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Last year, William Shatner went to space with Jeff Bezos in a stunt that was intended to drum up feel-good headlines for the Amazon founder’s private aerospace company, Blue Origin. What Bezos’ PR team had likely not counted on was Captain Kirk returning to Earth trembling and weeping, with a frightening soundbite: “Is that death? Is that the way death is?”
Shatner was experiencing the overview effect, the profound and transformative sense of grief, awe, and protectiveness that comes from seeing Earth from space. And while gravity-observant non-billionaires might not be able to replicate that precise experience when earthbound, staring at globes for the better part of 15 years can probably get you pretty close.
“It definitely does make you think about how we are affecting the planet and how no one seems to really be taking it seriously,” Peter Bellerby, the founder of Bellerby & Co. Globemakers, told me on a video call from his workshop in London.
Bellerby, essentially, makes little blue marbles for the home consumer. He claims that his team at Bellerby & Co. are “the world’s only truly bespoke makers of globes,” an otherwise nearly forgotten art form that he fell into after failing to find a worthy globe to gift his hard-to-impress father for his 80th birthday. Having previously worked as a house flipper and the manager of a friend’s music venue and bowling alley, Bellerby was between jobs in 2008 when he decided he’d handmake his father’s globe, rather than resort to buying “a cheap, modern political globe” or “an expensive and very fragile actual antique,” he recounts in his forthcoming book, The Globemakers: The Curious Story of an Ancient Craft.

Bellerby’s obsession grew, and soon he was employing a part-time painter and woodworker, at one point even using a globe to recompense a friend’s labor, and taking commissions to offset costs. (Today, Bellerby & Co.’s pocket-sized globes start around $1,321 and can top $75,000 — much cheaper than a seat on Bezos’ New Shephard rocket, but the privilege of perspective is still going to cost you). Bellerby also began to realize what had been lost by the shift to mass-produced plastic globes: Lacking competition, makers had started to cut corners and get careless. “Some of the globes produced in the 1960s and ‘70s did a better job at wiping out entire countries than many dictators,” Bellerby writes.
Globemaking is just another version of map publishing, Bellerby further stressed to me, and while mass-produced globes are allowed to fall out of date, the bespoke nature of handmade globes allows his to be a little nimble. “We print all our globes a few months before they actually shipped to a customer, so they’re bang up to date,” he told me. But there are certain limitations, too: Unlike atlas makers, who have the luxury of closely examining small changes to coastlines due to things like climate change, Bellerby has a much more macro perspective of the planet’s shifting geography by virtue of his medium. “The scaling we are using, even for our large globes, is one in 10 million,” he went on. “So you don’t see the effects [of climate change] that much.”

In the decade and a half that he’s been a globemaker, the most significant reworkings (for climate purposes, anyway) have been to locations like the Aral Sea, and even that he partially chalks up to the fact that “the mapping probably wasn’t there 15 years ago to keep it up to date.” His team has also been keeping an eye on Antarctica, and he mused to me that “maybe we should be doing globes with the different — particularly Antarctic — ice sheets. But also in the Arctic Ocean, [since] the extent of the sea ice is reducing dramatically.”
This sort of zoomed-out perspective has, indeed, been its own kind of opportunity. While Bellerby’s clientele is typically more interested in personalizing the globe with an image of the family dog than receding ocean ice, the British-Nigerian artist Yinka Shonibare frequently uses Bellerby & Co.’s globes in his works. In one particularly striking sculpture series called “Earth Kids,” Bellerby supplied temperature heatmap globes that are used as the heads of Shonibare’s manikins. In one of the pieces, “Fire Kid (Girl)” from 2020, a character bends her head over a book titled Climate Studies while her temple — the southwestern United States — glows with a blush of “hotter than average” red.
Though something as ever-changing as global warming might seem strange to render permanent with an expensive, labor-intensive, hand-painted globe, in a sense it’s also the entire purpose behind such an artifact. They are “a historical document,” Bellerby explained, and intended to capture the world as it existed at the moment it was made. And while I wondered if that would make globes that have become outdated by the effects of climate change more valuable for future collectors, Bellerby pointed out that only very recently have globes and maps actually been very accurate at all; “outdated,” then, is not much of a value-add when basically everything you are collecting is.
What’s the purpose of a globe, then, really? Certainly, it’s not actual navigation; Bellerby rolls his eyes at films that nonsensically stick globes in the background of a sea captain’s quarters. Rather, they might help to “remind us of how minuscule — and insignificant — we are,” Bellerby hypothesizes in The Globemakers. “And how wonderful the world is, a beautiful planet floating in space, spinning within an infinite universe and an evolution of time so long that it is hard to comprehend.”

Call it the overview effect but without the mortal terror of staring into the black void of space. “One thing about making globes — it really does make you care about the planet and does make you think about things more,” Bellerby told me before racing off-screen to retrieve a globe that he then angled to show me the enormous blank space of the Pacific Ocean.
It’s a spot that I’ve looked at a million times, usually when I zoom out too far on Google Maps. “It kind of makes you believe that, maybe, it will help us out eventually,” said Bellerby, who’s looked at it a million times more. “Because we’re doing so much to deforest everywhere. You would hope there’s a limit to how much you could do to an ocean that vast.”
And for a moment, we both went quiet, staring at the planet between his hands.
Editor’s note: This article was updated after publication to clarify details about Bellerby’s work.
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There is a heat wave in Europe, the world’s fastest warming continent. And so, as you may have heard, a perennial topic of online climate discourse has returned: Why don’t more Europeans have air conditioning?
I’m partially convinced this is psy op, or at least a figment of how social media organizes attention. I have a hypothesis that various “For You” page algorithms, especially that of the social network X, began to reward content that performed unusually well across national borders a few years ago. Since then, the amount of America vs. Europe content has surged. (Of course, writers have been comparing American and European lifestyles for much longer than that.)
Suffice it to say, though: It’s a fraught topic. I’ve assumed that as extreme heat gets worse as the climate changes, Europeans will simply get on with it and install AC, much as Americans in the Pacific Northwest have done. Yet there are cultural and regulatory obstacles to AC’s growth in Europe.
I’m sure I’ll write about it in the future, but for now I want to get a grip on the facts themselves. And so as a Friday special, I present to you — the facts about European AC, as I understand it:
Thanks so much for reading, and talk soon.
The movement against data centers is raising up a raison d'etre of the anti-renewables movement: protecting would-be farmland.
Farm owners and operators across the U.S. are winning national headlines almost every week for rejecting big dollar offers from data center developers. In Hanover County, Virginia, protestors are chanting “Grow Tomatoes, Not Data Centers.” In Pennsylvania and elsewhere, Republican legislators are mulling proposals to block the sale of so-called “prime farmland” for data center development. In Texas, the fight over data center development has engulfed the race for the state’s ag commissioner seat. In the Midwest, where agriculture reigns supreme, statewide races and congressional campaigns are slowly but surely being defined by the issue. Like in Nebraska where Austin Ahlman, an independent candidate running for Congress in Nebraska’s first district, told me he believes the data center backlash is reflective of a populist politics that broadly criticize elites and top-down control of the economy: “I think sometimes people misunderstand the anxieties of rural Americans when it comes to these data centers because a lot of their fears are about control long term.”
Unlike the farmland backlash around renewable energy development, the loudest critics are on the anti-monopolist left. On Wednesday, the prominent opposition group Food and Water Watch signaled farmland could soon be a watchword in the national data center debate – in a fashion analogous to what we’ve seen with renewable energy. The organization’s blog post entitled “The AI Data Center Boom Is Coming for Farmers” declared data centers verboten because of the threat they posed to “small and midsized family farmers.” Mitch Jones, deputy director of the campaign outfit, said he believes the threat to farmland is “a compelling reason to oppose data center development” but that his organization’s fight is primarily focused on protecting small business owners and an anti-monopoly sentiment.
“If data centers are coming into their areas, this puts even more pressure on them. It drives up the cost of their electricity, just as it does anyone else. It competes with them for water for crops, and it affects the value of their land in a perverse way,” Jones told me.
None of this should be surprising. An agricultural workforce has always been a good barometer for figuring out if a community will accept new infrastructure of any kind. We’ve seen as much time and time again with renewable energy, carbon capture, fossil energy and mining, just to name a few industries.
This same rule is true with data centers. In April, county commissioners in Kosciusko County, Indiana, unanimously rejected a Prologis data center; nearly 90% of acreage in Kosciusko County is being actively farmed, according to the Heatmap Pro database. Linn County, Iowa, in February enacted a rule severely restricting data center development in unincorporated areas; almost three-fourths of the land is used by the ag sector. A potential Amazon facility is causing heartburn in Clinton County, Ohio; nearly all land in the county is used for farming and utility-scale solar development has a recent history of conflict with landowners.
To be candid, I’m struck by the similarity in the backlash over siting data centers on farmland – a resemblance so close that some counties are starting to restrict renewable energy and data center development on farmland at the same time. This week, Eau Claire County, Wisconsin created a new “farmland preservation plan” discouraging utility-scale solar energy and data centers on any potential farmland. (More than 40% of land in this county is currently being used for farmland, according to Heatmap Pro.)
Jones at Food and Water Watch said his organization taking on the “protect farmland” mantle had nothing to do with the success this argument has had against renewable energy. “That thought never entered my head,” he told me, adding that if communities respond to the data center backlash by taking steps that short-circuit solar and wind too, that’s “a coincidence.”
I kept pressing. What if the pivot to farmland protection leads to more communities restricting renewable energy along with the data centers? “If you’re looking for a reason to oppose solar and wind, you can come up with that without having to attach data centers to it,” Jones said. “We’ve seen rural communities oppose solar and wind before data centers blew up across the country. It’s nothing new.”
And more of the week’s top news around project fights.
1. Virginia Beach, Virginia – The right-wing interest group lawsuit against Dominion Energy’s Coastal Virginia offshore wind is now dead, concluding one of the wackier tales of the Trump 2.0 energy era.
2. Box Elder County, Utah – Call it the Box Elder County massacre.
3. Davidson County, Tennessee – We have the latest updates in the Nashville Zoo data center drama and they’re a doozy and a half.
4. Clark County, Ohio – Yet another utility-scale solar farm is in the Ohio state permitting graveyard.