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Data Centers Are the Next Big Front in Environmental Wars

News Feed
Friday, December 13, 2024

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the underappreciated and outsize significance of local environmental battles: small-town fights over development plans whose outcomes affect both the health of the community in question and the broader tallies of the energy transition. What do those look like in practice? This week, Bloomberg’s lengthy feature on a fight over a new data center in Fayetteville, Georgia, offers a reminder that new iterations, new industries, and new face-offs are always right around the corner. Pipelines are some of the more famous and recognizable examples of how local fights come with national ramifications: The protests and legal challenges to the Dakota Access Pipeline have become an iconic symbol of Indigenous resistance to the fossil fuel projects that are damaging culturally and religiously significant sites and endangering water supplies. The cancellation of the Atlantic Coast Pipeline in 2020 due to rising costs, after numerous marginalized communities along its planned route challenged the project in court and through protests, likewise became a case study in how local battles over the health and safety of a given community can affect emissions at the national level, as well: Some estimates suggested the ACP would have been responsible for emissions roughly equivalent to 20 new coal plants, while Clean Water for North Carolina calculated that the unintentional, leaked methane from the pipeline alone might increase the atmosphere-warming effect of national methane emissions by over 13 percent.Pipelines are far from the only example. For a different type of local environmental fight—and one that confounded expectations of ordinary red-blue divides—read Colin Jerolmack’s piece a few years ago about predominantly conservative Grant Township’s efforts to restrict fracking-related pollution, which escalated to the point that it put residents in conflict with state authorities.There have long been similar efforts underway against petrochemical plants. Larger philanthropic organizations and national nonprofits have only recently begun supporting the tireless efforts of local groups in Louisiana’s “Cancer Alley,” where numerous refineries, as well as chemical and plastic plants, are situated perilously close to the low-income, majority-Black communities where cancer rates are estimated to be 95 percent higher than in the rest of the country. New measurements taken this summer in southeastern Louisiana found levels of carcinogenic ethylene oxide in the air that were as much as 10 times higher than EPA-recommended limits. Then there are fights over concentrated animal feeding operations that, again, disproportionately pollute low-income, nonwhite communities while also contributing to land use problems, biodiversity crises, emissions, and more. Here too, the contours of environmental justice battles are ever evolving: The current hype around biogas—a way for industrial meat producers to make money selling animal waste by-products for fuel—and the tax incentives supporting it, have spawned new twists on old environmental fights over industrial agriculture. In May, NC Newsline reported a former mayor’s dismay that, despite his town of Turkey, North Carolina, banning hog farms within city limits, a biogas plant using the very same hog waste the town had wanted to keep out was setting up shop just east of him: “I never imagined they’d bring the manure to us.”On first glance, community opposition to a new data center might seem much different from these battles: The primary reason for opposition is not the near certainty of pollution that you get with these other installations. (As Nick Martin wrote at TNR in 2019, reviewing pipeline spill data, “The simple fact is that it is a matter of when, not if, a series micro-fractures or a loose bolt or a lightning strike will send the pipe’s contents into the ground.”)Yet look a bit closer, and familiar dynamics emerge. Data-center developer QTS and its new asset manager–owner Blackstone, Inc., came in promising rural Fayetteville something simple: money. It’s the same way that pipeline or biogas pitches to towns tend to start: with promises of economic benefit, including via jobs—although the promised number of jobs often turns out to be exaggerated or only refer to temporary positions. In the case of Fayetteville’s data center, “the portion of QTS’s taxes going to the county board of education this year will cover the equivalent of some half a dozen teachers’ salaries,” Bloomberg’s Dawn Lim and Josh Saul report. But in a manner similar to how these negotiations have played out with pipeline or fracking plans, the residents of Fayetteville quickly began to feel they had been misled. They say they were told the data center wouldn’t need more electricity than what was already available from the local grid and could use “existing transmission lines.” (QTS disputes this.) The actual power needed turned out to be about twice what one report suggested, with new power lines needing to be built. That’s where the problems started.The power company serving the area, Georgia Power, then tried to secure new land for power lines, but residents weren’t wild about being paid a couple grand in exchange for trees being cut down and giant new transmission lines being installed on their property. Georgia Power accordingly started offering much larger, six-figure sums of money. Now residents fear their neighbors are being bought off and that their lands could be “seized” by eminent domain if they themselves refuse.This small fight is part of a larger national—and even global—battle over the giant environmental costs of big tech and, specifically, new forms of artificial intelligence. The data center, Lim and Saul report, is part of Blackstone’s quest to become “the largest financial investor in AI infrastructure.” Microsoft, which like many tech companies is betting big on AI, will reportedly be one client for the new data center.Liza Featherstone wrote earlier this year about the enormous energy and water demands from AI data centers “endangering the energy transition” that is desperately needed to avert climate catastrophe. There’s already evidence that AI energy demands are keeping high-polluting coal plants running past their planned retirement dates. While tech companies and their advocates have been quick to argue that AI tools could help meet environmental goals rather than derail them, an estimate this fall from Bain & Company suggested data centers for AI could make up 44 percent of U.S. electrical growth in coming years, requiring utilities “to boost annual generation by up to 26% by 2028.” Tech companies have been keen to insist that this demand can be met with new nuclear energy. But there isn’t much evidence to suggest that this can be done in the short term—and when it comes to the climate crisis, every additional day burning fossil fuels comes with steep costs.As Bloomberg’s feature indicates, data centers are worth watching as a major emerging field for environmental battles, much like power plants and pipelines have been for decades. And while the industries may differ, these fights are likely to follow familiar patterns.Good News/Bad NewsFive young Hawaiian crows—extinct in the wild—were recently released in Maui, after careful raising and “anti-predator training” using cats and owls. The once-frozen Arctic tundra is now releasing more carbon than it stores, due to thawing. Stat of the Week3,400That’s how many fewer premature deaths per year we might have in this country if all households were to switch from fossil fuels to heat pumps and electric appliances, according to a new study. (This would also save $60 billion in energy bills each year and cut 400 million metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions, according to The New York Times write-up, but it’s the 300,000-ton drop in fine particulate matter that would make the big difference in saving lives.)What I’m ReadingCNN’s Leah Dolan profiles Barbie-loving photographer Anastasia Samoylova, whose “subtle, anxiety-inducing images of Florida’s collapsing pastel-pink landscapes” are suffused with an acute awareness of climate change.Samoylova moved to Florida in 2016, where she was struck by the state’s severe weather events and aging infrastructure.… The insidious, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it approach to her observational photography is intentional. Several years of capturing political extremism, gentrification and environmental disintegration has given Samoylova time to think about how to package disastrous messaging. “How do you communicate these very complex subjects and make them relatable?” she asks. “The trickiest part is to not make them off-putting.” Come for the pink sidewalks that characterize the streets of Miami—as many tourists do—and stay for the subsequent feelings of existential dread. It’s a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down, she says. “(Climate change) is stigmatized, and it’s become divisive, at least where I live in the US, especially in Florida. And who knows, it’s likely going to be erased from the conversation again.”Read Leah Dolan’s full profile at CNN.This article first appeared in Life in a Warming World, a weekly TNR newsletter authored by deputy editor Heather Souvaine Horn. Sign up here.

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the underappreciated and outsize significance of local environmental battles: small-town fights over development plans whose outcomes affect both the health of the community in question and the broader tallies of the energy transition. What do those look like in practice? This week, Bloomberg’s lengthy feature on a fight over a new data center in Fayetteville, Georgia, offers a reminder that new iterations, new industries, and new face-offs are always right around the corner. Pipelines are some of the more famous and recognizable examples of how local fights come with national ramifications: The protests and legal challenges to the Dakota Access Pipeline have become an iconic symbol of Indigenous resistance to the fossil fuel projects that are damaging culturally and religiously significant sites and endangering water supplies. The cancellation of the Atlantic Coast Pipeline in 2020 due to rising costs, after numerous marginalized communities along its planned route challenged the project in court and through protests, likewise became a case study in how local battles over the health and safety of a given community can affect emissions at the national level, as well: Some estimates suggested the ACP would have been responsible for emissions roughly equivalent to 20 new coal plants, while Clean Water for North Carolina calculated that the unintentional, leaked methane from the pipeline alone might increase the atmosphere-warming effect of national methane emissions by over 13 percent.Pipelines are far from the only example. For a different type of local environmental fight—and one that confounded expectations of ordinary red-blue divides—read Colin Jerolmack’s piece a few years ago about predominantly conservative Grant Township’s efforts to restrict fracking-related pollution, which escalated to the point that it put residents in conflict with state authorities.There have long been similar efforts underway against petrochemical plants. Larger philanthropic organizations and national nonprofits have only recently begun supporting the tireless efforts of local groups in Louisiana’s “Cancer Alley,” where numerous refineries, as well as chemical and plastic plants, are situated perilously close to the low-income, majority-Black communities where cancer rates are estimated to be 95 percent higher than in the rest of the country. New measurements taken this summer in southeastern Louisiana found levels of carcinogenic ethylene oxide in the air that were as much as 10 times higher than EPA-recommended limits. Then there are fights over concentrated animal feeding operations that, again, disproportionately pollute low-income, nonwhite communities while also contributing to land use problems, biodiversity crises, emissions, and more. Here too, the contours of environmental justice battles are ever evolving: The current hype around biogas—a way for industrial meat producers to make money selling animal waste by-products for fuel—and the tax incentives supporting it, have spawned new twists on old environmental fights over industrial agriculture. In May, NC Newsline reported a former mayor’s dismay that, despite his town of Turkey, North Carolina, banning hog farms within city limits, a biogas plant using the very same hog waste the town had wanted to keep out was setting up shop just east of him: “I never imagined they’d bring the manure to us.”On first glance, community opposition to a new data center might seem much different from these battles: The primary reason for opposition is not the near certainty of pollution that you get with these other installations. (As Nick Martin wrote at TNR in 2019, reviewing pipeline spill data, “The simple fact is that it is a matter of when, not if, a series micro-fractures or a loose bolt or a lightning strike will send the pipe’s contents into the ground.”)Yet look a bit closer, and familiar dynamics emerge. Data-center developer QTS and its new asset manager–owner Blackstone, Inc., came in promising rural Fayetteville something simple: money. It’s the same way that pipeline or biogas pitches to towns tend to start: with promises of economic benefit, including via jobs—although the promised number of jobs often turns out to be exaggerated or only refer to temporary positions. In the case of Fayetteville’s data center, “the portion of QTS’s taxes going to the county board of education this year will cover the equivalent of some half a dozen teachers’ salaries,” Bloomberg’s Dawn Lim and Josh Saul report. But in a manner similar to how these negotiations have played out with pipeline or fracking plans, the residents of Fayetteville quickly began to feel they had been misled. They say they were told the data center wouldn’t need more electricity than what was already available from the local grid and could use “existing transmission lines.” (QTS disputes this.) The actual power needed turned out to be about twice what one report suggested, with new power lines needing to be built. That’s where the problems started.The power company serving the area, Georgia Power, then tried to secure new land for power lines, but residents weren’t wild about being paid a couple grand in exchange for trees being cut down and giant new transmission lines being installed on their property. Georgia Power accordingly started offering much larger, six-figure sums of money. Now residents fear their neighbors are being bought off and that their lands could be “seized” by eminent domain if they themselves refuse.This small fight is part of a larger national—and even global—battle over the giant environmental costs of big tech and, specifically, new forms of artificial intelligence. The data center, Lim and Saul report, is part of Blackstone’s quest to become “the largest financial investor in AI infrastructure.” Microsoft, which like many tech companies is betting big on AI, will reportedly be one client for the new data center.Liza Featherstone wrote earlier this year about the enormous energy and water demands from AI data centers “endangering the energy transition” that is desperately needed to avert climate catastrophe. There’s already evidence that AI energy demands are keeping high-polluting coal plants running past their planned retirement dates. While tech companies and their advocates have been quick to argue that AI tools could help meet environmental goals rather than derail them, an estimate this fall from Bain & Company suggested data centers for AI could make up 44 percent of U.S. electrical growth in coming years, requiring utilities “to boost annual generation by up to 26% by 2028.” Tech companies have been keen to insist that this demand can be met with new nuclear energy. But there isn’t much evidence to suggest that this can be done in the short term—and when it comes to the climate crisis, every additional day burning fossil fuels comes with steep costs.As Bloomberg’s feature indicates, data centers are worth watching as a major emerging field for environmental battles, much like power plants and pipelines have been for decades. And while the industries may differ, these fights are likely to follow familiar patterns.Good News/Bad NewsFive young Hawaiian crows—extinct in the wild—were recently released in Maui, after careful raising and “anti-predator training” using cats and owls. The once-frozen Arctic tundra is now releasing more carbon than it stores, due to thawing. Stat of the Week3,400That’s how many fewer premature deaths per year we might have in this country if all households were to switch from fossil fuels to heat pumps and electric appliances, according to a new study. (This would also save $60 billion in energy bills each year and cut 400 million metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions, according to The New York Times write-up, but it’s the 300,000-ton drop in fine particulate matter that would make the big difference in saving lives.)What I’m ReadingCNN’s Leah Dolan profiles Barbie-loving photographer Anastasia Samoylova, whose “subtle, anxiety-inducing images of Florida’s collapsing pastel-pink landscapes” are suffused with an acute awareness of climate change.Samoylova moved to Florida in 2016, where she was struck by the state’s severe weather events and aging infrastructure.… The insidious, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it approach to her observational photography is intentional. Several years of capturing political extremism, gentrification and environmental disintegration has given Samoylova time to think about how to package disastrous messaging. “How do you communicate these very complex subjects and make them relatable?” she asks. “The trickiest part is to not make them off-putting.” Come for the pink sidewalks that characterize the streets of Miami—as many tourists do—and stay for the subsequent feelings of existential dread. It’s a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down, she says. “(Climate change) is stigmatized, and it’s become divisive, at least where I live in the US, especially in Florida. And who knows, it’s likely going to be erased from the conversation again.”Read Leah Dolan’s full profile at CNN.This article first appeared in Life in a Warming World, a weekly TNR newsletter authored by deputy editor Heather Souvaine Horn. Sign up here.

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the underappreciated and outsize significance of local environmental battles: small-town fights over development plans whose outcomes affect both the health of the community in question and the broader tallies of the energy transition. What do those look like in practice? This week, Bloomberg’s lengthy feature on a fight over a new data center in Fayetteville, Georgia, offers a reminder that new iterations, new industries, and new face-offs are always right around the corner.

Pipelines are some of the more famous and recognizable examples of how local fights come with national ramifications: The protests and legal challenges to the Dakota Access Pipeline have become an iconic symbol of Indigenous resistance to the fossil fuel projects that are damaging culturally and religiously significant sites and endangering water supplies. The cancellation of the Atlantic Coast Pipeline in 2020 due to rising costs, after numerous marginalized communities along its planned route challenged the project in court and through protests, likewise became a case study in how local battles over the health and safety of a given community can affect emissions at the national level, as well: Some estimates suggested the ACP would have been responsible for emissions roughly equivalent to 20 new coal plants, while Clean Water for North Carolina calculated that the unintentional, leaked methane from the pipeline alone might increase the atmosphere-warming effect of national methane emissions by over 13 percent.

Pipelines are far from the only example. For a different type of local environmental fight—and one that confounded expectations of ordinary red-blue divides—read Colin Jerolmack’s piece a few years ago about predominantly conservative Grant Township’s efforts to restrict fracking-related pollution, which escalated to the point that it put residents in conflict with state authorities.

There have long been similar efforts underway against petrochemical plants. Larger philanthropic organizations and national nonprofits have only recently begun supporting the tireless efforts of local groups in Louisiana’s “Cancer Alley,” where numerous refineries, as well as chemical and plastic plants, are situated perilously close to the low-income, majority-Black communities where cancer rates are estimated to be 95 percent higher than in the rest of the country. New measurements taken this summer in southeastern Louisiana found levels of carcinogenic ethylene oxide in the air that were as much as 10 times higher than EPA-recommended limits.

Then there are fights over concentrated animal feeding operations that, again, disproportionately pollute low-income, nonwhite communities while also contributing to land use problems, biodiversity crises, emissions, and more. Here too, the contours of environmental justice battles are ever evolving: The current hype around biogas—a way for industrial meat producers to make money selling animal waste by-products for fuel—and the tax incentives supporting it, have spawned new twists on old environmental fights over industrial agriculture. In May, NC Newsline reported a former mayor’s dismay that, despite his town of Turkey, North Carolina, banning hog farms within city limits, a biogas plant using the very same hog waste the town had wanted to keep out was setting up shop just east of him: “I never imagined they’d bring the manure to us.”

On first glance, community opposition to a new data center might seem much different from these battles: The primary reason for opposition is not the near certainty of pollution that you get with these other installations. (As Nick Martin wrote at TNR in 2019, reviewing pipeline spill data, “The simple fact is that it is a matter of when, not if, a series micro-fractures or a loose bolt or a lightning strike will send the pipe’s contents into the ground.”)

Yet look a bit closer, and familiar dynamics emerge. Data-center developer QTS and its new asset manager–owner Blackstone, Inc., came in promising rural Fayetteville something simple: money. It’s the same way that pipeline or biogas pitches to towns tend to start: with promises of economic benefit, including via jobs—although the promised number of jobs often turns out to be exaggerated or only refer to temporary positions. In the case of Fayetteville’s data center, “the portion of QTS’s taxes going to the county board of education this year will cover the equivalent of some half a dozen teachers’ salaries,” Bloomberg’s Dawn Lim and Josh Saul report.

But in a manner similar to how these negotiations have played out with pipeline or fracking plans, the residents of Fayetteville quickly began to feel they had been misled. They say they were told the data center wouldn’t need more electricity than what was already available from the local grid and could use “existing transmission lines.” (QTS disputes this.) The actual power needed turned out to be about twice what one report suggested, with new power lines needing to be built. That’s where the problems started.

The power company serving the area, Georgia Power, then tried to secure new land for power lines, but residents weren’t wild about being paid a couple grand in exchange for trees being cut down and giant new transmission lines being installed on their property. Georgia Power accordingly started offering much larger, six-figure sums of money. Now residents fear their neighbors are being bought off and that their lands could be “seized” by eminent domain if they themselves refuse.

This small fight is part of a larger national—and even global—battle over the giant environmental costs of big tech and, specifically, new forms of artificial intelligence. The data center, Lim and Saul report, is part of Blackstone’s quest to become “the largest financial investor in AI infrastructure.” Microsoft, which like many tech companies is betting big on AI, will reportedly be one client for the new data center.

Liza Featherstone wrote earlier this year about the enormous energy and water demands from AI data centers “endangering the energy transition” that is desperately needed to avert climate catastrophe. There’s already evidence that AI energy demands are keeping high-polluting coal plants running past their planned retirement dates. While tech companies and their advocates have been quick to argue that AI tools could help meet environmental goals rather than derail them, an estimate this fall from Bain & Company suggested data centers for AI could make up 44 percent of U.S. electrical growth in coming years, requiring utilities “to boost annual generation by up to 26% by 2028.” Tech companies have been keen to insist that this demand can be met with new nuclear energy. But there isn’t much evidence to suggest that this can be done in the short term—and when it comes to the climate crisis, every additional day burning fossil fuels comes with steep costs.

As Bloomberg’s feature indicates, data centers are worth watching as a major emerging field for environmental battles, much like power plants and pipelines have been for decades. And while the industries may differ, these fights are likely to follow familiar patterns.


Good News/Bad News

Five young Hawaiian crows—extinct in the wild—were recently released in Maui, after careful raising and “anti-predator training” using cats and owls.

The once-frozen Arctic tundra is now releasing more carbon than it stores, due to thawing.


Stat of the Week
3,400

That’s how many fewer premature deaths per year we might have in this country if all households were to switch from fossil fuels to heat pumps and electric appliances, according to a new study. (This would also save $60 billion in energy bills each year and cut 400 million metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions, according to The New York Times write-up, but it’s the 300,000-ton drop in fine particulate matter that would make the big difference in saving lives.)


What I’m Reading

CNN’s Leah Dolan profiles Barbie-loving photographer Anastasia Samoylova, whose “subtle, anxiety-inducing images of Florida’s collapsing pastel-pink landscapes” are suffused with an acute awareness of climate change.

Samoylova moved to Florida in 2016, where she was struck by the state’s severe weather events and aging infrastructure.… The insidious, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it approach to her observational photography is intentional. Several years of capturing political extremism, gentrification and environmental disintegration has given Samoylova time to think about how to package disastrous messaging. “How do you communicate these very complex subjects and make them relatable?” she asks. “The trickiest part is to not make them off-putting.” Come for the pink sidewalks that characterize the streets of Miami—as many tourists do—and stay for the subsequent feelings of existential dread. It’s a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down, she says. “(Climate change) is stigmatized, and it’s become divisive, at least where I live in the US, especially in Florida. And who knows, it’s likely going to be erased from the conversation again.”

Read Leah Dolan’s full profile at CNN.

This article first appeared in Life in a Warming World, a weekly TNR newsletter authored by deputy editor Heather Souvaine Horn. Sign up here.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

Trump Administration Launches Regenerative Agriculture Pilot

December 10, 2025 – The Trump administration will direct $700 million into a voluntary regenerative agriculture pilot program that builds on existing conservation programs, top health and agriculture officials announced Wednesday. The funds will be split between existing conservation programs under the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA). This includes $300 million for the Conservation Stewardship Program (CSP) […] The post Trump Administration Launches Regenerative Agriculture Pilot appeared first on Civil Eats.

December 10, 2025 – The Trump administration will direct $700 million into a voluntary regenerative agriculture pilot program that builds on existing conservation programs, top health and agriculture officials announced Wednesday. The funds will be split between existing conservation programs under the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA). This includes $300 million for the Conservation Stewardship Program (CSP) and $400 million for the Environmental Quality Incentives Program (EQIP). These funds will come from the fiscal year 2026 budgets for both programs. USDA also plans to leverage the SUSTAINS Act to bring corporate partners and likely funds into the effort. The SUSTAINS Act allows the USDA to accept private funding to support conservation programs. While it was passed by Congress in 2023, the USDA under the Biden administration sought public input on how exactly to leverage these private funds. No companies appear to be tied to the plan yet. Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins said conservation efforts at the USDA’s Natural Resource Conservation Service (NRCS) are currently “severely fragmented,” or simply address one part of conservation. The new regenerative agriculture initiative aims to create a unified process that emphasizes whole-farm planning, she continued. This includes finding ways to address soil, water, farm vitality and more under one system. Such planning can improve soil health, an issue often raised by the Make America Healthy Again (MAHA) movement. Conservation groups welcomed the initiative, but raised questions about how it will be fully executed. Whole-farm planning is already part of CSP, said Jesse Womack, policy specialist at the National Sustainable Agriculture Coalition. However, seeing the USDA adopt this philosophy more broadly into conservation is a positive step, he said. Meanwhile, EQIP has often allowed producers to implement conservation practices individually, which is helpful for farmers taking a first step in this style of farming, he continued. “I think it’s really cool to imagine for folks experimenting with practices for the first time, that that experimenting is happening as part of a larger plan,” Womack said. Farm Action, a nonprofit that advocates for small farms, celebrated the investment but emphasized that the administration must ensure there is adequate staffing at NRCS to allocate funds “quickly and fairly.” The service has lost at least 2,400 employees since January due to Trump administration efforts to reduce the federal workforce. In its 2026 budget request, the administration suggested eliminating NRCS technical assistance. In the final appropriations bill that funds the USDA and other agencies, Congress took a more moderate approach, but still cut nearly $100 million. “Regenerative agriculture requires whole-farm, science-based planning, and right now the agency lacks the army of specialists needed to help farmers design and implement those plans,” Sarah Starman, senior food and agriculture campaigner at Friends of the Earth, said in a statement. Starman also said regenerative agriculture efforts need to include phasing out synthetic pesticides and fertilizers. The incentives under the new initiative for Integrated Pest Management “fall short” in creating an off-ramp from these chemicals, she continued. Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. joined Rollins at Wednesday’s announcement, calling the initiative the “fulfillment of a promise” made in the second MAHA Commission report. Kennedy has rallied against pesticides throughout his career. But so far, pesticide critics who have long backed Kennedy are questioning whether the administration is prepared to take substantial action. During the announcement, Kennedy dismissed concerns that recent Environmental Protection Agency approvals of pesticides and PFAS chemicals are threatening a key pillar of his supporters. “We’re in discussions with Lee Zeldin at EPA and we’re very very confident of his commitment to make sure to reduce toxic exposures to the American people,” Kennedy said. (Link to this post). The post Trump Administration Launches Regenerative Agriculture Pilot appeared first on Civil Eats.

When Elephants Trample Your Farm, Who Do You Call?

By reconnecting fragmented habitats, researcher Krithi Karanth is pioneering ways to reduce conflict between people and wildlife.

When Krithi Karanth walks into a forest village in the shadow of India’s Bandipur National Park, she is often greeted by farmers with cell phones in hand — ready to report video of a night-time encounter with an elephant herd, or the fresh tracks of a leopard that passed behind their homes. They are dispatches from the frontlines of some of the world’s most intense wildlife interactions. In the rolling green hills of India’s Western Ghats, survival depends on co-existing with high-density populations of some of the planet’s most imperiled species. That can come at a cost: Wild elephant herds can damage valuable banana plants, and tigers can turn up unexpectedly in sugarcane fields — threatening livestock and sometimes lives.  For farmers like Shankarappa in the region’s Naganapura village, these interactions often prompted fear. His family’s land lies just over half a mile away from Bandipur National Park, one of the last harbors of Asian elephants. “They’ve created a lot of issues,” he said.  Though global biodiversity is rapidly diminishing, many of the communities who live closest to nature are often left out of solutions. In many rural Indian regions, animals’ habitats are shrinking due to expanding agriculture and logging in forests. That’s forced villagers into closer contact with wildlife, often with devastating results. Karanth says the way forward is transforming how farmers perceive wildlife and empowering them to cope with the animals moving through their fields. The CEO at the Centre for Wildlife Studies, a nonprofit research organization based in India, Karanth grew up among the same forests where she now conducts research and implements conservation programs. Her father is wildlife ecologist Ullas Karanth, one of the world’s leading tiger biologists. “I spent much of my childhood outdoors, watching wildlife and exploring forests,” she recalled. That early connection with nature has shaped her approach to conservation. Krithi Karanth and her team show what coexistence looks like on the ground, from forest villages to farmers’ fields. To help communities struggling with wildlife interactions, Karanth launched a program in 2015 to make it easier to respond to wildlife encounters in real time. After a conflict occurs, farmers can call a toll-free number and leave a voice message with details of the incident. Within hours, a trained field assistant rides out to the area to document evidence of the losses and help the farmer file for government compensation.  Most cases reported pertain to crop losses, property damage, and livestock predation. But there are also occasional cases of human injuries or deaths. By making it easier for families to get quick responses, the Wild Seve program helps protect their safety and food security. Before Wild Seve, this was an expensive process that required time, travel, and endless forms. “It helps a lot with the time and the money,” says Shankarappa, who has now filed 59 claims and received nearly 96,000 rupees (around $1,082 dollars) in compensation. So far, Wild Seve has assisted more than 14,600 families across 3,495 settlements. Each report adds to a growing database of incidents, which researchers can use to study who is most affected by wildlife, and where repeat conflicts are most common. Its trained field staff are able to answer questions about both the encounters and the process, helping people gain trust in the program and its concrete solutions.  Paul Robbins, director of the Nelson Institute for Environmental Studies, who has conducted extensive fieldwork in India with CWS, explained that by turning the reporting process over to communities, “you finally get a realistic count of what’s happening — which is good for science, and even better for trust.” Crop damage from wildlife can wipe out half a year’s income for a farming family, according to Karanth. To further farmers’ financial stability, she launched an initiative with farmers around Nagarahole and Bandipur National Parks. More than 10,000 people have signed up to plant and maintain fruit, timber, and medicinal trees. Wild Carbon then uses drone technology to monitor tree growth and survival.  By transitioning away from vulnerable monocrops like bananas, the program is helping farmers create new sources of income, while also building green corridors that reconnect fragmented wildlife habitats. As an added benefit, the trees also sequester carbon, helping adapt to climate change as they restore the landscape.  Robbins says that input from local communities is integral to Wild Carbon’s success. The project reflects residents’ input, recognizing that people may value different trees based on how they help support livelihoods or provide food. “Giving people as much choice as possible is really important,” Robbins said. Mohan, a farmer in the Kalanahundi village along the southern edge of Bandipura National Park, has planted more than 300 saplings with Wild Carbon’s support. He says these newly planted trees have improved soil quality, and wild pigs, which are often the main cause of crop loss in his fields, don’t eat them. “The trees will also help me build a machan,” a type of raised platform that allows him to guard his crops from tigers, he added.  Both of these programs are staffed by locals, and have earned trust with rural farmers. “They understand the culture and speak the language, and are personally invested in the well-being of their neighbors and the wildlife around them,” Karanth added.  These innovative interventions have earned Karanth’s team the prestigious John P. McNulty Prize, which recognizes leaders for their courage and impact on critical global challenges. It was the first wildlife conservation organization among the prize’s 60 recipients. “It is an incredible honor, both personally and for the Centre for Wildlife Studies,” Karanth says. “For me, the award recognizes the unique space we occupy, one that bridges rigorous science with tangible impact for people and wildlife.” While these approaches have already shown their worth in India, Karanth believes that they are adaptable and scalable to other biodiverse regions. Whether it’s elephants and lions in Africa, or tigers and leopards in Asia, she says the goal is to “help communities prevent and recover from wildlife-related losses rather than expecting them to tolerate these losses.” In a country where 1.5 billion people compete with endangered species for land and resources, those living closest to these animals, she says, will be a primary part of the solution. Looking ahead, Karanth and her team hope to expand these solutions to address the urgent challenges wildlife face. She sees her work as a test case for the rest of the world: As climate change compresses habitats and pushes wildlife into closer contact with people, India’s response will shape conservation far beyond its borders. Visit Centre for Wildlife Studies’ website for news and insights on innovative rewilding efforts, or to support their vital work. The McNulty Foundation inspires, develops, and drives leaders to solve the critical challenges of our time. Created in 2008 by Anne Welsh McNulty in honor of her late husband, the John P. McNulty Prize is awarded in partnership with the Aspen Institute and has now recognized over 60 visionary leaders for their courage and lasting impact. The McNulty Prize strategically invests at the critical point between proof of concept and global scale, where few other supporters operate, to position leaders and mid-stage ventures for greater impact. LEARN MORE This story was originally published by Grist with the headline When Elephants Trample Your Farm, Who Do You Call? on Dec 10, 2025.

Costa Rica Leads Central America in Latest Quality of Life Rankings

Costa Rica has landed the top spot in Central America for quality of life, according to a new international index released this year. The country scored 129.43 points, outpacing Panama and other neighbors in the region. This ranking highlights strengths in several key areas that shape daily living for residents and visitors alike. The index […] The post Costa Rica Leads Central America in Latest Quality of Life Rankings appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Costa Rica has landed the top spot in Central America for quality of life, according to a new international index released this year. The country scored 129.43 points, outpacing Panama and other neighbors in the region. This ranking highlights strengths in several key areas that shape daily living for residents and visitors alike. The index evaluates countries on factors such as purchasing power, safety, healthcare, traffic conditions, pollution levels, and climate. Costa Rica’s performance reflects its stable environment and natural advantages, which continue to draw attention from around the world. With a score higher than Panama’s and well above the regional average, the results affirm the nation’s position as a leader in the area. In broader terms, Costa Rica ranks second among Latin American countries, trailing only a few peers like Uruguay. This places it in a strong global standing, around the mid-50s out of nearly 90 nations assessed. The high marks in safety and healthcare stand out, where the country benefits from a public system that provides broad access to medical services. Low pollution contributes as well, thanks to extensive protected areas and renewable energy use that keep air and water clean. Traffic remains a mixed area, with urban congestion in places like San José, but overall commute times compare favorably to busier regional hubs. The tropical climate, with its mild temperatures and abundant rainfall, adds to the appeal, supporting agriculture and outdoor activities year-round. Purchasing power also plays a role, as steady economic growth helps balance living costs with incomes. Local experts point to policies that prioritize education and environmental protection as drivers of these outcomes. For instance, the absence of a standing army has allowed funds to flow into social programs, bolstering health and security. Residents often cite the sense of community and access to nature as reasons for high satisfaction levels. This ranking comes at a time when Central America faces challenges like economic shifts and climate impacts. Costa Rica’s lead offers a model for sustainable development, showing how investments in people and the environment pay off. For those living here, it means better opportunities in work, health, and leisure compared to nearby nations. The index draws from user-submitted data across cities, ensuring it captures real experiences. In Costa Rica, inputs from San José and other areas helped shape the score. While no country is perfect, these results provide a clear edge in the region. As 2025 comes to an end, officials aim to build on this foundation. Efforts to improve infrastructure and reduce urban pollution could push scores even higher in future assessments. For now, the top ranking serves as a point of pride and a reminder of what sets Costa Rica apart in Central America. The post Costa Rica Leads Central America in Latest Quality of Life Rankings appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

What's Killing These Oak Trees in the Midwest? Conservationists Believe Drifting Herbicides Are to Blame

When Illinois landowners noticed tree deaths and diseases on their properties ramp up in 2017, they suspected industrial agriculture. A survey found herbicides in 90 percent of tree tissues

What’s Killing These Oak Trees in the Midwest? Conservationists Believe Drifting Herbicides Are to Blame When Illinois landowners noticed tree deaths and diseases on their properties ramp up in 2017, they suspected industrial agriculture. A survey found herbicides in 90 percent of tree tissues Christian Elliott, bioGraphic December 9, 2025 4:04 p.m. A dead tree stands with its bare, white trunk and branches in contrast to the greenery around it. Prairie Rivers Network Key takeaways: Herbicides and a blight of native oaks After the herbicide dicamba exploded in popularity among industrial farmers in 2017, some Illinois residents noticed curled and discolored leaves on native oak trees. Scientists and conservationists are gathering data in hopes of advocating for restrictions on herbicide use, such as tighter regulations on spraying in high winds. The symptoms were strange. They were the same across multiple oak species—white, swamp white, black, red, post, shingle, chinquapin, blackjack and pin. Leaves thickened, elongated and contorted into grotesque shapes—cupping, puckering, curling and twisting until it was hard to tell one species from another. Veins bleached yellow, losing chlorophyll. Soon after, some of the trees died. Seth Swoboda first noticed the sickness in the spring of 2017 on his 40-acre property in Nashville, Illinois, smack in the middle of some of the United States’ most productive farmland. He knocked on the door of his neighbor Martin Kemper and asked if there were some new oak disease going around. Kemper didn’t think so, but he had an idea. A retired biologist from the Illinois Department of Natural Resources, Kemper had noticed other oaks and native trees in the area showing similar signs of injury. He suspected a culprit that’s risky to blame in a state economically and politically steeped in agriculture: herbicide drift, or the movement of weed-killing chemicals onto nontarget plants. Swoboda’s property, a cattle pasture on oak-hickory woodland, is surrounded on four sides by industrial-scale corn and soybean operations. On a hot summer evening after a neighbor has sprayed their fields, you can smell the herbicide in the air. Heat, a stiff breeze or a temperature inversion can hoist the molecules into the atmosphere and carry them far away. In one study, researchers found that an herbicide had been carried in the clouds for over a hundred miles before falling as rain. Seth Swoboda first noticed signs of herbicide damage on the native oaks on his property in Nashville, Illinois, in 2017. Since then, he’s lost 11 trees. Christian Elliott Herbicide drift is internationally recognized as a problem for native species and closely tracked across Europe. Yet no government agency in Illinois or the surrounding states was measuring its impacts, even on the few patches of native forest left there, says Kim Erndt-Pitcher, an ecotoxicologist and director of ecological health for the Illinois-based nonprofit Prairie Rivers Network. “We met with agencies, and it was just really hard to convince folks that this is an issue,” Erndt-Pitcher adds. “No one was looking at the frequency of symptoms or the severity of symptoms or the distribution across the state.” So, Prairie Rivers Network started a monitoring program with a shoestring budget and a handful of volunteers. One of them was Kemper. Over the past seven years, Kemper and Erndt-Pitcher have driven to Swoboda’s farm and 279 other sites on public and private land to visually assess trees and collect tissue samples. Swoboda’s samples wait alongside Dilly Bars in his farmhouse freezer until Prairie Rivers Network can afford to ship them to a lab for chemical analysis, at a cost of around $900 per sample. Twenty of 21 samples analyzed from Swoboda’s land have come back positive for 2,4-D, dicamba, atrazine or other herbicides, and 53 plant species have shown herbicide exposure symptoms. Swoboda has filed formal misuse complaints to the Illinois Department of Agriculture (IDOA) each year to no avail. To prove wrongdoing, he needs evidence that’s nearly impossible get: a specific farmer to blame, a time and date for the application, and a wind speed or temperature above the legal limits specified on the product’s label at the time of spraying. In 2024, Prairie Rivers Network published the results of its monitoring program and revealed that 99.6 percent of test sites showed drift symptoms and 90 percent of tree tissue samples contained herbicides. A separate survey of 78,000 plants from nearly 200 sites, published the same year by the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, found similar results, and nonprofits and land managers in other Midwestern states are likewise recording increasing herbicide damage. Scientists worry about potential cascading effects on insects, birds, reptiles and mammals, while locals like Swoboda are also concerned about human health impacts. At least 85 pesticides—an umbrella term for any chemical used to kill something, including insecticides, herbicides and fungicides—that are routinely used in the U.S. have been banned or are being phased out in other countries due to potential health risks, including links to cancers and other diseases. Kim Erndt-Pitcher, an ecotoxicologist and director of ecological health for the Illinois-based nonprofit Prairie Rivers Network, visits more than 275 sites each year to collect tissue samples and visually assess trees for signs of herbicide drift. Prairie Rivers Network “This is people’s personal property rights. This is their right to a healthful, clean environment, and it’s being violated on a regular basis, year after year,” says Erndt-Pitcher. “[The agrochemical] industry is incredibly powerful and influential. And I think if more people knew what all this meant—what we’re risking by inaction—they would be really mad. Like, really, really mad.” Today, on the Fourth of July holiday, Erndt-Pitcher, Kemper and I follow Swoboda around his property. He’s spent the morning cutting bush honeysuckle and multiflora rose—invasives encroaching on his oaks. The afternoon sun beats down through a much-thinned canopy onto a yard that, for generations, was so shaded the Swobodas didn’t have to mow. He points out the places where oaks used to be; out of 104 mature native hardwoods, he’s lost 11 since 2017, their trunks and branches now a pile of firewood on the gravel driveway. He plants new oaks, but they show the same signs of damage. Kemper bends down and beckons me over to look at the garden phlox planted next to the patio where Swoboda’s kids play. The plant’s leaves are cupped, too. Oak trees, native to Illinois and much of the U.S., offer habitat for insects, fungi, birds and mammals. Hank Erdmann / Alamy Stock Photo For the past 1,000 years, much of the Midwest looked something like Swoboda’s property. The region was a mosaic of mesic oak-hickory woodland, tallgrass prairie and seasonal wetlands maintained by rejuvenating fires set by Indigenous peoples. In less than a century, nearly all of these native ecosystems were plowed. Rich prairie soil was converted to monocultures of corn and soy sustained by government subsidies, fertilizers and over 100 million pounds of synthetic pesticides each year. The grain produced by these crop factories mainly feeds livestock and fills fuel tanks. Before World War II, farmers largely relied on mechanical tilling to control weeds. With the birth of the pesticide industry, though, they started using weed killers like glyphosate, the active ingredient in Monsanto’s signature Roundup herbicide. Farmers initially sprayed the soil before planting, to avoid damaging their crops, but in the 1990s Monsanto debuted Roundup Ready corn and soybeans, genetically engineered to tolerate the herbicide. Soon, larger tractors with 100-foot boom arms were spraying chemicals faster and in greater volume, directly onto crops for the first time. Between 1990 and 2022, pesticide use per cropland area increased by 94 percent worldwide. But by the early 2010s, weeds that had evolved resistance to glyphosate had become widespread. Farmers then pivoted to a different class of herbicides known as plant growth regulators. One was 2,4-D, one of several ingredients in Agent Orange, the infamous chemical weapon of the Vietnam War. Another, dicamba, exploded in popularity in 2017, a year after dicamba-resistant soybeans hit the market. Dicamba is particularly volatile—days after it’s sprayed, molecules can turn into a gas and drift away, particularly in the heat of summer. Plants can “breathe in” the toxicant through pores on the underside of their leaves. The year that dicamba-resistant soybeans ramped up was the same year that Swoboda noticed oaks on his property starting to wither and die. The IDOA was simultaneously inundated with reports from farmers who hadn’t planted dicamba-resistant soybeans and whose crops were dying from herbicide drift. Tensions between farmers who planted dicamba-resistant soybeans and those who did not were so fraught that one farmworker in Arkansas shot and killed a neighbor who confronted him about drift. After farmers began planting soybeans engineered with a resistance to the herbicide dicamba in 2016 and 2017, allegations of pesticide misuse in Illinois jumped. Data by Illinois Department of Agriculture, design by Mark Garrison “Every extension weed scientist throughout the Midwest knew what was going to happen,” says Aaron Hager, a weed scientist at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. “We knew there was going to be an effect on trees. There’s no way there couldn’t have been an effect on trees.” The fields around Swoboda’s property have been actively farmed since before he was born 45 years ago. Only the chemicals have changed. “By the time I realized, it was too late, really,” he says. Crops are often engineered to resist multiple herbicides. Native species aren’t. The oaks, Swoboda says, “went fast.” A road near agricultural fields Charles O. Cecil / Alamy Stock Photo Since they took root some 50 million years ago, oaks have played an outsize role in North American ecosystems. The continent’s 250 or so species of oaks together make up more tree biomass than any other woody genus, and they shelter and feed a breadth of insects, fungi, birds and mammals. They grow slowly, adding just millimeters of girth each year, and what they lack in speed they make up for in strength and bulk. Some species can reach seven feet in diameter; others reach 100 feet into the sky. And while many native trees of North America have succumbed to introduced pests and diseases in the past century, oaks seemed largely impervious, their gnarled limbs often stretching so high overhead that early signs of damage are hard to notice. Once you learn to see the signs, though, you notice the destruction everywhere—even far from the nearest farmland. Leaving Swoboda behind, Kemper and Erndt-Pitcher take me on a whirlwind tour of state parks and nature preserves. At Eldon Hazlet State Recreation Area, Kemper stops so frequently to point out native trees with signs of herbicide damage—sweet gum, American elm, tulip poplar, shagbark hickory, persimmon, redbud, river birch, box elder—that Erndt-Pitcher begins to feel carsick in the back seat. She jokes he needs a pointer on a yardstick for Christmas and asks him to please, please turn on the air conditioning. In 2024, Prairie Rivers Network published the results of its monitoring program and revealed that 99.6 percent of test sites showed drift symptoms and 90 percent of tree tissue samples contained herbicides, resulting in cupped, puckered leaves, like those of this redbud. Prairie Rivers Network Even if herbicide effects aren’t directly lethal, some researchers believe that curled leaves, like these on a post oak, likely won’t photosynthesize as efficiently as regular leaves. Prairie Rivers Network In the park campground, at capacity on this holiday weekend, hundreds of RVs and tents sit in the dappled light of a sparse canopy. Some oaks sprout leaves from their branches and trunks in a last-ditch effort to photosynthesize, but many limbs are already dead. It’s easy to imagine this place in another few decades with no trees—or campers—left. “Lots of us that work on this issue, we’ll say we used to love the summer and the spring, and now it’s become a dreaded time of year, because it’s just this persistent series of wounds all around us that we have to observe,” says Erndt-Pitcher. Later, at Washington County State Recreation Area, we stop at a spit of land overlooking a lake. Kemper has come to this spot since he was 10 years old to watch Carolina chickadees, white-breasted nuthatches, tufted titmice, blue jays, woodpeckers and the occasional barred owl, along with other migratory and resident bird species. “This was a fantastic white oak-canopied area … and now it’s a disaster,” says Kemper. “And it’s scary, because what I see is a progression that’s slowly getting worse. We’re seeing a gradual decline in the health of the forest, and the chances that this doesn’t have ecological cascades, in my estimation, are zero.” Erndt-Pitcher points out that the state is legally obligated to protect designated nature preserves. But while years of environmental activism have left many people aware of how pesticide overuse harms pollinating insects and can contribute to cancers, Parkinson’s disease, birth defects and endocrine problems in humans, the dangers to native plants have made fewer headlines. In the 1970s, the state passed the Illinois Pesticide Act to protect people and the environment from pesticide misuse. But Erndt-Pitcher argues the act doesn’t do enough to address drift. And it’s enforced by the IDOA, which she sees as a conflict of interest. (Weeds can cut corn yields by 50 percent or more, and it’s in the state’s interest to maximize farm production.) The state Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) defers to the IDOA on pesticides, while the federal EPA—which regulates 16,800 different pesticides—relies largely on studies conducted by agrochemical companies for its safety assessments. Agrochemical companies also spend tens of millions of dollars annually to lobby lawmakers and reportedly employ many former federal EPA employees. This year, Prairie Rivers Network proposed bills in the state legislature to ban a particularly volatile formulation of 2,4-D and to require herbicide applicators to notify nearby schools and parks before spraying. Neither passed. “We’ve been calling attention to this for over ten years,” says Kemper. “And those regulatory agencies that have this responsibility have not, to our knowledge, done enough to have an impact on the issue.” Martin Kemper, a retired biologist from the Illinois Department of Natural Resources, volunteers with Prairie Rivers Network to monitor trees for signs of herbicide drift. Prairie Rivers Network In response, the IDOA says it operates “a training, certification and licensing program to ensure pesticide applicators are properly licensed and knowledgeable regarding pesticide use,” and that all “complaints of pesticide misuse are investigated by plant and pesticide specialists.” The IDOA also has the authority to implement state-specific regulations for individual pesticides like dicamba and supports a nonprofit, voluntary mapping registry. The Illinois Department of Natural Resources did not respond to a request to comment. In one small win for activists, a U.S. District Court in Arizona in 2024 overturned the federal approval of dicamba, essentially banning it across the U.S. for the 2025 growing season. But overall herbicide use is still increasing, and the Trump administration is considering reversing the ban on dicamba, citing confidence that if users apply the product as directed, it will “not pose an unreasonable risk to human health or the environment.” Additionally, the federal EPA’s scientific research arm, which serves as its foundation for assessing toxic chemicals, including herbicides, will likely be disbanded. To Erndt-Pitcher, that puts the onus on states. Yet while the IDOA and lawmakers have done little to solve the problem in activists’ eyes, Prairie Rivers Network’s small, volunteer-staffed monitoring program has helped convince other state agencies and universities to study the problem. Now, peer-reviewed lab experiments and field studies are beginning to show what landowners like Swoboda have been observing for years. A forest borders agricultural land in Illinois Prairie Rivers Network One of the scientists conducting lab experiments is wildlife ecologist T.J. Benson, whom I meet in a small room in the Illinois Natural History Survey lab at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Opening a white cabinet, he shows me tiny moth larvae wriggling in dozens of clear plastic deli containers. They’re black cutworms, a common native caterpillar and crop pest. Each container has a little flan-like cube of caterpillar food spiked with one of several pesticides. Benson buys the eggs and food from a company that presumably also sells to pesticide producers for insecticide testing. “The Insects You Need, When You Need Them,” reads the empty cardboard box. But Benson’s goals are different; he specializes in birds. He started this experiment after tracking declining eastern whippoorwill populations, which generally thrive when caterpillars are abundant. “Birds migrating through right now are very dependent on caterpillars that are feeding on these really young [tree] leaves,” he says. Yet when the federal EPA evaluates new herbicides for impacts to insects, it typically only considers non-native honeybees, Benson says—which don’t eat leaves. And the only birds considered in the agency’s models are usually mallard ducks and quails, which are not exclusively insectivorous and are larger-bodied, which could make them less susceptible than smaller species. When the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency evaluates new herbicides for impacts to insects, it typically only considers non-native honeybees rather than bumblebees, says wildlife ecologist T.J. Benson. Prairie Rivers Network Benson regularly weighs individual caterpillars to study the effects of pesticides on their growth. He and his graduate student Grant Witynski have found that caterpillars exposed to field-realistic concentrations of atrazine and 2,4-D have up to a 26 percent lower probability of surviving to adulthood than controls. If caterpillars in the wild are regularly eating leaves contaminated by these herbicides, it could be harming whippoorwills and other insectivorous birds, as well as species that depend on oaks for habitat. Activists hope that such science will eventually give them the evidence they need to convince lawmakers and regulators to take action. For now, though, landowners who complain to state agriculture employees are often told that they can’t prove the visual symptoms they’re seeing on leaves are caused by herbicides in the plant tissues and not something else. And despite anecdotal evidence of tree death across the Midwest, controlled studies haven’t yet proved that the long-term effects of herbicides are deadly. Hager, the weed scientist, is among the skeptics. He knew that changes to herbicide use would result in greater drift, and that once people started noticing plant growth regulator symptoms in trees back in 2017, they’d eventually start looking for pesticides in leaf samples. But based on the available data, he doesn’t buy that drift is as big a crisis as some claim for the long-term health of trees, or that visual symptoms necessarily correlate with widespread tree mortality. “We could have pulled tree leaf samples any year in the last 50 years and found pesticides,” he tells me. “And we still have trees on the landscape.” Animals large and small depend on the few remaining native plants in a region dominated by industrial-scale agriculture. Prairie Rivers Network And while some advocates believe that the only answer is banning certain herbicides or even radically changing the way land is farmed in this part of the world, Hager and others argue that a statewide ban on any individual herbicide would put Illinois farmers at a competitive disadvantage. He’d like to see an amendment to the Illinois Pesticide Act that bans spraying when winds exceed a certain speed. But the state would need more staff and money to enforce a rule like that. At the Illinois Natural History Survey complex, Benson and botanist Ed Price lead me to a greenhouse. Inside, little potted oaks and redbuds sit in lines on tables. Some have been sprayed with herbicides multiple times in a year, others only once or not at all. So far, plants seem to be most vulnerable when they’re young, just as their buds swell and their leaves unfurl. Price and Benson are looking for residual damage—whether leaves regrow “wonky” in subsequent years after a lab-simulated drift event. The University of Missouri is running a similar study on ornamental and fruit trees. Price shows me a curled oak leaf. Even if herbicide effects aren’t directly lethal, he explains, curled leaves likely won’t photosynthesize as efficiently as regular leaves do. Trees face multiple stressors—higher temperatures, shifting seasons, more rainfall, drought, competition from invasive species. Herbicides are one of the few compounding stressors we have any immediate control over. And they could push stressed trees over the edge. As we walk back to the lab, Benson smells the medicinal odor of 2,4-D in the air. The facilities crew has just sprayed the landscaping for weeds. Back in Nashville, Illinois, American flags and firework stands line the streets for the Fourth of July holiday. Driving through, I notice curled, stunted leaves on redbuds in front of old Victorian homes decorated with red-white-and-blue bunting. Kemper is right—once you’ve learned what to look for, you see herbicide injury everywhere. Down the road from Swoboda’s farm, Kemper pulls his Ford Ranger pickup into a pasture. Just ahead is an imposing tree with a 17-foot circumference. Known as the Harper post oak, it is the largest post oak in the state. Using binoculars from my perch in the truck bed, I look up at the thickened, cupped leaves. The post oak has contained at least six types of herbicides from an average of three exposures per year since Prairie Rivers Network began sampling it. With a 17-foot circumference, the Harper post oak is the largest tree of its species in the state of Illinois. Prairie Rivers Network Larry Harper, the property owner, pulls up in a golf cart, sweating through his American flag T-shirt. He tells us that he had to cut down the last pin oak on his property this spring. With each year, as his only remaining post oak declines further, Harper gets increasingly mad. A state employee comes to his property regularly, responding to reports that go nowhere. “I just don’t know when it’s going to register,” he says. “Chestnut trees have been gone for a while. … Elm trees are gone. You’re going to lose all the oaks before you decide, ‘Hey, maybe we’ve got a problem?’” For now, though, the post oak still stands—gnarled, centuries old, towering over a pond on a pasture hilltop. We pause in its shade, bearing witness to yet another dying tree while everyone else in the county seems to be celebrating the Fourth of July with barbecues, fireworks and beer. Everyone, that is, except the farmworkers, who are out spraying pesticides even on the holiday, releasing a fine mist onto rows of corn and soy that stretch to the horizon. This story originally appeared in bioGraphic, an independent magazine about nature and regeneration powered by the California Academy of Sciences. Get the latest Science stories in your inbox.

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