A discussion of the benefits of building an LGBT+ community in nature and finding space outside.
In 2016, I was listening to my dear friend (and then housemate) Rohit Menon give his TEDx talk to the Greater Lansing area. In his talk, he discussed the theory of ‘third places’ – a concept that fascinated me then, and still does five years later writing this piece.
Third places, as named in Roy Oldenburg’s The Great Good Place (1989), are social condensers; they are places where the people of a community or a neighbourhood meet to develop friendships, discuss issues, and interact with others. They are distinctive, informal gathering places, such as bars, clubs or cafes. They nourish relationships and a diversity of human contact; they help create a sense of place and community. They might invoke a sense of civic pride or just allow people to unwind and relax after a long day (Nozzi 2005).
Covid-19 and the global pandemic have made it necessary to isolate in order to keep each other safe and healthy, but it has also stripped us of these third places. Spaces where we do not necessarily work or live but can just be ourselves. The loss of these third places hits my queer self particularly hard. I miss the club nights and the drag queens, raising my hands above my head and shaking my hips to 80’s pop anthems, singing along to lyrics I’ve heard many times before. I like existing in spaces where social norms don’t have to be assumed, embodied or expected. Spaces where the wide range of differences in human beings, in who they are and who they love, is celebrated. A variety of humans sharing different intimacies, whether it be kisses or coming out stories.
"I like existing in spaces where social norms don’t have to be assumed, embodied or expected."
And while some elements of these spaces digitise surprisingly well, I yearn for these physical places that often feel a bit sacred to me.
Like many others, I’ve felt the weight of multiple lockdowns on my mental health. Sometimes when I walk around my city, I see the words ‘confinement breeds domestic violence’ graffitied on walls and I think about the people who are not safe in their homes, who aren’t out yet or who can’t fully be themselves. I think about those who are isolated, and how so many of us are feeling deeply lonely. Inherently, we are social animals, and there is a real need to be in relationship with safe and loving others – at least I know this is true for me. There’s something grounding about physically being with others we trust – even healing (it’s called co-regulation!) There is magic in sharing stories and safety and connection. Third places are the bedrock of these types of connections, Oldenburg points out, ‘desirable experiences occur in places that are conducive to them, or they do not occur at all. When certain kinds of places disappear, certain kinds of experiences disappear with them’ (Oldenburg 1989).
"There’s something grounding about physically being with others we trust – even healing."
This is not to say that there isn’t the LGBTQ+ community online, and in fact it was the internet herself that led me to my new community space. As I casually doom-scrolled Instagram as I am wont to do, I saw a post from my favourite cooperative venue (Leeds LGBT+ Forum) advertising an LGBTQ+ community allotment. I emailed in immediately. While much of my experience as a queer woman up until this point has been lived out in bars and LGBT+ nightclubs, I wondered, when certain kinds of places disappear, and new, other kinds of places appear, what kinds of experiences appear along with them?
Community allotments and gardens are simply any piece of land gardened by a group of people for the benefit of the group and the larger community – as the organiser of my allotment likes to say, ‘for self and mutual benefit’. The first time I came upon the concept of community gardens and their effect on mental health, it was more than a year ago while reading Lost Connections, Johann Hari’s book on depression (Hari 2020). In it, he examines how community gardens can help people find and reconnect to others. Since then, I’ve found there is quite a bit of research on the effect simply being outside and in nature has on both your mental and physical health. The Guardian also explored this connection between gardening and depression, and a report by Natural England found nature-based therapies helped reduce stress, anxiety, and depression (Johnson 2019; Natural England 2016).
Since I’ve started helping out at the allotment, I’ve noticed some shifts in my own mental health. It feels good to build something with and for others. I spend a lot of time online for work and so it feels good to help build a physical space, do physical things. It’s a good way to give my mind a rest, but keep it distracted at the same time. Winter is a hard time for me, but learning to prepare the beds, how to cover them with compost and cardboard that will break down and decompose under the crisp snow – it’s given me a new appreciation for these colder months and the role winter plays in creating rich nutritious soil for spring to give birth in. It’s helping me feel connected to the earth in a time that usually feels dark and dead.
"It feels good to build something with and for others."
And there’s something special about being in a place, any place, where people know your name, and where you run into those you didn’t expect to see or hadn’t made plans with. Those who you share common values, or passions or loves with, and particularly when that love is the land. I feel there are so many reasons for community gardens to be a cherished part of the LGBTQ+ community building toolbox. Community gardens, especially queer community gardens, not only increase our social connections and our networks, but they increase our resources. They can provide people opportunities to build skills, gain experience, and training for new kinds of work (Lovell et al. 2014). They can act as crucial safety support nets in times of hardship, not just by producing fresh food but because places where people come together to destress, to share experiences and gain community support make those communities more resilient (Shimpo et al. 2019). They can instil in people more environmental values, teach people conservation and sustainable practices, reclaim unused urban land and maybe, just maybe, even help prevent future pandemics (Liu et al. 2019).
"I feel there are so many reasons for community gardens to be a cherished part of the LGBTQ+ community building toolbox."
Article written by Becca Brunk, PhD
(She/Her)
Resource Link
Leeds LGBT+ Forum Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Leeds-LGBT-Forum-109954137067939/
Works Cited
Hari, J. (2020). Lost connections. Bloomsbury Publishing.
Johnson, S. (2019). Green therapy: how gardening is helping fight depression. The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/society/2019/may/13/green-therapy-gardening-helping-fight-depression
Liu, L., Zhong, Y., Ao, S., and Wu, H. (2019). Exploring the relevance of green space and epidemic diseases based on panel data in China from 2007 to 2016. International journal of environmental research and public health, 16(14), 2551.
Lovell, R., Husk, K., Bethel, A., and Garside, R. (2014). What are the health and well-being impacts of community gardening for adults and children: a mixed method systematic review protocol. Environmental Evidence, 3(1)., pg.1-13.
Menon, R. (2016) The Coffee Shop Effect. Tedx Talks. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZKy7wObZbU
Natural England (2016). A Review of Nature-based Interventions for Mental Health Care [NECR204].
Nozzi, D (2005). What is a 'Third Place' and Why Are They Important? Walkable Streets. Available at: https://walkablestreets.wordpress.com/2005/06/17/what-is-a-third-place-and-why-are-they-important/
Oldenburg, R. (1989). The Great Good Place. Paragon House.
Shimpo, N., Wesener, A., and McWilliam, W. (2019). How community gardens may contribute to community resilience following an earthquake. Urban forestry & urban greening, 38., pg. 124-132.