Localisation is not just a nice idea. It's our only chance.
On building a resilient, regenerative community on the Mornington Peninsula.
Ric and I protesting at the MP Shire Council cuts to Arts, First Nations & Climate Emergency.
Collapse isn’t coming. It’s here.
Not all at once, and not evenly, but the signs are everywhere: ecological breakdown, political chaos, supply chains crumbling. And yet, so much of the mainstream narrative tells us to keep calm, carry on and continue consuming like there’s no tomorrow.
Since I last wrote about the urgency of localising our food systems, we’ve watched an unhinged U.S. President unapologetically pull out of the Paris Agreement (and much worse)!
We’ve been betrayed by our new Australian PM, who approved a 40-year extension for Woodside’s North-West Shelf gas project, shackling us to fossil fuels until 2070.
And just when we needed bold local leadership, our own Mornington Peninsula Shire Council has scrapped the Climate Emergency Plan. WTF?!
The fire alarm is blaring. But are we hearing it?
It would be easy to just doom scroll, despair and spiral into apathy. To cross our fingers and hope it will all just go away. But that’s just not going to happen.
The only meaningful response to this global chaos is to accept that collapse is here while taking radical local action. We need practical, urgent change in our streets and neighbourhoods, not abstract ideals or endless talkfests.
To be honest, after I wrote that first piece, it all felt a bit overwhelming. We'd taken the first steps, moved to Higher Ground and were growing our own food, but our local connections were thin on the ground.
So, instead of wondering and hoping, we just got started, not just on our ideas to localise our food systems and meet our neighbours, but to localise—well, everything!
We began turning up to things to see what might unfold.
We joined the 10-week Nature Stewards Program and met a tribe of locals regenerating the land, and the way they live. We did not know how much we did not know!
I began work at the local Red Hill Op Shop to meet my neighbours and learn first-hand how a successful volunteer-run community works.
We joined the arts and climate community to protest against a new bunch of conservative councillors stripping back arts, First Nations and climate budgets.
The new market garden, what will we plant in spring?
Ric got to building a huge no-dig garden bed to prepare for a community planting day in spring, to be followed by a campfire cook-up, of course. It’s been his main project for the last two months and it’s looking fantastic.
We hosted a Gather & Graze dinner at our home, inviting the few people we did know, who in turn invited a few more people. 22 amazing humans turned up to connect and share ideas on how we might weave a web of community self-sufficiency. It’s early days and we have no real plan, but we’ve begun, and that’s all that matters right now.
And each weekend, we have at least one social occasion to connect with other like-minded locals, whether that’s attending a music event or inviting a neighbour for a cuppa and tour of Kookaburra Rise.
Writing that first post on localisation was a catalyst to take action. Like a vast, invisible mycelium network, we’re strengthening our local ecosystem of wonderful humans who care and are already doing great things.
Each conversation, each shared meal, each carton of eggs swapped for seedlings, is part of the living web. It’s not flashy or revolutionary. But it’s real and refreshing.
Three ways you can start localising now:
1. Host your own Gather & Graze. Everyone brings a dish with an open mind and an open heart. Let Gabrielle Feather’s beautiful post on collapse be your jumping-off point for deep conversations.
2. Make one new local connection this week. Chat with someone at your farmers’ market, sign up for a local workshop or join a working bee. These micro-moments of relationship are the infrastructure of resilience.
3. Start gifting and swapping. Whether it’s veggies, stories or labour, start small and local. It’s not just about stuff—it’s about building trust, reciprocity and local economies.
This is what collapse asks of us. Localisation isn’t just resistance. It’s how we build a resilient, regenerative future, together.
Carolyn Tate is an author, educator and community-builder who writes to advance the rights of women, nature and the environment. This Between Two Hills Substack publication is FREE and delivered fortnightly. If you like what you read, please support her work by sharing it with a friend.