the city, located in one of europe’s most densely populated urban areas, is transforming its asphalt-covered schoolyards into fresh oases. this project, named oasis, aims not only to cool down the overheated playgrounds, but also to provide much-needed greenery in a neighborhood where less than two square meters of public green space are available per resident — far below the world health organization’s recommended nine.

at the joliot curie primary school, the transformation is striking. gone is the heat-absorbing sea of asphalt that would often send playground temperatures soaring past 40°c, making it dangerous for children to play outside. in its place are bushes, newly planted trees, and strategically placed benches to enjoy the vital shade. a thick beige cover has replaced the concrete, reflecting heat and cooling the air in the process. according to fabien benoit, a city official overseeing the project, temperatures in the renovated courtyards have dropped by 2 to 4°c, also cooling the surrounding school buildings.

teachers and the educational staff were invited to co-create the new schoolyards through brainstorming sessions and design proposals. “the point isn’t to copy-paste generic green playgrounds,” said benoit. “each school has different needs, and the school staff is best equipped to know what their needs are.” in true participatory fashion, one school included their fifth graders in the process — asking them to draw their ideal schoolyard, and pick between different possible infrastructures. 

but compromises weren’t always easy. in the case of joliot curie, some teachers initially resisted the removal of popular football fields to make room for greenery, leading to two months of discussion between the school and the city. 

to further build community support, the schools also open their doors to the public once a year, offering a glimpse into the transformation. on a recent visit, gaelle meynadier, whose five-year-old attends joliot curie, shared her relief that the once sweltering space now stays cooler. 

“my kid often complained about being too hot at school, and there was nothing we could do about it. as a parent, that was truly worrying,” she said as she walked through the redesigned courtyard. 

despite the generally positive feedback, not all aspects of the plan have been embraced. “a few parents expressed frustration over muddy shoes and coats,” the school’s headmaster sandra chamak said. “but there have been much less accidents since the renovation, which brought parents on board.”

the renovations in aubervilliers are part of a broader trend across france. paris started to experiment back in 2014, followed more recently by other big cities like bordeaux, lyon, and toulouse. in aubervilliers, the project started in 2022 and has now revamped six schoolyards, removing nearly 3,000 square meters of asphalt. 

and these new courtyards don’t just reduce heat. “they’re also a network of biodiversity havens that help bring back bees and butterflies that we don’t see anywhere else in the city,” benoit said. for him, the newly planted vegetation will allow for miniature ecosystems to thrive in the otherwise stark urban landscape. each school now includes educational gardens, where children can learn about gardening and have ‘class in the grass’. 

“the kids love to learn more about nature,” said roseline ricco, a third-grade teacher, as she pointed to a basket of hazelnuts, freshly picked from the school’s garden, sitting proudly in the centre of her classroom. “the garden has sparked the children’s interest, leading to wider conversations about food, plants…” this week, her students compared the unevenly sized apples they picked from the garden with the uniform ones sold in supermarkets, and some even spent time sketching their favorite leaves.

the new schoolyards are also intended to be multifunctional. aiming to “de-gender” the playground, the city has replaced single-use structures like football fields, often taken-over by boys, with more diverse sports markings, encouraging a wider range of activities.

but greening the schoolyards doesn’t come cheap. according to spending records obtained from the city, aubervilliers has allocated €1.3 million to transform just two schools during the summer of 2024, and with it being one of the poorest cities in france, the local government has been careful to balance costs with its ambitions. 

“we can only afford to do two schools a year,” said zakia bouzidi, the deputy mayor in charge of the environment. “it’s a slow process, but it’s great progress nonetheless.” aubervilliers’ schoolyard transformations are entirely funded by the municipality, though they are still awaiting state aid. 

however, the current plan is limited to preschools and primary schools, which fall under the city’s jurisdiction. the department and the region, which manage middle and high schools, are working on developing a comparable project, set to launch next year. 

while these green oases were initially designed for schoolchildren, the city plans to extend their benefits to the wider public. starting in 2025, some renovated schoolyards will be opened to the public during weekends and school holidays, offering residents of all ages a place to cool off during extreme heat. this initiative, which is still in its early experimental phase, could dramatically increase access to green spaces for thousands of residents in this low-income suburb, where many live in poorly insulated “kettle apartments” with no air conditioning. 

but opening up schools isn’t an easy task. concerns around security and the added costs of maintenance are still being discussed by city staff, while the local council’s opposition worries the initiative could lead to substantial wear and tear on playgrounds. 

for katia boutakhednit, headmaster of the jacques prévert kindergarten, “this project makes a real difference in improving the children’s quality of life — but it also doesn’t magically solve everything.” her schoolyard, in the process of being renovated, is trapped between high rise social housing buildings. 

but the schoolyards “aren’t the only thing changing in aubervilliers,” bouzidi said. “they are just one part of the colossal work that is greening the city as a whole.” for now, the town’s focus remains on creating green spaces where they’re needed most. as france braces for more scorching summers, these playgrounds offer a glimpse of what urban adaptation to climate change can look like — one playground at a time.

“my name is ignacio vargas sánchez. i am costa rican […] and i’m dedicated to coffee farming, a tradition passed down through my family and one that i enjoy,” my dad said proudly when i asked him to introduce himself. 

coffee culture is a foundational part of our family tradition and who i am. i grew up in a large, close-knit family, where more than 50 aunts, uncles, and cousins would gather once a year in an activity to collect coffee and honor our family’s coffee-growing roots. the fun began when about 30 of us squeezed into the back of a toyota dyna pickup truck, packed tightly together, and laughed and teased each other as we headed to the coffee farm. yes, i know. really unsafe, but also a lot of fun. 

once we got to the coffee farm, we would attempt to collect coffee for a couple of hours, only to realize how hard and labor-intensive it was. i would rapidly give up my dedication to focus on what was naturally most important to 7-year-old me: playing and running around the farm with my cousins. the activity would then transform into enjoying a costa rican breakfast under the trees’ shade, while we teased each other about who had most likely done the worst job at collecting coffee cherries. 

among all the family activities i grew up with, this one was always one of my favorites, and hearing my dad introduce himself as a coffee farmer by tradition, reminds me of it. 

urbanization and coffee growing

in recent decades, costa rica has undergone a large urban and commercial development in the central valley, where cement structures have replaced coffee plantations, a key economic activity since the 1800s. according to the state of the nation report in 2018, just in the past few decades, the urbanized area in the central valley has increased by 65%. 

at the same time, one major climate change threat in cities is heat stress due to the heat island effect, where structures such as buildings, roads, and sidewalks raise temperatures in urban areas as they absorb and release high heat levels. a study in the costa rican central valley shows that coffee farms can reduce surface temperatures by more than 20°c (the equivalent of a 36°f change) compared to fully urbanized areas.

rapid and massive urbanization also threatens the habitats of many urban wildlife species. in costa rica, a study conducted by the university of costa rica and the national autonomous university of mexico (unam) links the decline of coffee farms in the central valley to extinction threats due to habitat reduction for the endemic bird cabanis’s ground sparrow (melozone cabanisi).

la valencia – the neighborhood where my family’s farm is located – in santo domingo, heredia, is no exception to urbanization trends. my dad, ignacio, was born and raised in santo domingo, an area in the central valley of costa rica. he remembers the days when he would go to collect coffee in la valencia. 

“as soon as we went on school vacation, we would go to collect coffee because our vacation coincided with coffee harvesting season. my whole family would walk to the farm together, filled with incredible joy, carrying lunches prepared in the morning to enjoy in the coffee fields, where we would spend the entire day,” he said, filled with nostalgia. 

“in the past, it was common to see that area (la valencia) bustling during coffee harvests, with many people walking through the streets to collect coffee from the various farms […] large groups of people would walk along streets that were once made of gravel. at that time, vehicular traffic was very rare—only an occasional car. you would mostly see ox carts used for transporting coffee. depending on their financial situation, people would either use an ox cart or a car, though cars were very scarce.” 

today, the same streets my dad used to walk through are full of supermarkets, factories, and commercial offices. i can see a mcdonald’s on the corner and the latest neighborhood acquisition is the first dunkin’ donuts in the country, for which hundreds of people lined up on opening day. “today, the same number of people travel those streets, but in vehicles, heading to work at the various industries around the area,” my dad said. 

among the few things that remain the same in the area is my family’s farm, finca rivera. my dad is one of only two neighbors in la valencia who, despite commercial development in the area, has kept his coffee farm. finca rivera, which spans 10 hectares (approximately 25 acres), belonged to our family for three generations before him, and he has now managed it for 30 years since his father passed on the administration to him.

urban agriculture: an ally in reducing urban heating and enhancing wildlife connectivity

coffee farms in urban areas have a major positive impact because they provide green spaces that help regulate urban temperatures and promote biodiversity. 

“coffee is a tree (plant) species of about 1.5 meters (approximately 5 feet) tall and densely grown in areas dedicated to coffee. in a coffee farm, these plants are spaced 1 to 2 meters apart and have a population of 5,000 plants per hectare,” my dad said. 

“in addition to the coffee trees (plants), you can also find other trees that support coffee production, and other plants grown on the property, like bananas and plantains,” he said. he quickly did some math and assertively said: “the farm (la rivera) contains 50,000 medium-sized coffee (trees), plus shade trees, trees in live fences, and other trees we plant in the farm – these coffee farms are a small green lung within a city filled with buildings!” 

my dad goes on to explain how coffee cultivation practices have changed during his time managing the farm.

over the past years, he has been working on reforesting the farm with poró gigante (erythrina poeppigiana). poró is a legume tree known for its natural nitrogen-fixing properties. 

he shares how it works: “nitrogen fixation in the soil is important because coffee plants, as part of their physiological functioning, capture nitrogen from the soil for their nutrition.” 

having poró trees on the farm reduces the need for nitrogen-based fertilizers, which in large quantities can contribute to environmental issues such as water pollution, an increase in greenhouse gas emissions, and soil degradation.

my dad continues to point out the benefits of poró trees. he shares that their canopy shelters the coffee plants from the harsh sun and rain. 

“[the] poró tree renews its leaves at a certain time of the year and when the leaves are shed they form a vegetative layer on the soil that will later form an organic fertilizer,” he said. “also, this layer of leaves is a natural mulch in which weeds will not grow.” 

but not all weeds are harmful. “there is also growing awareness about certain plants (weeds) that coexist with coffee crops without causing harm. it’s been proven that some of these weeds can live in harmony with the coffee plants and don’t compete with them at all,” he said.

this is also helpful in reducing the need for chemical products, such as herbicides. “[…] i believe their use is decreasing more and more,” he said. and when you do need to clear weeds, my dad said the use of brush cutters is also replacing herbicides. 

the changes in managing coffee crops on my dad’s farm mainly come from the technical assistance provided by la libertad coffee growers cooperative, where he delivers his coffee, and from the insights he has gained through obtaining certifications like rainforest alliance and starbucks c.a.f.e practices.

“this information helps us raise awareness about the use of chemicals in coffee farming. there is still a long way to go, but progress has been made,” he said. he also highlights that his work to increase tree coverage on the farm came from a growing technical trend he noticed. as he read and informed himself, he recognized the significant benefits of shade for coffee plants and began incorporating it into his own practices.

listening to him reminds me of the importance of working directly with farmers when transitioning to sustainable practices. his message brings up his courage and humility to recognize that even after 40 years of experience, there is still more to learn. it makes me reflect on how this blend of openness and practical guidance is powerful and essential for fostering local sustainable change.

the motivation behind this positive impact

my dad unknowingly combats the urban heat island effect and enhances urban biodiversity connectivity in santo domingo, heredia. if you ask him, he probably would not even know what this climate jargon and concepts mean, yet he is doing it. his motivation for preserving his coffee farm in a highly urbanized area is not driven by economic gain or even elevated climate change awareness. his motivations are rooted in his deep love and the sentimental value of his family’s coffee legacy and a deep connection with the healthy lifestyle farm life offers. “you enter the coffee farm and you breathe a different kind of air […] and start to enjoy things that no longer exist out there,” he said. 

my dad’s story is one of the power of personal passion and cultural heritage to preserve our environment. it demonstrates that impactful actions can stem from a sincere connection with nature and one’s roots, not just from scientific and technical knowledge. by preserving his coffee farm, my dad not only honors my family’s coffee roots but also leaves a legacy for the quality of life in his — and my — hometown.

the flood didn’t just wash away homes; it washed away dreams. schools were destroyed, crops were ruined, and the vulnerability of our communities was laid bare. for years, the effects of climate change had been written off as a distant threat, a problem for the future. but as 27,000 schools lay in ruins and the catastrophic floods affected 33 million people across the country, the urgency of the crisis became undeniable.

amid the devastation, a new mission was born, not just to survive the floods, but to fight for a future that could withstand them. i was one of the volunteers who joined forces with the welfare association for a new generation (wang), a local organization in lasbela. wang is a youth-led nonprofit organization in balochistan, pakistan, dedicated to empowering communities and promoting sustainable development. focused on gender equality, environmental sustainability, and educational advancement, wang drives positive change through innovative projects and strategic partnerships.

by championing these causes, the organization plays a pivotal role in building a more equitable, resilient society in the region. our goal was simple yet overwhelming: to rescue, relieve, and rebuild. we organized fundraisers, secured donations, and distributed essential supplies like food, medicine, and shelter to those in desperate need. but it wasn’t just about material aid. we held engagement sessions with children, offering them a small sense of hope in the midst of chaos, reminding them that they hadn’t been forgotten.

the recovery process, however, revealed a deeper issue: the recurring cycle of poverty and loss. lasbela is a region where most families depend on agriculture and livestock for survival. a good harvest can mean the difference between sending a child to school or pulling them out to help at home. when floods wipe away crops, they also wipe away opportunities, pushing families further into poverty and children — especially girls — out of education.

as i worked with wang, the inequities of climate change became more apparent. though according to the intergovernmental panel on climate change (ipcc), pakistan contributes less than 1% of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions,  it remains one of the most climate-vulnerable countries in the world. the floodwaters were not just a natural disaster—they were the result of global systems that disproportionately harm countries like mine.

while rebuilding homes was critical, i realized that to break this cycle, we needed more than short-term solutions. in 2023, i was selected to participate in a climate adaptation bootcamp organized by the school of leadership foundation and unicef. this experience provided me with the tools and a grant to carry out a two-month research project titled “the impact of climate change-induced floods on girls’ primary education in lasbela.” over the course of my research, i visited flood-affected schools, gathered data, and met with local leaders to develop recommendations aimed at mitigating the impact of climate change on education.

what i found was heartbreaking but not surprising. many young girls had been pulled out of school permanently as families struggled to recover. in rural communities, education, especially for girls is often seen as a luxury, easily sacrificed in times of crisis. but education is key to breaking cycles of poverty and building resilience against climate disasters. without it, entire generations could be lost.

my research culminated in a series of policy recommendations, pushing for the integration of climate education in school curriculums and the need for more resilient infrastructure in vulnerable regions like lasbela. this experience opened my eyes to the larger systems at play, how gender, poverty, and climate are deeply intertwined — and solidified my commitment to fighting for climate justice on multiple fronts.

today, i continue my work, not just as a volunteer but as an advocate for long-term solutions. the flood taught me that while we cannot stop the waters from rising, we can build communities that are strong enough to withstand them. every effort, from rebuilding homes to rewriting policies, is a step toward a more resilient future.

this story was produced as part of the planet forward summer seminar in multimedia storytelling.

evanston, il – a team of northwestern university climate scientists teleport back in time with naturally preserved records they extract as cylindrical cores of lake sediment.

the sediment layers in the cores open the way to time travel through climate changes over the past 20,000 years. third-year ph.d. students bailey nash and aidan burdick analyze cellulose and carbonate materials, respectively, found in sediment over time to better understand how we can prepare for accelerating human-caused climate change now and moving forward.

after carefully extracting the sediment cores from lakes in greenland and the midwestern united states, the team brings them back to professor yarrow axford’s quaternary sediment laboratory on campus for the laborious analysis.

“this research is very iterative,” burdick said. “you do one thing, you learn something from it, you move on to the next, and eventually, you build a body of knowledge over time.”

burdick focuses his research on the midwest, looking at sediment deposits from lakes around the region. by building a record of illinois’s hydroclimate, his research will help serve illinois and midwest city officials by improving water resource management, among other applications.

“we can already see clear evidence of way more sediment being deposited after europeans arrived [in illinois], probably because of agriculture and things like that,” burdick said. “i’m using this core to try to understand lake chemistry in the context of carbonate materials. we can use the chemical variations in the minerals to see how the local hydroclimate has changed over time.”

while burdick is focused on the midwest and great lakes, nash noted that much of the team’s work takes them to the arctic, specifically in south greenland where deglaciation began around 15,000 years ago driven by rising air temperatures. this upcoming summer, nash will be visiting the community of narsaq to conduct her research.

“one of the primary questions that i’m trying to address through my ph.d. work is how arctic lakes respond [to climate change], especially in regard to their lake levels,” nash said. “so, did lake levels rise or fall during periods of past warmth? and what does that mean for arctic communities that rely on these similar arctic lakes today as a municipal water source?”

after extracting cellulose from ancient plant matter in the sediment, nash uses a mass spectrometer to analyze cellulose isotopes over time. cellulose is the most abundant biopolymer on earth, and the isotopic signature of cellulose that gets preserved in geologic materials can serve as a record of differing past climate conditions.

“these isotopic compositions can say a lot about whether lake level was higher or lower in the past,” nash said, “or if the environment was warmer or colder than it is today — those pieces of the climate story.”

it’s not well understood whether lake levels in the arctic will rise or fall in a warming world, but the risk of lakes either flooding or drying up is a climate concern across the world. thus, nash feels this must be investigated. because their work takes place on indigenous land, nash also emphasized the focus their group has on community engagement and performing scientific research respectfully and ethically.

“these communities have a very complicated relationship with western science in general and the people that we represent when we come back,” nash said, “so it really takes time and open-mindedness entering these communities and building trust, honestly, and laying the foundation of mutual respect and understanding.”

in a field dominated by men, nash gravitated towards axford’s lab not only because of her specialization on arctic paleoclimate research but specifically after reading axford’s science article titled ‘thanks to the glass ceiling breakers,’ outlining her experiences as a woman in stem.

“today, i’m living my dream,” axford wrote in her 2016 article, “and yet, despite how far science has come… i have lost track of how many times i’ve met a colleague for the first time and been told, ‘i’ve read your papers. i thought you were a man!’”

“i was just blown away by everything she had to say [in the article],” nash said. “i thought she seemed like such an incredibly strong glass ceiling-breaking scientist… the arctic is the most rapidly warming region on the planet today, which poses a very immediate concern for climate scientists. i was very compelled by the argument that studying past and current arctic climate change impacts can help us better understand and prepare for current and future climate change impacts globally.”

in the middle of a solar panel array in north carolina, the grass rustles with movement. a raccoon wanders between the panels. a fox wriggles through the permeable fencing and darts around the site. a cluster of turkeys stare accusingly into the wildlife camera. eventually, a curious bobcat prowls outside the fence, slinking inside and outside of the site boundary. 

the animal sightings were made possible by a carefully-placed camera trap used for conservation research. the project is part of efforts from the nature conservancy to investigate how solar development influences animal movement and work with solar developers to preserve the small corridors — or wildlife passageways — that allow for that movement. 

the sight of wildlife lingering at a solar facility between crystalline panels is an unusual one. but in north carolina, a state that ranks fourth in the nation for solar energy production and ninth for biodiversity, scientists and developers are realizing that the choice between renewables and biodiversity doesn’t have to be a trade-off.  

solar energy in the energy transition and climate crisis

amid national efforts to decarbonize the u.s. energy sector and achieve current emissions reductions goals, the u.s. is increasing its buildout of renewable energy. in the last decade, the solar industry saw an average annual growth rate of 24%, according to the solar energy industries association. 

as more and more renewables projects gain traction in states like north carolina, biologists have raised concerns over potential impacts on wildlife populations, especially amid overdevelopment and fragmentation. scientists have begun to research those impacts, but many studies have focused narrowly on bird deaths, habitat conversion,  pollinator habitat, or soil ecosystems, with fewer insights on migration and movement specifically. with climate change exacerbating the need and scale of future migrations, this research gap is a pressing one. 

while people often think of climate change as the biggest threat to biodiversity, the answer is actually habitat loss. liz kalies, the lead renewable energy scientist at the nature conservancy, spreads this message in her conservation work. “we can’t justify poor siting of renewable energy in the name of biodiversity,” said kalies. 

“but similarly, if we ignore climate change, that will also have severe consequences for biodiversity. so, we just really need to keep the two in our mind simultaneously, and not sacrifice one for the other,” she said.

strategies for building wildlife-friendly solar

fortunately, solar developers haves several options to avoid making those sacrifices: selecting sites responsibly (including repurposed mine land), building in wildlife passageways (small corridors to allow animals to pass through)—which could mean splitting a site down the middle—and letting nature reclaim parts of the facility by growing wildflowers, planting native species, or building pollinator habitats. a simple change, such as mowing the lawn in september or october instead of august, after breeding season, can make a difference, according to a research team in new york. 

one of the most promising strategies so far is permeable fencing: swapping out traditional chain-link fencing for larger-holed fencing, which is meshy enough to allow small-to-medium sized mammals to slip through. animal monitoring reports show the early promise of this fencing, as camera traps capture foxes, birds, and coyotes navigating around the fencing. in one study, wildlife-permeable fencing increased the probability that ungulates (hoofed mammals) successfully crossed through the fence by 33% — and they were able to do so in 54% less time.

camera trapping and bobcat tracking: the research behind wildlife-friendly solar

kalies and her team have launched several projects to study solar-wildlife interactions, including the camera trap project, direct site visits with developers, and even a bobcat-specific project. kalies and her team are currently working on the latter, which involves locating, sedating, radio collaring, and tracking bobcats to generate visual maps of their meanderings. bobcats are secretive, elusive animals who prefer uninterrupted vegetation, making them good candidates to study the challenges that animals may face in in solar landscapes. 

surprisingly, bobcats are interacting with the solar facilities. from the videos kalies played, it appears some of them are even drawn to the facilities for unknown reasons. in their preliminary data, one bobcat appeared to cut through a solar facility that didn’t even have a permeable fence. the team hopes to increase their sample size of bobcats in order to predict impacts of solar buildout on their populations through simulation alone.

do developers really want foxes and bobcats roaming through their facilities?

sometimes, the answer is yes, according to developers. medium-sized predators may help quell rodent populations, and rodents have been known to gnaw through the panels’ wiring, breaking the solar array.  

wildlife passageways offer other benefits to developers. at face value, building wildlife-friendly infrastructure is great for a company’s brand image and public relations — especially when local opposition to renewable projects is so prevalent, and sometimes stems from animal conservation concerns. additionally, installing wildlife-friendly fencing is economical, according to kalies. it costs roughly the same as a chain-link fence and holds up just as well structurally, based on her reports from developers. 

“i love the idea of wildlife friendly fencing,”  said scott starr, co-founder of highline renewables. 

“you’re going to be a partner with the community for 30 plus years. so, you want to do things like screen it with evergreens or use wildlife friendly fencing […] and even if it’s a small upcharge, you are looking for things to make the project work that don’t just show up in the pro forma but are also a benefit to the community.” 

as a developer who specializes in small-scale distributed generation,  starr notes that it’s common to screen for endangered species early on as part of choosing a site. “we are very careful as developers towards critical species, critical habitat, wetlands, things like that. that is part of the process.” 

but, when it comes to sharing land with wildlife, the territory is more unfamiliar. starr elaborates on the policy gaps in how governments incentivize wildlife-friendly buildout. 

“the only things that i’ve really seen are ‘we’ll give you adders to put it on this rooftop!’ and ‘we’ll give you adders if  you put it on a brownfield or co-locate with some kind of agricultural operations!’ said starr. “there never is really anything about wildlife corridors—we just don’t know.” 

while developers can’t claim that solar sites are equivalent to wildlife refuges, they do share some compelling similarities: they’re quiet, isolated, fenced off, and relatively low-disturbance on the landscape. whether or not a site is wildlife-friendly often comes down to what’s adjacent to the facility, says kalies, meaning rural sites typically have better luck than urban, overdeveloped, already-degraded plots of land. 

challenges and limitations of building wildlife passageways

some of the biggest research-specific challenges for kalies’s team include accessing sites in the first place, finding partners willing to collaborate, and hours of challenging fieldwork. another difficulty lies in data interpretation. even with data from camera traps, for example, seeing an animal onsite doesn’t mean it’s necessarily benefitting. the animal could be migrating, breeding or nesting, foraging, lost, or simply hanging out. 

starr adds that, from a developer’s perspective, even if you support wildlife-friendly fencing,  you may get a ‘no’ from the county, from financiers, or from any long-term owners of the project who might consider wildlife a risk to their multi-million dollar asset. (some developers are even concerned about bird droppings reducing the efficiency of their solar panels.)

overall, the solar industry’s ability to become “wildlife-friendly” may depend on the level of discussion happening in government. “we need clear guidance and policymaking that incentivizes these kinds of considerations,” said starr.

the future of wildlife-friendly solar 

despite these challenges, pursuing wildlife-friendly solar in north carolina may be a promising step toward preserving biodiversity. the state ranks the 13th highest in the nation for risk of species loss. while wildlife movement patterns are being studied in the western u.s. (such as pronghorn migration), more research is needed on patterns in eastern states.

the first step to preserving biodiverse populations is ensuring that animals can continue to move freely across landscapes. through siting adjustments, permeable fencing, planting wildflower pollinator habitat, and actively collaborating with scientists, the solar industry has a chance to protect wildlife. energy developers and biologists alike can take part in this initiative, giving a new meaning to “energy conservation.” 

what stories might be told in a climate-changed future? how might the lives of future generations be shaped by decisions we make now and in our lifetimes? these are questions my collaborator, jacqueline arias, and i began to ask when creating the multimodal piece rays of resilience: a vision of the future, thinking about how our different strengths as artists might help us to imagine the future of the place we call home. 

tucson, arizona is a city located in the sonoran desert in the american southwest that to this day faces a number of environmental challenges including threats of extreme heat and aridity, water scarcity, wildfire, landscape degradation, and loss of biodiversity. with the climate science showing humanity’s steady approach towards several dangerous tipping points in the coming decades, how might the lives of people living in the old pueblo be transformed? how might we be resilient in the face of inevitable change?

the images created by jacqueline arias use lumenography, an alternative photographic practice in which organic materials are placed on photographic paper and transfer the image through passive exposure to solar light. still landscape photographs provided by zack lischter-katz, featuring tucson’s iconic giant saguaros.

a description of the piece

rays of resilience is an audio-visual artwork featuring narration and visuals designed and arranged by jacqueline arias, an mfa student at the university of arizona school of art, as well as text, music, and sound design by myself. through the piece the audience is introduced to three characters living in a not-so-distant (but undefined) future.

the first character is a mother living in the heart of tucson with her child, illustrating aspects of community resilience, ancestral knowledge, food sovereignty, and hope for the future. the second story features an individual experiencing loss, expressed through stories and memories from a different landscape, personifying the loss of the world we know and love. the final story follows an energy industry worker reflecting on an immense tragedy that, having been completely avoidable, serves as a wake up call that catalyzes critical change. 

the piece is not, of course, a prediction of the future. it is an exercise — a meditation in imagining futures that allows us to search for and experience common values, visions, dreams, and fears. 

the visual elements of the piece consist of lumens and still photographs. lumens are prints produced by layering organic and transparent materials on expired photographic paper and placing them in sunlight. the somewhat abstract but familiar and emotive qualities of lumen prints, as well as the ability to incorporate both materials from our own environment, and the use of passive solar energy spoke to us as the best artist jacqueline arias working on troubleshooting video before exhibition visual medium to use in this piece. still film photographs provided by zach lischer-katz lend a visual  counterpoint primarily in the second story. 

rays of resilience was exhibited as an installation piece closing out the university of arizona center for creative photography’s studio ccp program in the fall of 2023. in february 2024 the piece was shown at the perspectives on resilience event put on by the arizona institute of resilience, having been invited to include more arts-based voices in the conversation regarding climate change resilience. 

we are immensely grateful for the opportunity to explore our senses of home as well as our imaginings of the future, and to have the opportunity to share them with you through narrative, music, art, and sound. 

at his talk as part of the climate action capacity (cap) climate speaker series on jan. 17, sitting in front of a group of forty or so middlebury students, faculty, and community members, bill mckibben dutifully reminded us that the next five years will determine the course of our lives and human history and the history of the planet. 

naturally.

i sat in the back row and stared bill mckibben down, as if by holding him in my gaze as he said this i could somehow take the weight of his words into my body and bear the load of my particular human history. 

for a long time, i have been interested in the kind of climate anxiety belonging to the segment of young americans who’ve heard and talked about the end of the world for years but who still see their lives relatively unchanged. i was this high school activist who made signs and instagram graphics and organized my class to go to boston for the sunrise march in sept. 2019. then, in the spring of my senior year, covid restrictions more or less lifted, and i was more or less happy to just drive around with my friends, drink dunkin’ donuts iced coffee, listen to doja cat, and throw my blue compostable straw in the trash.

the fundamental experience of my teenage years was feeling myself in a last holdout sheltered from the strongest blows of climate change, and knowing too that this shelter came at the highest cost. removed, ambient anxiety hung thick. 

but the corner of the northeast that i’ve grown up in, between western massachusetts and the southern half of vermont, is pitching over the edge. in winter, overgrowth runs rampant. december lies belly-up and damp, its decay on full display. summer is the soaking season. rain washes the sweetness from the watermelon and the cantaloupe. the deerfield and connecticut rivers become rushing mammoths of brown and take the crops with them.

when storms tore through vermont this summer, montpellier and white river junction got washed out. bridges gave way, houses collapsed into sinkholes, crops failed. people would “come into the food hub crying, actively grieving the loss of all of these things that they had sewn into the ground,” said marlow saucier (‘24), an environmental justice major with a concentration in food studies, who was working at acorn this summer, a non-profit in middlebury.

saucier, with their short, curly mullet and silver jewelry running up their ears, sat on the white, paint chipped porch of 28 weybridge street in mid-july. they watched water run down the hill from campus and pool in the intersection between the red, brick twilight hall and the big, brown house home to the center for careers and internships, as cars maneuvered to try and avoid flooding their engines. public safety kept telling students not to leave their houses on account of the thunderstorms.

numi moreno calderon (‘26), an international and global studies major from the south pacific of costa rica, was here for language schools. she remembers the dorm chateau flooding and the ground floor of the library soaked. “everyone was like, well, this is unusual.” in the basements of dorms, bikes and tents and bed frames were ruined. videos circulated of a displaced bear running across battell beach, a campus quad. 

then, there are the second hand effects of endless rain: mosquitoes. megan brakeley, who manages the knoll, the campus’ organic farm, told me about them. i talked to her in her warm, sunny office in the franklin environmental center at hillcrest in january. she closed her eyes, tilted her head to the ceiling, furrowed her brow, and spoke about the mosquitos in july. they were so bad that people who “live for the summers here” and garden all season didn’t want to go outside. 

“it was feeling like a pretty apocalyptic time to be in such an idyllic space,” saucier said. 

the hyper-presence of climate change on the middlebury campus is a relatively new phenomenon, and not one that many students may have been made to reckon with. research shows us that life away from the front lines of the climate crisis is a privilege afforded by how much money you have and where you live, factors influenced by race and nationality. the 2017 new york times report put 76% of middlebury students coming from the top 20% of wealth in the country. in 2022, 56% of middlebury students were white, 31% were an “underrepresented minority,” and 11% were international. those numbers are starting to even out, but it’s slow. 

calderon talked to me about how she notices that wealthier students often recognize climate change as a threat to the planet but not their foreseeable future. theo mcdermott-hughes (‘23.5), feels like just by virtue of their economic and geographical position as a middle class american from new jersey, they’re going to be okay. for them, climate change exists more as “a moral imperative towards the rest of humanity.” nora brown (‘24), from eastern massachusetts, felt insulated from the really bad natural disaster stuff for a long time. she said this year was the first time she felt that a lot less. kamryn you mak (‘23.5), an environmental justice major, and the founder of fire, critiqued the way the college environment allows climate change to exist as “a future thing to worry about. once we get our education, we can get started.”

this is not to say that you have to have witnessed catastrophe in order to know what climate anxiety is. anyone can google climateclock and find the countdown to the day u.n. scientists gave as the last chance to keep the ocean temperature below 1.5 degrees celsius. “i lived in a perpetual state of climate anxiety and grief for two years,” saucier said. “and it really almost killed me, to be honest. that was the cornerstone of my mental health issues, like, ‘what is the point of living in this world? it’s horrible, it’s really, really horrible, and really not hopeful.’”

some of the distress comes from guilt. calderon notices a particular anxiety in her friends whose homes have already been hit hard by disaster. there’s an inner conflict between the responsibility to provide for their families, especially in a future more impacted by climate change, while also knowing that the higher paying jobs are often in some ways responsible for the environmental crisis in the first place. 

statistics on those with higher paying jobs abound. the lifestyles of most middle and upper class americans hold huge carbon footprints. there is, i think, a particular brand of climate anxiety reserved for this segment of the u.s.: those who read the u.n. reports in their air conditioned offices, drive their suvs back to their single family homes, and worry their hands when it doesn’t snow until february; those who just buy a tomato in the industrialized world and know they’re part of the problem, but it’s the only produce available. 

there’s a difference in degrees, but the quality of the anxiety is the same. the slow-burn apocalypse hisses and stirs on the edges. not everyone is forced to look at the threads between the things they depend on and the things that kill them, but “a deadly system doesn’t have to seem like it’s targeting you directly to kill you consistently.” the spiral of consumption tightens, threads strain. 

here on campus, the trees are changing. as elm and ash succumb to their respective invasive species and diseases, brought over here on lumber from europe, tim parsons, the college’s horticulturist, replaces them with the oaks and shagbark hickories native to connecticut, where he grew up. they might be more suitable for vermont’s warming climate. 

“i’m gonna plan 10, 50 years out,” parsons told me, sitting behind his desk in his windowless office in the service building (“cruel and unusual punishment for a landscaper,” he said. “but it’s warm, so i’m not complaining”). we talked about how we can make our physical world more resilient. in addition to planting trees suited to warmer climates, this also means making the school landscape as diverse as possible. “less lawns, more trees, more shade.” he suggested storm water beds as a concept around the entire campus. 

megan brakeley is thinking about adaptability at the knoll, too. she told me about how they’re relying more on cover crops, also called green mold or living mulch, to protect the soil from wind, rain, and intense sun. she thinks they’ll really pull back on tomatoes this summer too, which are sun-loving and no good in the rain. “that’s hard to think about,” she said. 

parsons and brakeley both know that there’s also a certain emotional resiliency that comes with having a landscape prepped for change and centered around community. parsons is trying to get the board of trustees to fund more landscaping initiatives across the institution. “there is no feeling of connectivity between all the spaces. there’s no experience as you walk from here (the side of campus we were on) to bi-hall (the science building), it’s just a frozen hellscape.” he’s thinking about ways to create outdoor gathering spaces that we can use even when the weather is bad — pavilions, awnings, tree canopies. 

brakeley understands the knoll as a place to stay in community and in conversation. “in these times where so much adaptation and flexibility is required, we need all the help we can get. hearing about how other people are adapting is critical. we can’t be an island.”

of course, like everything these days, it’s difficult to say how the land will change as it bears the brunt of the warming climate. parsons works closely with the grounds crew. “when you manage a facility this size,” he says, “you like predictability.” when it’s going to snow, they call in the snow crew, when it’s going to be icy, they put rock salt down. “now, it’s a crapshoot. we just don’t know what the storms bring.” all that snow could turn to rain and wash the rock salt down to otter creek.

on farms, even failsafe crops like garlic and leeks are dying. “crop failure is a part of life,” brakeley said. but as the season becomes more uncertain, she’s trying to have fewer variables with the things she can control, leaving the knoll open “to the variability that’s coming that we can’t predict.”

even parsons’ experiment with the oaks and shagbark hickories is a bit of a shot in the dark. 

“it’s new,” he levels with me. there hasn’t been enough time to do research on it yet. “i just throw spaghetti at the wall and hope something sticks.”

may we all barrel into uncertainty with so much gusto. i asked saucier how they imagine their life ten years from now. after sharing a laugh over the absurdity that our grandparents had bought “starter homes,” saucier said, “i think this knowing of the nonlinearity of our lives is really liberating in some ways. i don’t have to conceptualize my five year plan, ‘cause who the fuck knows. it really feels ridiculous to me to be like, oh in ten years, i’m gonna be living here, doing this thing. cause probably not, so like, what’s the point in thinking about that. i would much rather be like, ‘what nourishes me as a human being and how am i moving in pursuit of that?’ and doing whatever that takes and having that take me wherever it does.”

brakeley wants work at the knoll to remind people that they do have agency, “you see that written in the soil. and we just have to stay present in that… am i gonna spend my days dreading the future and seeing it as a hopeless place that we’ve already destroyed? or trying to stay in relationship to things that i can see and have active responses with? the land is our greatest teacher in those ways.”

this january, brakeley’s been watching the leaf buds on the forsythia and lilacs at her house swell. the crocus greens are starting to poke up. she’s like “it’s the wrong time, friends! get out of here!” at the knoll, though, they aren’t farming for a profit and there’s some flexibility. brakeley said they get the privilege to follow through on things and see how they end up. “things will grow. we can select for and make choices to foster the things that are growing. there’s hope there.”

in “uses of the erotic,” audre lorde frames the erotic as meaning inhabiting the world and our lives with a fullness of feeling. this truth of the erotic, she argues, has been suppressed within us, because it can “give us the energy to pursue genuine change within our world (59).” the erotic is so powerful because when we embrace it, when we inhabit feelings deeply, when we let the world affect us, when we let ourselves be touched and let the feeling of that touch grow inside of us, we find that we can settle for nothing less. 

lorde emphasizes the root of the word erotic, which comes from the greek word eros. she writes that eros is “the personification of love in all its aspects — born of chaos, and personifying creative power and harmony (54).” there is something in the crux between chaos and the erotic. the chaos of this moment forces us to turn toward the erotic, to look inward to the certainties that lie there, the truth of good feeling, of being in relation to the earth even and especially as we both change.

a legacy of black, feminist thinkers have taken up lorde’s writing on the erotic and applied it to radical imagination and organizing, adrienne maree brown being one of them. “what you pay attention to grows (1),” she writes, as the ninth core principle of emergent strategy. the internal realities we pay attention to extend outward. when we focus on what is in accordance with our great-life-force, with the power of our erotic, we turn our world toward that too. 

i want to let uncertainty guide me, let it turn me inward. how do we plan what crops to seed when we don’t know if the season will bring drought or flood? how do we plan ten, fifty years out for a future we can’t imagine? unknowns loom at every turn. but here we are, planting trees, layering our beds with clover and rye. something grows. 

there are lessons to be learned about loving a world whose future is so uncertain, loving it despite its uncertainty, because of it, its fragility and adaptability. 

priya sudhakaran nair (‘24), an environmental justice major born in india and raised in lesotho, is one of saucier’s best friends. i thought they were dating. “common mistake,” saucier said, laughing. “priya is probably the person that i’ve loved the most in my life. we’ll just get into these super huge conversations about systems of oppression and how everything is wrong and how everything is broken.” it’s a really special kind of love, founded on a shared grief, and then a shared joy to say “oh, but i love you and i want you to have a world to live in.” 

nair and saucier talk a lot about how we’re a generation of goodbyes. “we’re just gonna have to say goodbye to things forever, and like, they’re not going to come back. and what do we do with that?” 

when bill mckibben tells us that our actions over the next five years will determine the quality of our lives, this is what we hear: that our love of the world will be predicated on loss, fostered among loss, and as one grows so will the other. 

“for me,” saucier says, “grief is not something that stops. we will be grieving for the rest of our lives.”

i was home this summer in western massachusetts, working on a farm. my coworkers and i cut open and ate cantaloupes on the back of the truck. basking in the sun, with juice dripping down my chest, i felt a bit like a demigod. but the orange flesh tasted more like water left out too long. 

some things did not lose their potency, though. i had this person i loved, who’d grown up in the same towns that i had. as rain fell and hillsides eroded, he could not be desaturated, the shape of him could not be changed. he held the entirety of our home in his muscles. the mountains of his shoulders were the same ones that held the mountains of our valley. i could trace the river from the top of his head to his feet. 

i could love him and lose him like i could love and lose the land. 

this winter break, when i was home, i drove with a couple friends up to our friend sage’s house, who lives thirty minutes into the hilltowns. the roads wind through the woods for miles between these remote, high ground towns, bending against the curves of the rivers, clinging to the sides of the mountains. a lot of them closed this summer—rocks, dirt, and branches from the mountain tumbling down, water falling and pooling and eventually crumbling the concrete. now, months later, we looked out the window and still saw places where the guard rail fell off and hadn’t been replaced yet. 

it was foggy that night. it was so foggy and we drove so slow that it took us nearly an hour to get to sage’s. this, we realized, is a new touchstone of new england december. “everything gets unknown,” my friend fiona said, who was driving. “it’s so creepy. like everything’s obscured. it becomes somewhere else.” the water-cycle’s gone nonlinear. there’s no straight path from rain to groundwater to river to mist to cloud to rain. it floats back and forth in a confused haze and fiona can’t see anything out the windshield of her kia soul.

sometime before midnight that night, we all went on a walk down the road at sage’s house. the fog was settling over the fields on either side, gathering up in the distant hills, lurking in the shadows of the woods. overgrown, green-gray grasses slumped on top of overgrown, dead, golden grasses. it all turned ghostly and lumpy in the dark.

this is the new color of winter, and it’s sort of beautiful too:

the dead, golden fields, the overgrown, green mounds of plants that were supposed to die back two months ago, that just keep spilling over themselves, unable to save their energy for spring. it’s grotesque and it’s also the world, wild and quiet and no more than what it is, teaching us the lesson that it’s okay to just be what we are, to show up however we need to show up. i’m floored at how it can still be beautiful. 

the next night, my birthday, i went on a walk with my friend whose body i’ve let hold the entirety of our home. i told him what i thought about this new winter, whose colors are golden and green and gray instead of white and he said this thing about decay. “it’s all on display, now, you know? we have to look at it, we have to witness it.”

on another night, in middlebury, at the end of january, i talked to him on the phone. snow had finally fallen and accumulated for real and i walked through it in my clogs, doing loops down the roads around my house. he talked about how decay turns nouns into verbs; the essential elements of something come undone. loving something as it decays means loving it in its moment of change, in its moment of being undone. winter decay sits belly up to the foggy air. i try to love us for our fragility, our changeability. i try to turn inward, to the truth of my body in each moment. there is a feeling of my hands in the dirt right now. there is the feeling of my hands in someone else’s right now. i focus on the life i touch, i give it breath.

turning grey spaces green: urban cities return to nature is a short video project imagining what the world could be if nature and cities work together to heal the planet. it explores how biophilic design and the rewilding of urban areas could efficiently combat climate change and aid the planet’s recovery from such actions. furthermore, the video discusses commentary on our reconnection to the natural world and the benefits that come from doing so.

“giant clams give the reef life,” says delphia selch, “but today we hardly can see them on our reef.” giant clams play a critical role in coastal marine ecosystems and local food production all around the world, especially in the federated states of micronesia (fsm), a north pacific country of over 600 islands.

for the last 17 years, martin selch and his wife delphia have been growing endangered species of clams on the island of kosrae, the smallest of fsm’s four states with a population of under 7,000. these clams not only contribute to repopulating the reefs, but also provide sustainable and local food security.

“giant clams have become threatened all around the world,” says martin selch. climate change and sediment runoff has caused many of the local giant clam species to become endangered or extinct. however, martin and delphia have dedicated their lives to cultivating six varieties of clams including tridacna gigas, the world’s largest mollusk species, that previously had disappeared from kosrae’s waters.

in this short documentary, discover the importance of giant clams, their contribution to food security and the marine environment, and meet the people dedicated to keeping them around forever.