Finding Connection in Fragmentation: A Case for Land Sharing

photo by Kathryn Prince

Guest Blog by by Kathryn Prince, Wisconsin Pollinator Conservation Specialist, Xerces Society

When I was a kid, I lived deep in the woods, many miles from the nearest town. The few neighbors I had were mostly vacation cottages that sat empty once summer ended. Patches of wild strawberries grew along the roadsides. Frogs sang a nightly chorus in spring. Down by the lakeshore you could catch stoneflies by the dozen where they sat sunning themselves on the pier. The night sky was bright with stars.

As the years went on, more and more people decided they liked the forest too, and moved there. Dirt roads were paved. New subdivisions were plotted. Houses were built, and pole barns too. Summer cottages were torn down and replaced by huge lakehouses with manicured lawns. Trees came down, security lights turned on. The forest shrank. The frogs disappeared. The stoneflies did too. 

Bumble bees, clockwise, from top left: A brown-belted bumble bee (Bombus griseocollis) pollinating purple prairie clover (Dalea purpurea), a tri-colored bumble bee (Bombus ternarius), a yellow bumble bee (Bombus fervidus) in flight, and a western bumble bee (Bombus occidentalis). (Photos: Xerces Society / Katie Lamke; David Cappaert, Michigan State University, Bugwood.org; Kara Keating-Stuart; Xerces Society / Rich Hatfield)

I haven't been back there in years. It's still miles from the nearest town, but now it resembles any old suburban subdivision more than it resembles the forest I once knew. It's a strange thing, really, to like a place so much that we change it until we've liked it to death. But it happens all the time.

There are conflicting ideologies about how human infrastructure can be designed to encourage the continued existence of our wildlife. In the United States, our cultural framing of conservation has historically emphasized keeping wildlife habitat and human activity separate. This concept is called land sparing, and involves setting aside chunks of land for nature while the surrounding landscape is free to be used for intense human development. A classic example of land sparing would be Central Park in Manhattan: the green heart of a concrete island. In the Midwest, land sparing might look like a county park that's surrounded by intensively farmed row crops. 

The opposite of land sparing is land sharing. This ideology places less priority on separating protected parcels of habitat from human activity and instead disperses habitat throughout a human landscape, thereby making development less concentrated. This could look like a farm or garden that includes habitat features but does not match the quality of intact habitat.

Wasps, clockwise, from top left: A thread-waisted wasp (Ammophila procera) on spotted beebalm (Monarda punctada), a braconid wasp, a paper wasp (Polistes sp.) on spotted beebalm, and a Scoliid wasp on goldenrod (Soldiago sp.). (Photos: Mary Keim / Flickr Creative Commons 2.0, Katja Schulz / Flickr CC 2.0, Mary Keim / Flickr CC 2.0, Xerces Society / Emily May)

So which approach is best for wildlife? 

The question is somewhat theoretical. Obviously, preserving patches of quality habitat is important and so is incorporating habitat features into human spaces. But in practice, land sparing has been a big part of how we have created our communities, and is ingrained into how we think about nature as a culture. 

As the world grows more populous and land grows more expensive, our best option may be to find ways to make land that has already been claimed for humanity better for the wildlife that we have left. The fixes can sometimes be small. They can be subtle. And interestingly enough, they tend to make our own lives better. After all, we are also sensitive to changes in our habitat, sometimes in ways we don't even realize. Adding native flowers and trees to our neighborhoods makes them beautiful, and people are happier when they live in beautiful places. Farming in wildlife-friendly ways lets us grow more nutritionally dense food and support healthier livestock, in turn making our own diets healthier. Less intense outdoor lighting leads to better sleep, and may even ameliorate other human diseases and disorders that are caused by our near-constant exposure to long wavelength light.

I wonder sometimes what the world could look like if the lines we've drawn between nature and humanity weren't so stark. Instead of watering and fertilizing lawns, what if the people who built those new houses in the forest where I used to live had replanted the trees and flowers they'd displaced? What if they had welcomed wildlife into their spaces? Would there still be stoneflies and strawberries for the next generation of kids to enjoy?

Butterflies and moths, clockwise, from top left: A great purple hairstreak (Atlides halesus), a member of the gossamer wing family (Lycaenidae) of butterflies; a white-lined sphinx moth (Hyles lineata) nectaring at a thistle; a Baltimore checkerspot (Euphydryas phaeton), a member of the brushfoot family (Nymphidaliae) of butterflies; and a cloudless sulphur butterfly (Phoebis sennae) on a thistle. (Photos, top row: Xerces Society / Stephanie McKnight; bottom row: Bryan E. Reynolds)

Even more concerning than the childhoods those kids missed out on is the thought that they may never realize what they could have had. If a degraded environment is the only thing we've ever known, how can we recognize how bad things have gotten? Maybe the best way to start is by cherishing the fragments that have been spared, and to build connections between them by sharing our own spaces.  

Meet Kathryn on YouTube!

If conservation in the human world is of interest to you, stay tuned! WIWiC and the Xerces Society are partnering to put on a series of three invertebrate-themed webinars for summer 2026. We'll talk in more detail about how to conceptualize and plan pollinator habitat in a landscape of human uses, learn how livestock pastures can flourish alongside native plants and animals, and discover the world of nocturnal pollinators and the value of the darkness that they call home. 

Beetles, clockwise from upper left: Lady beetles mating, Colorado plains soldier beetles (Chauliognathus basalis), a seven spotted lady beetle (Coccinella septempunctata), and a soldier beetle (Cantharidae sp.) on blanket flower (Gaillardia sp.). (Photos: top row, left to right: Rob Flynn / USDA-ARS; Whitney Cranshaw, Colorado State University, Bugwood.org; bottom row, left to right: Debbie Roos, NCSU-CES / Flickr Creative Commons 2.0; Russ Ottens, University of Georgia, Bugwood.org)