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Unlocking Arctic Secrets Through Mercury and Ice

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Friday, April 19, 2024

During a near-shore Beaufort Sea sampling campaign in July 2023, PhD student Emma Bullock sampled ocean water with recent meltwater inputs to test for radium isotopes, trace metals, carbon, nutrients, and mercury. Credit: Paul HendersonMIT PhD candidate Emma Bullock studies the local and global impacts of changing mineral levels in Arctic groundwater.A quick scan of Emma Bullock’s CV reads like those of many other MIT graduate students: She has served as a teaching assistant, written several papers, garnered grants from prestigious organizations, and acquired extensive lab and programming skills. But one skill sets her apart: “fieldwork experience and survival training for Arctic research.”That’s because Bullock, a doctoral student in chemical oceanography at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution (WHOI), spends significant time collecting samples in the Arctic Circle for her research. Working in such an extreme environment requires comprehensive training in everything from Arctic gear usage and driving on unpaved roads to handling wildlife encounters — like the curious polar bear that got into her team’s research equipment. To date, she has ventured to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, five times, where she typically spends long days — from 5:00 a.m. to 11 p.m. — collecting and processing samples from Simpson Lagoon. Her work focuses on Arctic environmental changes, particularly the effects of permafrost thaw on mercury levels in groundwater.“Even though I am doing foundational science, I can link it directly to communities in that region that are going to be impacted by the changes that we are seeing,” she says. “As the mercury escapes from the permafrost, it has the potential to impact not just Arctic communities but also anyone who eats fish in the entire world.”Weathering a Storm of SetbacksGrowing up in rural Vermont, Bullock spent a lot of time outside, and she attributes her strong interest in environmental studies to her love of nature as a child. Despite her conviction about a career path involving the environment, her path to the Institute has not been easy. In fact, Bullock weathered several challenges and setbacks on the road to MIT.As an undergraduate at Haverford College, Bullock quickly recognized that she did not have the same advantages as other students. She realized that her biggest challenge in pursuing an academic career was her socioeconomic background. She says, “In Vermont, the cost of living is a bit lower than a lot of other areas. So, I didn’t quite realize until I got to undergrad that I was not as middle-class as I thought.” Bullock had learned financial prudence from her parents, which informed many of the decisions she made as a student. She says, “I didn’t have a phone in undergrad because it was a choice between getting a good laptop that I could do research on or a phone. And so I went with the laptop.”Bullock majored in chemistry because Haverford did not offer an environmental science major. To gain experience in environmental research, she joined the lab of Helen White, focusing on the use of silicone bands as passive samplers of volatile organic compounds in honeybee hives. A pivotal moment occurred when Bullock identified errors in a collaborative project. She says, “[Dr. White and I] brought the information about flawed statistical tests to the collaborators, who were all men. They were not happy with that. They made comments that they did not like being told how to do chemistry by women.”White sat Bullock down and explained the pervasiveness of sexism in this field. “She said, ‘You have to remember that it is not you. You are a good scientist. You are capable,’” Bullock recalls. That experience strengthened her resolve to become an environmental scientist. “The way that Dr. Helen White approached dealing with this problem made me want to stick in the STEM field, and in the environmental and geochemistry fields specifically. It made me realize that we need more women in these fields,” she says.As she reached the end of college, Bullock knew that she wanted to continue her educational journey in environmental science. “Environmental science impacts the world around us in such visible ways, especially now with climate change,” she says. She submitted applications to many graduate programs, including to MIT, which was White’s alma mater, but was rejected by all of them.Undeterred, Bullock decided to get more research experience. She took a position as a lab technician at the Max Planck Institute of Marine Microbiology in Bremen, Germany, where she studied methane emissions from seagrass beds — her first foray into chemical oceanography. A year later, she applied to graduate schools again and was accepted by nearly all of the programs, including MIT. She hopes her experience can serve as a lesson for future applicants. “Just because you get rejected the first time does not mean that you’re not a good candidate. It just means that you may not have the right experience or that you didn’t understand the application process correctly,” she says.Understanding the Ocean Through the Lens of ChemistryUltimately, Bullock chose MIT because she was most interested in the specific scientific projects within the program and liked the sense of community. “It is a very unique program because we have the opportunity to take classes at MIT and access to the resources that MIT has, but we also perform research at Woods Hole,” she says. Some people warned her about the cutthroat nature of the Institute, but Bullock has found the exact opposite to be a true. “A lot of people think of MIT, and they think it is one of those top tier schools, so it must be competitive. My experience in this program is that it is very collaborative because our research is so individual and unique that you really can’t be competitive. What you are doing is so different from any other student,” she says.Bullock joined the group of Matthew Charette, senior scientist and director of the WHOI Sea Grant Program, which investigates the ocean through a chemical lens by characterizing the Arctic groundwater sampled during field campaigns in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. Bullock analyzes mercury and biotoxic methylmercury levels impacted by permafrost thaw, which is already affecting the health of Arctic communities. For comparison, Bullock points to mercury-based dental fillings, which have been the subject of scientific scrutiny for health impacts. She says, “You get more mercury by eating sushi and tuna and salmon than you would by having a mercury-based dental filling.”Environmental Advocacy and Future AspirationsBullock has been recognized as an Arctic PASSION Ambassador for her work in the historically underresearched Arctic region. As part of this program, she was invited to participate in a “sharing circle,” which connected early-career scientists with Indigenous community members, and then empowered them to pass what they learned about the importance of Arctic research onto their communities. This experience has been the highlight of her PhD journey so far. She says, “It was small enough, and the people there were invested enough in the issues that we got to have very interesting, dynamic conversations, which doesn’t always happen at typical conferences.”Bullock has also spearheaded her own form of environmental activism via a project called en-justice, which she launched in September 2023. Through a website and a traveling art exhibit, the project showcases portraits and interviews of lesser-known environmental advocates that “have arguably done more for the environment but are not as famous” as household names like Greta Thunberg and Leonardo DiCaprio.“They are doing things like going to town halls, arguing with politicians, getting petitions signed … the very nitty-gritty type work. I wanted to create a platform that highlighted some of these people from around the country but also inspired people in their own communities to try and make a change,” she says. Bullock has also written an op-ed for the WHOI magazine, Oceanus, and has served as a staff writer for the MIT-WHOI Joint Program newsletter, “Through the Porthole.”After she graduates this year, Bullock plans to continue her focus on the Arctic. She says, “I find Arctic research very interesting, and there are so many unanswered research questions.” She also aspires to foster further interactions like the sharing circle.“Trying to find a way where I can help facilitate Arctic communities and researchers in terms of finding each other and finding common interests would be a dream role. But I don’t know if that job exists,” Bullock says. Given her track record of overcoming obstacles, odds are, she will turn these aspirations into reality.

MIT PhD candidate Emma Bullock studies the local and global impacts of changing mineral levels in Arctic groundwater. A quick scan of Emma Bullock’s CV...

Emma Bullock

During a near-shore Beaufort Sea sampling campaign in July 2023, PhD student Emma Bullock sampled ocean water with recent meltwater inputs to test for radium isotopes, trace metals, carbon, nutrients, and mercury. Credit: Paul Henderson

MIT PhD candidate Emma Bullock studies the local and global impacts of changing mineral levels in Arctic groundwater.

A quick scan of Emma Bullock’s CV reads like those of many other MIT graduate students: She has served as a teaching assistant, written several papers, garnered grants from prestigious organizations, and acquired extensive lab and programming skills. But one skill sets her apart: “fieldwork experience and survival training for Arctic research.”

That’s because Bullock, a doctoral student in chemical oceanography at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution (WHOI), spends significant time collecting samples in the Arctic Circle for her research. Working in such an extreme environment requires comprehensive training in everything from Arctic gear usage and driving on unpaved roads to handling wildlife encounters — like the curious polar bear that got into her team’s research equipment.

To date, she has ventured to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, five times, where she typically spends long days — from 5:00 a.m. to 11 p.m. — collecting and processing samples from Simpson Lagoon. Her work focuses on Arctic environmental changes, particularly the effects of permafrost thaw on mercury levels in groundwater.

“Even though I am doing foundational science, I can link it directly to communities in that region that are going to be impacted by the changes that we are seeing,” she says. “As the mercury escapes from the permafrost, it has the potential to impact not just Arctic communities but also anyone who eats fish in the entire world.”

Weathering a Storm of Setbacks

Growing up in rural Vermont, Bullock spent a lot of time outside, and she attributes her strong interest in environmental studies to her love of nature as a child. Despite her conviction about a career path involving the environment, her path to the Institute has not been easy. In fact, Bullock weathered several challenges and setbacks on the road to MIT.

As an undergraduate at Haverford College, Bullock quickly recognized that she did not have the same advantages as other students. She realized that her biggest challenge in pursuing an academic career was her socioeconomic background. She says, “In Vermont, the cost of living is a bit lower than a lot of other areas. So, I didn’t quite realize until I got to undergrad that I was not as middle-class as I thought.” Bullock had learned financial prudence from her parents, which informed many of the decisions she made as a student. She says, “I didn’t have a phone in undergrad because it was a choice between getting a good laptop that I could do research on or a phone. And so I went with the laptop.”

Bullock majored in chemistry because Haverford did not offer an environmental science major. To gain experience in environmental research, she joined the lab of Helen White, focusing on the use of silicone bands as passive samplers of volatile organic compounds in honeybee hives. A pivotal moment occurred when Bullock identified errors in a collaborative project. She says, “[Dr. White and I] brought the information about flawed statistical tests to the collaborators, who were all men. They were not happy with that. They made comments that they did not like being told how to do chemistry by women.”

White sat Bullock down and explained the pervasiveness of sexism in this field. “She said, ‘You have to remember that it is not you. You are a good scientist. You are capable,’” Bullock recalls. That experience strengthened her resolve to become an environmental scientist. “The way that Dr. Helen White approached dealing with this problem made me want to stick in the STEM field, and in the environmental and geochemistry fields specifically. It made me realize that we need more women in these fields,” she says.

As she reached the end of college, Bullock knew that she wanted to continue her educational journey in environmental science. “Environmental science impacts the world around us in such visible ways, especially now with climate change,” she says. She submitted applications to many graduate programs, including to MIT, which was White’s alma mater, but was rejected by all of them.

Undeterred, Bullock decided to get more research experience. She took a position as a lab technician at the Max Planck Institute of Marine Microbiology in Bremen, Germany, where she studied methane emissions from seagrass beds — her first foray into chemical oceanography. A year later, she applied to graduate schools again and was accepted by nearly all of the programs, including MIT. She hopes her experience can serve as a lesson for future applicants. “Just because you get rejected the first time does not mean that you’re not a good candidate. It just means that you may not have the right experience or that you didn’t understand the application process correctly,” she says.

Understanding the Ocean Through the Lens of Chemistry

Ultimately, Bullock chose MIT because she was most interested in the specific scientific projects within the program and liked the sense of community. “It is a very unique program because we have the opportunity to take classes at MIT and access to the resources that MIT has, but we also perform research at Woods Hole,” she says. Some people warned her about the cutthroat nature of the Institute, but Bullock has found the exact opposite to be a true. “A lot of people think of MIT, and they think it is one of those top tier schools, so it must be competitive. My experience in this program is that it is very collaborative because our research is so individual and unique that you really can’t be competitive. What you are doing is so different from any other student,” she says.

Bullock joined the group of Matthew Charette, senior scientist and director of the WHOI Sea Grant Program, which investigates the ocean through a chemical lens by characterizing the Arctic groundwater sampled during field campaigns in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. Bullock analyzes mercury and biotoxic methylmercury levels impacted by permafrost thaw, which is already affecting the health of Arctic communities. For comparison, Bullock points to mercury-based dental fillings, which have been the subject of scientific scrutiny for health impacts. She says, “You get more mercury by eating sushi and tuna and salmon than you would by having a mercury-based dental filling.”

Environmental Advocacy and Future Aspirations

Bullock has been recognized as an Arctic PASSION Ambassador for her work in the historically underresearched Arctic region. As part of this program, she was invited to participate in a “sharing circle,” which connected early-career scientists with Indigenous community members, and then empowered them to pass what they learned about the importance of Arctic research onto their communities. This experience has been the highlight of her PhD journey so far. She says, “It was small enough, and the people there were invested enough in the issues that we got to have very interesting, dynamic conversations, which doesn’t always happen at typical conferences.”

Bullock has also spearheaded her own form of environmental activism via a project called en-justice, which she launched in September 2023. Through a website and a traveling art exhibit, the project showcases portraits and interviews of lesser-known environmental advocates that “have arguably done more for the environment but are not as famous” as household names like Greta Thunberg and Leonardo DiCaprio.

“They are doing things like going to town halls, arguing with politicians, getting petitions signed … the very nitty-gritty type work. I wanted to create a platform that highlighted some of these people from around the country but also inspired people in their own communities to try and make a change,” she says. Bullock has also written an op-ed for the WHOI magazine, Oceanus, and has served as a staff writer for the MIT-WHOI Joint Program newsletter, “Through the Porthole.”

After she graduates this year, Bullock plans to continue her focus on the Arctic. She says, “I find Arctic research very interesting, and there are so many unanswered research questions.” She also aspires to foster further interactions like the sharing circle.

“Trying to find a way where I can help facilitate Arctic communities and researchers in terms of finding each other and finding common interests would be a dream role. But I don’t know if that job exists,” Bullock says. Given her track record of overcoming obstacles, odds are, she will turn these aspirations into reality.

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Why no one won this year’s water wars

California's wet winter exposed enduring conflicts between fish and farms.

SACRAMENTO, California — California is having a really good water year. But all the rain and snow is doing almost nothing to lubricate the state’s perpetual conflicts between fish and farms.Neither farmers, cities nor environmentalists feel like they’re getting enough water from the State Water Project and the federally run Central Valley Project, a semi-coordinated labyrinth of reservoirs, canals and pumping stations that together irrigates nearly 4 million acres.Farmers and cities are arguing that the storms mean they should get more than the 40 percent of their contractual deliveries that they’ve been promised so far (they get about 63 percent on average). They’d have more of an argument if endangered fish weren’t also getting massacred at the pumps: The water projects have already exceeded their take limit for the season for steelhead trout, meaning they’re violating the Endangered Species Act.Everyone is frustrated with Gov. Gavin Newsom and President Joe Biden’s administrations, which operate the systems, as well as with themselves:“That water is not recoverable,” said Jennifer Pierre, general manager of the State Water Contractors, which represents the 27 water agencies that get supplies from the State Water Project, including the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California and the Santa Clara Valley Water District. “We should all be in timeout right now.”With so many cooks in the kitchen, there’s a variety of culprits. Westlands Water District, which gets its water from the CVP, is blaming the Biden administration, which runs the project through the Interior Department’s Bureau of Reclamation and the Commerce Department’s National Marine Fisheries Service.Westlands General Manager Allison Febbo said she thinks the high steelhead losses could have been due to the fish returning in above-average numbers, rather than to pumping decisions. She’s calling for a hearing in the Republican-led House into how the CVP applied the Endangered Species Act this year.“We are frustrated,” she said in an interview. “The actions being taken have real world consequences in our district, and we don’t see those actions particularly substantiated.”Jon Rosenfield, science director of the environmental group San Francisco Baykeeper, is pointing at Newsom’s Department of Water Resources, which he argues loosened protections for fish during the last drought.“This is a direct result of the Newsom administration waiving its water quality rules, which it already acknowledges are inadequate, for three years in a row,” he said. He also said the state ran its pumps too early, when there were a lot of fish present.Newsom administration officials are penitent and vowing to change, but are also making the argument for more investment.DWR Director Karla Nemeth called the low allocations “unusual” and traced them in part to more real-time efforts by the state to protect endangered fish after a severe die-off roughly two decades ago prompted lawsuits.She outlined a series of “fixes,” including increasing genetic testing of fish to better figure out which ones absolutely need to be protected and building the Delta Conveyance Project, a controversial tunnel to reroute deliveries underneath the overplumbed Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta.“This year was kind of a poster child for infrastructure that’s not really up to the challenge of the next century, and more work that needs to be done,” she said in an interview.(Reclamation didn’t respond to a request for comment, while NMFS said “We limit impacts on threatened and endangered species based on all of the best available science to protect them and provide opportunities for their recovery.”)The fight will continue playing out in several venues: State and federal agencies are currently renegotiating the underlying fish-science documents that guide management decisions, which are still governed by Trump-era rules.And last week, they kicked off the monthlong process to plan summer releases from Lake Shasta, the largest reservoir in the state, which will crystallize the conflict as well as anything: Water managers will try to find a balance between releasing water for farms when they need it in the summer and maintaining cool-enough water reserves to send down rivers to protect endangered salmon eggs in the fall.On one point, everyone agrees: California’s water system is broken, whether it’s a wet, a dry or average year.“I don’t think that we are well-positioned for the type of adaptive management and real-time response that’s going to be needed in order to maximize our resources for the environment and for people and farms,” Pierre said. “This year really highlighted that.”Like this content? Consider signing up for POLITICO’s California Climate newsletter.

U.S. Plan to Protect Oceans Has a Problem, Some Say: Too Much Fishing

An effort to protect 30 percent of land and waters would count some commercial fishing zones as conserved areas.

New details of the Biden administration’s signature conservation effort, made public this month amid a burst of other environmental announcements, have alarmed some scientists who study marine protected areas because the plan would count certain commercial fishing zones as conserved.The decision could have ripple effects around the world as nations work toward fulfilling a broader global commitment to safeguard 30 percent of the entire planet’s land, inland waters and seas. That effort has been hailed as historic, but the critical question of what, exactly, counts as conserved is still being decided.This early answer from the Biden administration is worrying, researchers say, because high-impact commercial fishing is incompatible with the goals of the efforts.“Saying that these areas that are touted to be for biodiversity conservation should also do double duty for fishing as well, especially highly impactful gears that are for large-scale commercial take, there’s just a cognitive dissonance there,” said Kirsten Grorud-Colvert, a marine biologist at Oregon State University who led a group of scientists that in 2021 published a guide for evaluating marine protected areas.The debate is unfolding amid a global biodiversity crisis that is speeding extinctions and eroding ecosystems, according to a landmark intergovernmental assessment. As the natural world degrades, its ability to give humans essentials like food and clean water also diminishes. The primary driver of biodiversity declines in the ocean, the assessment found, is overfishing. Climate change is an additional and ever-worsening threat.Fish are an important source of nutrition for billions of people around the world. Research shows that effectively conserving key areas is an key tool to keep stocks healthy while also protecting other ocean life.Subscribe to The Times to read as many articles as you like.

Megadrought forces end to sugarcane farming in parched Texas borderland

The state’s last sugar processing mill closed because there’s just not enough water in the Rio Grande to share between the US and MexicoTudor Uhlhorn has been too busy auctioning off agricultural equipment to grieve the “death” of Texas’s last sugar mill.“I’m as sad as anyone else,” said the chairman of the board of the Rio Grande Valley Sugar Growers cooperative, which owns the now-shuttered mill in Santa Rosa, a small town about 40 miles from Brownsville. “I just haven’t had a whole lot of time to mourn.” Continue reading...

Tudor Uhlhorn has been too busy auctioning off agricultural equipment to grieve the “death” of Texas’s last sugar mill.“I’m as sad as anyone else,” said the chairman of the board of the Rio Grande Valley Sugar Growers cooperative, which owns the now-shuttered mill in Santa Rosa, a small town about 40 miles from Brownsville. “I just haven’t had a whole lot of time to mourn.”In February, the cooperative announced that it would close its 50-year-old sugarcane processing mill, the last remaining in the state, by the end of this spring. It didn’t even make it to the end of the season, with most workers employed until 29 April. Ongoing megadrought meant there wasn’t enough water to irrigate co-op members’ 34,000 acres of sugarcane, and that effectively puts an end to sugarcane farming in the south Texas borderlands.Co-op leadership blame this on ongoing shortages related to a US water-sharing agreement that splits Rio Grande River water with Mexico. If only Mexico had released water from its reservoirs to American farmers as decreed by a 1944 treaty, Uhlhorn told the Guardian, sugarcane might have been saved. Phone calls and emails to various Mexican consulates were not returned.But sugarcane’s demise in Texas is indicative of many agricultural areas’ water woes. Increasingly dry farms find themselves vying with other farms, cities, industries and mining operations for dwindling resources. In 2022, drought decimated Texas cotton and forced California growers to idle half their rice fields. Water disputes are also on the rise as decreased flows in the Colorado River and other vital waterways pit state against state, states against native nations and farmers against municipalities.“That story is playing out all across the western US,” said Maurice Hall, senior adviser on climate-resilient water systems at the Environmental Defense Fund (EDF). And irrigated agriculture, “which uses the dominant part of our managed water supply in most of the arid and semi-arid western US, is right in the middle of it”. Sugarcane may be the first irrigated crop to go under in the lower Rio Grande. But it probably won’t be the last.By early March, the mill had harvested the last sugarcane crops from about 100 area producers, including from the 7,000-acre farm Travis Johnson works with his uncle in Lyford, Texas. His family has farmed this land for 100 years, but sugarcane – a lucrative crop thanks to government subsidies – was a new addition about 20 years ago.As the lower Rio Grande’s notoriously fierce winds gusted through his phone, Johnson sounded resigned to the end of his family farm’s sugarcane era. For the near future, he’ll be growing more of the cotton, corn and grains that fill out the rest of his acreage. “It was nice to have another crop we could rely on,” he said. “Sugarcane was something that we could harvest and get money for during a time when we were spending money on our other crops.”Though sugarcane was a reliable cash crop, it is also a water hog. In a place like the lower Rio Grande, where average rainfall is 29 inches or less a year, sugarcane requires up to 50 inches of water a year. It cannot grow here without irrigation. The co-op’s sugar mill churned out 60,000 tons of molasses and 160,000 tons of raw sugar annually, and that’s also a water-heavy business.“So many of the steps along that process require a massive amount of water,” starting with washing cane when it comes in from the field, said journalist Celeste Headlee, whose Big Sugar podcast explored Florida’s exploitative sugar industry. (The bulk of US sugarcane is commercially in only two other states, Florida and Louisiana; less water-intensive sugar beets are grown in cooler states like Minnesota and North Dakota).Per the 1944 treaty, Mexico is obligated to deliver 1.75m acre-feet of water to the US in any given five-year cycle (the current cycle ends in October 2025).Burnt sugar cane is spread out at an even height at Rio Grande Valley Sugar Mill in Santa Rosa, Texas, in 2005. Photograph: Joe Hermosa/AP“This thing worked pretty good up until 1992,” said Uhlhorn, when “we got into a situation where Mexico was not delivering their water” due to extraordinary drought – a scenario that played out again in the early 2000s. In 2022, Rio Grande reservoirs fell to treacherously low capacities. A storm eventually dumped rain mostly on the Mexican side; what fell in Texas “was enough water for maybe one irrigation, but you’d have to starve your other crops” in order to water sugarcane, Uhlhorn said. A Texas Farm Bureau publication said that Mexico currently “owes 736,000 acre-feet of water”.Lack of water caused Texas growers to plow under thousands of acres of sugarcane during the last growing season. “So now [the farmers are] down to 10,000 acres and we’re no longer viable,” explained Uhlhorn about the decision to end production. “Even if we had the best yields ever, with our fixed costs, the mill would have lost millions of dollars.”The Texas A&M agricultural economist Luis Ribera said: “It’s not that Mexico is holding the water because they are bad neighbors. They’re using it” because drought has plagued both sides of the border. As David Michel, senior fellow for water security at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, elaborated, the entire Rio Grande [Valley] faces these challenges “from source to sea. Users on both sides of the border are going to have to define water efficiencies and conservation strategies to mitigate these pressures.” In other words, said Travis Johnson, the mill closure “is probably going to be a wake-up call for farmers in our area, whenever we do get water again, to try to conserve it as much as possible”.In the immediate post-closure period, Uhlhorn and the cooperative members are selling off equipment to settle debts and trying to find replacement jobs for mill staff at places like SpaceX and the Brownsville Ship Channel. The facility employed 100 full-time workers and supported another 300 part-time laborers. The cooperative also reportedly shipped all remaining sugar from its warehouses more than 600 miles away to the Domino refinery in Chalmette, Louisiana, one of the hemisphere’s largest sugar processors.The Santa Rosa sugar mill was a vital cog in an industry that generated an estimated $100m annual in economic impact from four counties in the lower Rio Grande. The loss of jobs and community revenue might well extend to the valley’s $200m citrus industry, which also is struggling to meet its water needs and survive.“I wish I could tell you we had all the answers and we were geniuses, and we were going to avoid what happened to the sugar mill. But I can’t,” said Dale Murden, a grapefruit and cattle farmer. “Water going into the spring and summer is as low as it’s ever been, and some water districts have already notified customers they’re out [of water] for the year. Without rains and inflows and cooperation from Mexico, we are in serious trouble.”The International Boundary and Water Commission, which is responsible for applying the 1944 treaty, began negotiating a new provision to it – called a “minute” – in 2023, with the aim of “bringing predictability and reliability to Rio Grande deliveries to users in both countries”, a spokesperson wrote in an email.Vanessa Puig-Williams, EDF’s Texas water program director, said that if the new minute focuses on the science of how much water is actually available on both sides of the border, that would be an opportunity “to think more innovatively and creatively about how we can conserve some of those water rights”.Either way, Michel said farmers must adjust to a thirstier reality. That might include using recycled water and tools like moisture sensors, finding better irrigation techniques and planting more drought-resistant crop varieties. And they may have to reconcile themselves to the fact “you won’t be able to do [certain things] any more just because there isn’t water”.Chelsea Fisher, a University of South Carolina anthropologist who studies environmental justice conflicts, said lessons relevant to the current water crisis can be found throughout agricultural history. “Something that you notice across societies that manage to farm sustainably for at least several centuries is that they’re emulating relationships that already exist in nature – whether that means copying the way that wetlands recycle nutrients, whether it’s dryland farming that is very much in sync with the ways that water naturally gathers in certain places,” she said.In fact, Johnson plans to stop growing crops that require irrigation. Instead, he’ll focus only on those that can be grown with naturally available moisture. “I don’t think [the water situation] just amazingly gets better overnight,” he said.The Environmental Defense Fund’s Hall said that the water crisis was pushing growers to ask: “What is the future that we want? And how do we move toward that future, recognizing with a clear-eyed view what the real hydrology is? … People want to continue doing what they’ve been doing. But at some point, undesirable things are going to happen. Things like sugarcane and industries and whole communities going away. Farmers who are willing to listen to what the science is telling us is going to happen, and to think about how we can do things differently: that is where the real innovation at scale is going to happen.”Reporting for this piece was supported by a media fellowship from the Nova Institute for Health

As California cracks down on groundwater, what will happen to fallowed farmland?

California water regulators are cracking down on the overuse of groundwater by farmers. Enforcement could prompt them to idle thousands of acres of farmland and poses larger questions about what will happen to the affected fields.

In summary California water regulators are cracking down on the overuse of groundwater by farmers. Enforcement could prompt them to idle thousands of acres of farmland and poses larger questions about what will happen to the affected fields. A couple of weeks ago, the California Water Resources Control Board put five agricultural water agencies in Kings County on probation for failing to adequately manage underground water supplies in the Tulare Lake Basin that have been seriously depleted due to overpumping. It was the state’s first major enforcement action under the State Groundwater Management Act, passed a decade ago to protect the aquifers that farmers have used to supplement or replace water from reservoirs that’s curtailed during periods of drought. In some areas, so much groundwater has been pumped that the land above it has collapsed, a phenomenon known as subsidence. The board’s action on April 16 not only subjects the Kings County agencies to fees and tighter monitoring but sends a message to irrigators throughout the state that they must get serious about eliminating overdrafts after having a decade to adopt aquifer management plans. Curtailing groundwater use is not an isolated event, but rather a significant piece of the state’s declared intent to reduce the share of water devoted to agriculture – roughly three quarters of overall human use – as the state adjusts to the effects of climate change. As if to punctuate that goal, federal water managers have told San Joaquin Valley farmers that despite two wet winters they will receive less than half of their contracted allocations of water during this year’s growing season. In decades past, when surface water from reservoirs has fallen short of demand, farmers have drilled deep wells to tap aquifers. With the state water board cracking down on groundwater, it is inevitable, experts say, that some fields will have to be taken out of production. The Public Policy Institute of California, which closely monitors management of the state’s water supply, has estimated that at least 500,000 acres of farmland will be fallowed when the groundwater law is fully implemented. Whose lands will be affected, what happens to idled acreage and the financial impacts are issues hovering over groundwater reduction. One day after the water board’s crackdown on Kings County, a hint of those issues surfaced as the Assembly Utilities and Energy Committee approved legislation that would make it easier for farmers whose access to groundwater is restricted to convert their fields into solar energy farms. Assembly Bill 2528, carried by Assemblyman Joaquin Arambula, a Fresno Democrat, would allow affected farmers to withdraw their land from Williamson Act conservation contracts and use it for solar power generation without paying the stiff cancellation fees now in current law. The six-decade-old Williamson Act gives farmers big reductions in their property taxes in return for making long-term commitments to keep land in agricultural production. Learn more about legislators mentioned in this story. Joaquin Arambula Democrat, State Assembly, District 31 (Fresno) Arambula told the committee that “many agricultural landowners are at risk of losing access to water that is essential for their ability to farm their land (and) this confluence of water sustainability needs and clean energy demand creates an opportunity for us to craft an approach that addresses multiple economic and environmental goals.” The bill is backed by the solar power industry and the Western Growers Association, which generally represents large farmers. However, the California Farm Bureau, with many relatively small farmers as members, is opposed, saying the bill could undermine the Williamson Act’s goal of conserving farmland. The split between the two farm groups implies that as groundwater is curtailed, there will be a scramble over the conversion of fallowed fields. Some farmers are already lining up deals with solar energy interests that would be even more lucrative if they can cancel their Williamson Act contracts without paying hefty cancellation fees, as much as 25% of the land’s value.

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