The discoveries of Dr. Suzanne Simard about the mycelium networks connecting trees have drastically changed how we look at forests. More than just individual competitors, trees can also collaborate by sending each other water and nutrients via underground fungal networks. In this way, the health of forests is inextricably linked to the health of the larger soil microbiome. This discovery underscores what we have always known to be important in ecosystems – connectedness and interrelation. More than other natural sciences, ecology emphasizes systems thinking. Part of the joy and challenge of ecological research is that systems are infinitely complex. On top of that, in a time where humans have impacted all natural systems on Earth, understanding the role of humans in ecosystems is even more challenging. One of the central questions in environmental philosophy is that of the human-nature divide: are humans separate from or a part of the nature we see all around us?- Audrey Denvir

Elizabeth is going into the ground is a play about ecology and community, and in that way I think it taps into some deep human truth about our need for each other and our shared responsibility to care for each other. But this is also about queerness – in particular, how lonely and isolating it can feel to experience one’s own queerness as an obstacle to community. Together, these themes struck me as deeply resonant with the growing field of queer ecology. In theory, queer ecology is an intervention into the natural sciences – a discipline committed to shifting paradigms away from heteronormativity, patriarchy, and gender and sex binaries. In practice, it means “ ooking at the world through a nuanced lens, differentiating between ingrained social ideologies and the natural world. By approaching nature with an open mind, we can rid ourselves of the rigid, oppressive thought processes behind ecological science and slowly shift cultural perceptions. Creating an awareness and understanding that queerness is a part of nature and human behavior, not an anomaly but a natural way of existing. The more we accept that we don’t understand nature, the more we will be able to form a more comprehensive and accurate depiction of the natural world." -Climate Culture 

This play – in its nuanced character depictions, its organic structure, its aural and visual landscape, even its careful use of rhythm and metaphor – asks us to think beyond binaries like outside and inside, straight and gay, local and transplant, alive and dead. It also asks us to consider how we are connected – what fragile strands unite us that know no boundaries or binaries and which keep us, and all organisms, alive. In a forest, these strands are mycorrhiza – fungal filaments that transmit nutrients and pheromones between tree species, warning of danger or bringing aid. I think queer community relies on its own kind of mycorrhiza – what we call – queer kinship. The connections between us that exist beyond and unite us in spite of biological differences. Queer kinship, in concept and in practice, is a beautiful antidote to this all too common experience. Through it, we come to feel ourselves a part of a community – an ecosystem, if you will – comprising all kinds of species with all kinds of needs and contributions, yet united in our shared reliance on each other to survive.