Embracing the Ecotone

How not knowing what I wanted to do in life led me to finding my passion

Mangroves are an ecotonal species — highly adapted to living in watery, brackish conditions at the intersection of land and sea.

I’ve always been fascinated with ecotones. In fact, I can say with certainty that they have shaped my life, and I think I might actually write my first book about them. But this wasn’t always my reality.

I first heard the term while I was reading for my undergraduate Biology degree. Ecotones are an ecological and geographical concept and are typically described as transitional areas between different ecosystems, such as forest and grassland, or freshwater and saltwater. They retain some characteristics of each biological community and thus tend to have unique properties of the adjacent ecosystems and can support a greater number of species than are found in either.

The concept has been borrowed and broadened through other disciplines, such as the social sciences and humanities, and can also be understood as a cultural space of encounters, conflicts, and renewal between communities. In other words, they are areas of high tension, resilience, diversity, abundance, possibility and emergence.

For me, what began as an intellectual curiosity gradually evolved into a personal exploration of how these transitional, interconnected spaces mirrored the complexities of my own journey and ultimately led me to my life’s work.

My Journey into the Ecotone

I didn’t like school much.

Perhaps it was the lack of choice I felt in doing what I liked and not doing what I didn’t like, or maybe my persistent curiosity that couldn’t allow me to choose one subject and pursue it for the rest of my life.

In reality, I have never been one of those people who always knew exactly what they wanted to grow up to be. I was tiringly curious about the world, and with that I could never just choose one thing to do. My traditional parents strongly valued quality education, and I attended a prestigious high school, where the unspoken rule was to do well enough to become a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. Which obviously meant focusing on one thing. Needless to say, that aspiration did not hold my attention for very long. I became a jack of all trades, and happened to do just well enough to get into the sciences stream. Out of all, I did very much enjoy Biology, and therein followed my choice of degree.

Plant Ecology was always my favourite course in university. I couldn’t see the relevance in peering through microscopes all day, like in Cell and Developmental Biology (sorry, Dr. Briggs).

I much preferred fieldwork in the open forest, breathing fresh air, skin caressed by cool breeze, nervous system calmed by birdsong and rustling leaves. Plus, plants astounded me. Their ability to transform atoms and light into food while supporting species, soil, water, and air health is nothing short of miraculous. I became obsessed — and even more curious.

Still, there grew a frustration with not feeling a tangible connection to the plants I was observing through the lens of natural science.

Am I solely meant to be an observer?

Are the plants observing me too?

What do they think about me?

And then came:

Did I choose the right degree?

Should I have done anthropology, or art, or ethnobotany?

Is there even a degree to describe what I’m thinking about right now?

Can I study plants in this way, and still find more meaning in our relationship beyond the observer-subject?

I was just finding my roots in one disciplinary ecosystem, while my senses were being filled with the possibilities of others.

Wading into Brackish Territory

With my mind brimming with those questions, I went on to pursue a master’s degree in Biodiversity Conservation to explore the threads between contemporary social and environmental issues. There, I did all the non-life sciences courses I could. Socio-ecology, environmental economics, and environmental law were all outstanding.

In this phase, I began thinking about these topics through the lens of ecology and relationships:

How can the natural and social sciences better relate with each other to solve problems that exist in both their spheres?

What is needed for us, humans, to become in deeper relationship with the natural world?

I leaned deeper into learning about the interconnectedness of pressing social and environmental challenges, and the need for systemic approaches and solutions.

There I was, wading into the brackish, muddy territory of the ecotone, weaving together the possibilities, my curiosity leading the way.

Slowing Down, Listening Deeper

Entangled stilt roots of the red mangrove, Rhizophora mangle, during low tide.

The pandemic came soon after, and we were all forced to slow down. This became an opportunity for me to deepen my exploration of the ecotone by listening more closely to the natural world.

What could the natural world teach us about being in relationship with ourselves, with our communities, with nature itself?

What futures could we create if we spent more effort on our human and non-human relationships?

What would the world look like if we collectively saw it as a big, interconnected web?

I spent weeks sitting under the mango tree in my backyard contemplating these sorts of questions.

During this time, I found a special love for mangroves. Mangroves are uniquely adapted to the delicate transitional zone between land and sea. They thrive in the dynamic tension of shifting mud and the brackish waters where fresh and saltwater meet. For Caribbean communities, they are of immense importance — they provide vital habitats for species, support livelihoods, and offer crucial coastal protection against the devastating impacts of tropical hurricanes.

Their stilt roots — a tangled, interwoven labyrinth — became my metaphor for our interconnectedness, a site for tending to our relationships, a beacon of possibility.

As I continued to explore the power of interconnectedness, my path led me to a place where theory and practice could converge, and I could apply the lessons from the ecotone to complex, interconnected, real-world challenges.

Just a few years later, I’m now in the last months of an interdisciplinary research project, where we are blending ecology and engineering to understand how coastal ecosystems (including mangroves!) can improve engineering designs to mitigate climate change impacts in the Caribbean. Some other ecotonal things I’ve done along the way:

• Facilitated art-science collaborations, using community and ecology as a medium.
• Hosted talks and workshops focused on improving relationships for climate-resilient futures for inter-disciplinary and cross-sectoral teams.
• Strategized with non-profits to help them integrate systems thinking to achieve their climate and biodiversity goals.
• Helped bring together experts and leaders from across the region to work on working together for the climate crisis.

I’ve found strength and bravery in the ecotone. I’ve found the most necessary vulnerability. I’ve found resilience and abundance. I’ve found power in standing right in the middle and saying, “this is where I am supposed to be.”

Embracing the ecotone has allowed me to see the possibilities for a better future by deepening and expanding our practice of being together. And I’m so ready to share that vision with the world.