{"id":17612,"date":"2016-10-12T12:00:56","date_gmt":"2016-10-12T16:00:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thenatureofcities.com\/?p=17612"},"modified":"2017-01-11T10:03:05","modified_gmt":"2017-01-11T15:03:05","slug":"making-connections-and-feeding-relationships-reflections-from-a-biocultural-axiom-of-aloha","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thenatureofcities.com\/TNOC\/2016\/10\/12\/making-connections-and-feeding-relationships-reflections-from-a-biocultural-axiom-of-aloha\/","title":{"rendered":"Making Connections and Feeding Relationships: Reflections from a Biocultural Axiom of Aloha"},"content":{"rendered":"

What if urban resource management and conservation reflected not just the politics and science of the day, but were rooted in creation stories, place-name stories, and personal stories about the relationships people have with place? This kind of thinking is at the heart of traditional ways of stewarding the environment in many remote and rural place-based communities around the globe, but could it also be done in urban settings? If so, how?<\/p>\n

What would a biocultural approach to sustainable resource management look like in a major city?<\/blockquote><\/figure>\n

Hawaii\u2019s lessons for navigating Island Earth<\/strong><\/p>\n

In September 2016, the International Union for the Conservation of Nature<\/a> World Conservation Congress took place in Honolulu, Hawai\u02bbi, the first time it has ever been held in the U.S. Through ceremony, hula<\/em> (dance), and mele<\/em> (chants), the opening ceremonies reflected the kinship that people from Hawai\u02bbi have with land, sea, and sky\u2014and they set the stage for two weeks of events attended by world leaders in the policy and science of conservation.<\/p>\n

\"fig_1\"
In a 6 am oceanfront opening ceremony for IUCN, traditional sailing vessels from attending Pacific Island nations were to be greeted by the traditional families of the sacred Kalia lands in Waikiki. Passing tropical storms shifted the timing of the canoes\u2019 arrival, but the ritual of requesting permission to land proceeded. As part of the ceremony, each island nation offered a stone from home. In this photo, a traditional caretaker of Kalia welcomes visitors. (September 1, 2016)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\"fig_2\"
Welcoming ceremony for the traditional Hawaiian sailing vessel, H\u014dk\u016ble\u02bba, in Manhattan, where she landed on June 5, 2016, as one stop on a three-year worldwide voyage<\/a> to promote stewardship of island earth. The messages of sustainability and traditional wisdom about stewardship relationships carried strongly throughout the crowd, which included Lenape and other indigenous caretakers of the region.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

My time living and working in areas rich with biocultural diversity\u2014such as Hawai\u02bbi, Tanzania, and Fiji\u2014has taught me the value of promoting and applying local knowledge for addressing health care, conservation, and adaptation to global environmental change. More recently, my thinking about the value of applying particular, place-based ways of knowing has expanded\u2014beyond the places in which these knowledge systems originate and into areas that, on the surface, look quite different, such as cities. The reflections I share here grew out of my participation in H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba, the only formal professional and personal development training program in Hawai\u02bbi stewardship practices for stewards of Hawaii\u2019s Islands\u2019 well-being.<\/p>\n

Braiding together personal, professional, and spiritual development<\/strong><\/p>\n

Engaging in this experience elevated the concept of braiding together the personal, professional, and spiritual aspects of life as a real practice, and it also shed light on an ala<\/em> (pathway) to get there. Although this integrated approach is a foundational concept for many place-based and traditional approaches to environmental stewardship, the scientific approach most of us were trained in deliberately avoids such integration in the name of objectivity. The cover of our training manual reads, \u201cDeepening our connections for the wellbeing of ourselves and honua <\/em>[planet].\u201d It begs the questions: how can we as individuals be well if our surroundings (people and environment) are not? And how can our surroundings be well if we are not? Starting from the idea that people and place, biology and culture are intertwined and synergistic means operating from a \u201cbiocultural axiom of aloha.\u201d I believe this core principal of our course has the potential to inform natural-cultural resource stewardship beyond Hawai\u02bbi, including and especially in densely-populated, urban, culturally diverse places.<\/p>\n

With support from the U.S. Forest Service at the Institute for Pacific Islands Forestry<\/a> (Hilo, Hawai\u02bbi), the course was created and taught by Kekuhi Kealiikanakaoleohaililani, an esteemed kumu hula<\/em> (teacher of hula), Director of the Edith Kanaka\u02bbole Foundation<\/a>, co-creator and Assistant Professor of the I Ola H\u0101loa Center for Hawai\u02bbi Life Styles<\/a> at Hawai\u02bbi Community College<\/a> and more. With the recognition that \u201cnatural resource professionals in Hawai\u02bbi recognize that effectiveness of and personal satisfaction from resource management can be enhanced by integrating multiple knowledge systems into all aspects of the management process,\u201d Kekuhi formed H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba. Her invitation letter described the program\u2019s goals\u2014to \u201cboth foster a working knowledge of Native Hawaiian perspectives on resources and resource management, as well as to enhance relationships among members of the resources community, such as managers and staff, community members, researchers, and the resources themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"fig_3\"
H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba H\u014d\u02bbike (exhibition and sharing with the community) July 17, 2016, Hilo, Hawai\u02bbi. Heather McMillen, Eli Wolfe (Heather\u2019s son), Kekuhi Kealiikanakaoleohaililani (course developer and teacher), and Christian Giardina (Institute of Pacific Islands Forestry, Pacific Southwest Research Station of the U.S. Forest Service)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The course was held in the spring and summer of 2016 for one full Friday per month for four months, a weekend immersion experience, and a half-day exhibition to share what was learned with colleagues and family in the fifth month. The majority of participants came from non-profit organizations, government agencies, and educational institutions concerned with resource management.<\/p>\n

Some course participants had Hawaiian cultural backgrounds, either by genealogy or by being born and raised in the islands. I have neither, although having lived and worked in Hawai\u02bbi for almost twenty years, I have developed an understanding of aspects of Hawaiian culture and language. I entered the course with a deep appreciation for this reservoir of information, and realize even now that I have only scratched the surface. I would say, regardless of cultural background or experience, as people who live, work, and care about Hawai\u02bbi, all of the participants in H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba are invested in learning more about Hawaiian perspectives, culture, and traditional ecological knowledge. I left with a greater sense of purpose, more informed and equipped to see and engage in relationships with the social and ecological characteristics of communities in Hawai\u02bbi, and beyond.<\/p>\n

Over the past two years working as a U.S. Forest Service Social Science Researcher with the New York City Urban Field Station<\/a>, my team and I have been cultivating an understanding of how place-based and traditional ways of knowing can inform natural-cultural resource managers, researchers, and educators more broadly, including in cities. We have been asking: what would a biocultural approach to sustainable resource management look like in New York or another major city? How would it be translated? Would urban resource managers and researchers be receptive?<\/p>\n

\"fig_4\"
U.S. Forest Service associated participants in H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba (we were about 15 percent of the total participants).<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Connecting across micro, macro, and meta levels<\/strong><\/p>\n

In addition to thinking about connections across personal, professional, and spiritual levels, H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba has inspired me to think about connections across micro, macro, and meta-levels. In the Hawaiian language, these are: ki\u02bbi \u02bbiaka, ki\u02bbi honua, and ki\u02bbi \u0101kea<\/em> (at the personal level, the landscape level, and the level of planetary consciousness).<\/p>\n

\"fig_5\"
Conceptual model of connections<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

We began by applying this framework to understanding various ko\u02bbihonua<\/em> (cosmology) and ka\u02bbao<\/em> (myth, conscious awakening) from around the world. Ka\u02bbao<\/em> are windows into other people\u2019s worldviews. Common themes they share across space and time are: creation, recreation, and rebirth, among others. A theme that particularly struck me is that \u201cthe sacrifice becomes the creation,\u201d evident in a number of ka\u02bbao<\/em>. We read and discussed accounts from the Arctic that relay the fate of Sedna, whose fingers were chopped off by her father Anguta as he threw her over the side of his kayak into the sea. Her fingers became seals, walruses, and whales, foods on which\u00a0Arctic peoples rely. We listened to the Norwegian account of how Ymir was killed by his brothers, who then used his corpse to create the world\u2014blood became oceans, skin and muscles became soil, hair became vegetation, and so on. Many of us are familiar with biblical stories of creation and sacrifice, which were also discussed as ka\u02bbao<\/em>. It was more than fitting to have this conversation in a landscape where Pele, the Hawaiian Deity associated with volcanoes, continues to take away and create land through the ongoing activity of K\u012blauea<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\"fig_6\"
\u201cKilauea lava flowing into the ocean\u201d by slworking2 and made available under an Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 license through Flickr<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

I thought of my own experience giving birth and the sacrifices all parents make for their children, but this discussion also conjured images of a seed and its development. Who could imagine that by splitting open its own skin, and seemingly self-destroying, that a life force thousands of times larger and stronger than the seed itself develops? As a class, we discussed how these stories also teach us about what we have in common, how we see the world and our place in it. Ka\u02bbao <\/em>are important for all of us, including resource managers, because they influence how we see our relationships (responsibilities and rights) to places, and therefore how we care for them (or not). In other words, they influence stewardship behaviors.<\/p>\n

If we see places and their features as family, and recognize that a great grandparent, parent, and child are family members as much as a mountain, stream, and ocean, then the relationships are quite profound, as are the responsibilities we feel to them. In the words of Kekuhi, the relationship between people and land needs to be based on \u201ckinship\u201d rather than \u201ccommodity\u201d<\/a> if we are to live sustainably. As a class, each of us researched, memorized, and recited our genealogies, which situate us within our ancestral and landscape kin relationships. I described my generational connections to my Solvenian great grandparents, my Polish grandparents (via Chicago), and the mountain, stream, and watershed where I live now on O\u02bbahu.<\/p>\n

\"fig_7\"
Haley Kailiehu, secretary of the non-profit Hui M\u0101lama I Ke Ala \u02bb\u016alili (HuiMAU), describes her deep familial connections to the people and place of Kohol\u0101lele, H\u0101m\u0101kua Hikina, Hawai\u02bbi Island.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\"fig_8\"
After we practiced chanting \u201cO W\u0101kea\u201d a mele (song) we learned about W\u0101kea (Sky father) and Papa (Earth mother) giving birth to the Hawaiian archipelago, Kekuhi described its relevance and connections<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Taking this a step further, what if we recognize that we are not just related to<\/em> but a part of<\/em> and even the same as<\/em> the landscape and water features, plants, and other animals that surround us? This concept of kincentric ecology is also echoed in many longstanding traditions around the world. Kekuhi wrote, \u201cBecause we possess the same subatomic structures that stars, earth, ocean, air, plants, and all manner of animate and inanimate forms, is it not natural for kanaka to constantly change as well?\u201d If you see yourself as equal to another being, you are more open to learn from<\/em> it rather than about<\/em> it in an objective way.<\/p>\n

If the ka\u02bbao<\/em> of a particular place and its original people is not readily accessible, one could expand and go more regionally, or think about the ka\u02bbao<\/em> in a more contemporary context. As a framework for outreach, researchers and managers could ask: What are the ka\u02bbao<\/em> of the people connected to that place today? How did they get there? Where did they come from? Who are their families? Their watersheds? Their mountains, trees, and waters? Are these elements the same or different from \u201chome\u201d? What are their accounts of sacrifice and (re)creation? In what ways are people sustained by their natural environments and by urban green space? What elements or characteristics are as valuable as their own family members? Open community meetings to share these stories in the early stages of engaging communities with conservation, restoration, or resource management have the potential to inform resource managers about the meanings and attachments to place that community members have. Such participatory meetings would also strengthen rapport and set a tone that demonstrates the desire for co-learning and reciprocal learning.<\/p>\n

Learning from<\/em> a place, not just about<\/em> a place<\/strong><\/p>\n

Learning <\/span>about<\/em> something is to objectify it, which implicitly means to be above it. But learning<\/span> from<\/em> it means seeing ways it connects to your own life or a something greater. I love this idea. This approach requires humility, respect, and a mind that is receptive. In H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba, we operationalized this approach by learning and practicing a ritual protocol to ask permission to enter a place, whether it is a building, home, or forest. When I recite the <\/span>Mele Komo<\/em>, a chant, it acknowledges that I am anticipating learning when I step through a door or across a path. Kekuhi told us, \u201cIf you don\u2019t ask permission, you have nothing to learn.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Before and during our class field trips to meet with people who embody relationship to place on the leeward side of Hawai\u02bbi Island, we discussed this theme of learning from places and the social-ecological memories they carry. The mission statement<\/a> of Hui M\u0101lama I Ke Ala \u02bb\u016alili (HuiMAU), a non-profit culturally-based stewardship group in the H\u0101m\u0101kua district, says: \u201cWe are committed to re-establishing an \u02bb\u014ciwi (Native Hawaiian) presence in H\u0101m\u0101kua Hikina, and envision the \u02bb\u0101ina [usually translated as land, but can also mean sea\u2014literally, “that which feeds”] of H\u0101m\u0101kua Hikina restored as places of abundance, where kama\u02bb\u0101ina [children of the land, native born people] are healed by the spiritual forces, sustained by the natural and cultural resources, and elevated to higher levels of consciousness by the ancestral knowledge of these <\/em>(HuiMAU<\/a>).<\/p>\n

We can also learn from our \u201cplant people\u201d and our \u201canimal people\u201d (Kekuhi\u2019s affectionate terms for plants and animals). For example, dryland forest plants dropping their leaves during drought to conserve energy and water are seen as a lesson for people to adapt to a drying climate, something I heard from a cultural-ecology restoration specialist in North Kona years ago. In Kawaihae (North Kona District of Hawai\u02bbi Island), H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba visited N\u0101 K\u0101lai Wa\u02bba<\/a> and listened to Uncle Sonny Bertelmann (Pwo<\/em> navigator and captain of the traditional Polynesian sailing vessel, Makali\u02bbi) convey the story of his teacher, Papa Mau Piailug, who told him about how people learned navigation from migratory animals\u2014whales and birds. Kekuhi explained to us that when the kohol\u0101<\/em> (humpback whale) expel mucus and water through their blowholes as they move across a seascape, they are helping us remember and tell stories that connect us to Oceania more broadly. Her teenage daughters performed a hula composed by her husband at the cliff\u2019s edge that drove home this message at a deeper consciousness level, beyond language.<\/p>\n

\"fig_9\"
Kekuhi\u2019s daughters offer a hula to honor the whales.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Relationships to place are strengthened when you know the names and the stories of the landscape and the beings that inhabit them. As H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba, we approached this through ka\u02bbao<\/em> (described above), learning place names and the stories behind them, as well as spending time engaging the land through stewardship in each place we visited. Although it was gratifying to see how our sweat equity transformed places, Kekuhi reminded us that it\u2019s not how many weeds we remove, or how many plants we plant, that is appreciated; what is most important is what we learn and how we understand our time and purpose in the place at that time. Stated simply: it\u2019s all about relationships.<\/p>\n

Reflecting on potential applications in urban areas, the idea of learning from a place underscores the importance of place-based research, embedded knowledge, fieldwork, and the importance of researchers and mangers really \u201cbeing in\u201d and \u201cconnecting to\u201d place. A ritualized \u201centry\u201d into the field or learning environment (natural area, meeting, workshop, etc.) to set the tone for learning from <\/em>a place could be done in any setting, including NYC. The protocol itself could be created by or adapted for each project or team, based on their values and experiences. It could even be a silent expression of intention or reflection by the group.<\/p>\n

Through my work in NYC, I have heard an appreciation for these ways of learning. Richie Cabo, Director of the Citywide Nursery of the Division of Forestry, Horticulture, and Natural Resources in New York City, shared with me, \u201cWe are so much like trees that we don\u2019t realize\u2026we have a lot to learn from these guys.\u201d Perhaps the way forward is to encourage and publicly describe the value of these ways of learning in a professional context. I expect they would resonate with the broader public as well. In all cases, being able to learn from a place is enhanced when one is an informed observer who is attuned to place, reminding us of the importance of building relationships.<\/p>\n

Learning the songs, stories, plants, and animals of a place from the local perspective can be a way for resource managers to connect with people and place. In some cases, these can be humbling experiences, demonstrating that local people (including non-scientists) are experts with lessons to teach to managers and researchers. These other ways of knowing are important for resource managers because they inform praxis. But, what about cases when the history or the songs of a place are not known? Or the people who hold that information are unknown to the managers? Can these be created together by people today who are not ancestrally tied to that place? Can a group\u2019s history or mission statement be seen as this type of story? Can the process of knowing a place\u2019s ka\u02bbao<\/em> foster place attachment (aloha \u02bb\u0101ina<\/em>, love of the land) for resource managers themselves? Given the cultural heterogeneity of New York City, ka\u02bbao<\/em> associated with a place or a place-based community present or past can be numerous and layered. Deciding which ones to focus on should be a collaborative process\u2014or, in some cases, there could be room for all of them, in the spirit of work that is place-based, but not place-bound, to borrow a phrase from my colleague Lindsay Campbell<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\"fig_10\"
A busy streetscape with dense and diverse populations of people in lower Manhattan as seen from a Federal Building that was built on an African Burial Ground rediscovered in 1991 during construction, now considered sacred ground and managed by the National Parks Service<\/a>. Manhattan\u2019s name comes from \u201cManahatta<\/a>\u201d a word that means \u201cland of many hills\u201d to the Lenape, the island\u2019s inhabitants pre-European settlement. Today, the island is layered with generations of commercial, residential, occupational, and ecological stories of creation and sacrifice of many different people and cultures.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The process always needs to be localized, project-based, and place-based. To help guide the process, each project needs to think about its goals. In Hawai\u02bbi, they may be to foster and maintain cultural practices and traditional ecological knowledge associated with those practices in order to support natural-cultural resource management. In other places, such as NYC, it may be to support ecosystem functions while also allowing multiple cultures and user-groups equal access to and sense of ownership over green (and blue) space.<\/p>\n

Function over form. Focus on the living practice, not particular objects<\/strong><\/p>\n

Discussions of native verses non-native species<\/a> can be polarizing, but the idea that natives = good and non-natives = bad is an oversimplification. Instead, the concept of functional ecology allows the integration or acceptance of species that are not native to the area, yet are valuable because of the roles they play in maintaining ecosystem functions. I see this idea akin to what follows.<\/p>\n

Because of the inextricable links among people and place, the stewardship of natural resources must also steward the practices, stories, and meanings people have for those places. The future of a particular landscape may depend on the stories, practices, and meanings we share with each other. Yet, we need not get hung up on which ones are the \u201cauthentic\u201d or \u201cright\u201d ones. Cultures, like ecosystems, are dynamic. Just because their components change over time does not necessarily mean they are less valuable or inauthentic. The importance of maintaining the living practice so it can continue to adapt and evolve rather than \u201cpreserving\u201d any particular cultural artifact or aspect of traditional knowledge is a theme I heard during my time in H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba, one that echoed what I had learned previously through my place-based research in North Kona, Hawai\u02bbi<\/a>. In the words of systems thinking, flexibility promotes resilience. During our cultural immersion weekend, one of the sites we visited was the ancient residence of Lonoikamakahiki, a prominent ruling chief of Hawai\u02bbi. Some of this stacked stone structure remains, but it has partially been built over by a tennis court and pool, and it is surrounded by vacation condos.<\/p>\n

\"fig_11\"
In Queens, NYC, adjacent to Forest Park, a bridge layered with messages from those who left their mark shadows glowing candles and white roses, typical of offerings from religious and spiritual practices throughout the African diaspora.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\"fig_12\"
Mahealani Pai, Kamehameha Schools Cultural Resource Specialist in Keauhou (black shirt and sunglasses in upper left), briefs us on our stewardship activities at the ancient residence of Lonoikamakahiki (mound of lava rocks on the right).<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

With reverence, we quietly weeded around the site and removed tennis balls that littered the sacred space. Later in our discussion, one of the participants talked about how unsettling it was to see the site disrespected by the developers and even by those staying at the condos, some of whom just stared at us from their balconies as we m\u0101lama<\/em>-ed (cared for, steward-ed) the ancient residence of Lonoikamakahiki and then chanted together to the kai <\/em>(ocean). Kekuhi commented that the condition of the residence and adjacent heiau<\/em> (temple) (which are not reconstructed) is not the most important thing. The important thing is that the practices, relationships, and memories associated with the place live on. More than once, I heard her say that knowledge isn\u2019t lost. People haven\u2019t forgotten, they just need to be reminded, an expression that echoed what I have heard in my place-based research in North Kona, where one woman explained, \u201cWe hav<\/em>e our characteristics and our system to show what this land has. We\u2019<\/em>re not lost. I<\/em>t\u2019s not forgotten. The ground still has it. The castor oil plants come back, the ground hasn\u2019t forgotten. We\u2019ll see the younger generations coming back to produce this system with the knowledge they\u2019ve had.\u201d <\/em>At Ko\u2018a Holomoana, the navigational heiau <\/em>(temple, sacred structure) cared for by N\u0101 K\u0101lai Wa\u2018a<\/a> (a non-profit organization founded on promoting traditional Polynesian voyaging), it continues to be a source of knowledge and inspiration, even though there is uncertainty about the original meanings of the p\u014dhaku <\/em>(stones) and their placement.<\/p>\n

\"fig_13\"
Holomoana, traditional site of navigational training, in M\u0101hukona in the district of Kohala.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The deep memories are still there. The place still serves its function. People still engage in a reciprocal relationship with the place, even as the land is up for sale now. Hearing that the land under this incredibly important cultural site is for sale made me think about the vulnerability of places in Hawai\u2018i (and other places, including urban ones), and how the greatest threat is the ignorance (not knowing, or maybe not remembering) associated with real estate development. This threat is also linked to seeing the land as a commodity rather than kin. It raises the question, how can inevitable change (including real estate development) at the landscape level honor people-place relationships and our ongoing need to connect to nature and to each other in generations past, present, and future?<\/p>\n

During our time together as H\u0101lau \u02bb\u014chi\u02bba, I took note of and came to a deeper understanding of multiple ways of remembering: through listening to and perpetuating the mo\u2018olelo<\/em> (histories) of wahi pana<\/em> (storied places); through stories and teachings from k\u016bpuna<\/em> (elders) of one\u2019s own \u2018ohana<\/em> (family) or from another \u2018ohana<\/em> or even from another island nation (as was the case with Papa Mau<\/a> Piailug of Satawal, Micronesia, teaching the first pwo navigators of Hawai\u2018i); from observing the behavior of plants and animals; and from observing and listening to our children, who can remind us of the magic in the world and inspire us to live pono <\/em>(righteous) and with reverence for the wonder that surrounds us. All of these ways of remembering help connect us to place and to each other.<\/p>\n

In the context of NYC, these themes of continuing practices (without getting fixated on the details of the authenticity of the cultural objects or species, which are certain to transform over time and across the space of migration, land use change, and ecological succession), and of the threats related to \u201cforgetting\u201d and to real estate development, are certainly relevant. Erika Svendsen<\/a> suggested to me that perhaps some New Yorkers just need to be reminded and inspired to connect or reconnect to places in their own way. She and Lindsay Campbell have written about how people make urban spaces sacred<\/a>. If feeling connected comes from admiring the arch of a bridge or a river of yellow taxis as much as admiring an upland forest or coastal salt marsh, we can appreciate all the relationships we have with our landscape on a deeper level. Through our own research at the New York City Urban Field Station<\/a>, we have documented how New Yorkers engage with nature through ritualized practices that connect them to place and support social-emotional-spiritual well-being.<\/p>\n

\"fig_14\"
Flags with Hindu deities mark sacred engagement in a profane space at Little Neck Bay in Bayside, Queens, NYC.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\"fig_15\"
Assemblage created from natural materials found at Conference Park, Staten Island, NYC.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

We\u2019ve been working on bringing the social, cultural, and spiritual values associated with urban nature to the forefront (Svendsen et al., in press<\/em>) so they can be considered on equal ground with other ecosystem services such as provisioning, regulating, and supporting services. Although I have a heightened awareness for why lessons from Hawai\u2018i could be applied in urban areas like NYC, there are many conversations to have and details to work out. Here I propose questions to consider in initiating conversations as we take the next steps in this journey:<\/p>\n