Rebels with a Vase

How to buy flowers without destroying the planet

- BY ADRIENNE MASON PHOTOGRAPHY BY JULIE RÉMY

THE FIRST THING I see upon entering the only supermarket in my small Vancouver Island hometown is a three-tiered stand of cellophane-swaddled flowers. They're a bit garish—one bouquet is made of chrysanthemums dyed Smurf blue, another of highlighter-yellow gerbera daisies—and, despite my intense sniffing, there's no detectable scent, even from a bundle of red roses. Labels declare them seasonal, which is curious given that it's late November.

We're used to buying fresh flowers, regardless of the time of year—from grocery stores, retail florists, and big-box stores, or online. And whether we're grabbing a sweet bundle of pink tulips as a last-minute housewarming gift or spending thousands on bespoke florals for a wedding, most flowers are purchased with little thought to how they were grown, where they came from.

Just as a charismatic person can get away with a lot until the veneer cracks, floristry has been cruising on its good looks and charm. The reality is that cut flowers can come with hefty costs that are ultimately borne by the environment and the people who grow and handle them. Floristry relies heavily on imported flowers (about 80 percent of imported cut flowers in Canada come from Colombia and Ecuador, with the Netherlands and the United States making up almost 11 percent); a climate-controlled relay of refrigerated warehouses, trucks, and planes shunting blooms from growers to wholesalers to retailers; heated greenhouses; intensive agriculture; and single-use plastics.

The over $30 billion (US) global industry's current economic model, with its constant drive for efficiency, standardization, and the lowest price, has warped the relationship between flowers and consumers. Chances are, if a bride or groom is set on having a bouquet of peonies in February—months before they're in season in Canada—the flowers can be found somewhere in the world, climate footprint be damned.