MEXICO CITY — Jasmine Ordóñez finds herself on a wooden boat, crossing a slender waterway that connects Mexico and its past—a labyrinth of chinampa, those ancient Aztec island farms.
“Let’s close our eyes and ask our mother waters for permission to sail in peace,” she says softly, as the boat glides by, a stark contrast to the bustling ocean traffic just a few miles away.
Ordóñez is one of the pioneering farmers on this island, crafting her chinampa with mud from the lakebed that once submerged the area. When her boat lands, she proudly displays her vibrant crops, including corn and leafy greens. Tradition kept her from inheriting a chinampa, so she had to purchase one.
“My grandmother never owned land. Back then, it was mostly men who held onto property,” she reflects. Beside her, Cassandra Garduño listens intently, sharing a similar experience of not inheriting her family’s chinampa.
Both women are part of a growing movement of women investing in chinampas, aiming to farm sustainably and safeguard ecosystems that face threats from increasing urbanization and pollution.
Navigating a male-dominated realm hasn’t been straightforward. In the chinampas of the autonomous Xochimilco region, few women have worked the land.
“People assume that only men have the strength to do this work,” Garduño remarks, her mud-stained shirt attesting to her labor. She laughs off the odd looks from men seasoned in chinampa farming.
After stepping away for several years, Garduño returned to San Gregorio in 2021, determined to farm. After her college years spent conserving manta rays and sharks in Ecuador, she was dismayed to see her land’s decline—lower canal levels, more pollution, and neglected chinampas.
“That’s when it hit me: you’re a part of this space, and you need to protect it,” she says.
After a year of saving, she bought a chinampa, only to discover its terrible condition. Amongst the refuse, she found remnants of old furniture and empty bottles. Determined, she cleared the canals and began planting again.
The initial skepticism from neighbors was palpable.
“They thought, ‘Who is this girl? She’s never been here before, and now she’s taking charge,'” she recalls.
Yet she had a deeper connection than they realized.
Growing up, Garduño spent countless hours in her grandfather’s flower-strewn “paradise.” She learned that the mud at the bottom of the canal is an excellent fertilizer, and cultivating diverse crops can protect against frost and attract beneficial insects.
Knowledge Sharing
“Chinampas can produce up to eight crops a year, while other farms may only see two or three,” Garduño explains, highlighting their extraordinary productivity as recognized by the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. Her fields are now a vibrant tapestry of colors, from broccoli green to marigold yellow.
Since 2016, she’s collaborated with the National Autonomous University of Mexico, guiding farmers keen to ditch pesticides in favor of traditional methods that benefit the environment.
She kneels by a planting bed, suggesting that it needs a little elevation to avoid flooding during rains. Ordóñez listens keenly; having acquired her chinampa three years ago, she aspires to earn a sustainability label from the university, which would allow her to sell her produce at a premium.
Diana Laura Vázquez Mendoza from the Institute of Biology notes that 16 farmers have received this label, four of whom are women. The initiative encourages a resurgence of female farmers reclaiming chinampas.
Cleaning the Canal
Chinampas supported by the university benefit from filters made of aquatic plants designed to purify the water and deter invasive species like carp and tilapia. The introduction of these predators in the 1980s has posed a significant threat to the endangered axolotl, a unique amphibian native to the area.
Currently, factors like sewage discharge, mass tourism, and pesticide use place the axolotl at risk, contributing to its dwindling population.
“Chinampas were crafted centuries ago to nourish the community and still serve that purpose,” Mendoza states, emphasizing the necessity of safeguarding these farming systems to protect Xochimilco.
However, on Sundays, it’s evident that agricultural chinampas are vanishing. The area fills with people playing soccer on converted fields or mingling on brightly painted trajineras.
This transformation has taken a toll on the wetlands, leading to significant pollution from heavy metals and pesticides, as noted by researcher Luis Bohorquez Castro at the Autonomous Capital University.
Preserving the Past
“Look at the water’s clarity,” Ordóñez remarks while showing off the biofilter she installed. She understands the critical role water plays in maintaining this delicate ecosystem.
This wetland remains one of the last pieces of the great Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital that once sprawled over a lake in the Valley of Mexico. Sadly, only 3% of the original lakes remain in Xochimilco, yet they play a crucial role in the city’s ecological health.
If lost, average temperatures could rise by up to 2 degrees Celsius and disrupt local weather patterns, according to biologist Luis Zambrano. The chinampas help mitigate flooding, store carbon naturally, and are a habitat to diverse species, including herons and Tlaloc frogs.
“Look at those red-headed birds in the lagoon!” Garduño exclaims, smiling as she drives home along a dirt road after a long day in the chinampas.
In her heart, this place remains the paradise she explored with her grandfather. She believes that women are key to the future of chinampas and hopes to see more people engaged in their stewardship in the next decade.
“By working together, women and men can help preserve what we have left for as long as possible,” she concludes.
