I still remember watching my grandfather’s garden transform after a particularly brutal Minnesota winter. Half his beloved perennials never returned, casualties of temperatures that dropped lower than any in recorded history for our county. Instead of replanting the same varieties, he did something that struck me as revolutionary at the time: he completely reimagined the space with climate adaptability in mind.
“Gardens aren’t static,” he told me, kneeling in the dirt and pointing to the new drought-resistant natives he was installing. “They’re living things that need to roll with the punches – just like we do.” That lesson has stuck with me throughout my design career. When we talk about biophilic design, we often focus on immediate benefits: improved air quality, reduced stress, enhanced creativity.
But there’s another dimension that’s becoming increasingly crucial – adaptability in the face of changing environmental conditions. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Last month, I consulted on a commercial building in Phoenix where summer temperatures regularly exceed 110°F (43°C).
The client initially wanted a traditional green wall in the atrium, but after discussing climate projections for the next 20 years, we pivoted to a completely different approach – creating a showcase of Sonoran Desert plants that can thrive with minimal water and withstand extreme heat. This shift in thinking represents what I believe is the next evolution of biophilic design: creating spaces that don’t just incorporate nature today but can evolve alongside changing natural conditions. It’s about future-proofing our environments in a world where “normal” weather patterns are increasingly unpredictable.
I mean, let’s be honest – biophilic design isn’t worth much if it collapses under the first sign of environmental stress, right? Take my own home office renovation from last year. Instead of the living wall I originally envisioned (which would have required significant irrigation and maintenance), I created a modular system of interchangeable planters that can be swapped seasonally or as conditions change.
During winter, the south-facing windows host light-loving succulents and cacti that thrive in our heating-dried indoor air. Come summer, I rotate in tropical varieties that appreciate the increased humidity. The beauty of this approach?
When we had that freakish two-week cold snap in February that knocked out power across the neighborhood, I simply consolidated my most sensitive plants in the one room we could keep warm with our backup generator. The system adapted because adaptability was built into its design from the beginning. This kind of resilient thinking needs to extend beyond plant selection.
Water systems are another critical consideration. A client in Seattle recently approached me about incorporating a rainwater-harvesting system into her home renovation. Rather than designing it based solely on current rainfall patterns, we analyzed projections suggesting her region will likely experience wetter winters but significantly drier summers in coming decades.
The resulting system includes substantially larger storage capacity than would be needed under current conditions, essentially “banking” excess winter precipitation for increasingly arid summers. Yes, it added about 15% to the project cost, but as she pointed out, “I’m building this system for the next 30 years, not just next season.” Of course, temperature fluctuations present perhaps the most immediate challenge. I consulted on a community center in Minnesota last year where the design team was still using historical temperature ranges for their HVAC calculations.
After bringing in updated climate modeling data, we completely rethought the building’s passive cooling systems, increasing window shading depths and adding operable skylights that wouldn’t have been necessary under previous assumptions. “We were designing for the Minnesota of 1990,” the project architect admitted. “Not the Minnesota of 2030.” What’s particularly fascinating about future-proofed biophilic design is how often it circles back to traditional building techniques.
Before mechanical air conditioning, architects necessarily created buildings that responded to local conditions through passive means – exactly the kind of adaptability we now need to reincorporate. During a research trip to Morocco a few years back, I was struck by how the traditional riads maintain comfortable temperatures through scorching summers. The central courtyard fountains, strategic ventilation pathways, and thermal mass of thick walls don’t just make these buildings pleasant – they make them resilient.
They were designed to function within the extreme climate conditions without mechanical intervention. You know what’s funny? Many of my clients initially resist these conversations about climate adaptability.
There’s something psychologically challenging about designing for a changed future environment – it forces an acknowledgment of uncomfortable realities. But I’ve found that framing it as “resilience” rather than “climate adaptation” often helps overcome that initial resistance. A university client balked when I suggested their new student center should be designed to handle summer temperatures 5°F higher than current averages.
“That seems excessive,” the facilities director said. When I reframed the conversation around “ensuring student comfort regardless of outdoor conditions” and “creating indoor ecosystems resilient to extremes,” we got past the block. The resulting design incorporated flexible zones that can adapt to various conditions, from drought to excessive rainfall to temperature fluctuations.
I’m not suggesting we all need to become climate scientists to practice good biophilic design. But we do need to expand our thinking beyond current conditions. This might mean simple adaptations like: • Selecting plant species with wider temperature and moisture tolerances • Creating microclimate zones that can serve as refuges during extreme events • Designing water features that can function with varying water availability • Incorporating flexible shading systems that respond to changing sun patterns • Planning for altered seasonal dynamics in outdoor spaces My neighbor Tom recently complained that his carefully cultivated native plant garden was struggling because flowering times had shifted, disrupting the pollinator relationships the ecosystem depended on.
“The bees are looking for food two weeks before my flowers bloom now,” he told me, frustration evident. His solution was brilliant in its simplicity – he’s gradually introducing plant varieties from regions slightly south of us, essentially “borrowing” the ecosystem that our area is trending toward. This kind of thinking – adaptive rather than static – represents biophilic design that doesn’t just acknowledge nature but embraces its inherently dynamic character.
One of my favorite recent projects incorporated this principle quite literally. For a library renovation in Chicago, we created a “climate timeline” wall where different sections showcase plant communities reflecting the region’s past, present, and projected future ecosystems. Visitors can physically walk through these changing plant communities, experiencing firsthand how the region’s natural systems are transforming.
It’s educational, yes, but also deeply practical – the building’s outdoor spaces now incorporate elements from all three temporal zones, creating a resilient system that can thrive across changing conditions. There’s a certain humility required in this approach. It means acknowledging that our carefully designed systems might need to transform in ways we can’t fully anticipate.
One of my mentors uses the term “designed obsolescence” – not in the sense of planned failure, but in recognizing that good biophilic design includes pathways for evolution and transformation. This thinking extends to materials as well. I’ve started specifying rapidly renewable materials like bamboo and cork more frequently, not just for their sustainability credentials, but because their production systems can adapt more quickly to changing growing conditions than old-growth forest products.
For a healthcare client last year, we created a healing garden with three distinct climatic zones – one reflecting current conditions, one designed for projected conditions ten years out, and one reflecting models for thirty years in the future. As plants struggle in the “current” zone and thrive in the “future” zones, it creates a living demonstration of adaptation. More importantly, it ensures that regardless of how quickly conditions change, portions of the therapeutic space will continue to function as intended.
I recently toured a school where this principle had been beautifully applied. The building featured a series of classroom-adjacent outdoor learning spaces, each with slightly different microclimate conditions – from full sun to dappled shade, from wind-protected to naturally ventilated. As seasonal conditions change, classes simply migrate to whichever space offers the most comfortable learning environment that day.
Brilliant in its simplicity, right? But perhaps the most profound aspect of future-proofed biophilic design is how it changes our relationship with natural systems. Rather than treating nature as a static “feature” to be incorporated, it asks us to engage with natural processes as dynamic partners.
My sister’s San Francisco office installed a living wall five years ago – the standard, Instagram-worthy vertical garden. Within three years, maintenance costs were skyrocketing as the irrigation system struggled to keep plants alive during increasingly severe drought conditions. Last year, they replaced it with an “adaptable living system” – modular units that can be reconfigured and replanted as conditions change.
The maintenance team now actively participates in the wall’s evolution rather than fighting a losing battle to preserve its original state. “We stopped trying to freeze it in time,” the facility manager told me, “and started working with it as a living thing.” And isn’t that the essence of truly successful biophilic design? Not capturing nature as a static element, but engaging with it as an evolving process?
As I help clients navigate these challenges, I keep returning to my grandfather’s garden. His willingness to adapt rather than simply restore allowed him to create something more resilient and ultimately more beautiful than what had existed before. Future-proofed biophilic design carries that same potential – to create spaces that don’t just incorporate nature but grow alongside it, adapting to whatever comes next.
Because at its heart, isn’t that what nature has always done best?
