Last week, my eight-year-old granddaughter came with me to the medical complex where my wife has her physical therapy appointments. Standing in that lobby – all shiny surfaces and harsh lighting – she wrinkled her nose and said the place “felt yucky.” Smart kid. I’ve been in a lot of medical buildings over the past few years, and she put her finger on something I’d been thinking about but couldn’t quite articulate.
That got me wondering about all the reading I’ve been doing lately about biophilic design – this idea that bringing nature into buildings actually affects how people feel and heal. Most of what you see is pretty superficial stuff. A few potted plants in the corner, maybe a stone accent wall. But there are people working on approaches that go way deeper than that, and some of it is genuinely interesting.
I came across an article about a senior living facility up in Vancouver that’s doing something clever with their lighting systems. They’ve got automated controls that adjust both the artificial lights and window coverings based on actual weather conditions and seasonal changes throughout the day. The residents don’t really notice it happening, but apparently their sleep patterns have improved significantly. One woman mentioned she stopped needing those afternoon naps that had become routine.
That makes sense to me. When you’re dealing with aging and health issues, sleep becomes such a critical factor in everything else – pain levels, mood, cognitive function. If something as simple as better light management can help with that, it’s worth paying attention to.
I’ve been trying some smaller-scale versions of this thinking in our own house. Instead of treating every room the same way, I’ve started creating what I guess you’d call different atmospheric zones. The corner where my wife does her reading has more humidity from extra plants and runs a bit cooler – kind of like being under trees. My workshop area is warmer and drier.
It sounds more complicated than it is. Mostly strategic plant placement and some modifications to how air moves through the house. But I’ve noticed we both naturally gravitate toward different areas depending on how we’re feeling or what we need to get done.
The really interesting developments seem to be happening where technology meets traditional knowledge about how natural systems work. There’s a project in Copenhagen where they’ve embedded sensors throughout the building materials that monitor air quality and humidity, then automatically trigger responses from living plant systems. When carbon dioxide levels get too high, certain plants get extra water to boost their air-cleaning capacity.
But some of the most effective innovations I’m reading about are actually pretty low-tech. A school district in Oregon has been letting kids design and build their own learning spaces using local materials – branches, stones, even making their own charcoal for air filtration. Test scores haven’t changed much, but behavioral problems have dropped significantly. Teachers report better attention spans and more cooperation.
There’s something to that idea of kids actually constructing their spaces from materials they can find in their own environment. They develop a connection and understanding that you just can’t get from manufactured products, no matter how environmentally friendly they claim to be.
I’ve been thinking about this in relation to some of the accessibility modifications I’ve made around our house over the years. The raised garden beds I built for my wife work better than store-bought ones partly because I could customize them exactly for her needs and mobility limitations. But also because I used cedar from a local mill and stones we collected ourselves from a creek bed about twenty miles from here.
The materials have a connection to this place that mass-produced products don’t have. When my wife sits out there working with her plants, she’s surrounded by elements that belong to this particular landscape and climate. I think that matters more than I initially realized.
I read about a hospital in Phoenix that recently redid their lobby using sandstone quarried nearby and desert plants that patients’ families would actually recognize from walking around the area. Recovery times for certain procedures decreased by more than a day on average. That connection between what’s inside the building and what’s outside in the actual local environment seems obvious, but apparently most projects still default to generic tropical plants regardless of where they’re located.
Water systems are getting more sophisticated too. Instead of decorative fountains that just recycle the same water, some projects are using functional systems that actually contribute to building performance. Gray water from sinks gets channeled through planted areas that filter and cool it while creating habitat for beneficial insects and birds.
A house in Austin integrated rainwater collection with a series of connected ponds throughout the property. During storms, residents can watch water flow from gutters through various planted channels before ending up in underground storage. The kids there understand the complete water cycle in ways that wouldn’t be possible in a conventional setup.
This reminds me of my grandparents’ farm, where you could trace water from the well to the kitchen to the garden to the pond where cattle drank. Everything connected. We’ve spent decades building systems that hide these connections, then wondering why spaces feel disconnected from natural processes.
Sound management is another area that’s advancing. Instead of just masking noise, some projects are creating active acoustic environments using living walls selected specifically for sound-dampening properties, combined with water features tuned to mask distracting frequencies while still allowing normal conversation.
The result is spaces that feel quieter without being completely silent – they have the layered acoustic richness you’d experience in a healthy forest.
But what I think is most interesting about where this field is heading is the idea of buildings that actually function as ecosystems rather than just containing references to nature. I’ve been reading about pilot projects where structures actively contribute to local environmental health instead of just trying to minimize their negative impact.
One planned mixed-use development is designing the building envelope to function as nesting habitat for native birds, with roof systems that provide corridors connecting fragmented natural areas, and foundation design that creates underground water storage benefiting surrounding vegetation during droughts.
People get all the psychological and health benefits of nature connection, but the building itself becomes a positive contributor to the urban environment rather than just a neutral presence.
This isn’t just feel-good environmentalism – it’s practical necessity. Climate change is making our cities increasingly hostile to both human and non-human life. Buildings that can adapt, that can provide cooling and air purification and stormwater management, aren’t luxury features anymore. They’re basic infrastructure for survival.
My granddaughter who called that medical building “yucky” understood something important. Spaces that cut us off from living systems don’t just lack appeal – they actively work against our ability to feel good and function well. The next generation of nature-inspired design isn’t about decoration. It’s about creating built environments that actually support life in all its forms.
That’s something worth figuring out, especially for those of us who plan to age in place and need our homes to work with us rather than against us as our needs change over time.
Robert is a retired engineer in Michigan who’s spent the past few years adapting his longtime home for accessibility and wellbeing. He writes about practical, DIY ways to make homes more comfortable and life-affirming as we age — from raised-bed gardens to better natural light.
