Ben Ford

When you’re not sure what to do, doing more is always a great default. Action creates insights. Insights creates new actions.

Preparing my ‘LONDON repair kit’ for when I take over in 2028! 🫡🇬🇧

Software Engineers who made grep, cat, cut, find, ls, less, and sed really cooked here. 50 years later and it’s still bread and butter of data analysis. And it still works better than most of bloated alternatives.

You just sold your company for $100M. What’s the first thing you buy?

Steam Machine has been announced 🎮 It’s a new hardware that lets you connect to any TV or monitor and play Steam games

Ok who wants to explain this?

"I think the best men are those who've been broken by life and have pulled through, have come out the other end. Why? Because they've been forced by circumstances to drop the illusion of their strength and they've known that they couldn't keep that going. They've hit rock bottom and they've had to reach out and say, I can't cope. 'I am in an infantile position. Help me.' Men become rather glorious when that's happened to them. Because that's when there's true humanity, sympathy, etc But some men, they never get there. It's posture, posture, posture. It's defensive posture all the way. And I can spot them a mile away, the men who've been broken. You just sense that there's a modesty, deep down there's a modesty. And you just feel, I think people give off, I often notice it, a sense of how much you could tell them and how much they'd be able to bear." Alain de Botton

The trees were talking. And no one had been listening. For decades, foresters believed trees were competitors—silent giants fighting for sunlight, water, and space. Cut down the weak ones, they said, and the strong would thrive. But Dr. Suzanne Simard, a Canadian forest ecologist, suspected something else was happening beneath the soil. So she did an experiment that would change how we understand forests—and life itself.She discovered that trees aren't isolated individuals. They're part of a vast, intelligent, underground network—a "wood wide web" where they share resources, warn each other of danger, and care for their young.The forest, it turns out, isn't a battlefield. It's a community.Suzanne Simard grew up in the forests of British Columbia, Canada. Her family were loggers. She spent her childhood among towering trees, watching them fall and new ones planted in their place.She became a forester herself, working for the logging industry in the 1980s. But she noticed something disturbing: when forests were clear-cut and replanted with a single species—usually Douglas fir—the new trees struggled to survive.Foresters blamed the birch trees growing nearby. "They're competing for resources," they said. "Cut them down so the firs can grow."But Suzanne didn't think that made sense. In natural forests, birch and fir grew side by side, thriving together. Why would they compete in replanted forests but not in natural ones?So she designed an experiment to find out. In the early 1990s, Suzanne planted birch and fir seedlings in a forest plot. She covered some with plastic bags to isolate them from each other. Others, she left uncovered.Then she did something radical: she injected tiny amounts of radioactive carbon into the trees—different isotopes for birch and fir—so she could track where the carbon went.If the trees were truly isolated competitors, the carbon would stay inside each tree.But if they were connected somehow, the carbon would move between them.Suzanne waited. Then she used a Geiger counter to measure where the radioactive carbon had traveled.The results were stunning.The carbon didn't stay in one tree. It moved. From birch to fir. From fir to birch. Through the soil. Through their roots.But not directly. The trees were connected by mycorrhizal fungi—thread-like organisms that attach to tree roots and extend for miles underground.The fungi act as a living network, linking trees together. In exchange for sugars the trees produce through photosynthesis, the fungi provide trees with water and nutrients from deep in the soil.But Suzanne discovered something even more remarkable: the fungi weren't just passively transferring nutrients. The trees were actively sharing resources with each other. In summer, when birch trees had full leaves and were photosynthesizing, they sent carbon to the fir trees, which were shaded and struggling. In fall, when birch leaves fell and they could no longer photosynthesize, the fir trees—still green—sent carbon back to the birch to help them survive the winter.The trees were cooperating. Helping each other. Balancing the ecosystem.Suzanne called these networks "mycorrhizal networks"—and the largest, oldest trees in the forest became known as "mother trees" or "hub trees."These mother trees act as hubs in the network, connecting hundreds of younger trees. They send nutrients to struggling saplings. They share information about drought, disease, and insect attacks through chemical signals.When a mother tree is cut down, the entire network weakens. Younger trees lose their support system.Suzanne's research showed that clear-cutting forests—removing all trees and replanting a single species—destroys these networks. The new trees are isolated, vulnerable, and far less resilient.Her work was revolutionary—and controversial.Logging companies resisted her findings. Some scientists were skeptical. The idea that trees "communicate" and "help each other" sounded too anthropomorphic, too sentimental.