like you channeled what happened with my cousin last year, not far from the place that inspired my painting. She had had problems with drugs all her life, and one day she just walked into the ocean. Her body was found a day later.”
Under those circumstances, we definitely did not want to refer to drugs.
That story stayed with me for months until one day when I was listening to one of my playlists of Latin music. I lived in Paraguay and Chile 1977-1980, and often enjoy the nostalgia of the music I listened to back then. The first song that came on was one of my all-time favourites, Alfonsina Y El Mar – Alfonsina And The Sea. Now I have to confess, I am terrible with lyrics, no matter what language, whether it be my native German, English, or the Spanish I was fluent in for quite a few years. For some reason, I really listened to the song last summer, and then looked up the lyrics. That’s when it hit me – was it possible that the lyrics of that song had subconsciously influenced me to write the second text? Or was it one of those Jungian collective conscious moments?
Alfonsina And The Sea
(Music: Ariel Ramirez. Lyrics: Felix Luna)
In the soft sand Licked by the sea Her small footprints Don’t return. Just one path Full of pain and silence Led to the water, Deep water, And one single path of unspoken pain Led to the foam.
God knows what sorrows accompanied you, What old suffering shut down your voice That made you lie down and nestle into the songs Of the sea snails, The song that sings in the deep dark of the sea, The sea snail.
There you go, Alfonsina, with your loneliness, What new poems did you go find? An old, old voice of wind and salt Sways your soul and carries it And you go there dreaming, Sleeping, Alfonsina, clothed in the sea
Five little sirens will carry you Through passages of algae and corals And glowing sea horses will dance Around you And all the creatures of the sea will soon Play at your side.
Turn down the light a little more, Nurse, let me sleep in peace. And when he calls tell him I’m not in, Tell him Alfonsina won’t come back. And when he calls don’t ever tell him I’m in, Tell him I’m gone.
There you go, Alfonsina, with your loneliness, What new poems did you go find? An old, old voice of wind and salt Sways your soul and carries it And you go there dreaming, Sleeping, Alfonsina, clothed in the sea.
(Used with permission, my translation.)
Alfonsina ended up in the ocean just like Max’s cousin did.
With some research, I found out that the story was about the Argentinian poet Alfonsina Storni who, after a difficult life that included poverty, questions she had about gender identity, and breast cancer, one night wrote a last poem to her son and then let herself fall into the ocean amid torrential rain. (An apocryphal version has her just walk into the ocean, and that’s the one the lyricist chose.) Some of that last poem was incorporated into Alfonsina Y El Mar – the nurse who is asked to lower the light, and told to tell ‘him’ that she won’t come back. Nobody seems to know who ‘he’ is.
The other research that had to happen was to find who the inheritors of Felix Luna’s estate were to obtain permission should I tell the story that you have before you. It turned out to be his daughters. Then I had to sleuth out their contact.
Felix Luna, the lyricist, imagined Alfonsina’s death not only as the terrible tragedy that it was but also as a mystical transformation into a sea creature that nestles into the songs of the sea snails. She finds new poems and sleeps clothed in the sea. She is embraced by sirens and wanders through algae and corals. She dances with sea horses and plays with all the other sea creatures.
I definitely cannot compare myself with a great poet like Felix Luna but notice with humility the similarities of my transformed angel who sinks into the embrace of mother ocean and also visits the more-than-humans of the sea.
I went pregnant with the idea of writing about the experience of Max’s and my collaboration for half a year when in February, I chanced upon a tweet by Nina about research for writing. I met Nina through submitting a story to an anthology she was editing. I told her about needing to tweak the angel story so that it does not talk about angel dust and ended up telling her the outline of what happened. She invited me to write a guest post about this, and here we are.
So many synchronicities. I could have not gone to that library. A different artist could have been paired up with me. Max could have wanted to stay with the original painting. Or they could have chosen a painting that would not have reminded them of their cousin. They could have opted not to share that sad story with me, or they could have been paired up with someone who doesn’t understand suicide as intimately as I do (I look back on a 30+ year career in social services.) I could have heard Alfonsina Y El Mar and still not really listened to the lyrics. There was no guarantee I could have managed to find out from whom to get permission to quote the song. I could not have submitted a story to one of Nina’s anthologies, and could not have followed her on Twitter. Coming across the particular tweet that prompted the publication of this story was like chancing upon a needle in a haystack. All this, and probably more, had to come together for this magical synchronicity to happen.
Thank you, Muse.
(Note: Since this is a sensitive topic, the artist’s name and some of the circumstances of my collaboration with them have been changed. However, the artist has consented to using their images.)
Boat wharf at sunset in Ladner Marsh, BC (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)
My short story Robin’s Last Song was selected by the NYC Climate Writers Collective as part of an exhibition in the Climate Imaginarium on Governors Island in New York. The exhibition, starting May 18, will run throughout the summer of 2024.
Robin’s Last Song
Robin’s Last Song first appeared in the #128 Issue of Apex Magazine in 2021. It tells the story of Robin, a blind elder whose digital app failed to warn the world of the sudden global loss of birds with disastrous ecological consequences. After years of living in self-exile and getting around poorly on sight-enhancing technology, a discovery gives her new hope in rekindling her talents in the field of Soundscape Ecology.
In a recent interview with writer Simon Rose, I described my thoughts in writing Robin’s Last Song:
I wanted to make “Robin’s Last Song” a realizable work of fiction in which science and technology play both instigator of disaster and purveyor of salvation. Our biogenetic technology comes to us as a double-edged sword in the form of gene-editing, proteomics, DNA origami, and CRISPR—just to name a few. These biotechnological innovations promise a cornucopia of enhancements: from increased longevity and health in humans to giant disease-resistant crops. But, for every ‘magic’ in technology, there is often unintended consequence. Unforeseen—or even ignored—casualties and risks. I suppose my ultimate question with this story is: will synthetic biology redesign Nature to suit hubris or serve evolution? Science doesn’t make those decisions. We do.
Anyone living in or visiting the NYC area is welcome to the Climate Imaginarium launch on May 18 on Governor’s Island. Check this Eventbrite link for details. The exhibition will continue throughout the summer of 2024 and will include: climate storytelling and poetry by Climate Café, the Sixth Festival, and the Climate Writers Collective; opening exhibition of “What is Environmental Art?” by Forest for Trees; artwork from the Climate Imaginarium community and Climate Writers exhibition; “Eye of Flora” virtual reality exhibition by Synphisica Collective; and more.
Here’s what they say:
Come to Governors Island for the grand opening of our Climate Imaginarium house! The Climate Imaginarium will serve as a community center for climate and culture, with galleries and spaces for exhibitions, performances, film screenings, and events that respond to the climate crisis with solutions and visions for hope and justice. Join us at Building 406A on Colonels Row for a lively celebration of climate art, storytelling, and community.
Exhibitions will be open to the public at noon, and the party will officially start at 2pm. All donations will support programming in our community space.
Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.
