Weaving Providence into the Fungal Web of Life

This project plans to forecast the future of the 10,000 cities across the globe -- as though they have survived climate change and political discord and gone on to flourish anew. Today, we highlight the future of the American city of Providence.

Providence, Rhode Island—cradled between rivers and bay, a city of winding streets and brick facades—holds the promise of an extraordinary evolution. By 2121, it could become a model of how cities not only survive but thrive in a warming world, not in opposition to nature, but as a co-created partner with it. The strategy? A fungal economy where the threads of mycelium bind social life, ecological health, and urban infrastructure into a resilient, regenerative whole.

A New Urban Fabric: Mycelium as Infrastructure

Imagine streets and plazas where beneath every footstep lies an underground network of mycelium, the filamentous foundations of fungi. Mycelium is not inert; it’s an active processor of nutrients, a living filter capable of breaking down pollutants. In Providence, this network could be strategically integrated beneath public parks, riverbanks, and community gardens, performing ecological services that concrete and steel never could.

The Fungal Economy of Providence, Rhode Island, circa 2121 AD

Instead of storm drains overwhelmed by heavy rains, mycelial meshes could act as bio-sponges—absorbing water, filtering contaminants, and returning clean water to the ground. Mycelium’s natural capacity to bind soil particles could help stabilize riverbanks and decrease erosion. City planners might call these spaces fungal boulevards or myco-corridors, where engineered fungi work silently beneath the surface for cleaner air, richer soil, and safer streets.

Circular Abundance: Fungi for Food, Fiber, and Fuel

In this vision, Providence becomes a city where every neighborhood has access to fungal farms—vertical mycelium towers in renovated warehouses, sprawling mushroom gardens in schoolyards, and rooftop inoculation labs on community centers. These spaces produce nutrient-dense mushrooms, medicinal strains, and mycelium-derived proteins that supplement local diets.

Clothing, too, transforms. Mycelium can be grown into durable, biodegradable materials that replace synthetic textiles. Providence designers and textile co-ops could partner with fungal biologists to produce shoes, jackets, and bags—not from petrochemicals, but from living materials that breathe and return to the earth at end of life. In this way, fashion becomes ecological stewardship.

And what of fuel? Mycelial processing can convert organic wastes—fallen leaves, food scraps, wood chips—into compost, biogas, or myco-char, a soil amendment that locks carbon in place. Waste becomes resource, and Providence’s “biological economy” hums with transformation, not trash.

Decomposition as Design: Waste Is a Misunderstanding

Providence’s industrial past left an imprint of consumption and waste. In the fungal economy, waste is no longer a burden but a conversation between organisms. Mycelium excels at decomposition; its enzymes can digest complex molecules that stump mechanical systems—plastics, dyes, pesticides. Fungal waste systems might be built into city facilities: myco-reactors that break down construction debris or textiles, fungal filters at wastewater plants, and community compost hubs where every day organic matter is cycled back into life.

Instead of landfills, the city could celebrate living recycling centers—open labs where residents learn to inoculate wood chips, straw, or discarded paper with mushroom spores, watching decomposition become creation.

Social Resilience: Fungi as Connectors

Beyond the ecological and economic, the real magic of a fungal economy is its metaphor: interconnectedness. Mycelium doesn’t just decompose; it communicates, redistributes nutrients, and supports networks of plants beneath the forest floor. When Providence’s residents engage in shared fungal projects—neighborhood inoculation events, school myco-curricula, cooperative mushroom markets—they build social mycelium: networks of care, exchange, and mutual support.

Fungal hubs become places of gathering and learning. Immigrant artisans share cultivation techniques passed through generations. Youth clubs teach citizens how to grow protein-rich mushrooms to address food access inequities. Senior volunteers mentor apprentices in myco-textile craft. The city’s diversity becomes an asset, woven into a tapestry of shared purpose.

Providence in 2121: A Tapestry of Networks

By the year 2121, Providence could be known not for its concrete towers and traffic grids alone, but for its living systems—where every park lawn, river greenbelt, and neighborhood garden is threaded with life. Fungi would be its silent city-engineers, with:

-Cleaner waterways and air through mycelial filters and bio-sponges.

-Local food and fiber grown with minimal waste and maximal nutrition.

-Zero-waste cycles where decomposition fuels growth.

-Robust social networks rooted in cooperative stewardship.

This is a city that doesn’t conquer nature but grows with it, honoring cycles of decay and rebirth. In weaving Providence’s future with the threads of mycelium, we see a new kind of urban intelligence—one that listens to the whispers of the soil and responds with creativity, resilience, and shared life.