Using a method we call solastalgic photo-voice, participants co-created narratives by remembering through photographs of vanished species, dried-up water bodies, and lost plants. These haunting visually induced stories express a profound sense of loss - what scholars refer to as solastalgia - the homesickness experienced when one’s environment changes beyond recognition. Together, we mapped shared memories, stories across generations, and reflected on how climate change and agricultural practices reshape not just the land, but human and non-human relationships with it.
At its heart, this booklet invites you to see the land through local eyes - eyes that remember and imagine. These voiced photos are not just records of environmental change, but acts of multi-species care and recognition, bearing witness to shared vulnerability in a rapidly transforming world.
'The top part of the image shows when the Dong-ér was dredged. You can see that there was still water in it. Then, in the fall—or maybe the following year—but the point is [...] the point is that not long after, the whole thing completely dried up.'
'Both of these photos are from Banó, taken at the same location. One of the structures in Banó is used to regulate the dam, allowing water from the Dongér Canal to be released over an area of about 40 hectares. The top photo shows the reservoir in a normal state. Then something happened. The owner of a nearby sour cherry orchard submitted a complaint about water retention, saying that he couldn't farm properly under these conditions and wanted to sell the land. It wasn’t that the trees were rotting from too much water; the issue was that he couldn’t spray pesticides properly. His equipment—narrow-wheeled, suspended sprayers—exerted too much pressure on the soil, causing it to sink in the mud.[…] We told the regional water management authority’s representative that this was a case of one person against a hundred—or, really, hundreds—because the financial damage caused by draining the water was enormous. I even suggested that if one ridiculous complaint was enough to trigger action, then maybe a hundred of us should start calling in complaints to overwhelm their phone lines.’
‘From the wildlife that we could save, we went out with the kids and gathered what we could—here, I have a picture of a turtle we rescued. We relocated it to a place where there was still a viable habitat. But the destruction was massive. There were so many lost. Whatever we managed to find, we took to an area that still had water.’
'The title of this picture is All in Trouble. But they’re still trying. Well, they’re stuck in the mud, and so are the fish.’
‘It’s just that when the water gets stirred up, the remaining puddles where the fish are become full of sediment. The fish inhale this through their gills, which then clog up, making them unable to survive. These fish are then given to the wild boars. They’re placed further away because even wild boars can sink into the mud and won’t go in too deep. The fish are left on the shore, and by morning or the next day, they’re gone. [...] The Fishing Association did it right then and there. If they saw a fish floating on its back, they pulled it out. Then one person tossed it to the next, passing it along until it reached the shore.’
'This is Pit One—before it was dredged. The members of the fishing club collected the fish in crates and transferred them to another lake so that this lake could be dredged with a machine. Since then, even the dredged lake has dried up. Well... there's only a puddle-sized amount of water left in it.'
‘This is the horse-watering reservoir, a 40-hectare storage lake. On the left, you can see the fire truck, and on the right, there’s a road. Right next to it, where it hasn’t been on fire, is the Dongér Canal. The already burned area next to it—that’s the lake itself, along with the reed bed. The problem was that while birds could fly away, their chicks obviously couldn’t. Larger mammals, like wild boars and deer, managed to escape from the reeds, but smaller creatures, like hedgehogs with tiny legs, were all trapped inside.’
‘This shows the difference—back in 2005, there was still plenty of water, and it was a beautiful, scenic place. But the second photo was taken last Sunday (in 2025). Now, this is what it looks like—it has dried up completely, and the vegetation has reclaimed the area. It's not just overgrown with waist-high weeds; in some places, trees up to three meters tall have grown. It’s so unrecognizable that it’s hard to tell if I was standing in the exact same spot when taking the new photo as I was in the old one.’
‘Alright, so this was taken from about ground, but the desolation was so intense that there were times when I would stand, lower myself a little, and then just spin around. Wherever the dust was stirred up, whether by the car engines or the wind, it was brutal.’