This is one in a series about possible futures, which will be published in Booch News over the coming weeks. Episode 5 appeared last week. New episodes drop every Friday.

Introduction

In the mid-21st century, rising seas and extreme weather rendered traditional agriculture impossible, but kombucha cultures thrived in controlled environments. Vertical fermentation towers became humanity’s primary food production method, with kombucha serving as a crucial source of nutrition. Climate refugees built resilient communities around shared SCOBY cultures that could withstand disasters. A critical challenge for kombucha production was tea availability, which became increasingly problematic on a planet where climate had reached a tipping point. Fortunately, tea plantations—like French vineyards that migrated across the Channel to England due to global warming—proved adaptable. This episode describes the expansion of tea plantations housed in vertical agricultural towers in the United Kingdom. These symbiotic systems proved more resilient to warmer temperatures than traditional agriculture.

The Great Tea Migration: From Tropics to Temperate Towers

By 2045, the traditional tea-growing regions of Darjeeling, Ceylon, and Fujian had become uninhabitable wastelands. Rising temperatures, erratic monsoons, and soil degradation forced humanity to reimagine where and how tea gardens could survive. The solution emerged from an unlikely source: the pioneering tea estates of Britain’s Celtic fringe, whose temperature-tolerant Camellia sinensis varieties became the foundation for humanity’s vertical fermentation revolution.

The Cornwall Prophecy: Tregothnan’s Vision Realized

Dr. Sarah Boscawen-Chen—a scion of the estate family and daughter of fermentation pioneer Dr. Lila Chen—pioneered the integration of tea cultivation with kombucha production. Her breakthrough insight was that, rather than importing tea leaves from distant plantations at great carbon cost, enclosed vertical towers could simultaneously grow tea and brew kombucha, creating closed-loop ecosystems in which plant and microbial systems symbiotically enhanced each other.

What began in 2005 as Jonathon Jones‘s ambitious experiment at the Tregothnan Tea Estate in Cornwall—England’s first commercial tea estate—evolved into the template for post-climate agriculture. The estate’s sheltered valleys, with acidic soil and a mild climate moderated by the sea, made Tregothnan ideal for tea cultivation. Located eight miles inland from the coast, the tea garden was shielded from corrosive salt air. The plantation initially seemed a botanical curiosity, producing boutique teas for local markets. But as global warming devastated traditional growing regions, Tregothnan’s hardy cultivars proved prophetic.

By 2055, Tregothnan’s original 20-acre plantation had expanded into a 150-story vertical tea forest, its crystalline towers rising from Cornwall’s coast like botanical cathedrals. The estate’s heirloom varieties—originally adapted to British weather patterns—thrived in controlled environments that precisely mimicked their ancestral growing conditions while protecting them from the climate chaos outside. They extended the original Cornish innovation of the iconic biomes at the nearby Eden Project.

No One’s Cup of Tea

The BBC documentary No One’s Cup of Tea, broadcast in 2045, revealed the scale of disaster in the world’s major tea-growing regions. While Britons were left “gasping for a cuppa” as prices skyrocketed, growers in India and elsewhere lost their livelihoods. The Chinese government, flush with its successful invasion of Taiwan, barred BBC camera crews from plantations; there were no such restrictions in India.

The moving documentary footage remains unforgettable:

Sabnam Tamang stands among dying tea plants, the soil cracked and lifeless beneath her feet. The temperature reads 41°C—impossible for Camellia sinensis to survive. Around her, workers harvest what they know will be the estate’s final crop.

Mardin approaches her mother, carrying a withered tea leaf. “Mama, the irrigation system failed again. The aquifer is empty.”

Sabnam takes the leaf, crumbling it between her fingers. “This estate has produced tea for over 200 years. Our ancestors planted these original bushes stolen from China by the British. And now…”

She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t need to.

Dr. Boscawen-Chen, flown over by the BBC as an advisor, examines the soil with portable equipment, recording data. “Mrs. Tamang, I’m sorry. I know what this means to your family.”

“Do you?” Sabnam’s voice carries an edge. “Your Cornwall estate thrives while ours dies. British tea survives because you got lucky with latitude and ocean currents. We weren’t lucky.”

Sarah meets her anger with compassion. “You’re right. Geography saved us. But that’s why I’m here—to offer alternatives.”

She pulls up holographic displays showing the vertical towers rising along Britain’s coast. “Tregothnan has developed controlled-environment cultivation. We can replicate Darjeeling’s original growing conditions—temperature, humidity, soil chemistry—inside climate-controlled towers. Your tea varieties can survive. Your expertise is needed.”

Sabnam laughs bitterly. “You want us to grow Indian tea in England? In artificial environments? That’s not tea cultivation—that’s botanical imprisonment.”

“It’s adaptation,” Sarah corrects gently. “The choice isn’t between traditional estates and towers. It’s between towers and extinction. Traditional agriculture is over. The question is whether we preserve what we can.”

Mardin interrupts, pointing toward the horizon where dust storms approach. “Mama, the evacuation trucks are here. We need to decide.”

Sabnam looks between her dying estate and Sarah’s holographic towers. “If we come to Cornwall, can we bring our cultivars? Our specific Darjeeling varieties?”

“That’s exactly what we need,” Sarah confirms. “Genetic diversity. Traditional knowledge. The towers work, but they need expertise from growers like you to thrive.”

“We’ll come,” Sabnam decides. “But understand—we’re refugees, not employees. We’re abandoning our heritage because climate catastrophe gives us no choice.”

“I know,” Sarah acknowledges. “The Thames Valley Mega-Tower has apartments for climate refugees. Your family will have housing, education, and work. It’s not home, but it’s survival.”

As the Tamangs board evacuation trucks with their precious seed stock, Sabnam takes one last look at the estate her family built over generations.

“Remember this, Mardin. Remember what the world looked like before we had to farm in towers.”

Scotland’s Tea Renaissance: From Whisky to SCOBY

The Tea Gardens of Scotland collective, which began in the 2020s as artisan experiments in Perthshire, Fife, Angus, and Kincardineshire, became the backbone of northern Europe’s kombucha security. These scattered walled gardens and sheltered slopes, initially dismissed as romantic Caledonian anachronisms, proved ideal testing grounds for extreme-weather tea cultivation.

The collective’s leader, Dr. Morag MacLeod (formerly of the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh), transformed traditional Scottish agricultural practices into cutting-edge biotechnology. Her team developed “Highland Hardy” tea varieties that could survive extreme temperatures while maintaining optimal tannin profiles for kombucha fermentation. These robust cultivars became the genetic foundation for vertical tea forests across Arctic regions, replacing traditional farming zones.

By 2050, Aberdeen hosted the world’s tallest tea-kombucha tower: a 1,200-meter spire that produced enough fermented beverages to supply all of northern Europe. Four times the height of the great North Sea oil platforms once assembled in the Granite City, the tower’s internal climate zones replicated everything from subtropical lowlands to alpine highlands, allowing dozens of tea varieties to flourish simultaneously while feeding continuous kombucha production on alternating floors. They were powered by clean energy from proliferating offshore wind farms, extending far beyond the original Aberdeen Bay Wind Farm, which had famously impeded views from the Trump International Golf Links at Menie.

Dr. MacLeod stands in the tower’s control center, monitoring dozens of climate zones simultaneously. Each floor provides ideal growing conditions for different tea varieties—subtropical, temperate, and alpine.

“Highland Hardy varieties on Floors 200-300,” she narrates to visiting engineers. “Darjeeling preserves on 400-500. Experimental hybrids on 600-700. Each zone feeds kombucha production on alternating floors, creating continuous fermentation cycles.”

Mardin works on Floor 452, tending Darjeeling plants that her mother brought from India five years earlier. The varieties have adapted beautifully, producing leaves that taste exactly like pre-collapse harvests.

A junior technician approaches her. “Ms. Tamang, we have visitors. Corporate inspection.”

Mega-Cola CEO James Morrison enters with an entourage of executives, examining the tower’s operations with obvious interest. He stops at Mardin’s station.

“Fascinating setup,” he observes. “You’re growing traditional tea in climate-controlled environments and immediately processing it into fermented beverages. Very efficient. What’s your production capacity?”

Mardin regards him coolly. “Enough to supply northern Europe’s kombucha needs. About 50 million liters monthly.”

Morrison pulls out a tablet and makes notes. “And the costs? Compared to traditional agriculture?”

“Traditional agriculture doesn’t exist anymore,” Mardin responds. “So the comparison is meaningless. The choice is tower cultivation or no cultivation.”

Dr. MacLeod joins them, her expression wary. “Mr. Morrison, I understand Mega-Cola is interested in industrial fermentation. These towers aren’t designed for corporate acquisition.”

“Everything has a price,” Morrison says smoothly. “Your operation is impressive, but imagine it at scale. Mega-Cola could replicate this model globally, producing standardized kombucha more efficiently than these artisanal towers.”

“You fundamentally misunderstand what we’re doing,” MacLeod responds sharply. “These aren’t factories. They’re ecosystems. Living systems that require partnership, not industrial optimization. You can’t mass-produce symbiosis.”

Morrison smiles condescendingly. “Dr. MacLeod, with respect, I’ve been optimizing beverage production for thirty years. Everything biological can be standardized and scaled. It’s just a matter of capital and engineering.”

Mardin speaks up. “My family tried fighting climate change with traditional methods. We lost. These towers work because they embrace complexity rather than fight it. If you try to industrialize them, you’ll fail the same way traditional agriculture failed.”

“We’ll see,” Morrison says, departing with his entourage.

After he leaves, MacLeod turns to Mardin. “He’s going to try acquiring the towers. Converting them to industrial production.”

“Let him try,” Mardin says grimly. “Biology doesn’t care about corporate plans. These living systems work because we respect them. If the collapse of corn syrup doesn’t finish these cola brands off, industrial optimization will kill what makes them function.”

Wales’s Transformation: Lucy George’s Legacy

Lucy George’s transition from strawberry farming to tea cultivation at the Peterston Tea Estate in the Vale of Glamorgan represented humanity’s agricultural adaptation in miniature. Her decision to replace traditional fruit crops with cold-hardy tea varieties seemed quixotic in 2025, but by 2060, her estate had become the epicenter of Wales’s vertical agriculture revolution.

The Peterston Model, which combined traditional farming knowledge with biotechnology, inspired the design of residential kombucha towers throughout Britain. Every urban apartment block incorporated tea-growing floors that fed building-specific fermentation systems, ensuring residents could access personalized kombucha without relying on distant supply chains.

George’s great-granddaughter, Dr. Cerys George-Nakamura (a former student of the immortal Curro Polo), revolutionized urban tea cultivation by developing “Memory Moss”—genetically modified bryophytes that could replicate the soil conditions of any historical tea garden. This breakthrough enabled vertical towers to recreate the exact terroir of legendary growing regions, such as Da Hong Pao or Gyokuro, in climate-controlled environments thousands of miles from their origins.

The residential tower differs from agricultural mega-structures—it’s designed for living, not just production. Each apartment includes small tea gardens, and every floor has communal fermentation spaces where residents brew personalized kombucha.

Dr. George-Nakamura shows Mardin her “Memory Moss.”

“Watch,” Cerys demonstrates, placing moss samples in containers. “This moss has been programmed with soil chemistry data from Da Hong Pao gardens in China, circa 2015. When we grow tea in this substrate, the plants express exactly the same terpene profiles as the original gardens.”

Mardin examines the setup, amazed. “You’re recreating extinct terroir? Even though we’re thousands of miles from the original locations?”

“Exactly. These towers can grow Gyokuro that tastes like Uji, Darjeeling that tastes like the Himalayas, Longjing that tastes like Hangzhou—all using Memory Moss to recreate precise soil conditions. We’re preserving agricultural heritage that would otherwise be lost.”

They visit a residential floor where families tend their personal tea gardens. A Syrian family grows varieties from Damascus. A Chinese family cultivates Yunnan teas. An Ethiopian family maintains heirloom coffee plants alongside tea.

“The Peterston Model makes every resident a cultivator,” Cerys explains. “Not passive consumers, but active participants in food production. Each family chooses varieties matching their cultural heritage. The building’s central SCOBY core processes everything into personalized kombucha delivered to each apartment.”

A young girl approaches Mardin shyly. “Are you the lady from Darjeeling? My teacher said you came from India when the farms died.”

Mardin kneels to the girl’s level. “Yes, I’m from Darjeeling. My family grew tea there for generations.”

The girl looks at her wistfully. “Is it sad? Not farming in India anymore?”

Mardin considers carefully. “It’s sad that climate change made traditional farming impossible. But it’s wonderful that we found new ways to grow food. These towers saved my life. Maybe saved everyone’s life.”

The girl nods thoughtfully. “My family is from Bangladesh. The ocean took our home. But now we live here and grow tea from Sylhet. Mama says the past is gone, but we can plant the future.”

“Your mama is wise,” Mardin says, tears in her eyes.

Vertical Ecosystems: The New Agricultural Paradigm

While rising seas and extreme weather made traditional agriculture impossible, the British tea pioneers had unknowingly developed the solution. Their emphasis on sheltered microclimates, artisanal cultivation, and genetic diversity provided the blueprint for vertical fermentation towers, which became humanity’s primary food production method.

These towers weren’t merely agricultural facilities—they were complete ecosystems where tea plants, kombucha cultures, edible fungi, and even small livestock coexisted in carefully balanced symbiosis. The towers’ closed-loop design meant that waste from one level became nutrients for another, while kombucha cultures served multiple functions: producing beverages, purifying water, and filtering air.

The Thames Valley Mega-Tower

Climate refugees Sabnam and Mardin Tamang lived in the Thames Valley Mega-Tower, an 80-floor structure built on Walbury Hill in Berkshire, above the London suburbs where their family had abandoned their home after the Great Flood of 2055. Each residential level included communal tea gardens where families cultivated varieties that matched their cultural heritage and personal health needs. The building’s central SCOBY core—a living column of fermentation cultures descended from Tregothnan’s original specimens—processed the tea harvest into personalized kombucha delivered directly to each apartment.

The tower proved its worth during extreme weather events, as when hurricane-force winds battered the 80-floor structure on a late-summer day. Outside, what remained of London’s suburbs flooded again. Inside, 50,000 residents sheltered while structural engineers monitored the building’s integrity.

Mardin stands in the central SCOBY chamber—a massive vertical column of fermentation cultures running the tower’s entire height. Sensors show unexpected readings.

“The SCOBY is strengthening,” she reports to engineers via radio. “Fermentation rates are accelerating. Atmospheric pressure changes are triggering enhanced microbial activity.”

An engineer responds over crackling communications: “How is that possible? We expected the cultures to be stressed by the storm.”

“Living systems don’t always respond predictably,” Mardin explains. “The SCOBY seems to be using pressure differential to enhance fermentation. It’s thriving during the crisis.”

Sabnam, working alongside her daughter, monitors tea plant root systems. “Chōrī, look at this. The roots are helping stabilize the structure. They’re distributing stress loads across the floors.”

Mardin examines the data, astonished. “The plants are acting as additional structural support. We designed them for food production, but they’re also anchoring the building. Symbiotic architecture.”

The storm intensifies. Outside, traditional buildings collapse. But the tower holds, its biological systems working in partnership with engineering.

Hours later, when the storm passes, damage assessment reveals the unexpected: the tower suffered minimal structural damage. The integrated biological systems—SCOBY cores, plant root networks, even the moss substrates—all contributed to resilience in ways engineers hadn’t predicted.

A senior engineer addresses the tower community over speakers: “Residents of Thames Valley Mega-Tower, we’ve weathered the worst storm in recorded history. Preliminary assessment shows our biological integration systems provided structural benefits beyond design parameters. The living systems protected us.”

Sabnam stands with Mardin in their apartment garden, tending the Darjeeling plants that survived the storm unscathed. Through the windows, they see other towers standing firm while traditional structures lie in ruins.

“Mardin, remember this,” Sabnam says softly. “Traditional agriculture failed because it fought nature. Industrial architecture fails because it fights biology. These towers work because they partner with living systems. That’s the lesson.”

Mardin looks wistful. “Is that why we came from India? To learn how to partner instead of fight?”

“We came because we had no choice,” Sabnam corrects. “But we stayed because we learned the partnership model works better than anything we left behind. These towers aren’t prisons—they’re possibilities.”

A Celebration in Song

The story of the migration from the tea gardens of India to Britain’s distant shores was celebrated in song by Kavya Bhandari, whose haunting voice carried the story of displacement and renewal:

The tea gardens of India are no more, you see
The mountains of Darjeeling lie barren and bare
The heat bankrupted us to the last rupee
And drove us from our homes in despair.

[Chorus]
Glass tower
Tea flower
Safe space
New place.

Tall farm
No harm
Kombucha
New culture.

We refugees traveled north and west
From India’s hills to a rocky shore
Seeking latitudes that suited us best
Looking for sanctuary, pitiful and poor.
Oh the heartache and the pain we bore
Leaving farmlands that we’ll see no more.

[Chorus]

Celtic Britain hosted gardens that rise
In crystalline towers reaching to the skies
Scotland, Cornwall, and Wales install
Gracious buildings that will never fall.

[Chorus]

They built towers strong and true
Tropical warmth where mountain mists blew,
Temperate gardens above old coal pits
Saved Indian farmers from calling it quits.

[Chorus]

So drink the ‘booch from towers tall
Thank refugees who answered Britain’s call.
Darjeeling wisdom shared by those who knew
And joined together, symbiotic and true.

[Chorus]

Transformation

The climate catastrophe that destroyed traditional agriculture forced humanity to reimagine its relationship with food production. What began as desperate adaptation—refugees fleeing collapsed estates, constructing emergency growing facilities—evolved into profound understanding: partnership with living systems proves more resilient than attempts at control.

Sabnam Tamang’s journey from climate refugee to cultivation director embodied humanity’s transformation. She arrived mourning the loss of traditional farming, certain that tower cultivation represented diminishment. She discovered instead that farming had never been about location—it had always been about relationship with living systems. The towers didn’t imprison agriculture; they liberated it from dependence on unstable climate conditions.

Executives like Mega-Cola CEO James Morrison, trained in industrial optimization, couldn’t comprehend why partnership succeeded where control failed. They saw biological processes as machinery requiring better engineering. They missed the fundamental insight that living systems resist being engineered—they must be cultivated, respected, and partnered with.

As Morrison prepared to build his industrial towers, confident that capital and engineering could master fermentation, the established tower communities watched with knowing resignation. Some lessons could only be learned through failure. Mega-Cola was about to discover why you cannot industrialize life—why living relationships require respect, patience, and partnership rather than optimization, control, and extraction.

As humanity learned to farm in partnership with living systems, the old industrial giants made one final, desperate attempt to maintain their dominance. However, you cannot industrialize life—a lesson Mega-Cola would learn at the cost of its entire empire.

The story continues next Friday, here on Booch News.

Disclaimer

This is a work of speculative fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, assisted by generative A.I. References to real brands and organizations are used in a wholly imaginative context and are not intended to reflect any actual facts or opinions related to them. No assertions or statements in this post should be interpreted as true or factual.

Audio

Listen to an audio version of this Episode and all future ones via the Booch News channel on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This episode includes one song. If you just want to listen to the music (a haunting melody that packs a punch!) tune in as follows:

Kavya Bhandari, The Tea Gardens of India Are No More, 22:44

Lyrics ©2025 Booch News, music generated with the assistance of Suno.

The post Our Fermented Future, Episode 6: Vertical Gardens – Climate Adaptation through Fermentation appeared first on 'Booch News.