Do you want to know more about how LoST ideas can be incorporated into a guidebook on trekking?
Let me know what you think.
Following on from my Trekking in the Indian Himalaya (Cicerone, 2025) which is now out, you can find some behind the scenes information at Cicerone’s website. There’s an ‘In conversation’ piece with me here and another article here.
Conversations with communities matter because communities can’t be understood from a distance.
They can’t be fully understood through reports, plans, statistics, maps or strategies alone – these have value, but they only ever give us part of the picture. Communities are made through relationships, memory, experience, knowledge, conflict, reciprocity and change. But much of this is not immediately visible. It’s carried in stories, silences, local practices and everyday ways of knowing.
This is why conversations matter.
These aren’t conversations as token consultation. They’re not conversations as a way of extracting information. They’re not conversations that are shaped by a predetermined outcome or set of assumptions. These are conversations that create space for people to reflect on their own experience, share what matters, and make visible the knowledge that already exists within communities.
In community resilience work, these conversations are essential.
Resilience is often discussed in broad terms. We talk about adaptation, preparedness, recovery, capacity and systems. But resilience is not only a policy idea. It is something lived in place. It’s found in how communities respond to change, how relationships are maintained, how local knowledge is used, and how people continue to care for each other and their landscapes under pressure.
If we want to understand community resilience, we need to understand communities themselves.
That requires conversation.
Conversations allow us to hear how people experience change. They reveal what communities value, what they fear losing, what they have already adapted to, and what forms of support might strengthen rather than undermine local capacity. They also reveal tensions. Communities are not simple or uniform. They contain different voices, histories, positions and forms of power. A good conversation does not flatten these differences. It allows them to be recognised.
Real conversations do something different.
They slow the process down. They allow stories to emerge. They help us understand how people make sense of their own places. They remind us that communities are not projects. They existed before our work began and they will continue after our work ends.
To have a conversation with a community is to accept that we do not already know. It is to place ourselves in a position of humility. It is to recognise that expertise does not only sit with professionals, academics, consultants or travellers. It sits with people who live in place, who know its changes, who have experienced its pressures, and who understand its meanings in ways that outsiders cannot immediately grasp.
This is why conversations matter so much.
They change what counts as knowledge.
They challenge quick assumptions.
They reveal power.
They make visible what is often overlooked.
And they remind us that communities aren’t passive recipients of resilience strategies or background features in travel experiences. They are active holders of knowledge, memory and adaptation.
For those of us working in community resilience, conversations are not optional. They are the foundation of meaningful practice.
We need to slow down enough to listen even if we have deadlines. We need to pay attention to place rather than a ‘community’. We need to recognise that stories are knowledge. And we need to approach communities not as sources of information, but as living systems of relationship, memory and resilience.
Conversations with communities matter because they are how deeper understanding begins.
They’re how we move beyond surface. They’re how we learn what resilience already looks like on the ground. And they’re how we begin to engage in ways that are more thoughtful, more respectful and more connected to the landscapes of stories and time in which communities live.
This is one of the reasons Conversations with Communities exists.
It’s based on the idea that community development and resilience work needs reflective spaces. Practitioners, researchers, facilitators and community members need places where they can think together about power, voice, listening, participation and resilience. Too much community engagement is rushed. Too much consultation is procedural. Too many processes ask communities to respond to frameworks that have already been decided elsewhere. Conversations with Communities provides a space where we can share, reflect and have our own conversations.
When we talk about communities, we often talk about people. We talk about relationships, networks, participation, identity and belonging. We talk about needs, aspirations, strengths and challenges. These conversations matter. But there is something that is often left in the background – literally and conceptually.
Place.
More specifically, the landscapes within which communities exist.
Landscapes and communities
Too often, landscapes are treated as some kind of background to community life. They are acknowledged as context but rarely understood as actively shaping how communities function.
We might refer to a coastal town, a mountain village or an urban neighbourhood, where we use landscapes as a marker, but still the landscape itself is too often treated as secondary to the people within it. But landscapes are not backdrops. They are systems and they are systems connected to people and communities and all that connection entails. Remembering this can change how we think about communities and ultimately how we think about resilience.
A landscape influences resilience.
Rivers shape movement and settlement. Terrain influences access and connection. Climate affects livelihoods and patterns of daily life. Infrastructure changes how places relate to each other. Even in cities and suburbs, streets, green spaces, waterways and transport networks structure how people interact and how communities form.
This doesn’t mean landscapes determine everything. Communities are not passive products of geography. But landscapes create conditions, opportunities and constraints that shape how community life develops over time.
When we begin to see landscapes in this way, community resilience also starts to look different. Think about what resilience actually looks like on the ground. It might appear as spiritual connections to place, or local knowledge of seasonal change. It might be reflected in how people use water, respond to environmental pressures, or maintain networks across distance. It might show up in decisions about land use, movement, food systems or everyday acts of care and adaptation.
But these aren’t separate from landscapes. They’re expressions of living within it and understanding it.
This becomes particularly visible when communities experience change. Economic shifts, environmental pressures, population movement and infrastructure development all reshape how places function. Communities respond but they do so from within existing systems of relationships with land and place.
This means resilience is not only about strengthening social connections. It is also about understanding the landscapes those connections depend upon. These are not just social connections but are socio-ecological connections.
Communities, landscapes and LoST
This is where the LoST Framework becomes useful. LoST begins from the idea that landscapes are not passive settings but dynamic systems shaped by stories, relationships and change over time – the hyphen in socio-ecological connections.
Therefore the framework encourages us to ask different questions.
Instead of asking What does this community need? LoST wants us to ask How does this place shape those needs?
We then begin to ask other questions:
What stories exist here?
What socio-ecological relationships sustain this community?
What changes are visible in the landscape?
What histories continue to influence the present?
These questions shift us from seeing communities as isolated groups and toward understanding them as parts of broader systems.
Importantly, LoST is not only relevant to community practitioners. It matters equally for travellers.
Travel often reproduces the same problem. Landscapes become scenery. Communities become experiences. Places become consumed rather than understood.
But if landscapes are no longer understood as backdrops, travel changes too. Walking, cycling and paddling become more than movement. They become ways of observing how landscapes work. They reveal how communities connect to place, how environments shape everyday life, and how change appears on the ground.
Movement becomes a method of understanding.
The above points create an interesting connection between LoST Travel and Conversations with Communities.
At first glance they can appear different with one focused on movement through landscapes, the other on facilitating community resilience. But both begin with the same premise: understanding requires context.
There are some important commonalities:
In this sense, landscapes become more than physical environments. They become places where social, ecological and cultural systems intersect.
This changes practice.
It changes travel.
And it changes resilience.
Resilience emerges not apart from place, but through it.
Watch out for more posts further exploring this over the coming months.
Join the conversations at conversationswithcommunities.com.
Observation is too-often treated as a preliminary step in community resilience: something done before action – data gathered, workshops run, participation formalised. Yet in practice, observation is not a precursor to community resilience – it’s one of its foundations. To observe well is to take seriously the everyday life of place and landscape, to recognise that resilience is lived here and to understand that voices are not only spoken, but enacted through daily practices, rhythms, silences and relationships.
This means observation is not passive. It is an ethical, political and relational act. It shapes whose knowledge is recognised, whose experiences are centred and how understanding is always developed. When done well, observation enables “thick and rich” understandings of communities and landscapes, creating the conditions for meaningful participation and for voices – particularly those often marginalised – to be heard beyond that spoken.
Observing the Everyday Life of Place and Landscape
Communities are not abstractions. They are lived realities embedded in specific places, shaped by landscapes, infrastructures, histories and routines. Observation allows practitioners to move beyond surface narratives and into the everyday life of a place: how people move through space, where they gather, how they use land and resources and how social relationships are expressed in ordinary moments.
This everyday life is where resilience is continually negotiated. It appears in how people adapt to seasonal change, respond to environmental pressures, share resources, care for one another and maintain cultural practices. They are also the locations of inequalities and the contexts within which they occur.
These forms of resilience are rarely visible in formal meetings or captured through surveys alone. They are embedded in walking routes, informal economies, shared spaces and the interactions of what in my world are called ‘everyday life’.
With observations, landscapes are no longer just physical settings, but social – ecological systems rich with memory, identity and knowledge. Observing how people relate to their environment – what they protect, what they modify, what they avoid – can reveal values that may never be explicitly stated but are central to community life.
Thick and Rich Understanding as Methodology
A methodology based on “thick and rich” understanding recognises that complexity cannot be reduced without losing something. Observation, sustained over time, allows practitioners to notice nuance, contradiction and change. It supports an approach that values depth over speed and context over generalisation.
Thick observation involves paying attention not only to what happens, but to how and why it happens in particular ways. It notices patterns and their disruptions, formal structures and informal practices, power dynamics and quiet acts of resistance. It recognises that communities are not homogeneous and that resilience is unevenly distributed.
This kind of understanding challenges extractive forms of research and engagement. Rather than entering a community to quickly identify problems and solutions, observation-based methodologies invite practitioners to slow down, to learn before acting and to remain open to being changed by what they encounter. This shift is critical in resilience work, where poorly grounded interventions can undermine existing strengths or reinforce inequalities.
Rich observation also creates space for uncertainty. It allows practitioners to resist premature conclusions and to hold multiple interpretations at once. In doing so, it mirrors the lived complexity of communities themselves. Resilience, after all, is not a fixed outcome but an ongoing process shaped by changing conditions and relationships. Observation helps keep this process visible.
Observation and Participation
Participation is often framed in terms of inclusion: who is invited to the table, who attends meetings, who fills out surveys. Observation expands this understanding by recognising participation that already exists within communities. It reveals who is active, who is excluded, and how decisions are made informally as well as formally.
Through observation, practitioners can identify barriers to participation that may not be openly discussed – timing, location, language, social norms, or historical distrust. They can also recognise forms of participation that do not align with institutional expectations but are nonetheless meaningful: mutual aid networks, informal leadership, everyday acts of care.
By grounding participation strategies in observed realities rather than assumptions, community resilience work becomes more accessible and equitable. Observation helps ensure that engagement processes align with how people actually live their lives, rather than requiring communities to adapt to externally imposed structures.
Importantly, observation also requires reflexivity. Practitioners must observe themselves within the process: how their presence shapes interactions, whose voices they gravitate towards and what they may be missing. This self-awareness strengthens participation by reducing the risk of reinforcing existing power imbalances.
Ensuring Voices Are Heard
We know that not all voices are equally audible. Some are loud and confident, others quiet or expressed indirectly. Observation allows practitioners to notice whose perspectives dominate and whose are marginalised and to understand the reasons behind this imbalance.
But we also should remember that voices are expressed in more ways than speech. They appear in actions, absences, body language and the use of space. Observation helps capture these forms of expression, particularly for those who may feel unsafe, unwelcome, or unheard in formal settings. It enables a more inclusive understanding of community perspectives.
By building trust over time, observation-based approaches create conditions where people may feel more comfortable sharing their experiences. When communities see that practitioners are willing to listen before acting and to learn without judgment, engagement deepens. Voices are not simply collected; they are respected. This is foundational for ‘community-led’.
This has direct implications for resilience outcomes. When interventions are informed by observed realities and grounded in lived experience, they are more likely to be relevant, supported and sustained. Communities are more willing to engage when they recognise themselves in the process and see their knowledge reflected in decisions.
Observation as an Ethical Commitment
At its core, observation in community resilience is an ethical precursor to ‘community-led’. It acknowledges that communities are experts in their own lives and that resilience cannot be imposed from outside. But observation asks us to be present, patient and attentive – to take time seriously as an investment in community-led resilience.
Why ‘Thick and Rich’ Matters
In an era of urgency, where communities face accelerating social, economic and environmental pressures, and too much community resilience is framed by and driven by project timeframes, the temptation is to act quickly. Observation reminds us that speed can come at the cost of understanding. By investing in thick and rich observation, forms of community resilience become not only more effective, but more just.
Observation matters because it anchors resilience in place, honours everyday life, supports meaningful participation and ensures that voices are genuinely heard. It transforms community engagement from a transactional process into a relational one, where learning flows both ways and resilience is co-created rather than prescribed.
