I fell down this rabbit hole about regenerative building design after seeing some absolutely mind-blowing Instagram posts from people living in homes that literally improved the land around them. I know – as someone stuck in a 400 square foot Chicago studio fighting for every photon of sunlight, this felt like watching people live on another planet. But it got me thinking about what’s actually possible when you design buildings to work with nature instead of against it.
I started following this account of a woman who documented her family’s strawbale house build in New Mexico. The before photos showed this completely trashed piece of land that had been strip-mined for some failed development project. Looked like the surface of Mars, honestly. But instead of just importing tons of soil and trying to cover up the damage, they designed their whole house as part of healing that land.
The wild part? It actually worked. Within like eighteen months, her property went from moonscape to this thriving ecosystem with native plants, birds nesting everywhere, and all kinds of pollinators that hadn’t been seen in the area for years. The house didn’t just avoid harming the environment – it actively made everything better.
This blew my mind because I’d never thought about buildings that way. Growing up in suburban Atlanta, houses were just… things that sat on land. You cleared trees, put down a foundation, built walls, installed systems. The goal was to control the environment inside while basically ignoring what happened outside.
But regenerative design is completely different. It’s about creating buildings that participate in natural cycles. The roof collects rainwater that feeds planted areas that rebuild soil that supports wildlife that helps pollinate nearby food production. Everything’s connected in these closed loops where waste from one system becomes input for another.
Take water systems, for example. Instead of sending greywater to treatment plants, you can design buildings where water from sinks and washing machines irrigates food gardens. I saw this setup where someone’s laundry water feeds their fruit trees through a simple filtration system. Their water bill dropped by thirty percent and their apple harvest doubled.
The material choices are fascinating too. Strawbale walls actually sequester carbon while they’re in the building – they’re storing atmospheric CO2 that was captured during the growing season. Clay plasters regulate humidity naturally while filtering air toxins. Timber from responsibly managed forests supports forest health instead of depleting it.
I started thinking about this from my tiny urban apartment perspective. Obviously I can’t build a strawbale house or install greywater systems – I’m a renter dealing with a landlord who considers fixing the broken bathroom fan an unnecessary luxury. But the principles still apply on smaller scales.
The rooftop garden project I helped organize is basically regenerative design. We took abandoned space and turned it into something that actively improves air quality, manages stormwater, provides habitat for pollinators, and grows food for residents. We used recycled materials for raised beds and composted kitchen scraps to build soil instead of sending organic waste to landfills.
Even my indoor plant situation follows some of these ideas. My plants improve air quality while providing psychological benefits. I compost food scraps (in a tiny worm bin under my sink – glamorous, I know) to create fertilizer instead of buying synthetic stuff. I collect rainwater from my fire escape to water plants instead of using treated tap water.
But here’s what really gets me – regenerative building techniques could be game-changing for affordable housing. Living roofs provide insulation and manage stormwater. Natural materials regulate humidity without mechanical systems. Greywater reuse reduces utility costs. These aren’t luxury features for rich people with big budgets; they’re practical solutions that could make housing more affordable while improving health outcomes.
The problem is that conventional construction is locked into this linear take-make-waste model. Build something, use resources, create waste, repeat. Regenerative approaches require thinking differently about cycles and systems and long-term impacts, which doesn’t fit neatly into standard development processes.
I’ve been following some architects and builders who are proving this can work at larger scales. Community centers with living roofs that became bird habitat. Schools with constructed wetlands that process wastewater on-site while teaching kids about natural systems. Apartment buildings that incorporate food production and rainwater harvesting.
The indoor air quality benefits alone should make this mainstream. Natural materials support beneficial microbial diversity that actually improves immune function. Clay plasters absorb and release moisture naturally. Wooden surfaces regulate humidity without mechanical systems. These buildings create healthier environments while using less energy.
What frustrates me is how much this knowledge exists but isn’t being applied to address housing inequality. Regenerative techniques could make low-income housing developments that actually improve neighborhoods instead of just warehousing people in poorly designed buildings with no connection to natural systems.
I can’t change systemic issues around development and housing policy, but I can share what I’m learning about these approaches. Even small-scale applications matter. Apartment dwellers can advocate for better shared green spaces, support community gardens, choose natural materials when possible, and think about closed-loop systems within our limited spaces.
The personal health benefits are real too. My apartment feels completely different since I started incorporating plants, natural materials, and better lighting. My sleep improved. I get sick less often. My mental health is noticeably better. These aren’t abstract environmental benefits – they’re tangible improvements to daily life.
I’m convinced regenerative design will become standard practice eventually, not because it’s trendy but because it works better. Buildings that support natural systems require less mechanical infrastructure, age more gracefully, and create healthier environments for occupants. The upfront costs aren’t necessarily higher when you factor in reduced long-term operating expenses.
For now, I’m applying these principles at whatever scale I can in my tiny urban situation. Composting food scraps, growing herbs under LED lights, advocating for building improvements that benefit all residents, supporting local businesses that prioritize regenerative practices. Small steps, but they add up.
The bigger vision – buildings that heal damaged land, support local ecosystems, and provide healthy homes for everyone regardless of income – feels both impossible and inevitable. We have the knowledge and techniques. We just need the political will to prioritize human and ecological health over short-term profits.
Robert is a retired engineer in Michigan who’s spent the past few years adapting his longtime home for accessibility and wellbeing. He writes about practical, DIY ways to make homes more comfortable and life-affirming as we age — from raised-bed gardens to better natural light.
