Mossy Rocks and Crumbling Ruins

Leaving nature to its own devices

Plants finding a foothold in the fortress walls

I’ve always loved the juxtaposition of the human-made world and the natural world. The contrast between the softness of living things and the (often) edginess of human objects has long been a fascination.

As humans, we’re more part of the natural world, all rounded and soft. Our world has become one of edges, smooth surfaces, and blocky buildings. A sharp contrast to the more nuanced natural world.

We build structures that dominate the landscape, often hard and angular. We’ve been excellent at taking over. Destruction and conquest, a way of moving forward.

But nature has a way of claiming back its territory.

I’m reminded of this daily in the area where I work. Ruins highlight this contrast as we humans try to keep crumbling structures from going back to the natural form it was made from.

Rocky Ruins

As I step outside the beautiful human-made structure I work at, I’m greeted by grass, wildflowers, and patches of forest. There’s not much here that hasn’t been shaped by humans. The reason the centre I work in is here at all is because the Russians built a military base here between 1932 and 1854. And 1854 was the year it was destroyed.

New, old, natural

The ruins themselves are a reminder of the cyclical nature of life. Many who visit here comment on the current political climate, with Russia’s thirst for wealth and power building again as their troops decimate Ukraine.

And so it was in the 1800s when this whole Swedish-speaking area was taken over by Russia after Sweden lost it in 1809.

The fortress was enormous. The scale of the project is hard to believe. Yet in only a few days, it was destroyed and now 170 years later, nature is slowly taking back the stone that was once a fortress.

Moss is creeping over stone blocks. Remnants of the industry of humans. Its soft, slow movement, barely noticeable until the stone itself softens.

Moss on a Block

Moss is beautiful. I’m always wary of folks that want to get rid of it. Sadness seeps into my pores when people use a high-pressure hose to blast it away or rake it into a tidy pile for the compost heap.

I’ve been known to replant moss. Rescue it from being slung in the compost, replanting it somewhere else so its tiny world can take hold.

Lichen is maybe not as soft and pretty but equally as fascinating. I love how it covers stone, changing the colour and texture

Moss, lichen, ferns in a cravass

Softening hard edges.

Apparently, they’re not plants. They’re a strange hybrid of fungi and algae, populating harsh environments and living in symbiosis with each other. The dominant fungi relies on the algae. Imagine that? Two species developing a relationship to thrive in places where nothing else thrives. Incredible!

A beautiful example of how amazing the natural world is.

I enjoy watching the slow progress of lichen and moss as they patiently take hold of places we might have once thought indestructible. Humans have a tendency to believe everything they construct will last forever. And some do, of course, with a little help from industrial folks who love preserving human endeavour.

Imagine if we put all our efforts into preserving incredible natural spaces. Underwater kelp forests, old-growth forests in Finland (of which there’s only 86 sq. km left), grasslands in Mongolia, and Berlin’s greenspace make up 1/3 of the city.* The world has committed to saving 30% by 2030—it requires more than hope, but action too, in whatever form that takes for you.

Moss, lichen, crumbling stone. Perhaps this is how it should be for the planet. For us. For the future.

Stay Well,

Lisa x

*Check out The Nature Conservancy for other amazing projects.

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