The Role of the Garden in the Time of Climate Change

Recently, I have found myself gently chided for pointing out the abnormalities in the weather patterns here in Ireland. We Irish aren’t used to warm, dry weather as a general rule. We wait impatiently for May to arrive so that we can cast off the grave, grave burden of limb coverings, which we’ve been enduring since September, with little care given to low temperatures and heavy rain. To question warm, sunny weather is just a little short of blasphemy.

And although I, too, revelled a bit in all that glorious vitamin D production, it is all undergirded by a sense of foreboding. After all, are we not already experiencing the effects of climate change?

Indeed, those of us with lawns, outdoor plants, and commercial crops will have noticed the negative effects on our plants. We were fortunate. The rains did return in mid-June. But in many parts of the world, climate change cannot be written off as “nice weather” — the rains have not returned, the crops are dying, the fires are burning, and water dwindles. In other regions, there has been too much rain, more than rivers and drainage systems can carry away fast enough to prevent flooded homes, infrastructure, or crops. Climate change is inexorable now. If we took unified, sweeping, urgent action, we could begin to mitigate the overall effects in a few decades’ time, but it is too late to avert much that has been put in motion.

For those of us with fertile land, this reality has specific implications. Where climate change is forecast to be of least detriment — generally, closer to the poles — land will be in greater demand, even as it, too, confronts the effects of climate change. It will have to provide shelter and food to more people; those displaced by poverty, hunger, and conflict closer to the equator in addition to those already occupying the less severely affected regions. There is no doubt that our agricultural system will need to be profoundly overhauled to rise to the challenge… but that is a topic for another post. Here, I’m going to talk about what gardeners and owners of other small plots of land can do to:

• help feed their families and communities (reducing reliance on an increasingly unstable global food network);
• lower their carbon footprints and reduce the need for irrigation and energy-intensive land management;
• aid in supporting local biodiversity (a crucial piece of the puzzle in climate change resilience);
• sequester carbon more efficiently than the land would if subjected to conventional forms of land use;
• protect their soil from erosion and damage to the soil ecosystem (a growing threat due to increasingly erratic weather patterns).

Aiming for all these goals at once poses a greater challenge than taking on just one. In some areas, there is overlap, and one goal simultaneously aids in bringing about another, but there are also conflicts between them where compromises must be met to reach a suitable equilibrium.

Additionally, the process of creating life-sustaining, resilient gardens will need to be flexible, capable of adapting to the specific needs and limitations of any given region and community. In some areas, the emphasis may be on biodiversity, with smaller yields that supplement the community’s diet. In other places, higher yields may be of greater importance. And, to the extent possible, gardens should adapt to changing needs.

However, if climate change can teach us anything, it is that our activities are rarely discrete, and what we do in our gardens can have effects in even distant places. So a shift towards more holistic and collective thinking is of utmost importance going forward. There are also no gardens for which the impact of climate change will be irrelevant. For these reasons, I feel that, at the very least, the following principles should hold for all variations of the climate change-resilient garden:

1. that they be managed in an ecologically sustainable way;
2. that they be capable of adapting to change;
3. and that they be part of a mutually supportive network within the community or/and between communities.

The Garden as Ecosystem

In a world that was once all wilderness, can it be any wonder that global biodiversity is vulnerable to climate change when only 3% of terrestrial wilderness remains ecologically intact? Even when we factor in all wild lands, pristine or not, they account for only 19% of Earth’s land surface. Animals who do not livhttps://unsplash.com/photos/7DTPOi0pjsY?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLinke in these wildernesses are forced to live near places of human habitation or near human activities, such as industrial farming, mining, deforestation, or the expansion of infrastructure. Some species have already adapted to eking out a living in a human-dominated world, but most are in danger of being pushed beyond the brink. With a population of 8 billion, racing towards 9, we are rapidly eating into the last true wildernesses, as we consume, pollute, and expand beyond our own limits.

There is a strong argument for allocating a significant proportion of the land to the wilds, to halt the spread of the human presence, or even contract our territories and relinquish some of them back to those from whom we appropriated them. But there is something else we can do sooner and more readily, and that is to become better at sharing the places we already occupy.

Gardens account for 433,000 hectares or 4,330 square kilometres, of land in the UK. That’s around a fifth of the country of Wales; not a trivial area considering that the Cairngorms, the UK’s largest national park, is just marginally larger at 4,528 square kilometres. Here in Ireland, 98% of people have access to a private or shared outdoor space, 93% of which is already classified as ‘garden’. Much of this residential land is located in the countryside, linked by hedgerows, or in clusters in urbanised areas, such that wildlife can move from one garden to another.

But there is so much more that we could be doing with these spaces. For a start, we can stop pitting our horticultural goals against nature, and relax about the dichotomy of what are “weeds” and “pests” in one setting and “wildlife” in another. We can — we must — abstain from synthetic fertiliser and pesticide use so that insects and microbes above and below the ground can thrive, and so that we can stop contributing to the pollution of our waterways and marine dead zones. We can stop the perpetual cycle of digging and soil disturbance, allowing mycelium networks to support and strengthen the ecosystem. We can keep soil protected from erosion with cover crops and mulches so that it can continue to perform the essential services of carbon storage and water filtration, and so that it can hold onto the nutrients and minerals that we consume through plants. And we can aim for biodiverse plant communities and species that serve ecological functions as well as our aesthetic tastes.

Gardeners, with our special stewardship over widely dispersed areas of land, have a responsibility to do right by that land. But is not a purely selfless act to plant for nature. Rather than sacrificing our place in our gardens by nurturing their capacity to harbour more and different life, we are enriching our own spaces, trading in the well-manicured lawn and patio for the ecological garden, buzzing, humming, rough around the edges, but more perfect in its imperfection. Rich ecosystems can wear many hats all at once, and as we give, we will be rewarded by what a healthy ecosystem naturally fosters, such as pest control, healthy soil, moisture retention, mutual support between plants, and greater overall resilience.

Adaptable Gardens

Climate change is not a linear process. It is brimming with dynamism, complexity, critical thresholds, and feedback loops. The climate is the sum of all the interactions between oceans, atmosphere, land surface, ice, sun, and more. It is chaos all around us. If we want our gardens to survive climate change, there is no question that we must be prepared for the unexpected.

However, although it is not possible to make fine-grained predictions about specific future states (such as what temperature it will be in late-July, 2033, in County Cork), we can use large quantities of data and computer models to make coarser-grained predictions about the behaviour of a system as a whole. We can predict climate trends with fairly high confidence. Even climate simulations run 50 years ago have mostly been accurate in predicting the average global surface temperature of today, and scientists in the 70s were running them with computing power much inferior to what climatologists have at their disposal now. Therefore, it would be unwise to overlook regional climate projections when planning and preparing our gardens for the changing climate.

By no means does a garden plan informed by climate projections mean that we can rest on our laurels. One of the main characteristics of climate change, as predicted (and as increasingly witnessed) is greater variability. Since we can expect more extreme and erratic weather patterns, we will need to be prepared to continuously adapt our gardens as the climate takes unforeseeable twists and turns. Here in Ireland, we should design gardens that can capture and store water for use during droughts, drain it away effectively during heavy rain, provide shelter during storms, and attract a wide range of beneficial insects to help maintain ecosystem balance as new diseases and herbivorous invertebrates migrate northwards. We also need to be prepared to give up on old favourites or plants in which we’ve invested heavily if they now require more coddling than makes sense. We need to be open to new ways of gardening. In a sense, we will need to be our own scientists, constantly testing and gathering local data on what works, what doesn’t, or what might in the future.

Another thing we can do to prepare for greater volatility in the weather is to plant a wide range of species. To echo the previous section, more biodiverse systems are more resilient systems, as there are a greater number of chances that there will be members of the system that have the traits needed to adapt to changes in the environment.

Furthermore, we cannot let ourselves be hemmed in by an image of the habitats and biodiversity that were once the regional norm. They can be the starting point of what we plan, but, sadly, many native species may not successfully adapt to the new normal. For example, it is forecast that hardy species such as sessile oak, beech, and Scot’s pine may fail by 2080 under the worst-case scenario. We have to, at least, consider welcoming species that migrate here — chasing habitat and filling the niches left vacant by climate change — and introducing species that have a better chance of thriving than our natives and traditionals. Even rewilded spaces (which could have a place in permaculture gardens) will be unlikely to manifest as the exact same sorts of ecosystems that once were dominant. Adaptation is a normal part of natural history, even if it is now being driven by “unnatural” causes. In sum, our gardens’ ability to adapt will determine their future success.

A “Social Network” of Gardens

Small-scale gardening doesn’t have a hope of feeding a world of 9 billion on its own. We also need large-scale, ecologically sound forms of farming and more innovative methods of producing essential nutrients. But, still, small-scale food production has an essential role to play in shouldering much of the burden of getting fresh, healthful food to people.

It is remarkable how much consternation can be caused by the choice between “when” and “if”. I want to be optimistic. I believe in being proactive and feel compelled to inspire others to be. But I am driven by what I believe to be a high probability that things will get very difficult in the coming decades. The pandemic brought to searing light the division in society between those who selfishly guard their own interests, even to the detriment of their fellows, and those who instead chose solidarity and mutual aid as their strategies for surviving the pandemic. It was a phenomenon highly correlated to the divide between progressives and centrists on one side and the right, the far-right, and outright fascists on the other. I see the rise of the far-right as aggravating our already self-destructive course into this climate crisis and a ticking time bomb waiting to go off when we will be at our most vulnerable. After all, those are the moments when fascists have historically risen to power.

There are already those who would cordon off land and resources. Climate change will increase the impetus to do this. But this road leads to authoritarianism and war. How will a world in flames fare under a world war? All we need to do is look at how the war in Ukraine triggered a global energy crisis and a lack of food in countries highly reliant on Ukrainian exports. And this at a point when the fires are just getting started.

This is why I advocate for cooperation and unity. Without them, we run the very real danger of annihilating all forms of civilisation, and subsequently, ourselves. These values imply a shift away from the standard modus operandi: the individualistic pursuit of material gain — insatiable, inequitable, and destructive. Those who forge enemies will have to defend what they have against them but be bereft when there is nothing left to defend. Those who forge allies will share in the abundant times, but they will have their allies’ mutual support and protection through the hardest of times.

From the perspective of the resilience gardener, this cooperative ethos might manifest as community, regional, national, or even global networks of small-scale gardeners, who support each other through sharing knowledge, seeds and other resources, and surplus harvests. A central aim of the community would be to ensure that the nutritional needs of all are met and that no one is left hungry.

Provided that such an association remained equitable and nonhierarchical, it could serve as a model of how individuals can work together for the collective good in other areas of society, such as in government and other areas of resource management.

Now Is the Time to Grow a Climate Change Resilience Garden

Climate change will bring about increased food scarcity, mass human migration, and increasing inequity. There is a chance that many of the systems and institutions we currently rely on will cease to function adequately under the ravages of the crisis. In such a case, we will need alternative societal structures that can step in when those systems fail. And we will need to be able to cooperate effectively, in decentralised ways, to ensure that our community’s needs are met.

Climate change also accelerates the mass extinction that is already well underway. Interdependence exists not only between us and our fellow humans but between humans and other species. Rather than competing with the rest of nature, and dominating or exterminating it when it comes into conflict with our short-term goals, we must find a way to live harmoniously with it, as part of the balance again. We must garden in ways that nurture a healthy ecosystem, within the boundaries of our gardens and beyond.

To fulfill the previous goals, we will need to design and maintain gardens that are informed by regional climate projections, but that are, equally, chameleons, capable of reshaping themselves to whatever the climate throws at them. We can best accomplish this by planting diversely, from natives to introduced species that may not produce harvests as the hardiness zone map stands at the time of planting, but that will thrive as the zones shift towards higher latitudes. We need to welcome wild biodiversity and give it space within our gardens. The dichotomy between the cultivated and the wild will begin to fade in our gardens, as each supports the other amidst climate stress.

Gardens alone cannot “solve” climate change, but they can play a central role in the new ethos needed to survive in a world wracked by climate change. They may become oases for nature, where we assiduously factor the needs of biodiversity into our garden plans and maintenance. They may become lifeboats in a global food network plagued by unpredictability. In the future, we may find them residing at the very heart of our communities.

So let’s get started!