This orange flower cloaks Mexico during Day of the Dead. Climate change is putting it at risk. – Chicago Tribune

MEXICO CITY — Lucia Ortíz trudges through endless fields of cempasuchil flowers, whose luminescent orange petals will soon cover everything from city streets to cemeteries across Mexico.

Here in the winding canals and farms on the outskirts of Mexico City, the flower also known as Mexican marigold has been cultivated for generations and takes pride of place each year during the country’s Day of the Dead celebrations.

But as Ortíz, 50, and other farmers busy aggregating clusters of plants to sell in markets around the capital, they quietly wonder what will remain of their livelihoods in the future.

Indeed, cempasuchil producers say they have been reeling from torrential rains, prolonged drought and other impacts of climate change – driven by the burning of fuels like gas, oil and coal – that have become increasingly common.

Farmers, who depend on the vagaries of the weather to grow their crops, are on the front lines of the climate crisis. This year alone, cempasuchil growers reported losing up to half of their flower harvest due to heavy rains and flooding.

“This year we lost a lot. We even had difficulty growing cempasuchil. There were times when we had no money to buy the fertilizers we needed,” Ortíz said. “With cempasuchil plants, we sometimes end up with nothing. »

“Flower of the Dead”

The orange blossom has become a symbol of the country’s celebrations which take place every November 1 and 2. Also known as the “flower of the dead,” the cempasuchil is considered a point of connection between the world of the dead and that of the living, with luminous petals that light the path of dead souls to the altars set up by their families.

Flowers are also a crucial economic driver in Mexico, which trade groups estimate will bring in nearly $2.7 million for farmers in 2025.

Ortíz and his family began growing the flower 30 years ago on their small plot of land in Xochimilco, a rural neighborhood in southern Mexico City where residents have continued to perpetuate ancient agricultural techniques using canals that wind through the farmland like a maze.

Every year, locals start planting marigold seeds in July and cultivate them at the end of the rainy season. But they say they have taken a hit for years running as heavy rains, droughts, floods and other climate changes have made it increasingly difficult to sustain their crops.

How Day of the Dead is celebrated in Chicago (explained in English and Spanish)

This year, torrential rains that lasted for months destroyed more than 37,000 acres of crops across the country, according to government figures. During a visit to cempasuchil fields earlier this month in Xochimilco, Mexico City Mayor Clara Brugada said nearly 2 million marigold plants were at risk. Despite this, she said this year’s production simultaneously broke a record 6 million plants, with farmers adapting to meet growing demand, even as growing the flower has become more precarious.

Ortíz said the excess rain caused pests, diseases and rotted the roots of his plants. She estimates she lost at least 30% of her crop, while others say they lost almost 50%.

The family was forced to spend money on insecticides, fertilizers and more to save their crops. As they did, their slim profit margins turned into losses, and they had to cut back on purchases of staples like beef and sweets to make ends meet.

“If I were to take a hard look at all of our losses, I would be incredibly disillusioned and wouldn’t even want to add to them,” she said. “We’re just trying to move forward and keep this going.”

Adapting to climate change

Right next door to Ortíz’s farm, government scientists are looking for long-term solutions beyond the short-term economic aid provided by the local government. At a small seed bank known as Toxinachcal, men in white suits meticulously select sprouts from a laboratory dish.

Scientists have been working for a year and a half to preserve thousands of seed variants of native plant species, including 20 variants of cempasuchil, in jars placed in giant freezers, in hopes that the storage facility will become a key tool in combating the most damaging effects of climate change.

Biologist Clara Soto Cortés, head of the seed bank, said part of the reason crops have been devastated is that farmers have chosen in recent years to use a hybrid variant of marigold seeds from the United States.

The seed produces a shorter, more uniform-looking plant that is easier to sell en masse and in places like supermarkets.

But that means farmers have turned away from hardier native breeds, which have longer stocks and vary widely in color, size and texture. The genetic diversity of these Mexican breeds makes them more resilient to drastic climate changes like those seen this year, Soto said.

“These native seeds have adapted to different geographic areas, at high and low altitudes, in places where it rains a lot or not at all, or where they need to be insect resistant,” she explained.

“The (hybrid) seeds were bred for another purpose. They do not have the genetic diversity needed to cope with climate change.”

If other weather events, like the floods that shook growers, destroy an entire crop, Soto said the bank would make seeds available to local growers to salvage their crops — this time with a hardier variant that their ancestors had grown for centuries.

Perpetuating an ancient tradition

Meanwhile, growers are scrambling to bounce back in the short term, saying the losses also pose a threat to the farming tradition their families have fought to maintain on the outskirts of this dense city of 23 million.

Carlos Jiménez, 61, has long worked in Xochimilco’s fields, but began growing shorter marigold plants eight years ago when he noticed the hybrid was more marketable. As he lost more crops and got lower prices for plants due to mold accumulating at their roots, he said he began thinking of ways to adapt, such as building greenhouses.

“The plants get sick, they rot and our business is wiped out,” Jiménez said. “And with it our tradition disappears because it is our economy.”

Producers like Ortíz thought the same thing. But their losses mean they have no money to build additional infrastructure. His family and other farmers have asked local authorities for help, but say they have received only pennies on the dollar of what they need to bounce back. However, the local government said it was continuing to work to help offset the hit to farmers.

She said she started thinking about other crops she could grow that would be hardier than crinkle orange blossoms.

Others, like Jiménez, said that even though plant roots were rotting around him, for now he was holding on.

“This plant has a deeper meaning for our lost loved ones,” he said. “These are traditions that we pass down to our ancestors. They can’t just disappear.”