This is my second circle of the Moss today. When I walked with Clyde this morning, I noticed that the contractors were back on site. The fence across the central path had been reinstalled – this time with a lower, sturdier structure. This version would be easy to climb over, for anyone who was determined. I think it will have more chance of staying put, but I will be interested to see what happens after the last attempt was destroyed in the night.

I meet Bob outside the station. He lives on the other side of the track and for decades, he has walked and jogged round the Moss. Bob is a retired maths professor and moved up to Glasgow in 1980. He discovered a love of hillwalking and has been an active member of the Ramblers ever since. Like David K, Bob learnt about my project from Carol. I am grateful to her for recruiting new walkers on my behalf! Bob has a slight ankle injury today, so he tells me he might struggle a bit, but should be fine to complete a circle. Bob no longer runs here, but he often walks this route. He tells me he is ‘law abiding’ and always sticks to the main paths.

My semi-regular run takes me round the Moss in the other direction before cutting through Boghead Wood and up Christine’s Way to the canal. This is one of Bob’s favourite routes, too. He tells me about the other pathways that he enjoys. One of these is the Ladies’ Mile (or Lady’s Mile, as it is sometimes spelled), which I have never walked along, but which is clearly visible on the other side of the trainline.

There is information about the path on the arts and heritage website, Trails + Tails (the project that commissioned the Stacks artworks, which I explored with Ada, and which Iona climbed onto). A postcard at the Auld Kirk Museum in Kirkintilloch tells its story:

This postcard relates to an access controversy of 1904. The Lady’s Mile footpath ran between Boghead and Lenzie Station. Most of its route was on railway property along the south side of the line. The path was not an official right of way and to retain ownership the railway company locked the gates at either end from time to time, to the annoyance of local residents who vented their frustration by vandalising the chain that held the gate shut. However, a few months later, path users were forced to acknowledge the railway’s right and recognise that the closure had been intended to last about 24 hours. This postcard is postmarked 12th December 1905 and is addressed to South India with Christmas and New Year good wishes.

This anecdotal evidence of vandalism at the start of the twentieth century suggests that disputes about land use and access are nothing new here. I wonder whether I have met some of the decedents of those frustrated residents.

Bob and I catch glimpses of the sunlit Campsies through the trees, and he tells me that he was up there earlier today, playing indoor bowls in village of Fintry, which is hidden up in the hills in the strath of the River Endrick. I have visited Fintry from time to time and was there earlier this month with my children, shopping for Mother’s Day presents at the Courtyard Cafe – a favourite of Bob’s wife and her friends. Bob has been bowling for years now at the Sports and Recreation Club (he tells me that there is another good cafe there) and he recently persuaded some of his Rambling friends to give it a go.

As we wander down the boardwalk, we look out towards Bishopbriggs, and Bob points out the route over the humpback bridge that links the Ladies’ Mile to Boghead Wood. I will walk this with Clyde one day soon. Bob also tells me about the route from the bottom of Victoria Road, past the Gadloch and over to Auchinloch (which has a pub that I have always wanted to try out). I am grateful to Bob for all these tips for further exploration of the Lenzie area. I remember that all this used to be connected to the Moss, prior to the railway line and the mid nineteenth century building works that created both Bob and my houses.

At the exact spot where Eilidh and I met Janice last week, we find a laminated sign pinned to a fencepost. The notice is about restoration works and tells us that ‘further access and biodiversity works will be undertaken in line with conservation objectives set out in East Dunbartonshire Council’s Lenzie Moss [Local Nature Reserve] Management Plan’. There is a list of works undertaken so far:

◦ Rewetting, regrading and reprofiling works to initiate recovery of peat and vegetation
◦ Scrub removal and thinning of Birch woodland
◦ Habitat Creation – ponds, dead hedges etc
◦ Path/boardwalk upgrades and maintenance

The sign includes QR code links to information about the NatureScot Peatland ACTION programme and the Scottish Outdoor Access Code. It also explains why it is important to protect peat bogs:

◦ Stores carbon reducing greenhouse gas release
◦ International important habitat (European Priority)
◦ Regulates water flow, quality and stores water
◦ Healthy peat supports key wetland species

There are pictures, of a skylark, a meadow pipit, a common snipe, a roe deer and a sundew. There are also some suggestions ‘for your own safety and protection of this site’:

◦ Stay on designated pathways and boardwalk
◦ Do not wander beyond fencing, dead hedges or into the peat bog
◦ Keep your dog(s) alongside you or on a short lead at all times
◦ Admire but do not disturb the wildlife

The sign seems to respond directly to the concerns raised by Andy and Janice: ‘Lenzie Moss is a very sensitive site, walking across the peatland can cause irreversible [sic], undoing thousands of years of growth and emitting greenhouse gases such as CO2 or methene!’ It concludes with a simple plea: ‘Please Respect Lenzie Moss’.

It is good to see this effort to communicate the reasons and intentions of the conservation work. But I have seen over the last year that these A4 signs tend to get damaged or removed easily. I wonder whether more permanent and enduring signage might be of value.

In return for Bob’s walking tips, I invite him to explore a path that is new to him, and we set off across the bog and through the woodland to the old peat shed. We stick to what I assume is one of the designated pathways, but I allow myself a short detour to inspect the new fence. Bob asks me about the ruins, and I show him the concrete platform, which I am assuming was part of the railway infrastructure.

This afternoon, Bob and I have shared what we know about this place with each other. I now have some new walking routes to explore, and Bob has seen a side of the Moss that he hadn’t yet encountered after all those years of running and walking here. We have followed the rules today, but it seems there will always be those prepared to break them.

Mar 31, 2026

… ‘field’ describes a place to learn from, to research, to draw from. (Suzanne Ewing, Introduction to Architecture and Field/Work)

Today’s walk starts with low, bright sunshine and cold, dry air. I forget that that my colleague Suzanne is bringing her dog with her, so when she steps off the train at the far end of the westbound platform, it is a lovely surprise to see Lina the black labrador by her side. Suzanne is a Professor of Architectural Criticism at the University of Edinburgh. I have enjoyed contributing to her postgraduate course on ‘Cities as Creative Sites’ at Edinburgh Futures Institute, as well as co-authoring a book chapter with her. Like me, Suzanne is interested in fieldwork and has an incredible eye for the materials, patterns and spatial configurations that create places.

For the last two decades, Suzanne has worked at the Edinburgh School of Architecture and Landscape Architecture (ESALA), which she directed from 2016 to 2019. She teaches her students to attend carefully to the edges of things, the objects and lines that demark a place, the surfaces and marks that inscribe patterns on the landscape. Good architecture grows from these starting points and enters into a dialogue with them, rather than imposing a predetermined structure on a blank canvas. I am interested in Suzanne’s perspective on the architectures of the Moss.

I haven’t seen Suzanne for a couple of months, since she had a bad accident on her bike. Cycling home from work one day, she hit a pothole, tumbled face-first over the handlebars, and ended up in A&E with a cracked cheek bone. Suzanne doesn’t remember it happening, but she was helped, and looked after, by a group of people who were at the scene. Suzanne says she was lucky and is recovering well. I admire her optimism.

After some time off work, Suzanne has eased back into teaching and research. Today, she is in no rush and will head back to Edinburgh later to meet a friend for another walk. For Suzanne, the freedom and flexibility that academia can sometimes provide is key to the creative practice that she uses in her work, and teaches to her students. These walks round Lenzie Moss have brought this into focus for me – the benefits of wandering, exploring, talking and learning. This is the work of fieldwork.

As we walk up Bea’s Path, the weather changes dramatically. Within minutes we are struggling through heavy snowfall. We pass several dog walkers, all of whom have been caught off guard. Luckily, we are in waterproofs and hats, although the snow quickly gives way to rain, and water runs down my jacket to soak my jeans. Lina is excitedly exploring this new place and jumps confidently into the large pools of water that have formed amongst the birch trees. Her muddy paw prints add another layer to my wet clothes.

We make our way along the north woods path, and by the time we reach the boardwalk, the sky has cleared again, and we are back in the sun. Suzanne talks about fieldwork and says that when she started studying architecture at the age of eighteen, their class took many trips. This cultivated a sensibility to the expanded field of an architectural site, and the work that might take place there. Suzanne has written that ‘fieldwork is a practice, not a discipline’.

At Lenzie Moss, Suzanne considers the bridges, dams, and enclosures that are now part of navigating the bog. She says that these features ‘inhabit its thicknesses’, by which I think she means that a certain quality emerges over time, which shapes the way that this site is used and perceived. In the boardwalk, the fences, the paths and the waterways, there is something of a taxonomy of architecture and material that ‘feels appropriate in its scale and deliberation’. Suzanne is interested in the tensions here between management and access, which are encapsulated in the anti-vandal painted fence posts that now stand ineffectively in the centre of the Moss.

Despite the sunlight casting birch shadows across the glowing sphagnum, it is still very cold. I am finding it hard to write notes on my rain-soaked paper and I give up after scrawling ‘cold hand’, almost illegibly. We pass a dam and Lina explores its wooden structure, which leads to one of the clearly visible desire lines that Stewart and I followed earlier this month – marking a connection to the south woods through the heather. Suzanne sees the fundamental building blocks of architecture in this arrangement of lines, edges, surfaces and materials. Where are the areas of stability? What kind of structures could be developed here? How does the field provide clues, offer suggestions, and open up an enquiry?

We arrive at the ruined buildings and I show Suzanne around. A couple of days after my walk with Stewart, I visited ESALA to talk about my Lenzie Moss project with some postgraduates. We also heard from architect and PhD student Adrian McNaught, who shared an experiment with materials left in the woods, to be marked and shaped by the environment. It struck me that ruins work in the same way: co-created by the elements and the flora that take root in the cracks and openings. Suzanne and I explore the old peat plant – imagining its past uses and comparing its solid, enduring foundations to the more fleeting installations of the fencing and the dams.

We have time for a post-walk coffee, so return to Billingtons, only to find that the outdoor seating – that most temporary of architectures – has been stacked away. It is now a beautiful spring morning in Lenzie and it is hard to accept that there was a blizzard here just 45 minutes ago. We can’t go inside with Lina, especially now that she has brought half the bog back with her. So we head up the road to share a cafetiere in my kitchen. Lina meets Clyde, who has been patiently awaiting my return, and they play power games with a bone while Suzanne and I chat away.

My house, too, is part of the architecture of the bog. Reminiscent of the West End of Glasgow, which Suzanne and I both know well, these streets were created over 150 years ago (which I now know thanks to my walks with Eddie and Sophie). The new buildings and streets stabilised and fixed the edges of the Moss, and established a local population, who accompanied the flourishing and decline of the peatworks, and eventually fought for environmental protections and rights to access the site. We are still very much in the expanded field of Lenzie Moss and I entertain the thought that enjoying a cup of coffee with Suzanne in my kitchen is, in fact, still part of our fieldwork.

Mar 25, 2026

When I meet David on Kirkintilloch Road, he is wearing a camouflage jacket, which he attributes to his career as a deer stalker. David used to work for Scottish Natural Heritage (now NatureScot) in the Cairngorms National Park. He then went on to study countryside management and was involved in surveying the deer population across the East Dunbartonshire area, including at Lenzie Moss. David also remembers working for the council in this area in the 1990s, when he was employed to clear rhododendrons from the north part of the Moss. I hope we will see the roes on our walk today.

It is one of those days in Scotland when all the seasons come together: frost on the ground among the daffodils; snow on the hills beyond; clouds in the sky; and sunshine cutting through the trees. There is also a strong breeze. Given our direction of travel, this might help us locate the deer, who will not be able to smell us coming.

When I walked with my brother, Phil, just before Christmas, he recounted some recent deer stalking adventures and talked about the appeal of slowing down and paying careful attention to the environment. This is a sensibility that David knows well. David reads the landscape as we walk, noting the way that the wind moves through the branches – which are still without leaves – and the direction of the higher clouds, as well as the behaviour of the dogs we meet, and the flight of birds. It is fascinating to walk with someone who experiences the Moss in this way.

A silver-grey Weimaraner dog runs ahead of us and David notices that it has picked up a scent. We suddenly veer off the path and walk slowly through the trees towards the bog. As we reach the other side of the narrow strip of birchwood, we encounter two deer enjoying the sunshine. As they move away from us, David makes a squeaking call and instructs me to head slowly back towards the main path. We meet the dog once more, and his owner puts him on the lead, on our suggestion. But the deer have taken a different route now, and we don’t see them again.

As we reach the top of the boardwalk, David points out the location of the entrance to the drainage tunnel that runs between the Gadloch, south of the railway line, and Park Burn in Boghead Wood, to the west of the Moss. David tells me that the tunnel was dug by Napoleonic prisoners of war. We examine the area through his binoculars (David extols the benefits of a good pair) and notice an access point by the railway bridge on Crosshill Road, which seems aligned with the path of the tunnel.

We reach the boardwalk and look out across the bog. When I walked with Tony and Julia six weeks ago, we noticed the sections of fencing that had appeared, preventing access to the centre of the site. I said at the time that I wasn’t sure that they would be there for long. After various signs were put up and quickly removed, Carol and I noticed the addition of anti-vandal paint. Today, David and I observe what is left after someone has visited in the night and torn down most of the fencing. The route has been opened again, leaving only the deep-set posts that would have been difficult to remove on the fly.

David says it is all a bit of an eye-sore, but he is sensitive to the efforts to discourage access. David sees the bog as a vast carbon sink. He notes that the Moss used to extend further – reaching Bishopbriggs and further south than the trainline. He sees the fragment that is left as an important place that needs to be protected. For David, the answer lies in education. If people knew what was at stake, they would take more care.

David worries that people are becoming disconnected from landscapes like this. Young people stay inside on their screens (a situation I am often attempting to counter at the very local level of my own household). But if we can get them outside, engaged with the issues of conservation and biodiversity, then sites like the Moss are more likely to be protected. David says that we need to appreciate nature and the natural world more.

David tells me about a walk with the Ramblers (where he met Carol, who put us in touch). Half-way along the ‘Magnificent 11’ route round Linn Park, King’s Park and Castlemilk Park in the south side of Glasgow, he asked the group to stop. They stood in a circle with hands linked and eyes closed. And they listened. This invitation to become immersed in the environment and to take part in a listening exercise together had a profound effect on some of the group. Some told David they had not expected to be so deeply moved.

David encourages me to close my eyes and listen now. For a couple of minutes, I tune into the wind. It sounds different notes from various directions: a shrill whistling through the trees and a low, rumbling countermelody from the west. An approaching train joins the harmony, and I open my eyes to sunshine falling across the heather.

Suddenly, there is a commotion, and David excitedly directs my attention to the far side of the bog. He tells me there is a buzzard being mobbed by crows. I see a flash of brown dropping to the ground and we watch as a single, brave corvid sustains the attack. This is similar behaviour to the incident that I noticed with Carol, in the nearby trees. I wonder whether there was more going on then than I realised at the time. Perhaps the buzzard was involved then, too.

For the final section of our walk, we return to the main path. We say good morning to a jogger, who I have chatted with during the Lenzie Running Club outings. He is always very encouraging to Ruairidh, who joins in too. A mother pushes her baby in a pram. A couple walk their labrador.

I feel like I have just returned from an adventure into a wilder Moss, which exists just beyond the everyday journeys that people take here. David has shown me that there are roe deer, buzzards, and shifting winds out there to be discovered by those who take the time to listen. I think we can all learn something from David’s way of being in a place like this.

Mar 16, 2026

In every town and city today, cutting across parks and waste ground, you’ll see unofficial paths created by walkers who have abandoned the pavements and roads to take short cuts and make asides. (Robert Macfarlane, The Old Ways)

I meet Stewart on the high street and appreciate his energy right away. We set off at a quick pace, and our conversation matches our passage. Stewart grew up on the Isle of Arran, works in property development, and has lived in Lenzie with his family since 2018. His wife is from the town, and they now live in her old family home. They have three children at the local primary and secondary schools and relatives nearby – in Lenzie and Bishopbriggs. While Stewart occasionally walks their dog on the Moss, it isn’t a place that he spends much of his time, but he is enthusiastic about the chance to walk with me today and to think about the possible futures for this place.

Stewart’s thinking is shaped by a varied career, including ten years as a navy officer and several in a senior banking role, with RBS and Barclays. He is used to being part of and leading complex multi-partner projects. Now, in his current job, he is always thinking about chains and networks and management. What would it mean to manage the ‘project’ of Lenzie Moss differently?

Stewart tells me about the ‘dig once’ concept in urban planning, which encourages the integration of different workstreams. If a gas engineer is digging up a high street to replace pipes, then it makes sense for the telecommunications, electricity and draining projects to come together to use the opportunity to do their work at the same time. That makes a lot of sense, but it requires clear communication channels, effective databases and strong project management. Stewart suggests that these things might be missing here and that they may be key to navigating the multiple interests and requirements of the Moss – from broken benches to hydrological surveys to community access. Everyone needs to have ‘skin in the game’.

We also discuss the funding required to maintain a place like this. Local councils are under severe financial pressure at the moment, leading to increases in tax and difficult decisions about priorities. In the long term, there is no guarantee that the Moss will receive the same level of investment. But if I have learnt one thing about bogs over the last year, it is that they are always changing. As Jackie said to me at the start of the project, without continual conservation, homes could flood and fires could start; the site would quickly dry out and revert to scrub-land, and birch trees would take over.

Stewart mentions the plans for community ownership of Lenzie Public Hall, which I learnt about when I walked with Clare. For community-driven development projects like this, Stewart promotes pragmatism about sustaining the business. Leasing, corporate hires, philanthropy – all these could be key to sustaining the community groups and education activities that people want to see thrive. I think back to my time working at the Arches arts centre in Glasgow, which closed in 2015 after many years of large-scale club events supporting a vibrant artistic community and arts programme. I remember lots of tension between the different uses of the building; every new project involved a negotiation with the different programming teams about space and resources.

We leave the boardwalk and wander across the bog, following the well-established ‘desire path’ that skirts this side of the south woods path. Desire lines have been mentioned several times during this project. These are trails made by people or animals taking the most desirable route through a landscape and sometimes creating an ‘unofficial’ pathway through repeated footfall. In The Old Ways, Robert Macfarlane explains that these rough trails establish themselves and become part of the physical and cultural landscape.

There are examples of Scandinavian and North American landscape architecture responding to desire lines. Perhaps most famously, the Ohio State University paved the lines created by student’s repeated footfall over the years, modelling the network of new paths on the lines made by previous generations. It seems that this has happened on the Moss as well, as the relatively new boardwalk includes a short side route with steps down onto the main desire path – just at the point where Deirdre and I noticed the exposed root system, which I took as a metaphor for the entanglement of lines that comprise this project.

The Moss is criss-crossed with desire lines, which are most prominent in the woodland around edges of the bog. The newly erected fencing, placed at intervals along the central raised bank, is intended to prevent this practice from continuing into the centre of the site. Today, it would be difficult to circumvent these structures due to the wetness of the mire. But in very icy or very hot weather, it would be possible to simply walk around them. Elsewhere on the Moss, when barriers are put in place, desire paths form as routes meander round pools and fences. We follow the unofficial lines through the wood to return to the main path, which takes us back to the station carpark.

As we walk up Kirkintilloch Road together, Stewart offers more examples of planning and infrastructure projects, which have shaped his approach to site development and long-term planning. From navy boat docking to aeroplane engineering, medical bookings to large-scale tourist events: Stewart pays close attention to how systems work and applies this thinking to the Moss, too.

What else could Lenzie Moss be used for? What are the alternative funding streams that haven’t yet been considered? How can the different users be brought together to work towards the same goals? How should such coordination be managed? Stewart suggests that we need to ask such questions here. He implies that the Moss would benefit from more ambitious and radical plans. He talks about the importance of listening to the ‘voice of the customer’. By bringing together what the different groups – such as conservationists, dog walkers, and families – actually want, we can define the ‘so what’ and the ‘why’. This would allow the Moss to develop in a way that is intertwined with its users, rather than treating different needs as ‘parallel pillars’.

Just before we go our separate ways, Stewart mentions that his perspective and his way of talking about community spaces isn’t always welcome. To bring a property developer into the room is often to disrupt established approaches; to set a cat amongst the pigeons. I can see how some of Stewart’s terms, questions and suggestions could run counter to the slow, careful conservation that is often preferred for the Moss. But my own thinking about the site has been challenged today and I have valued the many examples and analogies that Stewart has shared with me. Thinking differently about the Moss might be just what is required for more ‘customers’ to invest in its future. Perhaps this is how new desire lines are formed?

Mar 4, 2026

March has arrived with birdsong, sunshine and new shoots. Today I am walking with Carol, who got in touch after hearing about the project through Walk Run Cycle East Dunbartonshire. Carol had originally suggested meeting a couple of weeks ago in the hope that her granddaughter would accompany us during the half term school holidays. But perhaps unsurprisingly, the prospect of a wander round a bog with a random researcher did not appeal to an eight-year-old, so only Carol and I will be circling the Moss this morning.

We set off and are soon witness to a drama in the skies, as crows swoop down to the birch trees to fend off rivals. Their ‘caw-caws’ and screeches reach out across the bog. Smaller birds fly off to safer perches. After the stillness of winter, there is a notable change in the land this week. The tiniest of hawthorn leaf buds are visible. The Moss is charging itself up, ready for the explosion of life that comes with the new season.

Carol is recovering from a broken pelvis, acquired while holidaying on the Isle of Arran, after an encounter with a suitcase in the dark. It has been a long, slow process. Carol has been in a lot of pain and has had to return to hospital over the last few months. She is gradually testing how far she can go and while she is fine for now, she doesn’t know whether the pain will return during our walk.

Halfway up Bea’s Path, we encounter a group of women of a similar age to Carol, kitted up with waterproofs and hiking boots. Among them is a friend of Carol’s, who she knows from the Ramblers. They share a hug and while the rest of the pack continue on their way, the two friends stop for a quick chat. The group are Soroptimists – ‘a global volunteer movement whose mission is to transform the lives and status of women and girls through education, empowerment and enabling opportunities’; they are walking for the upcoming International Women’s Day. Carol introduces me and my project. I learn that there will be a talk on the history of Lenzie Moss on Thursday, delivered by Kay for the Kirkintilloch Antiquaries.

The connections that Carol has made through walking mean a lot to her, but it seems that her injury has made it difficult to maintain these friendships. Carol has only lived in Lenzie for about the same time that I have. She moved here from Lancashire to be close to her daughter and granddaughter. I tell Carol that I made the same move, in a way (I lived in the same county for a couple of years when I was a toddler and my younger brother Phil is a native ‘Lancashire Lad’). Carol is enjoying living here but she is spending more time indoors than she would like to and is watching more television than she is accustomed to.

We dodge the huge puddles on the path and Carol tells me about some of her adventures over the years. She spent most of her career as a maths teacher, which included taking part in an exchange programme that allowed her to live and work in Australia for a year. Later, Carol left her job and travelled to Papua New Guinea, where she also worked as a teacher, and she then spent time as a travel rep in the Swiss Alps. Carol notices a plane fly over the Moss, and she tells me that she is less inclined to travel by air these days.

We pass the great oak on the North Woods Path and stop to admire its twisted branches, which are leafless for now but full of potential. A couple of pigeons are roosting high above us. Carol says that she loves trees and has been known to hug them, too. We examine the shapes against the sky and Carol says that she would like to take up drawing again. I wonder if there are any art groups nearby and can well imagine Carol and the Soroptimist women visiting the Moss with sketchpads and pencils. Walking and drawing are closely related since both are actions that create lines and entanglements. Close by, a new plaque has appeared on a tree stump, commemorating ‘Gus “Wee G” King of the Moss 2010-2026’.

As we emerge from the trees to look out across the bog, Carol asks me about the fencing that has appeared here since her last visit. I explain that it is there to block access, and Carol understands the reasons for this. There has been another development, though. Now several of the fence posts have been painted in a thick black anti-vandal paint, which is visible across the bog. A new sign – already blurred by heavy rain – warns potential transgressors away. The sign that I noticed with Logan is now lying in the mud. So, this is the third sign in just a few weeks, and these have evolved from ‘help make space for nature’ to ‘Please don’t walk on the bog’ to ‘Warning anti-vandal paint’. I worry about how these new physical barriers and the dialling up of rhetoric in the signage will be received.

We follow the path back into the woods and as we reach the narrow wooden bridge that is really part of a dam, something splashes into the water. As we move closer to inspect, we are surprised by a pair of copulating frogs! I photograph them and apologise for invading their privacy, but they seem quite happy and entirely indifferent to our presence. Then we balance as we walk cautiously along the plank (Carol is comfortable to do so) and join the path on the other side.

As we reach the end of our walk, Carol notices that she has been pain-free for the last hour. We have made steady progress round the Moss today, stepping over puddles, navigating uneven surfaces and shuffling along a narrow beam. I am delighted that Carol seems to have enjoyed this walk without discomfort. I am sure that she will be out rambling with her friends again soon. Some barriers can be overcome.

Mar 2, 2026