while abundant, inspiration can be fleeting and ungraspable. i lived in south texas, a region diverse in culture and ideology, but eternally linked to mistakes of the past; thus persists a narrative that leads some circles to resent science, even fear it. particularly within the latinx community in the region, against whom science and twisted methodologies have been weaponized.

making an impact

it is hard to be inspired to change the world for the better when the tools you are given are enshrouded with fear. but as a latina of that community, it fell upon my shoulders to erode that trauma that still resides deep in our daily lives, so my inspiration emerged as two objectives: 1) create pathways for students to become familiar with conducting research and normalized to the advantages and limitations of science, and 2) to create something impactful. 

in 2018, i developed a strain of bacteria capable of detecting the explosive tnt, and when it decomposes, dnt. in 2019, i founded herodotus research and development for my 17th birthday. the goal is to implement domestically in the united states to make a fool-proof highly resilient and uncompromisable product that can be shipped around the world to regions afflicted by war-related hazards. why? because of the number 17,000; that’s about how many people around the world are killed or injured by landmines and “remnants of war” each year.

also, because of the number 15 million; that’s how many acres of land in the united states are polluted by those “remnants of war” or munitions-related chemicals. i encountered these statistics as a descendant of veterans. these statistics are haunting, and they present a profound conclusion that innovation cannot right the wrongs of history, but innovation can right the future. 

an innovation for the earth and for community

i founded a program in which high school students accompanied me to the university to conduct their research on topics applicable to their interests. this grew into a class in which middle schoolers shadowed the high schoolers and conducted research. my community was eager to learn, but nobody tried to learn with them, and science became inaccessible. there was hope for technology changing lives for the better, and there was a desire to lead those discoveries. i went from presenting alone at the state science fair to accompanying a team of proud latinx students to their blue ribbons. 

the innovation in this video is not just a way of detecting and removing dangerous chemicals in the environment. this video was recorded in the av closet of my high school with my business partner and a few friends who all believed they were contributing to something impactful. my community felt the value of increasing accessibility to science education. this is a true innovation, empowering others to innovate, and it can be applied everywhere on the globe. 

in a biological sense, this is the simplest way to answer the question, “what happens to us when we die?” however in a more poetic sense, it offers a strange new method of contemplating one’s own mortality. a derivative of this word is “decompositionist,” which means “an advocate or supporter of decomposition, e.g., that of an empire, confederation, etc.”

i am a decompositionist, however not in the political sense. i do not spend my time planning coups or meditating on the economic factors that lead to the falling of the iron curtain (although i have yet to fully form an opinion on the global anti-imperial movements which i see discussed often in my twitter thread).

rather, i spend more than the average portion of my week thinking about physical decomposition. that is the process by which flesh disintegrates into its most elemental components. cycling the energy and nutrients which once sustained it back into the soil from whence they originated. it seems odd for a 21-year-old to spend considerable hours a day pondering the biological processes involved with decay, yet i cannot help myself. 

it seems contradictory to write an essay about decomposition as it is quite literally the opposite of what i am doing as i write this piece. composition. decomposition. to create. to decay. to give life, to lose life. 

i stare at the apple core sitting on my desk, sticky remnants of my harried breakfast, and think about how in two months, hopefully, it will be gone. in two months, hopefully this version of myself will be too. i probably won’t be though. however, that doesn’t stop me from trying to evolve. i think about it when i volunteer at weekly compost collections on friday mornings, and i ponder it when i toss the single use plastic lined cup from my morning coffee. 

despite my mother’s misgivings, i know i am not the only one on earth who shares these sentiments. indeed it would be self-centered to think so, but such is the nature of humans. in her critically acclaimed essay, “the cutting edge of time: erosion of home,” terry tempest williams explains, “my delight in being forgotten is rooted in the belief that i don’t matter in the larger scheme of things, only that i tried my best to be a good human, failing repeatedly, but trying again with the soul-settling knowledge that my body will return to the desert.” i relate intensely to williams’ sentiments, i do not fear the violent majesty of the environments around me, instead i marvel at them, allowing their sheer danger to humble me again and again and again. 

i eagerly anticipate my return to the soil. it takes every bit of willpower i have not to turn my self-proclaimed quotable saying into my twitter bio, however that would probably worry my friends a little too much. in fact most of my friends and family are uncomfortable with my fascination with decomposition. it is apparently not socially acceptable to romanticize one’s own decay, although the popularity of hozier’s music would indicate otherwise. it is not necessarily that i am eager to die, in fact it is not that at all. it is simply that i find a deep and almost indescribable comfort in knowing that one day my pains and worries will have dissolved into micronutrients in soil, feeding that which is so old my lifetime was a mere blink of an eye in its longevity. 

in a way this is my own deeply personal form of existentialism. in a similar vein, mary shelley expressed her own sorrows and beliefs about the position of her own life through her most famous work, “frankenstein.” with a gruesome tale about the violence of childhood neglect and the dangers of necromancy, shelley birthed science fiction, an entirely new genre of literature at the time. shelley was a woman far more educated in the intricacies of both decomposition and composition than i am, yet i cannot help but compare my convictions to hers.

shelley was 18 years old when she crafted what would become her most famous novel, and i was the same age when i first discovered my fascination. in a way, we are two sides of the same coin. while we both are eager to create new life from death, hers is decidedly unnatural, whereas mine is as natural as it can possibly get.

in response to the trauma of losing of her child, she sought to defy nature, bring back the dead, and fight against the very laws of the earth itself. victor frankenstein, and in a manner of speaking, shelley herself, sought to steal that last lingering light of life from the dead, if only to savor its warmth for a moment more. i, on the other hand, seek the exact opposite. i desire to open my hand, releasing those tiny sparkles back into the wild.

although i will not be able to see it, i have a strangely strong conviction that it will happen as i hope. disagreements notwithstanding, shelley and i share a common fear of, enamoration with, and disillusionment with death. 

i wonder, if i had the chance to offer, would she like to decompose with me? 

in september 2022, i had the privilege of visiting mcginley ranch of the turner institute of ecoagriculture near gordon, nebraska, to learn about regenerative ranching and ecological economics for conservation and commerce. 

on nearly 80,000 acres of pasture, a herd of about 4,000 bison is supporting a community of more than 8,000 organisms. these bison are carefully managed and grazed on parcels of land to create subtle disturbances in the vegetation and soil below. grazing disturbances create habitat diversity which sustains life on the prairie and improves its watershed. 

in this short film, dr. carter kruse and ranch manager tyrell mcclain explain the importance of regenerative bison ranching and its lucrative opportunities. 

here, kossler is at the top of the food chain. as the vice president of ranch operations at turner enterprises (tei), kossler oversees all 15 ranches in turner’s 1.85 million-acre land empire and the 45,000 bison on them – the largest private bison herd in the world. growing up in the 1960s on a ranch in colorado, the experienced rancher is a living witness to over six decades of change in agriculture and the communities it sustains. with the rise of what he calls “additive agriculture,” kossler has seen farmers and ranchers grappling with declining profit margins, degrading land quality, and an exodus of youth from the industry. 

he explains that additive agriculture stems from the intensive use of chemical additives – fertilizers, pesticides – to increase monoculture agricultural yields. the results? short-term gains that compromise ecological integrity and long-term profitability. it’s a model where man allegedly triumphs over nature, and an industry standard that the turner institute of ecoagriculture is challenging. 

a delicate balance

according to the tei mission statement, turner enterprises has always had a triple bottom line of economic sustainability, ecological sensitivity, and conservation. the company’s goal is still profit, “but not at the expense of nature,” kossler said with emphasis. this “balance of conservation and commerce,” as kossler calls it, pushed tei toward implementing more holistic land management practices. years later, kossler finally matched tei’s guiding principles with a name: regenerative agriculture. 

unlike additive agriculture, regenerative agriculture is a set of practices that focus on maximizing productivity through restoring ecosystem services, like building healthy soil microbiomes, enhancing carbon sequestration and water infiltration, and supporting native ecosystem biodiversity. the connection was instant, kossler said, “i just knew this was the next step for [tei]. we were already doing a lot of it, but there was more we could do…it became a mission in our company.”

as a result, in 2021, kossler and the team at turner enterprises founded the turner institute of ecoagriculture as an agriculture research organization dedicated to “researching, developing, and disseminating sustainability strategies and techniques for conserving ecosystems, agriculture, and rural communities,” according to the institute.

driving across mcginley ranch is evidence that principles of regenerative agriculture have been embraced with open arms: pastures are divided uniquely to support high-intensity grazing, the lush meadows are grazed instead of hayed for the winter, and two fleeing prairie chickens signal a rebounding endangered population. the ranch aims to “lead by example” in the agriculture industry, turning a profit off the land while also actively supporting its regeneration. their products, kossler said, are of higher quality as a result of it. 

healthy soil, hard sell 

still, there are profound challenges ahead for the transition to more sustainable agricultural practices. 

“change is fearful,” kossler said, especially when there is a way things have always been done culturally ingrained in the agriculture community. “many are more comfortable doing something that’s not really working well,” he said, and what they’re doing is often reinforced by a higher education system that supports industrialized additive agriculture. “what we were taught was only half of the story – one side of a two-sided story. i feel as though i was only told half of the story.” 

financially, farmers and ranchers can also be put in a tight spot if they are seeking to transition. despite long-run increases in yield, the tight margins in agriculture can make it hard to front the initial cost of switching to regenerative practices due to upfront costs like fencing and the “three-year trough,” or a time of lower production while natural systems adjust to new agricultural practices. it can be a hard sell, and many “hardcore ag producers are skeptical,” kossler said, especially older generations. 

but in the fertile soils kossler and his team are growing, they’ve cultivated more than prairie grasses and carbon sinks: change is taking root. as the outliers in the equation, mcginley ranch and the turner institute of ecoagriculture have been in the business of influencing others to create “synergies” for change. “we’re kind of herd animals,” kossler said, and like bison, once some go, others will follow. 

the future of regenerative agriculture

in the sandhills, the dominoes have already begun toppling. after watching, then inquiring about the success of mcginley’s regeneratively-managed pastures, a nearby rancher has adopted what ranch techs mcginley say is the uncommon practice of grazing meadows instead of haying them for the winter. partnerships between the turner institute of ecoagriculture and research institutions, like south dakota state university’s center of excellence for bison studies, are changing the traditional understanding of agriculture in academia and adopting regenerative approaches. 

perhaps most importantly, younger generations are buying in. jessica lovitt, mcginley ranch’s primary range data specialist, is one of them. like many in agribusiness, lovitt started with very traditional cattle ranching on her family ranch. after coming to mcginley, she admits to harboring doubts, having “never seen things done [differently] before.” despite her reservations, she said, “the results speak for themselves,” and credits her traditional background for pushing her to ask more questions. now, she offers others the same advice: “get out and go see it for yourself…give it a chance. ask the questions.” 

lovitt embodies a critical generational transition that mcginley is investing in to help turn the tides: educating the younger generations helps bring viable paths of integrating regenerative practices into family agricultural operations. as the turner institute takes on more young staff and interns, kossler is hopeful that they will “go home and make some changes,” and the pace of progress will quicken. 

together, kossler and lovitt hope that private and government support can help alleviate the financial barriers for agricultural communities seeking to do right by themselves and by the land they live off. both are optimistic that 10 years from now, the rolling sandhills of nebraska will have healthier soils, pastures, and communities.

hence the ‘to be continued’ aspect of the poem, in attempts to propose a solution for the story, suny-esf has plans to gather soil samples from vieques which will then be tested in the soils lab on the syracuse campus. this is in order to provide a greater sense of clarity along with hope for the island of vieques. 

please take a listen below:

first, where were the grand cities, like those found in the riviera maya of central america, the incan empire of the andes, or the aztec temples of central mexico?   

second, the effervescence of life in the amazon rainforest is an illusory potemkin village. despite the verdant vegetation and cacophony of life, the soils of the amazon are generally nutrient-poor, rust-colored clay. amazonian soils are generally old and weathered, tired and weary. time has stripped them of their ability to retain the nutrients resulting from organic matter decomposition. plants that survive here must be adapted to efficiently assimilate any available nutrients before they are leached out of the soils by torrential rains. the land could simply not support densely populated, stratified societies (mann, 2012).

finally, indigenous populations are low. some 900,000 indigenous live in brazil today and in the early 1980s, the number was likely lower than 200,000. historians chalked up carvajal’s descriptions to the exaggeration to which many explorers were prone (mann, 2012).

recent research, however, has cast this assumption into doubt. in fact, far from being a green desert largely devoid of human settlements, archaeological, anthropological, ecological, and pedological research suggests that the amazon rainforest may be a cultural artifact engineered by indigenous cultures.

building the rainforest

while archaeologists have uncovered the vestiges of geoglyphs, likely created by amazonian indigenous cultures, most of the construction in the amazon was probably wooden. it was an obvious choice of building material, given its abundance and the rarity of stone in the region. unfortunately, wood decays if not maintained, explaining the lack of ruins in the amazon basin. these indigenous civilizations, however, did bequeath a more perennial stele, one perhaps more inspiring than any ruin: the forest itself (mann, 2012).  

indigenous populations have altered large swaths of the amazon rainforest, particularly near rivers where their settlements were concentrated. they planted a diverse array of fruit and nut trees near their communities, in part to ensure a stable and ample supply of food. unlike most annual commercial crops that strip the soil of nutrients, these tree species are adapted to the nutrient-poor soils of the amazon and cycle nutrients efficiently. they also support wildlife populations, many of which depend upon these trees’ fruits and flowers. this was a way for indigenous peoples to enact their sacred responsibilities to maintain balance between the physical and spiritual forces that permeated their world. even conservative estimates suggest the plant community composition of up to 12% of the amazon rainforest has been altered by indigenous management (mann, 2012).

just as they helped build the forest, so too did indigenous peoples build its soil. to overcome these nutrient limitations, indigenous peoples amended the soil with charcoal, bone, potsherds, and manure. these soot-black, rich soils, known as terra preta have helped recycle nutrients for centuries. to this day, terra preta soil is coveted for its fertility. it is so valuable that local farmers will sell it as potting soil rather than cultivating it. while terra preta is generally concentrated in riparian areas, it covers between 0.1% and 10% of the lowland rainforest in brazil, again demonstrating the extent and degree to which indigenous peoples in the amazon have modified the ecosystems in which they live (lehmann, 2010).

a symbiotic relationship

these are but two examples illustrating how indigenous people around the world have learned to live with the land rather than merely on it. their traditional ecological knowledge is a cumulative body of knowledge, practice, and belief that has adapted to unique sets of environmental constraints and has been handed down from generation to generation using cultural practices and social structures. this knowledge body is expansive and considers the rights and responsibilities they have in relating to one another and nature (berkes, 1999).

the sustainability and ingenuity of this traditional ecological knowledge supported diverse, populous, and complex societies that thrived throughout the amazon basin before europeans arrived. much like the rhizobium bacteria, which provides plants with nitrogen essential for growth in return for sugars from the plants’ photosynthesis, the indigenous peoples of the amazon lived in symbiosis with their environment, taking what they needed and returning the favor to sustain the complex ecosystem on which they relied.

major threats to communities, ecosystem

this was no garden of eden, no paradise lost, but it was a home. in a matter of decades, however, it was laid to waste. in a few tumultuous years of pestilence and misery, european diseases laid waste to indigenous populations throughout amazonia. a wave of death spread out ahead of the european colonists. smallpox and measles were the harbinger of conquest.

by the time the early european explorers probed the interior of the continent, the once multitudinous indigenous communities had been overwhelmed by a pathogenic war of attrition. then, the spanish and portuguese cannons roared, laying the survivors to waste. ninety percent of the indigenous population of the americas was wiped out in a matter of a few decades. conservative estimates hold that 5 million indigenous lived in the amazon in 1500. by 1900, the number had fallen to 1 million (park, 2002).

newcomers to the region still have not developed such nuanced adaptations to place. they impose their will upon the landscape and take what they can rather than heeding its guidance and accepting what it offers. with the construction of the trans-amazonian highway in 1972, farmers poured into the hitherto unfarmed amazonian lowlands.

the highway served as the initial incision, which then splintered out across the landscape as communities sprung up around the highway, easily observed from satellite imagery as the rich carpet of green forest is tattered by patches of brown farms and ranches. these scars tell the stories of the colonists’ dreams — dreams of hope, dreams of greed. the colonists slashed and burned the vegetation that stood in their way, transforming the forest into fields. in so doing, they sowed the seeds of their own destruction alongside their crops.

because amazonian soils are largely infertile, intensive commercial crop cultivation can only be sustained for a few years before production declines. it can be exceedingly difficult for forest to regrow on land that has been cleared and abandoned after farming. seedbanks in cultivated soils are generally non-viable, so forest plants must colonize what the colonists have abandoned (holl, 2007).

seeds that arrive in open fields need to successfully germinate, which is no small task, given the pressures of seed-eating animals and livestock-compacted soils. once plants germinate, the seedlings still need to overcome nutrient limitations, oppressive heat, and dry soils. in many situations, only ruderal vegetation, such as ferns and grasses, can grow rapidly given these hurdles. once these plants gain a stranglehold, they can outcompete any other pioneer species. thus, the engine of agricultural development in the amazon consumes the forest in a vicious, downward spiral (holl, 2007).

road to recovery?

while deforestation rates dropped precipitously after the government enacted regulations in 2004, they have crept upward since 2014. this trend is likely to continue as wealthy landowners pressure the embattled brazilian government to reduce environmental regulations in light of an economic downturn and political upheaval (cowie, 2017).

but this is not a ghost story. it is not a story of surrender. it is a story of resilience, hope, and faith. indigenous peoples have survived and many continue to practice their traditional lifeways. they have not forgotten and they are willing to teach us, if only we are willing to learn. just as the indigenous built the amazon, so too can we rebuild it. but we cannot simply learn what they know of the rainforest. we must learn a new way of living ‒ a new way of relating to one another and to the earth. it is not looking into the past for answers, but rather aspiring toward a common future.

bibliography

• berkes, fikret. sacred ecology. routledge, 1999.
• cowie, sam. “activists decry temer’s amazon deforestation bill.” al jazeera. 22 july 2017.
• holl, karen d. “old field vegetation succession in the neotropics.” old fields: dynamics and restoration of abandoned farmland. by viki a. cramer and richard j. hobbs. island, 2007.
• lehmann, johannes. amazonian dark earths: origin, properties, management. kluwer academic publ., 2010.
• mann, charles c. 1491: new revelations of the americas before columbus. knopf, 2012.
• park, chris c. tropical rainforests. taylor & francis, 2002.