Cutting the Wildflowers: A Manifesto Against Climate Nihilism
by Cheryl Barr
One summer day after finishing my postgraduate degree, I found myself in a pristine agricultural region of France, standing in an idyllic clearing covered in wildflowers. My friend Eric, who had become the new owner of the property — a derelict château with an incredibly unique history — was frantically pushing a mower up and down the lawn, cutting the wildflowers, while a confetti of rainbow-colored petals began to cake the front of his machine. In his frenzy to raze the field, he inadvertently took out a few small, precious budding clumps of the wild orchids that had just started springing up all over the property. Remembering how we had just been picnicking on the romantically beautiful site a few days before, I felt a bit sad at the scene of floral carnage unfolding in front of me.
“What about the bees and butterflies?” I thought, “Why do we have to cut and control the flowers? Why can’t we just let them be, to live out their natural cycle? And why is he ok running over the wild orchids as well?”
Seeing my concerned face, Eric paused the mower, and proclaimed, “We have to cut it down now! If we don’t do it now, we won’t be able to get to it at all!”
Even though I didn’t fully understand his urgency at the time, I had to concede that Eric, as the new keeper of the land, probably had reasons for his actions beyond my comprehension, and that practicality likely outweighed my sentimentality in that moment.
But seeing the flowers being mowed triggered something in me, projecting a deeper sadness that I had been struggling with that summer.
You see, after spending 18 months studying sustainability, and the problems our existing systems were inflicting on the world, I ended finding myself in a sort of deep, depressive rut.
My education — despite arming me with the knowledge to hopefully make a positive, impactful change in the world — had also revealed the rigidity and enormity of the system that was exploiting and destroying our earth. How could I, a human, arguably an ant in the scale of things, possibly do anything to make things better? Especially when dealing with the insurmountable unwillingness of systems and companies to change. Any action I could do would just be like a drop in the ocean- completely unnoticed. To hide from this feeling, I did what any sane person dreams of doing- and I fucked off to the French countryside for a bit- to escape my thoughts, to eat good food, drown myself in rosé wine, and frolic in wildflower fields.
What I wasn’t anticipating was that this visit to the French countryside would not just be an escape, but an integration. There is something about the countryside that works on a deep level to connect people back to the land- something that is much harder to access in the city. Especially in an agricultural community, the connection to nature dominates every facet of life. Everything revolves around seasons, the sun, and the moon- what foods you eat, what animals you spot, what time you rise and go to sleep, what times you forage for truffles and mushrooms, when you plant, when you harvest, when the town gathers and celebrates. Everything is constantly in flux, constantly changing, constantly being born or dying. Something that is there one moment, is bound to be gone not too long after, like the bats that we so carefully avoided at the beginning when exploring the Château’s tunnels, who were all but gone a week later, having flown onward in their summer migration. Experiencing a pace of life that deeply reflected the cycles of nature, and the transience of it all, felt so counter to the artificially stable environments of the city. Environments dictated by schedules that are relics of the industrial era, where most workers toiled away in factories day and night. Time felt like it flowed much more differently in the countryside, and something about that spoke deeply to my soul, opening me up to a different understanding of the world around me.
The Wisdom Around Us
In observing the natural cycles around me, even during our brief stay, a much greater intelligence began to reveal itself. Every day brought something new and exciting, as long as we took the time to appreciate and pay attention to the life happening around us. The wild orchids, only green shoots at the beginning, could be spotted in great, colorful clusters barely a week later as they began to reveal their masterfully crafted blooms. These blooming wild orchids were particularly fascinating because they often mimicked flies, bees, insects, animals, and sometimes even tiny dancing ladies. We learned that one type of wild orchid we discovered mimicked the pattern of an extinct type of bee — a bee that scientists were only able to trace the origin of due to the pattern found on the orchid blossom.
Nature carries and stores a great wealth of information for us. These little lessons from nature reveal a deeper wisdom, one that is part of our human heritage, which says we are not APART from nature, but A PART of it. Our quest to separate ourselves from, and control, our natural environment, instead of cultivating a healthy symbiotic relationship with it, is why our society has moved in such a detrimental direction. Like the story of Adam and Eve, who were cast from Eden after eating the fruit of knowledge, we have let our self-awareness, intelligence, and competitiveness get the best of us, driving us further and further away from the paradise on earth that is our inherent birthright.
But this story of the human struggle, the battle of good and evil, is arguably a fundamental part of nature as well. We could see it echoed throughout the carved stone walls of the Château and the town. Stories told of human flaws and ambitions — like the town feud over a pair of gargoyle heads mounted on the town’s main gate, which had been originally stolen from the property sometime in the previous 300 years. Despite its dubious transfer of ownership and the proof that the stones had come from the same quarry as the property’s buildings, the designation of the gate as a local historical landmark cemented their presence in the town, forever entwining the history of the Château and the town. Other stories spoke of the fears of the townspeople in their quest for survival, as seen by the circular medieval witch marks carved on the side of the old granary. These marks served to confuse evil spirits looking to bring bad fortune and spoil their stores, and showed the importance of faith in the community. These stories were repeated and shared by the people of the town, the owners of the property, and historians who painstakingly recorded even the mundane details of the land’s stories, both for record-keeping and as cautionary tales. Their presence served as a reminder of our continuous flawed and fragile human quest for survival.
The stones and flowers weren’t the only things whispering their stories- the trees, which can be seen jutting out from the property against the otherwise flat landscape, make the Château appear like a single island in the sea. These trees, riddled with mystery and a dash of illegality, tell stories of the impact of a single man on his surrounding environment. It is the story of the Château’s last owner, an eccentric photographer who saw the land as his canvas, and in pursuit of creating his paradise, ended up creating an accidental permaculture project. The trees included 4 truffle oak groves, which he planted and seeded 30 years prior as a “retirement plan”, and which only produced their first crop the year our friends took over the property. It included a line of linden trees, a tree with a long historical tradition in European folk medicine. It included apple trees that had been trained over 20 years to look like octopuses, with low and long branches that were meant to make it easy to meander about the garden and pluck apples off to eat at a whim. It included Espaliers of fig, citrus, and wine grape tresses, trained along the side of the building for both practical and aesthetic purposes. The planting of these trees was a labor of love and showed foresight into the future- as the previous owner was creating something not just for himself to enjoy, but a legacy, in the decisions he made in altering the land.
The decisions that were made in cultivating the land were not always rooted in rational considerations- but rather- a sort of eccentric vision. In fact, in carrying out his vision, the last owner of the Château broke some outright laws. The most heinous of tree crimes was committed when he first planted Cyprus trees on his property, a species that is illegal in the area due to the strict agricultural laws that are in place to preserve the region’s natural agricultural integrity. Altering the otherwise flat landscape to look like a Tuscan facsimile, he influenced several of his neighbors to follow suit, which eventually tipped off the authorities after someone noticed the unusual nature of the treeline in the area. However, by the time any action was taken against him, the trees had already been there long enough that the statute of limitations had passed-so the trees remained.
This “illegal” and rebellious act had an unintended consequence in demonstrating a major ecological flaw the surrounding agricultural areas developed when the surrounding old-growth forest had been cut down to clear the way for farms. Just near the Château, the ancient truffle forest, a lush space full of moss, giant rhododendrons, and derelict stone structures, still stands as a mausoleum of the rest of the forest that had once been there. In cutting down and flattening the natural buffers of trees against the wind, the farmers of the region struggled afterward with soil and crop erosion due to the winds. Planting the illegal Cyprus reintroduced a tree line that acted as a windbreak, and created a microclimate on the property, which both altered and contributed to the vibrancy of the life there, allowing sensitive species like the orchids and bats to thrive.
In the process of learning the stories of the land- and meeting the local keepers of it- we also got to meet a host of characters who were living unconventional but wholesome lives. This included Steven, a former monk turned professional Santa Claus who made his salary for the year over the Holidays in London, then spent the rest of the year as a hermit in a cobblestone hut, growing his own produce and canning ratatouille. Or Helen, a travel writer, and psychologist, who, despite being older, had a young and light spirit that so gleefully delighted in the baby ducks paddling across the lily pads in her backyard, giving us daily updates of their escapades. Or the townspeople of the small neighboring town, who got together on a Sunday to put on a seasonal asparagus festival we got to attend. Complete with booths serving €3 glasses of champagne in real glasses, vendors selling all manner of locally grown and made goods, wines, oils, asparagus quiche, and of course, asparagus, it seemed like the whole community was there that day — happily chatting with their neighbors and bonding over the crop of the season. These festivals and traditions were born not just out of a rural need for entertainment- but served as an important community focal point to keep neighbors connected and prevent social isolation. In communities that are disconnected from the land, seasons, and time-where asparagus is unnaturally available year-round- it is much harder to find reasons to celebrate and gather over a single, neutral focal point like a seasonal crop. As trivial as it may seem to create a celebration around asparagus, the lesson remains that the reasons for us to gather and celebrate are completely open to interpretation and fabrication, as long as they serve the important role of inclusively and wholesomely bringing people together.
Turning Visions of Doom into Vision of Utopia
Over the time we were there, as we felt the difference in the soul, the pace, the lifestyle, and the lives of people in the countryside, the revelations began to compound and give way to epiphanies, especially in addressing the doom and gloom I had been carrying within me. Bit, by bit, the stories of the land and its people chipped away at my climate nihilism, revealing glimmers of a better path forward, of the values and spirit we need to bring into the future to face the issues our world faces. That day, when I was watching my friend cut the wildflowers, I realized that destruction and fire are sometimes necessary to clear the way for something better to emerge. Change is inevitable, even on a good day, and the best tool we have for facing our futures is to take a light and adaptable mindset, take agency to execute our utopian visions, and create our personal paradise, rather than allowing ourselves to drown in a dystopian narrative.
Taking on this mindset requires a small measure of suspended disbelief, a conscious decision to believe in the best outcome, regardless of the pervading story being told in the media. The information streams feeding us constant negative stories, dystopian imagery, and doomsday narratives have gained their power from keeping us paralyzed and scrolling, in turn farming and commodifying our attention and energy. Stop listening to them! Ever notice how the second you unplug or break from social media, the world seems to get a little less chaotic? The vision of doom in the mainstream media is an intentional narrative designed to control the masses. It is a narrative designed to make us feel powerless and distract us from pointing to the very real perpetrators of ecological crimes: the CEOs and board of directors of the oil companies who have known about climate change for decades, the politicians who allow themselves to be lobbied into deregulation, and the very human individuals who are complicit. A single person, the vision they pursue, and the decision they make, can have an enormous consequence on their environment. That is the power each one of us has- both for good and for evil. We are not a drop in the ocean, we are the ocean in a drop. And that is the power we are relinquishing when we give into climate nihilism, and by giving in to the belief that it is too late, and nothing can be done.
Reclaiming our power requires us to cultivate a new vision of the future, that is counter to the bullshit trajectory we are being told. Take for example- one of the most disheartening facts that we need to face- which is that to this date, the damage has been done to the point we are already facing an irreversible warming of the planet. This alone does not mean that all is already lost. Sure, much has been lost, and much damage continues to be done, but nature is resilient and adaptable, and when given the space and time, has an amazing propensity to survive and thrive even in difficult conditions. Sometimes we only see the downsides of what is happening, but what about the potentially beautiful aspects of our future? When formerly dry areas become flooded and wet landscapes, when deserts turn green again, what sort of life might spring forth? When cooler areas become warmer- and the climate in places like England becomes more like California, unlocking new forms of regional agriculture, like vineyards, to flourish in the area. What sort of innovations and ingenuities will come from our necessity to adapt? What will happen when oppressed, but resource-rich countries, like those in Africa and South America, claim their power, and finally get a seat at the world table? What sort of ancient wisdom can we learn when we finally start listening to our indigenous brothers and sisters, to reorient our systems toward lives which are in tune with and in reverence of nature? Within the greatest challenge of this century, in addressing climate change, there is an amazing humanistic opportunity for us to correct course and usher in an unprecedented time of abundance and prosperity. We can be excited about this! It is our individual responsibility to reject the doomer and dystopian narrative and foster our visions of earth as a paradise instead.
So here’s what we need to remember, on the days that climate nihilism aims to derail us from a utopian path, and tries to make us forget our personal capacity for creating positive change. We need to remember climate change for what it is: change. Change is a constant, and we deal with it by adapting. Our survival as a species will be defined by how adaptable we can be to the coming changes in the next few decades, and how ingenious we can be in applying our knowledge and technology to intercept and remediate the damage done. On the days that the doom scroll machine threatens to suck us in, we need to unplug, and reorient our perspective toward our local environment, community, and climate. We need to find opportunities to align with and embrace reverence for the natural world around us and learn to treat nature with respect, even if it only pertains to a small patch of grass in front of our house. We need to rediscover the principle of living with the seasons- allowing things their appropriate periods of growth and rest. We need to take an honest view of what our local ecologies need to thrive and regenerate and explore the potential impact of engineering microclimates to combat climate change. A tree that shades a paved area provides more to its surrounding environment passively than any manmade substitute could. Harnessing local rainfall, planting native grasses, creating windbreaks to combat soil erosion, restoring and regenerating soil- these are all important and real solutions to combating climate change and fostering climate adaptability. None of these things require a large stretch of imagination or new innovations. They are tools immediately available to us, should we wake up and decide, “I am no longer letting an abstract external entity like the media, the government, or corporations control my fate!”
Reclaiming Personal Agency
There is power in numbers, but even revolutions have to start with individual action. We can’t truly control anything but ourselves. We must first learn to love and care for ourselves, to fill our cups. Learning skills that increase self-sufficiency and decrease dependency on the existing systems, such as learning to forage or grow food and medicine, fishing, hunting, building a fire, collecting and filtering water, building shelter, and making clothes, all work to make us more capable in the face of what is happening, and help build a sense of personal agency and security. When we cultivate this sense of personal agency and confidence in ourselves, we pave the way to help others. The love and care we give to ourselves ripples outward, first to our friends and family, then our neighbors, coworkers, community, and country, with the potential to eventually affect the whole world. Now imagine, what if every single person around you took this approach and attitude? How much better would the world be?
Recognizing the power of personal agency is the single most important thing we can do to change the course of our future. Taking agency over our lives means taking responsibility for our actions. We can’t change the system all at once, but by reclaiming our power, we recognize how we can exert power over the system through everyday decisions. One very powerful form of this is to vote with our wallets, by boycotting certain companies and products that are causing harm to the environment, exploiting people or resources, or doing otherwise unethical things. Individually, it may not seem like refraining from buying a product could make a difference, but collectively, it is one of the only ways to pressure companies into changing their practices. Boycotting is the collective bargaining tool of consumers. By not purchasing from or engaging in business with companies that engage in unethical practices, we take away their most precious source of power- their revenue.
In a bid to create a better society, we need to know that the fight for social equity and justice, and against corruption, is never truly over. It is as a continuous battle of good and evil, with one power always prevailing. But when we start to recognize which side we want to be on and align ourselves towards these higher goals, the fight inevitably gets less lonely as we start finding our allies in purpose. The more we can open ourselves up to cooperation, collaboration, and collective action, the more strides we will make. Technology is accelerating at a breakneck speed, and countless innovations and breakthroughs are being made and implemented every day. Remember, there are many brilliant minds in this battle- we all have our role to play, and contribution to make. We need all the minds we can get. You are needed in this fight.
The Phoenix Mindset
The last and final piece of all this is knowing that for something beautiful to flourish, we sometimes need a bit of destruction. It is the principle of the phoenix- the immortal mythical bird that burns itself, only to regenerate in its ashes. It is a fundamental part of nature that death and destruction feed new life. Many of the oldest and largest organisms in the world, like the Giant sequoia trees, are only able to sprout with the heat of a forest fire. While the destruction of a forest fire seems horrific on the surface, it serves a greater purpose in clearing away excess matter and turning it into the ashes that feed new cycles of life. That is not to say, we should give up on our fellow man and allow lives to be lost and destroyed. That is not the case, as we should respect and cherish all life, and it is our responsibility to protect our collective human heritage- including our environment, and fellow man. But the systems which have exploited the world’s resources, kept people physically and mentally enslaved, and exasperated inequality in the world- if those fall, however violent it may seem, they will only serve to clear the way for something better to emerge.
When cutting the wildflowers, Eric was doing something that day that felt horribly violent- the destruction of something so beautiful, yet delicate, that initially seemed like something we wanted to preserve. But in a few weeks, the wildflowers would have turned to dry, brown grass, or might have continued to choke out the other plants around them. Eric knew this, which drove the sense of urgency behind his actions that day. What I originally interpreted as an unnecessary destruction of nature- especially to the budding orchids- which needed protection and preservation- turned out to be a necessary step in the process, and actually ended up having a regenerative effect on the area, as the orchids, not needing to compete with the wildflowers, gained more room and resources to spread and flourish, coming back in thick, prolific clusters the following year. Perhaps this is the biggest lesson to keep in mind, as the world keeps changing. While it may seem at times that the world is falling apart, and all the beautiful things are being lost, like the wildflowers, there is something bigger at play, a greater intelligence, like the wild orchid, that is waiting to emerge from the ashes. If we remember the inevitability of change, the adaptability of nature, and the resilient spirit of humans, it will only serve to bring us closer to paradise, as by nature’s design.
