Zhanna Yaroslavska showed off a barrel-shaped stove in the middle of a tropical greenhouse. Nearby was a large pile of logs. “It’s a pretty neanderthal arrangement,” she explained. “When the power shuts off we feed the stove with wood. In winter we do this round the clock. Our plants require constant temperatures. They don’t like cold and hot.”
Inside the glass nursery were dozens of rare specimens. All were bromeliads native to the Americas. Silvery wisps of beard-like Tillandsia descended from a pipe. A pineapple poked out of a stem. A screen next to the stove protected a group of starfish-like earth stars, native to Brazil. The collection needed a minimum temperature of 10C, Yaroslavska – a senior researcher – said. Below that everything would die off.
The greenhouse is one of eight in the Mykola Hryshko national botanical garden in Kyiv. Founded in 1935, it is Ukraine’s biggest garden and one of the largest in Europe. It is home to about 13,000 species of trees, flowers and other plants from around the world. The 52-hectare (130 acres) site has scientific departments and two laboratories. With its roses and camellias, it is a popular venue with wedding photographers.
But the park is now staring at disaster. In recent months, Russia has systematically destroyed most of Ukraine’s energy infrastructure. Power cuts in the capital and across the country are common, with the situation getting worse. The city authorities have said they will not be able to guarantee supply in the freezing months ahead. Prices for electricity have doubled, as the garden’s funding has shrunk.
“Worst-case scenario is we lose a big part of our collection,” Roman Ivannikov, the head of the tropical and subtropical plant department, said. Money is so tight he and his colleagues recently took a pay cut. Last winter, £55,000 in donations kept the garden going, allowing the purchase of 242 tonnes of fuel pellets. Volunteers chopped firewood. The garden is appealing for help, under the hashtag #greenhousewarming.
Before the first chilly night of October arrives, Ivannikov said his team urgently needed additional generators. The orchid house had a unique collection of exotic specimens and was especially vulnerable. Last year, three Samsung heat pumps were fitted to maintain temperatures at 20-22C. But there was no back-up in the case of a prolonged shutdown.
Ivannikov pointed out some of the collection’s highlights. They included an egg-in-the-nest orchid from China – it has a strange white-and-purple-spotted flower – and a delicate green jewel orchid. Another example – Doritis pulcherrima – was descended from a plant sent into space in 1986. The orchid was part of a Soviet mission to the Mir space station, where the crew performed experiments in biology.
The garden collaborates with international partners. In 2014, it sent plants to Vietnam, after their original habitat was destroyed to make way for banana and coffee crops. “I travelled with 45 orchids,” Ivannikov recalled. “I watched on TV, as Russia took Crimea.” Scientific conferences with Moscow stopped. When Russia launched its full-scale invasion Ivannikov took his family out of Kyiv and returned a week later.
The Kremlin continues to fire missiles at the capital. From time to time, falling debris breaks glass in the hothouses. Blast waves from explosions have dislodged a chunk of wall and knocked over red-listed plants. “We haven’t had a direct hit. But we suffered a lot of damage,” Ivannikov said. In January, a rocket flew above the main orangery, a giant glass dome containing banks of shaggy vines and a towering king palm.
Iryna Yudakova, an engineer, was inside. “I didn’t hear the air alarm. I went out and saw a streak in the sky,” she said. “There was an explosion. A piece of shrapnel fell next to me. Another hit a window. I was lucky.” Yudakova said she enjoyed her job but that the pay – 8,000 hryvnia a month (£150) – was measly. “Previously I was a psychologist. When the war started I lost my clients. Without my husband I couldn’t survive,” she said.
Yudakova’s duties include looking after the rhododendrons and azaleas. In February, one of her favourite plants – an old specimen bred in Germany in the 1930s – lost most of its leaves during a blackout. “It got too cold,” she said. “The younger, smaller plants survive better.” Standing next to the denuded shrub, she reflected: “It’s like losing a relative or a pet. I think of them as my kids. I water them, care for them, talk to them.”
Many employees have worked at the garden for decades. Others fled Russian occupation. Among them are a father and daughter in charge of the bonsai collection, who escaped from Mariupol. Ivannikov said his soldier cousin died defending the eastern city, which Russia flattened in 2022. About 1,000 volunteers do various tasks. They prune lavender, remove unwanted hops and water juvenile plants.
“It’s gardening therapy. The volunteers do useful work. They go home feeling better,” Ivannikov said. Last weekend, dog walkers and young couples visited the alpine garden and sat in a pleasant outdoor cafe. A red squirrel bounded between trees. Next to the administration building – where new orchids are nurtured in glass flasks – a sale of succulents was going on. Proceeds went to Ukraine’s armed forces.
Back at the bromeliad house Yaroslavska said she would like to replace the building – constructed in 1976 under communism – with a modern, more heat-efficient version. She recognised there was no point in making improvements while the war rumbled on and bombs fell randomly from the sky. For now, the objective was for the garden and its 4,000 tropical and subtropical plants to get through the coming winter.
There were also smaller challenges, she said. A bold squirrel had climbed in through a ventilation window and made off with the figs from a rare tree. Apart from getting rid of the squirrel, what else did she want? “If I had a magic wand I would wish there was no Russia,” she replied. “No Russia means no problem. We could live normally.”
