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Kate's Blog-Reflections on Nature, Disability and Communication.

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  • Kate Morley
  • 3 days ago
  • 2 min read

This crip body oozes, seeps and flows

When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go

The rivers surge, in spate and flow

Water companies can’t be bothered. Let the sewage go.

The shit gets blocked and obstructed, doesn’t flow.

The medications metabolised no longer needed into the sea they go

 

Don’t talk about loos. The shame. The physiology hidden

Capitalism impacts the human body unbidden

Money can be extracted from bodies here

Spending a penny, a pound for a poo

They don’t have to provide, join the paying loo queue

 

Battle lines drawn on who can enter which stalls

Cameras installed for all

 

Spending time in nature might be good for your health

But the 'loo leash' gets snagged and pulls people back unless you’ve got the wealth


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Dock leaf loo roll. Image K. Morley
Dock leaf loo roll. Image K. Morley

Further information:




Most of us need a public toilet occasionally, but this is a more urgent problem for those with medications or medical conditions that increase the frequency of needing to use the toilet (such as diabetes or bladder, bowel, or prostate conditions). Increasing age can also increase the need, as does the requirement for nappy changing and for young children who can’t wait. Knowledge of the lack of nearby facilities acts as a ‘loo leash’, deterring some from venturing far beyond their homes.





Further reading:



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This piece was written as a reflection of the discussions I've had this year with fantastic friends and the many conversations about the limitations of access to toilets and the impact that this can have on whether people are able to spend time in nature.

 
 
  • Kate Morley
  • Mar 29
  • 2 min read

My black, sleek wings are ready. Ready to preen. Ready to gleam. Ready for flight.

 

As I start standing on the cold stone, my talons rest with certainty. The skills my mother taught me, to have confidence, to know that the air will hold me and carry me to where I want to be.

 

To lift me high, high up into the treetops, which weren’t standing here before. To perch amongst the branches that hold my weight seemingly precarious, my balance certain, that I am here and I will hold myself aloft above the chaos below.

 

I have the freedom, the freedom to go where I please, to fly in the skies and know that I will not be persecuted in the same way as my friends of old.

 

People have seen us as a blessing. People have seen us as a curse, but now we go unnoticed by most. My raucous calls and vocalisations tell my others that I am here and I belong.

 

On fires, I swoop and explore, on carcasses, I feast, part of the ‘cleanup crew’, pulling and tearing the flesh alongside red-winged butterflies. The air will carry us both up. Up into the sky. Up into a belief that with space we can thrive.


A black and white picture of a wooden carving of a raven in flight
Image: K. Morley. Black and white image of a wooden Raven carving.

Video: R Morley. Video of a family of ravens feeding on a roe deer carcass with vocalisations.
Video: R Morley. Video on Red Admiral butterflies on a roe deer carcass

This piece was written as part of a series of creative writing sessions that are being led by Dr Tanvir Bush and supported by Dr Sarah Bell of the Sensing Climate project. The series is called ‘The Elementals’, with each session guided by an elemental theme; Earth, Fire, Water, Air and Spirit.



 
 
  • Kate Morley
  • Mar 23
  • 3 min read

As someone who continues to feel like an interloper in academia, I'm struck by how much needs to be quantified and measured. It feels like when it comes to how academia functions, numbers are still 'king'. This is despite my research using a qualitative ethnographic methodology, which explores beliefs, behaviours, voices, and experiences.


When asked for a 'research update', just saying "I'm still in my analysis phase" may seem a bit 'woolly' and inefficient.


As I come to the final phase of my PhD (as well as a cliff edge of funding), I thought it would be useful to take stock of what I have been up to in the last 18 months (in numbers...):


  • 314,678 words in transcripts

  • 32 interview transcripts

  • 31 HOURS of interview recordings

  • (all of the above has been reviewed 3 times)

  • 111 Documents and policies that have been reviewed and analysed

  • 9 Research-based meetings attended/observed

  • 15 Presentations given

  • 2,773 miles travelled for research activities.


Disability Studies is a notoriously difficult field to find funding for or to shoehorn into an unyielding academic structure; add to this the need to accommodate the experience of crip time for myself and my participants, and it feels that 'doing' a Critical Disability Studies PhD within the 'typical' timeframe was always going to be a challenge.


I dream of futures where academia has the flexibility to honour the pace needed for Disability Studies, to avoid fishbowling and extractive research practices... an academia that authentically wants to hear and centre the voices of disabled people, and values the expertise and insights of disabled researchers; a future of crip academia; an academia that is built on anti-ableist and anti-normalcy ideologies and is "connected to community, solidarity, outspokenness, and defiance" (McRuer, 2019).


Despite all this, I feel honoured to have spent the last 18 months talking to some fantastic people who have shared their experiences of nature, their efforts to find space with nature, and the insights that could help us in these times of biodiversity collapse. At times, these discussions have brought tears; at others, roars of laughter. Those conversations have been had on clifftops, in urban woodlands, next to rivers, in front rooms or cars looking out of windows. Witnessing the joys that nature brings, witnessing the harms that are being done as well as deep discussions of the 'context of crap' that so many people are living with in a fragmented society where narratives of hate and division try their best to undermine feelings of belonging and relationships with place and nature; also reflecting how society often determines where different humans and non-humans 'fit'.



Images: K.Morley

River Stour with sky reflections. Quiet corner in Poole Park with circular seating. Graffiti on a pedestrian crossing linking two park areas.


How the legacy of political, policy, and personnel churn directly impacts the decision-makers who are working to find space for nature. Hearing how the awe and love of nature for decision-makers motivates them to do more with less, 'when money's too tight to mention', and land use is increasingly being driven towards building non-accessible and non-affordable housing.


It's been an immense privilege to experience nature with my participants, and as I begin to pull the strands of their insights together, I hope I can weave a picture that explains what nature means to disabled people.


As one of my participants shared:


"I feel much better when I’m outside. It’s the air that you breathe, it’s the fact that you’re not indoors stressing about jobs, it’s a complete and utter outpouring of my whole self into a park or a garden. It doesn’t matter where it is, as long as there’s birds or bushes or people, I do find it much better. So nature is a big thing for me, yeah, nature means a lot to me. It's been a lifesaver."


I would like to send huge thanks to my participants and my supervisors, who keep me motivated and allow me the space to still be creative.



Images: K.Morley

The importance of encountering incidental nature. Goats being used for conservation grazing behind beach huts. Community growing space.

Image: K.Morley. Starling being fed by hand.
Image: K.Morley. Starling being fed by hand.

Links to further reading:







 
 
Phoenix Stained glass window by James Paterson (Kate's great Uncle) from Saint Sidwell's church Exeter

Whealphoenix Ltd

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red and black cinnabar moth

© 2026 by Nature's Ear. Hill Crest, Longdown, Exeter. EX6 7SR Kate Morley

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