Spotting people spotting kingfishers

My workshop today is in an office along the same river catchment as the one I live on, so my commute takes me deep into the Frome valley.

I know kingfishers nest here but I almost never spot them.

Luckily, I’ve found a hack. Look for someone with a massive telephoto lens. Stand nearby. Follow their gaze.

Today’s kingfisher was much closer than I expected, right on the near bank of the river.

A recurring theme in my posts over the last couple of weeks has been this idea of ecological participation.

Not just reducing harm. Not just “less bad”. But actively playing a part in enhancing the living systems we are part of.

That feels like a leap. And it is. And I think the first step is to start noticing differently.

Seeing that we are surrounded by life. Remembering that it’s there. Recognising that it’s the container for all that we do. I see it as a pathway on the mindset shift from separation to interdependence.

Because when we notice, we start to care. And when we care, we start to make different decisions.

Even as I write this, it’s easy to take the life that surrounds us for granted.

I’m fortunate to have a river like this running through my corner of the city.

And still, most days, I cycle past without really seeing it.

Maybe I’m not very good at spotting kingfishers.

So for now I will start with spotting kingfisher spotters.

Is infrastructure alive? — Three mindsets shifts for regenerative infrastructure design

One of my favourite books of 2025 was Robert MacFarlane’s Is a River Alive? and it has been at the forefront of my mind as I try to do the mental work of climbing out of my conventional thinking to imagine what regenerative infrastructure might mean.

Ultimately, it comes down to mindset.

Before we get into the design brief for regenerative infrastructure, it is important to think about the mindset we are bringing to the whole process. 

In the Systems Bookcase, mindsets sit above operational requirements and designs. They shape those requirements, from which everything else follows. The mindsets in turn follow from our goals. 

In regenerative design our goal is for humans and the living world to survive, thrive and co-evolve. 

The trouble with mindsets is they can be hard to see. They are often implicit in the operational requirements that we derive and the designs that follow.

For example, if we can have sustainable add-ons to a project that is inherently not sustainable — like a low-carbon airport terminal — it suggests that the overarching mindsets and goals are not aligned with creating thriving. 

But if we can ask questions that challenge our mindsets right at the start of the project, we can make those mindsets visible before anyone has even realised they are shaping the design.

The Pattern Book proposes three mindset shifts that support a transition to a regenerative economy: 

  • From separation to interdependence
  • From scarcity to abundance
  • From control to emergence

Each of these shifts can be turned into a provocative design question for infrastructure. These questions come before we establish the design brief. They help establish the big questions about what we should be designing and why.

Interdependence – the living world as infrastructure.

Instead of asking, how do we make this infrastructure more sustainable, we ask:
What if the living world were the primary infrastructure?

Rivers, oceans, wetlands, mycelium networks, woodland canopy and the air that surrounds us. These are the nodes and connections of our living planet’s circulatory system.

Instead of designing human infrastructure first and then off-setting its effects, we could start by understanding what ecological processes sustain a place. How do rivers, wetland and coastal systems need to evolve? How do habitats need to adapt. What is needed to enable circulation of water, materials and nutrients?

We then design human systems to be nested within these living systems, and not the other way round.

Abundance – thriving living systems creating wealth

Many industrial systems are occupied with extracting increasingly scarce resources. But living systems have the potential to create huge abundance.

When they function well, living systems create huge wealth:

  • Natural cooling from tree canopies
  • Rich and diverse plant and animal life on land
  • Diverse and plentiful life in the seas
  • A microbial environment that supports our own microbiome
  • Vast amounts of materials that can be harvested
  • Natural cleaning of air and water
  • And ultimately the a complex system of interacting processes that maintain a balanced climate on earth.

Our greatest preoccupation should be how do we enable these living process to function well so that we can live well.

The design question is then not how do we create infrastructure that maximises the extraction and transport of these resources, but rather how do we create infrastructure that supports living systems to create abundance?

Emergence – living infrastructure that evolves.

Conventional engineering assumes infrastructure to be fixed, but the infrastructure of the living world behaves differently – it is alive, it shifts, it adapts to changing environmental conditions.

Rivers shift course. Wetlands expand and contract. Forests shift their make up over a cycle of many decades. Migration routes divert when they need to.

These circulatory systems are a dynamic web that shift across and shape the landscape.

Rather than attempt to control and pin down these systems, the design question becomes how do we restore the capacity of these systems to organise themselves?

Because when these systems function well, we can live well.

Questions to unlock design

These questions are deliberately provocative. The don’t have easy answers we can point to.

That’s the point of design. If we knew the answer before we started, we wouldn’t be doing design — we’d be shopping.

Regenerative infrastructure is, ultimately, the wiring of an economy that creates thriving. If we go into infrastructure design with the assumptions of an extraction-based economy, we will reproduce that system.

But if we question our mindsets, we change assumptions and open the possibility of designing something fundamentally different.

So is infrastructure alive? 

Obviously the concrete, steal and mineral structures that we traditionally build are not. 

But if we step back and ask what broader systems actually enable us to live well, the answer is very different. 

Regenerative design begins by recognising that humans and the rest of the living world must survive, thrive and evolve together. Ours and nature’s systems are not separate — they are interdependent.

That is not how infrastructure is traditionally imagined.

But the first step in designing a viable alternative to is to imagine it. 

Seeing infrastructure as alive, and part of a much wider web of life, is an invitation to imagine things differently, so we can start designing differently.

How do you write a contract based on regenerative values?

Today I’ve been thinking about that question as we finalise the participant agreement for the Regenerative Design Lab. People are about to hand over their money, and that deserves clarity. But it also raised a deeper question: what would a contract look like if it genuinely reflected the regenerative values we teach — interdependence, emergence and abundance?

Most contracts start from a worldview of separation, scarcity and control:

  • You are the customer
  • We are the provider
  • Something might go wrong
  • Let’s protect ourselves

That’s not unreasonable. But it’s also not how the Lab really works.

The quality of the Lab doesn’t come from what we deliver. It emerges from how people show up, support one another, care for each other, sit with uncertainty, and learn together.

So instead of asking “how do we protect ourselves?” we tried asking different questions:

  • How do we bring people together?
  • How can we remain flexible and adapt to what is emerging?
  • How do we unlock the potential of the group?

Interdependence

Interdependence is about our reliance on one another. The Lab works because the group forms a shared connection, grounded in care, trust and mutual support. This isn’t a group of co-located parallel learners — it’s a learning community.

The agreement makes this explicit. It names that interdependence and sets some simple ground rules to help it establish itself.

Emergence

Most contracts try to fix things in place: you get this, I get that. Valuing emergence is different. It means relinquishing some control so that the best outcomes can arise through a series of complex interactions.

There’s nothing wrong with having a plan — and we do have a detailed plan. But we’re also clear that the programme can evolve in response to what happens along the way.

Trust plays an important role in working like this. Being honest upfront about the emergent nature of the work helps turn uncertainty into a shared expectation rather than a disappointment.

Abundance

Abundance was the hardest value to translate into a contract. It’s the opposite of a scarcity mindset, and it doesn’t show up as anything goes.

Instead, it appears in small choices:

  • Offering tiered pricing based on what people can afford, trusting there will be enough overall to cover costs — and ending up with a richer mix of participants as a result.
  • Recognising that circumstances change, and allowing people to move between cohorts where possible.
  • Creating Creative Commons–licensed tools, based on the belief that we don’t need to control what we create — that value grows through sharing, and that there will be enough to continue the work.

In the end, the agreement isn’t long. This isn’t a perfect or complete solution — it’s an attempt to align a practical document with how the work actually happens.

I hope it feels like an invitation into a particular way of working. Most importantly, it helps transmit our values right at the start of the process.

Signs of local weather

I’m enjoying being absorbed by The Secret World of Weather, by Tristan Gooley. It reveals to the reader secret signs all around us about how the weather is likely to behave. Signs that hide in plain sight, that we have forgotten to notice.

The repeating theme in the early chapters: modern forecasting models deal with macro effects, the movement of large masses of air or wind high above our heads. These are what the weather apps tell us about. 

These models ignore the local effects: landscape, ground cover type, sun traps. But it is at this scale that we experience the weather, and it is at this local level we need to make decisions: what to wear, where to sit, where to plant things.

Reading those signs is to reconnect ourselves with our local landscape, an example of the sort of local interconnectedness that regenerative design needs. 

When we ignore the local detail, we have to compensate with more effort: more heating, cooling, protection. We end up working against the conditions rather than with them.

When we appreciate the local lie of the land, we can learn to work with what’s already there – and learn to live and even thrive within it. 

In the interests of health and safety…

That’s how the sign started its instruction. But health and safety is not a person. It has no interests.

But people do. 

They have interests. They are interested in staying healthy and safe. 

And we are interested in them, because we are empathetic. We want other people to stay healthy and safe.

So why not start with “to help you stay healthy and safe…”?

Or, warmer still, “because we care about you.”

(Or even, because we love you, as fellow human beings?)

What “in the interests of health and safety” really signals is “in the interests of us having discharged our responsibility to tell you’. Which is empty of empathy. 

And love.