Winter has pushed Kyiv's National Botanical Garden into a daily fight to keep thousands of tropical and subtropical plants alive, as Russia's relentless assault on Ukraine's energy infrastructure and extreme cold strain systems never designed for prolonged disruption.
The garden's greenhouses, home to species from Madagascar, Brazil, and Southeast Asia, require constant temperatures between 18 and 25 degrees Celsius. Outside, temperatures plunge to minus 10 degrees. When the power cuts out—which happens multiple times weekly—the race against cold begins.
"We have maybe four hours before the tropical plants start suffering permanent damage," explained Tetyana Kovalchuk, a botanist who has worked at the garden for fifteen years, speaking to the Kyiv Independent. "Our backup generators can handle one, maybe two greenhouses. We have eight."
The garden's staff has developed emergency protocols refined through three winters of war. When air raid sirens sound, botanists don't head to shelters—they rush to monitor greenhouse temperatures, covering sensitive plants with thermal blankets and moving the most vulnerable specimens to insulated chambers heated by generators.
In Ukraine, as across nations defending their sovereignty, resilience is not just survival—it's determination to build a better future. The botanists' determination to preserve these collections reflects something deeper than professional obligation. These plants represent continuity with peacetime, connection to global scientific community, and faith that Ukraine will emerge from war with its cultural and scientific institutions intact.
"People ask why we don't just let some plants die and focus on more critical infrastructure," said Oleksandr Shevchenko, the garden's director. "But this is critical infrastructure. These collections took decades to build. Some species no longer exist in the wild. We're not just protecting plants—we're protecting knowledge, biodiversity, humanity's heritage."
The garden maintains approximately 13,000 plant species, including rare orchids, cycads that survived the age of dinosaurs, and medicinal plants used in pharmaceutical research. Many specimens came through international exchanges with botanical gardens worldwide—relationships built over generations of scientific cooperation.
When power fails during the coldest nights, staff members sleep in the greenhouses, monitoring temperatures and manually operating backup heating systems. They've learned to recognize the subtle signs of cold stress—slight wilting in broad-leafed tropicals, browning at leaf edges, the way certain palms curl their fronds protectively.
The challenges extend beyond temperature control. Water systems freeze. Automated humidity controls fail. Plants requiring precise light cycles suffer under emergency lighting schedules dictated by generator fuel availability rather than botanical needs.
Yet the garden remains open to visitors when security allows. Kyiv residents seeking brief escape from war's anxiety wander among orchids and palms, breathing humid air fragrant with jasmine and plumeria. The contrast between tropical abundance and winter siege creates surreal juxtaposition—colorful blooms thriving meters from sandbag fortifications.
"Sometimes I think we're crazy, spending resources on flowers when people need heat," reflected Kovalchuk. "But then I see a child's face when they see a banana tree for the first time, or an elderly couple holding hands on a bench surrounded by roses in January. We need this. Ukraine needs this. Beauty is resistance."
The garden's struggle mirrors broader questions about preservation during catastrophe. Museums evacuate artwork to western Ukraine. Libraries digitize rare manuscripts. Archaeologists rush to document sites threatened by combat. This is the work of a nation determined not merely to survive war, but to emerge with its identity and heritage preserved.
International botanical communities have provided support—emergency generators from Polish partners, thermal insulation materials from Germany, even rare plant cuttings to rebuild collections if specimens die. These gestures of solidarity mean more than their material value.
But ultimately, the garden's survival depends on ending Russia's attacks on energy infrastructure. Each strike makes the botanists' task harder, fuel more scarce, systems more degraded. The plants cannot indefinitely withstand the stress of repeated temperature shocks.
As evening air raid sirens echo across Kyiv, Kovalchuk walks through the tropical greenhouse, checking each plant with practiced eye. A rare Amorphophallus titanum—the corpse flower, one of only a few specimens in Eastern Europe—shows new growth despite the winter siege.
"See?" she says, touching the emerging shoot gently. "Even in darkness, life insists on continuing. That's what we do here—we insist that life continues, that beauty continues, that Ukraine continues. Let Russia try to freeze that."
