Humanity’s relentless march towards the cosmos has always been intertwined with a yearning for the familiar. While rocketry and astrophysics dominate the headlines, a quieter, perhaps more profound revolution is taking root: space horticulture. The idea of growing plants beyond Earth is hardly new; Russian cosmonauts nibbled on space-grown onions in the 70s, and various botanical experiments have graced the International Space Station (ISS). But now, we’re presented with the ‘Space Garden,’ a concept so audacious, so aesthetically driven, it begs the question: is this genuine progress or just another billionaire-funded vanity project?

The Space Garden, brainchild of Aurelia Institute and Heatherwick Studio, is envisioned as a modular structure capable of sustaining plant life in Low Earth Orbit (LEO). Imagine a seed pod frozen mid-explosion, its tendrils tipped with terrarium-like containers, nurturing ‘hero’ species like fig or pomegranate trees – plants chosen for their aesthetic and cultural resonance. The stated goal? To provide a touch of Earthly familiarity to future space commuters, fostering a ‘life worth living’ amidst the cold vacuum and sterile environments. Stuart Wood of Heatherwick Studio puts it eloquently: « It’s not all watercress and lettuce. » But behind this utopian vision lurks a more critical question: is this ambition rooted in genuine need or driven by a desire for celestial landscaping?

Before dismissing the idea as sheer extravagance, it’s vital to acknowledge the practical challenges and potential benefits of space-based agriculture. Plants can serve as crucial life support systems, regenerating air, purifying water, and providing sustenance on long-duration missions. Moreover, psychological well-being cannot be ignored. The presence of greenery could combat the mental fatigue and isolation experienced by astronauts in the stark confines of spacecraft. However, is the elaborate design of the Space Garden truly necessary for achieving these ends?

Numerous studies have already demonstrated the remarkable resilience of plant life in space. Mike Dixon at the University of Guelph has been a pioneer, sending millions of seeds into orbit. These seeds, remarkably, germinate without issue upon their return to Earth. Experiments on the ISS, like the Materials International Space Station Experiment (MISSE), show that seeds can even withstand exposure to the harsh conditions outside the station, albeit with some protection. Moreover, plants exhibit a surprising tolerance to reduced pressure and oxygen levels, making them more robust than their human counterparts. As Dixon wryly notes, « Plants won’t be the limitation in our exploration of space—it’s us. We’re kind of wimpy in many respects. »

Yet, challenges remain. Ye Zhang of NASA’s Kennedy Space Center highlights the sensitivity of certain species, like tomatoes and lettuce, to the space environment. Water management in zero gravity poses a significant hurdle, and the long-term genetic effects of space travel on plants require further investigation. The vibrations of launch can also be detrimental, and the effects of multi-year voyages remain an open question.

The true subversiveness of the Space Garden lies not in its potential for scientific advancement, but in its potential to challenge our perceptions of space exploration. Ariel Ekblaw, CEO of Aurelia Institute, envisions a future where spaceflight is commonplace, as accessible as a FedEx delivery. She speaks of industrial activities in space, film shoots in orbit, and botanists commuting to tend their celestial gardens. It’s a vision that hinges on drastically reduced launch costs, potentially falling from thousands to mere hundreds of dollars per kilogram. This accessibility, this democratizing force, could reshape the very fabric of our relationship with the cosmos, freeing up terrestrial resources and unlocking new creative possibilities.

However, the Space Garden also raises uncomfortable questions about priorities. Is this extravagant project diverting resources from more pressing needs, like addressing climate change or alleviating poverty on Earth? Is it simply a distraction, a shiny bauble designed to captivate the public imagination while obscuring the ethical complexities of space colonization? Alistair Griffiths of the Royal Horticultural Society emphasizes the need for beauty intertwined with nature, but acknowledges the practical challenges posed by the garden’s complicated design.

Ultimately, the Space Garden is a provocation, a bold statement about the potential for human ingenuity and the enduring power of nature. While skepticism is warranted, dismissing it outright would be a disservice to the spirit of exploration. Perhaps, beyond the technological wizardry and aesthetic flourishes, lies a seed of something truly transformative: a vision of a future where humanity coexists with nature, even among the stars. Or maybe it’s just a really expensive salad bar. Time will tell.

Cet article a été fait a partir de ces articles:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-plan-to-build-the-first-garden-in-space-thomas-heatherwick-studio-aurelia/, https://www.wired.com/story/starships-latest-test-reveals-new-problems-for-spacex-to-solve/, https://www.wired.com/story/hummingbirds-are-evolving-to-adapt-to-life-with-humans/, https://www.wired.com/story/the-wired-guide-to-mushroom-supplements/, https://www.wired.com/story/a-new-study-reveals-the-makeup-of-uranus-atmosphere/