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How colleges can become ‘living labs’ for combating climate change

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Tuesday, July 30, 2024

At the end of a semester that presaged one of the hottest summers on record, the students in associate professor Michael Sheridan’s business class were pitching proposals to cut waste and emissions on their campus and help turn it into a vehicle for fighting climate change. Flanking a giant whiteboard at the front of the classroom, members of the team campaigning to build a solar canopy on a SUNY New Paltz parking lot delivered their pitch. The sunbaked lot near the athletic center was an ideal spot for a shaded solar panel structure, they said, a conduit for solar energy that could curb the campus’s reliance on natural gas.  The project would require $43,613 in startup money. It would be profitable within roughly five years, the students said. And over 50 years, it would save the university $787,130 in energy costs. “Solar canopies have worked for other universities, including other SUNY schools,” said Ian Lominski, a graduating senior who said he hopes to one day work for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation. “It’s well within the realm of possibility for SUNY New Paltz.”  Sheridan’s course is an example of an approach known as “campus as a living lab,” which seeks to simultaneously educate students and reduce the carbon footprint of college campuses. Over the past decade, a growing number of professors in fields as diverse as business, English and the performing arts have integrated their teaching with efforts to minimize their campuses’ waste and emissions, at a time when human-created climate change is fueling dangerous weather and making life on Earth increasingly unstable.  The State University of New York at New Paltz is among a growing number of higher education institutions where professors are using the “campus as a living lab” to teach students to reduce carbon emissions. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report Engineering students have helped retrofit buildings. Theater students have produced no-waste productions. Ecology students have restored campus wetlands. Architecture students have modeled campus buildings’ airflow and worked to improve their energy efficiency. The efforts are so diverse that it’s difficult to get a complete count of them, but they’ve popped up on hundreds of campuses around the country. “I think it’s a very, very positive step,” said Bryan Alexander, a senior scholar at Georgetown University and author of the book Universities on Fire: Higher Education in the Climate Crisis. “You’ve got the campus materials, you’ve got the integration of teaching and research, which we claim to value, and it’s also really good for students in a few ways,” including by helping them take action on climate in ways that can improve mental health. That said, the work faces difficulties, among them that courses typically last only a semester, making it hard to maintain projects. But academics and experts see promising results: Students learn practical skills in a real-world context, and their projects provide vivid examples to help educate entire campuses and communities about solutions to alleviate climate change. From the food waste students and staff produce, to emissions from commuting to campus and flying to conferences, to the energy needed to power campus buildings, higher education has a significant climate footprint. In New York, buildings are among the single largest sources of carbon emissions — and the State University of New York system owns a whopping 40 percent of the state’s public buildings.  Andrea Varga talks with honors students at SUNY New Paltz after they’ve made presentations as part of her Ethical Fashion course. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report About 15 years ago, college leaders began adding “sustainability officers” to their payrolls and signing commitments to achieve carbon neutrality. But only a dozen of the 400 institutions that signed on have achieved net-zero emissions to date, according to Bridget Flynn, senior manager of climate programs with the nonprofit Second Nature, which runs the network of universities committed to decarbonizing. (The SUNY system has a goal of achieving net-zero emissions by 2045, per its chancellor, John B. King Jr.)  Campus sustainability efforts have faced hurdles including politics and declining enrollment and revenue, say experts. “Higher ed is in crisis and institutions are so concerned about keeping their doors open, and sustainability is seen as nice to have instead of essential,” said Meghan Fay Zahniser, who leads the Association for the Advancement of Sustainability in Higher Education.  But there’s change happening on some campuses, she and others noted. At Dickinson College, in Pennsylvania, a net-zero campus since 2020, students in statistics classes have run data analyses to assess why certain buildings are less efficient than others. Psychology students studying behavior change helped the campus dining hall adopt a practice of offering half, full and double portions to cut down on food waste. Physics students designed solar thermal boxes to boost renewable biogas production on an organic farm owned by the college.  Neil Leary, associate provost and director of the college’s Center for Sustainability Education, teaches classes in sustainability. Last fall’s students analyzed climate risks and resilience strategies for the campus and its surrounding county and then ran a workshop for community members. Among the recommendations emerging from the class: that athletic coaches and facilities staff receive training on heat-related health risks.  A bike repair station at SUNY New Paltz. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report Similarly, at SUNY Binghamton, Pamela Mischen, chief sustainability officer and an environmental studies professor, teaches a course called Planning the Sustainable University. Her students, who come from majors including environmental studies, engineering and pre-law, have helped develop campus green purchasing systems, started a student-run community garden and improved reuse rates for classroom furniture.  And across the country, at Weber State University in Utah, students have joined the campus’s push toward renewable energy. Engineering students, for example, helped build a solar-powered charging station on a picnic table. A professor in the school’s construction and building sciences program led students in designing and building a net-zero house.  On the leafy SUNY New Paltz campus about 80 miles north of Manhattan, campus sustainability coordinator Lisa Mitten has spent more than a decade working to reduce the university’s environmental toll. Among the projects she runs is a sustainability faculty fellows program that helps professors incorporate climate action into their instruction.  One day this May, Andrea Varga, an associate professor of theatre design and a sustainability fellow, listened as the students in her honors Ethical Fashion class presented their final projects. Varga’s class covers the environmental harms of the global fashion industry (research suggests it is responsible for at least 4 percent of greenhouse emissions worldwide, or roughly the total emissions of Germany, France and the United Kingdom combined). For their presentations, her students had developed ideas for reducing fashion’s toll, on the campus and beyond, by promoting thrifting, starting “clothes repair cafes,” and more.  Microplastic filters in the Esopus Hall dormitory laundry room at SUNY New Paltz. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report Jazmyne Daily-Simpson, a student from Long Island scheduled to graduate in 2025, discussed expanding a project started a few years earlier by a former student, Roy Ludwig, to add microplastic filters to more campus washing machines. In a basement laundry room in Daily-Simpson’s dorm, two washers are rigged with the contraptions, which gradually accumulate a goopy film as they trap the microplastic particles and keep them from entering the water supply. Ludwig, a 2022 graduate who now teaches Earth science at Arlington High School about 20 miles from New Paltz, took Varga’s class and worked with her on an honors project to research and install the filters. A geology major, he’d been shocked that it took a fashion class to introduce him to the harms of microplastics, which are found in seafood, breast milk, semen and much more. “It’s an invisible problem that not everyone is thinking about,” he said. “You can notice a water bottle floating in a river. You can’t notice microplastics.” Around campus, there are other signs of the living lab model. Students in an economics class filled the entryway of a library with posters on topics such as the lack of public walking paths and bike lanes in the surrounding county and inadequate waste disposal in New York State. A garden started by sculpture and printmaking professors serves as a space for students to learn about plants used to make natural dyes that don’t pollute the environment.  In the business school classroom, Sheridan, the associate professor, had kicked off the student presentations by explaining to an audience that included campus facilities managers and local green business leaders how the course, called Introduction to Managing Sustainability, originated when grad students pitched the idea in 2015. The projects are powered by a “green revolving fund,” which accumulates money from cost savings created by past projects, such as reusable to-go containers and LED lightbulbs in campus buildings. Currently the fund has about $30,000.  Michael Sheridan’s classes at SUNY New Paltz include a course that engages business students in designing proposals for greening the campus. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report “This class has two overarching goals,” said Sheridan, who studied anthropology and sustainable development as an undergraduate before pursuing a doctorate in business. The first is to localize the United Nations global goals for advancing sustainability, he said, and the second is “to prove that sustainability initiatives can be a driver for economic growth.”  In addition to the solar canopy project, students presented proposals for developing a reusable water bottle program, creating a composter and garden, digitizing dining hall receipts and organizing a bikeshare. They gamely fielded questions from the audience, many of whom had served as mentors on their projects. Jonathan Garcia, a third-year business management major on the composting team, said later that he’d learned an unexpected skill: how to deal with uncooperative colleagues. “We had an issue with one of our teammates who just never showed up, so I had to manage that, and then people elected me leader of the group,” he said later. “I learned a lot of team-management skills.” The solar panel team had less drama. Its members interviewed representatives from the New York State Energy Research and Development Authority, Central Hudson Gas & Electric and a local company, Lighthouse Solar, along with Mitten and other campus officials. Often, they met three times a week to research and discuss their proposal, participants said. Lominski, the senior, plans to enroll this fall in a graduate program at the SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry, in Syracuse. Before Sheridan’s class, he said, he had little specific knowledge of how solar panels worked. The course also helped him refine his project management and communication skills, he said.  Read Next Chicago teachers demand climate solutions in their next contract Juanpablo Ramirez-Franco His solar panel teammate Madeleine Biles, a senior majoring in management, transferred to New Paltz from SUNY Binghamton before her sophomore year because she wanted a school that felt more aligned with her desire to work for a smaller, environmentally minded business.  An avid rock climber whose parents were outdoor educators, she’d developed some financial skills in past business classes, she said, but the exercises had always felt theoretical. This class made those lessons about return on investment and internal rate of return feel concrete. “Before it was just a bunch of formulas where I didn’t know when or why I would ever use them,” she said.  This summer, Biles is interning with the Lake George Land Conservancy and hopes to eventually carve out a career protecting the environment. While she said she feels fortunate that her hometown of Lake George, in New York’s Adirondack region, isn’t as vulnerable as some places to climate change, the crisis weighs on her.  “I think if I have a career in sustainability, that will be my way of channeling that frustration and sadness and turning it into a positive thing,” she said.  She recently got a taste of what that might feel like: In an email from Sheridan, she learned that her team’s canopy project was chosen to receive the startup funding. The school’s outgoing campus facilities chief signed off on it, and, pending approval from the department’s new leader, the university will begin the process of constructing it. “It’s cool to know that something I worked on as a school project is actually going to happen,” said Biles. “A lot of students can’t really say that. A lot of projects are kind of like simulations. This one was real life.”  This story was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for their higher education newsletter. This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How colleges can become ‘living labs’ for combating climate change on Jul 30, 2024.

Professors are increasingly combining classroom instruction with efforts to "green" campuses.

At the end of a semester that presaged one of the hottest summers on record, the students in associate professor Michael Sheridan’s business class were pitching proposals to cut waste and emissions on their campus and help turn it into a vehicle for fighting climate change.

Flanking a giant whiteboard at the front of the classroom, members of the team campaigning to build a solar canopy on a SUNY New Paltz parking lot delivered their pitch. The sunbaked lot near the athletic center was an ideal spot for a shaded solar panel structure, they said, a conduit for solar energy that could curb the campus’s reliance on natural gas. 

The project would require $43,613 in startup money. It would be profitable within roughly five years, the students said. And over 50 years, it would save the university $787,130 in energy costs.

“Solar canopies have worked for other universities, including other SUNY schools,” said Ian Lominski, a graduating senior who said he hopes to one day work for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation. “It’s well within the realm of possibility for SUNY New Paltz.” 

Sheridan’s course is an example of an approach known as “campus as a living lab,” which seeks to simultaneously educate students and reduce the carbon footprint of college campuses. Over the past decade, a growing number of professors in fields as diverse as business, English and the performing arts have integrated their teaching with efforts to minimize their campuses’ waste and emissions, at a time when human-created climate change is fueling dangerous weather and making life on Earth increasingly unstable. 

The State University of New York at New Paltz is among a growing number of higher education institutions where professors are using the “campus as a living lab” to teach students to reduce carbon emissions. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report

Engineering students have helped retrofit buildings. Theater students have produced no-waste productions. Ecology students have restored campus wetlands. Architecture students have modeled campus buildings’ airflow and worked to improve their energy efficiency. The efforts are so diverse that it’s difficult to get a complete count of them, but they’ve popped up on hundreds of campuses around the country.

“I think it’s a very, very positive step,” said Bryan Alexander, a senior scholar at Georgetown University and author of the book Universities on Fire: Higher Education in the Climate Crisis. “You’ve got the campus materials, you’ve got the integration of teaching and research, which we claim to value, and it’s also really good for students in a few ways,” including by helping them take action on climate in ways that can improve mental health.

That said, the work faces difficulties, among them that courses typically last only a semester, making it hard to maintain projects. But academics and experts see promising results: Students learn practical skills in a real-world context, and their projects provide vivid examples to help educate entire campuses and communities about solutions to alleviate climate change.

From the food waste students and staff produce, to emissions from commuting to campus and flying to conferences, to the energy needed to power campus buildings, higher education has a significant climate footprint. In New York, buildings are among the single largest sources of carbon emissions — and the State University of New York system owns a whopping 40 percent of the state’s public buildings. 

Andrea Varga talks with honors students at SUNY New Paltz after they’ve made presentations as part of her Ethical Fashion course. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report

About 15 years ago, college leaders began adding “sustainability officers” to their payrolls and signing commitments to achieve carbon neutrality. But only a dozen of the 400 institutions that signed on have achieved net-zero emissions to date, according to Bridget Flynn, senior manager of climate programs with the nonprofit Second Nature, which runs the network of universities committed to decarbonizing. (The SUNY system has a goal of achieving net-zero emissions by 2045, per its chancellor, John B. King Jr.) 

Campus sustainability efforts have faced hurdles including politics and declining enrollment and revenue, say experts. “Higher ed is in crisis and institutions are so concerned about keeping their doors open, and sustainability is seen as nice to have instead of essential,” said Meghan Fay Zahniser, who leads the Association for the Advancement of Sustainability in Higher Education. 

But there’s change happening on some campuses, she and others noted. At Dickinson College, in Pennsylvania, a net-zero campus since 2020, students in statistics classes have run data analyses to assess why certain buildings are less efficient than others. Psychology students studying behavior change helped the campus dining hall adopt a practice of offering half, full and double portions to cut down on food waste. Physics students designed solar thermal boxes to boost renewable biogas production on an organic farm owned by the college. 

Neil Leary, associate provost and director of the college’s Center for Sustainability Education, teaches classes in sustainability. Last fall’s students analyzed climate risks and resilience strategies for the campus and its surrounding county and then ran a workshop for community members. Among the recommendations emerging from the class: that athletic coaches and facilities staff receive training on heat-related health risks. 

A bike station sits next to trees.
A bike repair station at SUNY New Paltz. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report

Similarly, at SUNY Binghamton, Pamela Mischen, chief sustainability officer and an environmental studies professor, teaches a course called Planning the Sustainable University. Her students, who come from majors including environmental studies, engineering and pre-law, have helped develop campus green purchasing systems, started a student-run community garden and improved reuse rates for classroom furniture. 

And across the country, at Weber State University in Utah, students have joined the campus’s push toward renewable energy. Engineering students, for example, helped build a solar-powered charging station on a picnic table. A professor in the school’s construction and building sciences program led students in designing and building a net-zero house. 

On the leafy SUNY New Paltz campus about 80 miles north of Manhattan, campus sustainability coordinator Lisa Mitten has spent more than a decade working to reduce the university’s environmental toll. Among the projects she runs is a sustainability faculty fellows program that helps professors incorporate climate action into their instruction. 

One day this May, Andrea Varga, an associate professor of theatre design and a sustainability fellow, listened as the students in her honors Ethical Fashion class presented their final projects. Varga’s class covers the environmental harms of the global fashion industry (research suggests it is responsible for at least 4 percent of greenhouse emissions worldwide, or roughly the total emissions of Germany, France and the United Kingdom combined). For their presentations, her students had developed ideas for reducing fashion’s toll, on the campus and beyond, by promoting thrifting, starting “clothes repair cafes,” and more. 

Microplastic filters in the Esopus Hall dormitory laundry room at SUNY New Paltz. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report

Jazmyne Daily-Simpson, a student from Long Island scheduled to graduate in 2025, discussed expanding a project started a few years earlier by a former student, Roy Ludwig, to add microplastic filters to more campus washing machines. In a basement laundry room in Daily-Simpson’s dorm, two washers are rigged with the contraptions, which gradually accumulate a goopy film as they trap the microplastic particles and keep them from entering the water supply.

Ludwig, a 2022 graduate who now teaches Earth science at Arlington High School about 20 miles from New Paltz, took Varga’s class and worked with her on an honors project to research and install the filters. A geology major, he’d been shocked that it took a fashion class to introduce him to the harms of microplastics, which are found in seafood, breast milk, semen and much more. “It’s an invisible problem that not everyone is thinking about,” he said. “You can notice a water bottle floating in a river. You can’t notice microplastics.”

Around campus, there are other signs of the living lab model. Students in an economics class filled the entryway of a library with posters on topics such as the lack of public walking paths and bike lanes in the surrounding county and inadequate waste disposal in New York State. A garden started by sculpture and printmaking professors serves as a space for students to learn about plants used to make natural dyes that don’t pollute the environment. 

In the business school classroom, Sheridan, the associate professor, had kicked off the student presentations by explaining to an audience that included campus facilities managers and local green business leaders how the course, called Introduction to Managing Sustainability, originated when grad students pitched the idea in 2015. The projects are powered by a “green revolving fund,” which accumulates money from cost savings created by past projects, such as reusable to-go containers and LED lightbulbs in campus buildings. Currently the fund has about $30,000. 

A bearded man with long hair tied back stands in front of a tree.
Michael Sheridan’s classes at SUNY New Paltz include a course that engages business students in designing proposals for greening the campus. Yunuen Bonaparte for The Hechinger Report

“This class has two overarching goals,” said Sheridan, who studied anthropology and sustainable development as an undergraduate before pursuing a doctorate in business. The first is to localize the United Nations global goals for advancing sustainability, he said, and the second is “to prove that sustainability initiatives can be a driver for economic growth.” 

In addition to the solar canopy project, students presented proposals for developing a reusable water bottle program, creating a composter and garden, digitizing dining hall receipts and organizing a bikeshare. They gamely fielded questions from the audience, many of whom had served as mentors on their projects.

Jonathan Garcia, a third-year business management major on the composting team, said later that he’d learned an unexpected skill: how to deal with uncooperative colleagues. “We had an issue with one of our teammates who just never showed up, so I had to manage that, and then people elected me leader of the group,” he said later. “I learned a lot of team-management skills.”

The solar panel team had less drama. Its members interviewed representatives from the New York State Energy Research and Development Authority, Central Hudson Gas & Electric and a local company, Lighthouse Solar, along with Mitten and other campus officials. Often, they met three times a week to research and discuss their proposal, participants said.

Lominski, the senior, plans to enroll this fall in a graduate program at the SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry, in Syracuse. Before Sheridan’s class, he said, he had little specific knowledge of how solar panels worked. The course also helped him refine his project management and communication skills, he said. 

His solar panel teammate Madeleine Biles, a senior majoring in management, transferred to New Paltz from SUNY Binghamton before her sophomore year because she wanted a school that felt more aligned with her desire to work for a smaller, environmentally minded business. 

An avid rock climber whose parents were outdoor educators, she’d developed some financial skills in past business classes, she said, but the exercises had always felt theoretical. This class made those lessons about return on investment and internal rate of return feel concrete. “Before it was just a bunch of formulas where I didn’t know when or why I would ever use them,” she said. 

This summer, Biles is interning with the Lake George Land Conservancy and hopes to eventually carve out a career protecting the environment. While she said she feels fortunate that her hometown of Lake George, in New York’s Adirondack region, isn’t as vulnerable as some places to climate change, the crisis weighs on her. 

“I think if I have a career in sustainability, that will be my way of channeling that frustration and sadness and turning it into a positive thing,” she said. 

She recently got a taste of what that might feel like: In an email from Sheridan, she learned that her team’s canopy project was chosen to receive the startup funding. The school’s outgoing campus facilities chief signed off on it, and, pending approval from the department’s new leader, the university will begin the process of constructing it.

“It’s cool to know that something I worked on as a school project is actually going to happen,” said Biles. “A lot of students can’t really say that. A lot of projects are kind of like simulations. This one was real life.” 

This story was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for their higher education newsletter.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How colleges can become ‘living labs’ for combating climate change on Jul 30, 2024.

Read the full story here.
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Hawaii Farmers Are Fighting to Keep Their Soil From Flushing Out to Sea

Farmers in Hawaii are adapting to effects of a changing climate by combining traditional Hawaiian practices with new, regenerative agricultural techniques to save soils, streams and reefs

Young cacao trees stand in an unlikely spot on the northeastern slopes of the Waianae Range, growing on a windswept point overlooking Oahu’s North Shore. “Our soil, in the summer, becomes a powdery flour,” says Max Breen of Kamananui Cacao Farm. “A lot of runoff, a lot of blowing. … Challenging to plant a wind-sensitive crop up here.”Breen is adapting. He planted his chocolate-bearing trees under a runway of black matting and mulch, interspersed with native and locally important saplings — gandules or pigeon peas, aalii and iliee. Those shrubs and plants will grow faster and protect the sensitive cacao from the harsh sun and ruthless coastal winds. The mulch and matting will help hold the soil in place against the wind and rain.Soil is paramount to crop health but especially important in historically productive areas such as central and northern Oahu. Farmers there were already contending with the repercussions of decades of plantation agriculture, which wrought almost irreparable damage on once-deep topsoils. Now, they’re trying to hold onto the light topsoil that’s left.Climate change is only making that harder. The region is experiencing more intense periods of drought, which dries out the soil, followed by more intense periods of rain, which flushes it off the farm and muddies the coastal waters miles below.Without soil on the land, farming is crippled. With soil in the water, sea life suffocates. Farmers like Breen understand their soil was built over millions of years and is difficult to replace, and they recognize their farms have an influence on the entire watershed’s health — what happens in the mountains affects the reefs below. For this part of Oahu, that means Kaiaka Bay, which is showing elevated levels of sediments and contaminants across most metrics, including possible chemical pollutants. Over the past three years, Agriculture Stewardship Hawaii has helped Breen and 10 others within the same watershed prevent more than 25 dump truck loads — more than 300 tons — of sediment from making its way into Kaukonahua Stream and eventually the ocean. Approximately 735 pounds (333 kilograms) of nitrogen and 317 pounds (148 pounds) of phosphorus were stopped from entering the stream too. The farmers’ methods reflect a return to Indigenous agricultural values that blend new techniques with a more holistic approach to environmentally friendly food production. This involves negotiating modern property lines, water availability and environmental priorities. Breen underscored the need to be able to retain the water when it comes, while ensuring the land is primed for its arrival — for the farm and for the watershed. Scientists estimate annual rainfall will drop 16% to 20% in the Kamananui watershed between 2040 and 2070, or 11 to 14 fewer inches (28 to 36 centimeters) of rain. The temperature is predicted to rise 2% to 4%, or up to 3.1 degrees Celsius, according to the Pacific Drought Knowledge Exchange developed by University of Hawaii climate scientist Ryan Longman. “One or two degrees Celsius warmer,” Longman says, “is still going to have profound implications to ecological function and for food production.”Despite the challenging outlook, the farms all have similar goals: to educate the public on the virtues of agriculture, to reinvigorate a stagnant agricultural economy and to increase the islands’ self-sufficiency.For Kamananui, education is baked into the business model. Any given day can bring a gaggle of tourists to sample raw cacao from one of the 7-year-old farm’s 1,600 mature trees. Those trees will produce thousands of pounds of chocolate this year, and the yield is expected to rise.Kamananui was recently named among the 50 best cacao growers in the world, joining a growing list of internationally recognized Hawaii growers in a niche-but-burgeoning homegrown cacao and chocolate industry. That recognition is part of the draw for tourism, which a 2022 survey found accounts for about 30% of farmers’ incomes. During these tours, guides introduce visitors to the Native Hawaiian ahupuaa land division system. The practice was once prevalent throughout Hawaii, balancing food production and environmental health to sustain their residents. The health of theaina and wai, land and water, was central to the practice. Now, after years of polluting and extractive plantation agricultural practices, pockets of farmers are returning to a holistic approach to agriculture that shuns the idea of extraction. Letting nature inform the work is part of that, as Breen and his colleagues adopt measures to keep both soil and water on the land while growing out their chocolate enterprise. “As we spend time here, I see how the land reacts to water, especially when we get big storms,” Breen said. “What soil stays wet, what floods, where ephemeral streams are created — the land, it just kind of teaches us as we go.”Chandeliers of bananas hang heavy on the limbs of green and yellowing plants 1.5 miles (2.4 kilometers) downslope from the cacao orchard. Plots of bare dirt surround the banana patches. The land is freshly tilled, previously blanketed with bushy velvet beans, which farmer Gabriel Sachter-Smith turned over as he prepped for the next planting. Sachter-Smith is known for his bananas — he has a bank of roughly 150 varieties. But he’ll be cycling in beans again next season to inject nitrogen into the soil, suppress weeds and stabilize the earth. The beans will decompose underground, adding nutrients to the land for the bananas when they’re planted. Strong, healthy soils absorb more water and retain it longer, which is important as climate change intensifies rain events while supercharging drought. This practice is just one form of regenerative agriculture, a cultivation canon that has emerged in prominence throughout Hawaii in the wake of pineapple and sugar plantations. Central to the regenerative ethos is the rebuilding of the environment and restoring balance.It’s costly and time-consuming, Sachter-Smith says, but he is driven by a sense of responsibility to his farm, environment and community.Agriculture Stewardship Hawaii has been supporting Sachter-Smith, Kamananui and nine other farms and ranches within the watershed to do the work, facilitating grants of $6,000 to $47,000 to help them take on conservation projects as part of their work. “It’s really about having a suite of practices that work together that support viable farm operation but that also provide valuable environmental outcomes for all,” said Dave Elliot, executive director of Agriculture Stewardship Hawaii. Many farmers want to integrate these practices into their everyday work, which is why grant funding and technical assistance is important. Sustainability for farmers is not just environmental, Sachter-Smith said, it’s a question of economic viability. The state doesn’t keep data on how many farmers or farms have adopted regenerative techniques, partly because it’s difficult to define, Hawaii Farmers Union Vice President Christian Zuckerman said. Unlike organic certification, which has a strict set of parameters, regenerative agriculture is still in its infancy.There is growing interest in the cultivation method, particularly among the younger generation of farmers and ranchers. Larger farms recognize soil conservation is good for their bottom line: more healthy soil means fewer fertilizers need to be purchased. “It’s not just bottom-line driven,” Zuckerman said. “It’s understanding that you have to be thinking seven generations ahead. We’re not just thinking about tomorrow. It’s a shift in mindset.” Regenerative techniques are an exciting “back to the future” development in farming, yielding results at the cutting edge of agricultural science, says researcher Noa Lincoln, who leads the University of Hawaii Indigenous Cropping Systems lab.It has been prone to politicization. Earlier this year, the Trump administration canceled — and is now remodeling — a $3.1 billion initiative to help farmers and ranchers do more to conserve soils and implement climate-friendly techniques. U.S. Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins called the program a “green new scam.” Hawaii was set to receive about $30 million in support. State lawmakers have mostly ignored legislation that would promote these practices. In 2022, the state enacted a law to create a cover crop initiative to help farmers buy seed for velvet beans and other crops. It never resulted in a program.The erstwhile federal initiative promised a lot but ended up being “actively harmful” to Sachter-Smith’s operation, he said. Grants are an important source of capital for farmers, especially when they’re adopting techniques new to them. But they are hard work, farmers say, requiring grantees to jump through bureaucratic hoops that sometimes work counter to their intuition. “We’re just small, at the end of the day. The money we’re working with is peanuts,” Sachter-Smith said. “But those peanuts mean a lot to us farmers.” Na Mea Kupono’s 14 ponds are nestled in the outskirts of Waialua, surrounded by homes a stone’s throw from Kaukonahua Stream. Taro grows from some of the ponds, others sit fallow, while tilapia swim in another, all situated between Sachter-Smith’s banana farm and Kaiaka Bay. Native, endemic and endangered birds loiter, with species such as aeo, kolea, akekeke and koloa nesting and idling in the kalo and lichen-covered rocks. In a fully functional ahupuaa such ponds would help control waterflow, cleaning it as it flows coastward from pond to pond. That still is the case, albeit a modern interpretation. Property lines and land and water uses have interrupted the ancient systems but Steve Bolosan and Kaimi Garrido see it as their responsibility to maintain the area as a loi kalo. They are witnessing water become more scarce as nearby properties are developed amid a changing climate. “When the new guys are coming in, they’re changing the flow of the drains,” Bolosan says. “But we feel we’re stewards and that’s our kuleana — this is one of the last pieces of old Hawaii.”The loi has a natural spring they can draw from but they have noticed a drop in rain in recent years, which is why they sought funding to help implement their windbreaks and to remove invasive grasses from their streamside land. They plan to plant native species in place. Framing the farm with milo and kukui trees and mulch helps retain soil while protecting the plot from winds, which hamper plant growth, fuel soil erosion and blow dry the greenery, parching the soils.Sitting near the edge of the watershed, 1.5 miles (2.4 kilometers) from Kaiaka Bay, the farmers take pride in the birdlife and the techniques they use, Indigenous or otherwise. “It’s really important that we are chemical-free,” Garrido said. “We use no herbicides or synthetic fertilizer.” Other farms working with Agricultural Stewardship installed bioswales, shallow trenches filled with vegetation that act like Na Mea Kupono's loi. They are sponges for moisture, filtering water and slowing its flow downhill. They are often found in urban landscapes to help manage stormwater. Many regenerative techniques being promoted these days have their roots in Indigenous methods, a cornerstone of Agriculture Stewardship Hawaii’s work, according to watershed program manager Sophie Moser. To better understand the impacts of their work, the organization uses modeling technology developed by Minnesota’s Board of Water and Soil Resources. The program is still in its pilot stages on Oahu, focused on Agricultural Stewardship’s project areas on the North Shore and in Waimanalo. The models take what practices each farm implements to estimate how much sediment and nutrients the farms retain. Agriculture Stewardship’s partner farms each reduced up to 90 tons of sediment, 210 pounds of nitrogen (95 kilograms) and 91 pounds (41 kilograms) of phosphorus per year. “We can incentivize things but it’s hard now with how many different landowners there are,” Moser said. “In my dream world everyone living on agricultural land within one watershed would turn to more traditionally minded ways of managing so the water is coming out cleaner than it came into their property, and better for downstream people.”Kaiaka Bay has become known for its murky brown waters. After heavy rain, it’s even darker. It’s popular nonetheless, thronged by hopeful anglers who may not know the site has about one-third the fish population of an average Oahu fishing spot. Authorities attribute this to several factors, particularly the sediment that blankets the seafloor, clouds the water and strains the resident sea life. Excess nitrogen and phosphorus promote blooms of algae that potentially release toxins. Runoff carrying agricultural chemicals poses an equally toxic hazard. “Wherever the water falls, it’s bringing everything that it’s touching out into the ocean,” says Tova Callender of the state Division of Aquatic Resources. Callender, based on Maui, says any techniques for soil retention and erosion control are resoundingly positive, even if the payoff isn’t obvious or immediate. “They’re not blowing smoke; everything that they’re doing is meaningful,” Callender said of the farmers’ efforts upstream. “If we had intact upper forests and we had regenerative agriculture on all our ag lands and we hadn’t filled in our wetlands, I wouldn’t have a job. And that would be great.”The Main Hawaiian Islands’ reefs are worth $33.57 billion in economic terms, according to a 2011 report by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. The economic value of the Koolau watershed alone is between $7.4 billion and $14 billion, according to the University of Hawaii Economic Research Organization. Public-private partnerships’ work on watershed preservation efforts in the mountains and highland forests has continued for years but little data has been collected or made available on the effects of urban and agricultural conservation efforts for nearshore waters. Sediments only add to the increasing impacts of climate change on the reefs, which regularly face bleaching events as ocean temperatures rise. Without coral reefs, the islands are even more exposed to other climate change-associated threats, such as surging seas during stronger storms.It’s hard to tell just how much progress has been made through regenerative techniques because positive changes on a few acres in the hills take a while to manifest downstream. But it’s all part of an integrated system, as it was in the days when the land was managed as an ahupuaa — a past that Kamananui Orchards cacao farmer Breen occasionally ponders. “Just thinking about that, to me as a farmer here,” Breen said, “makes me feel inspired.”This story was originally published by Honolulu Civil Beat and distributed through a partnership with The Associated Press.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See – December 2025

Clouds are vital to life – but many are becoming wispy ghosts. Here’s how to see the changes above us

As reflective white clouds become scarcer, learning to read the clouds could become essential in helping glimpse the changes upon us.

Thomas Koukas/Unsplash, CC BY-NC-NDAs a scholar researching clouds, I have spent much of my time trying to understand the economy of the sky. Not the weather reports showing scudding rainclouds, but the deeper logic of cloud movements, their distributions and densities and the way they intervene in light, regulate temperatures and choreograph heat flows across our restless planet. Recently, I have been noticing something strange: skies that feel hollowed out, clouds that look like they have lost their conviction. I think of them as ghost clouds. Not quite absent, but not fully there. These wispy formations drift unmoored from the systems that once gave them coherence. Too thin to reflect sunlight, too fragmented to produce rain, too sluggish to stir up wind, they give the illusion of a cloud without its function. We think of clouds as insubstantial. But they matter far beyond their weight or tangibility. In dry Western Australia where I live, rain-bringing clouds are eagerly anticipated. But the winter storms which bring most rain to the south-west are being pushed south, depositing vital fresh water into the oceans. More and more days pass under a hard, endless blue – beautiful, but also brutal in its vacancy. Worldwide, cloud patterns are now changing in concerning ways. Scientists have found the expanse of Earth’s highly reflective clouds is steadily shrinking. With less heat reflected, the Earth is now trapping more heat than expected. A quiet crisis above When there are fewer and fewer clouds, it doesn’t make headlines as floods or fires do. Their absence is quiet, cumulative and very worrying. To be clear, clouds aren’t going to disappear. They may increase in some areas. But the belts of shiny white clouds we need most are declining between 1.5 and 3% per decade. These clouds are the best at reflecting sunlight back to space, especially in the sunniest parts of the world close to the equator. By contrast, broken grey clouds reflect less heat, while less light hits polar regions, giving polar clouds less to reflect. Clouds are often thought of as an ambient backdrop to climate action. But we’re now learning this is a fundamental oversight. Clouds aren’t décor – they’re dynamic, distributed and deeply consequential infrastructure able to cool the planet and shape the rainfall patterns seeding life below. These masses of tiny water droplets or ice crystals represent climate protection accessible to all, regardless of nation, wealth or politics. On average, clouds cover two-thirds of the Earth’s surface, clustering over the oceans. Of all solar radiation reflected back to space, clouds are responsible for about 70%. Clouds mediate extremes, soften sunlight, ferry moisture and form invisible feedback loops sustaining a stable climate. Earth’s expanse of white, reflective clouds is shrinking decade after decade. Bernd Dittrich/Unsplash, CC BY-NC-ND When loss is invisible If clouds become rarer or leave, it’s not just a loss to the climate system. It’s a loss to how we perceive the world. When glaciers melt, species die out or coral reefs bleach and die, traces are often left of what was there. But if cloud cover diminishes, it leaves only an emptiness that’s hard to name and harder still to grieve. We have had to learn how to grieve other environmental losses. But we do not yet have a way to mourn the way skies used to be. And yet we must. To confront loss on this scale, we must allow ourselves to mourn – not out of despair, but out of clarity. Grieving the atmosphere as it used to be is not weakness. It is planetary attention, a necessary pause that opens space for care and creative reimagination of how we live with – and within – the sky. Seen from space, Earth is a planet swathed in cloud. NASA, CC BY-NC-ND Reading the clouds For generations, Australia’s First Nations have read the clouds and sky, interpreting their forms to guide seasonal activities. The Emu in the Sky (Gugurmin in Wiradjuri) can be seen in the Milky Way’s dark dust. When the emu figure is high in the night sky, it’s the right time to gather emu eggs. The skies are changing faster than our systems of understanding can keep up. One solution is to reframe how we perceive weather phenomena such as clouds. As researchers in Japan have observed, weather is a type of public good – a “weather commons”. If we see clouds not as leftovers from an unchanging past, but as invitations to imagine new futures for our planet, we might begin to learn how to live more wisely and attentively with the sky. This might mean teaching people how to read the clouds again – to notice their presence, their changes, their disappearances. We can learn to distinguish between clouds which cool and those which drift, decorative but functionally inert. Our natural affinity to clouds makes them ideal for engaging citizens. To read clouds is to understand where they formed, what they carry and whether they might return tomorrow. From the ground, we can see whether clouds have begun a slow retreat from the places that need them most. Learning to read the clouds can help us glimpse the changes above. Valentin de Bruyn/Wikimedia, CC BY-NC-ND Weather doesn’t just happen For millennia, humans have treated weather as something beyond our control, something that happens to us. But our effects on Earth have ballooned to the point that we are now helping shape the weather, whether by removing forests which can produce much of their own rain or by funnelling billions of tonnes of fossil carbon into the atmosphere. What we do below shapes what happens above. We are living through a very brief window in which every change will have very long term consequences. If emissions continue apace, the extra heating will last millennia. I propose cloud literacy not as solution, but as a way to urgently draw our attention to the very real change happening around us. We must move from reaction to atmospheric co-design – not as technical fix, but as a civic, collective and imaginative responsibility. Professor Christian Jakob provided feedback and contributed to this article, while Dr Jo Pollitt and Professor Helena Grehan offered comments and edits. Rumen Rachev receives funding from Edith Cowan University (ECU) through the Vice-Chancellor's PhD Scholarship, under the project Staging Weather led by Dr Jo Pollitt. He is also a Higher Degree by Research (HDR) member of the Centre for People, Place, and Planet (CPPP) at ECU.

Virginia Offshore Wind Developer Sues Over Trump Administration Order Halting Projects

The developers of a Virginia offshore wind project are asking a federal judge to block a Trump administration order that halted construction of their project, along with four others, over national security concerns

Dominion Energy Virginia said in its lawsuit filed late Tuesday that the government's order is “arbitrary and capricious” and unconstitutional. The Richmond-based company is developing Coastal Virginia Offshore Wind, a project it says is essential to meet dramatically growing energy needs driven by dozens of new data centers.The Interior Department did not detail the security concerns in blocking the five projects on Monday. In a letter to project developers, Interior's Bureau of Ocean Energy Management set a 90-day period — and possibly longer — “to determine whether the national security threats posed by this project can be adequately mitigated.”The other projects are the Vineyard Wind project under construction in Massachusetts, Revolution Wind in Rhode Island and Connecticut and two projects in New York: Sunrise Wind and Empire Wind. Democratic governors in those states have vowed to fight the order, the latest action by the Trump administration to hobble offshore wind in its push against renewable energy sources. Dominion's project has been under construction since early 2024 and was scheduled to come online early next year, providing enough energy to power about 660,000 homes. The company said the delay was costing it more than $5 million a day in losses solely for the ships used in round-the-clock construction, and that customers or the company would eventually bear the cost.Dominion called this week's order “the latest in a series of irrational agency actions attacking offshore wind and then doubling down when those actions are found unlawful.” The Bureau of Ocean Energy Management didn't immediately respond to an email seeking comment.U.S. District Judge Jamar Walker set a hearing for 2 p.m. Monday on Dominion's request for a temporary restraining order.The Associated Press’ climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP’s standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at AP.org.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See – December 2025

The World Has Laws About Land and Sea, But Not About Ice

As the Arctic melts and people spend more time there, defining our relationship to sea ice becomes more necessary.

When the Chinese cargo freighter Istanbul Bridge set sail for Europe in late September, it took an unusual route. Instead of heading south for the 40-day voyage through the Suez Canal, it tacked north. The freighter arrived in the United Kingdom at the port of Felixstowe just 20 days later—successfully launching the first-ever Arctic commercial-container route from Asia to Europe.For most of human history, the surface of the world’s northernmost ocean has been largely frozen. Now scientists predict that most of the Arctic Ocean’s 6.1 million square miles may be seasonally ice-free as soon as 2050. Economically, a less icy Arctic spells opportunity—new shipping routes and untapped fossil-fuel reserves. Climatologically, it’s a calamity. Legally, it’s a problem that has to be solved.  Much of the ocean’s center, the northernmost stretch surrounding the pole, will be subject to the lawlessness of the high seas—which will become a problem as more ships try to navigate a mushy mix of water and sea ice. And although the Arctic is the world’s fastest-warming region, and contains its most rapidly acidifiying ocean, it has few environmental protections. Scientists don’t have a clear idea of which species might need defending, or of the climate effects of unbridled shipping. (Ships puff black carbon, which reduces ice reflectivity and, in the short term, causes up to 1,500 times more warming than carbon dioxide.)In October, the United Nation’s special envoy for the ocean, Peter Thomson, called for countries to agree to a “precautionary pause on new economic activities in the Central Arctic Ocean” to buy time to study the climate and environmental risks of increased activity. Others are asking for an agreement akin to the 2020 Artemis Accords, which committed 59 nations to the “peaceful” and “sustainable” exploration of space. But some polar-law scholars argue that curbing climate catastrophe may require a more radical reimagining: to make sea ice a legal person.For centuries of seafaring, ice was an obstacle blocking people out, not an environment anyone thought to protect. Even in the Arctic, “we have laws about the land, we have the Law of the Sea, but we don’t have laws about ice,” Apostolos Tsiouvalas, a postdoctoral researcher with the Arctic University of Norway, told me. Because dealing with ice hasn’t been a major concern, even for the five nations that border the Arctic, and because ice is always transforming, its place in the law is confused at best.In many cases, solid ice extending from a coastline has been treated as legal land, and ice carried by a current has been considered water. During the Cold War, both Russia and the United States maintained scientific “drift stations” on detached ice floes. In 1970, when a shooting occurred on one American station, several nations debated where, exactly, the crime took place. Was the ice Canadian, because it likely calved from a glacier on Canada’s coast? Was it an American island? After some back-and-forth, the vessel-size chunk of ice legally transformed—by no small imaginative leap—into an American ship.The so-called Arctic Exception of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea does extend states’ rights to impose laws far from the coastline, in areas that are ice-covered for most of the year. The point was for Arctic states to help prevent accidents and pollution, but states have since used the exception to extend their geographical sovereignty. But the term ice-covered complicates these claims. How much ice means “covered”? Are we talking uncrossably frozen, or just a few drifting bits?That’s the problem with regulating icy regions: Even if these cryo-categories were more formalized, none would apply for very long. A large majority of Arctic ice is sea ice, which forms on ocean surfaces when salt water freezes. (It’s distinct from icebergs, which calve from landbound glaciers.) Human activity may have accelerated its melt, but sea ice was already one of the planet’s most dynamic systems, its surface area fluctuating by millions of miles season to season. It’s always either melting or freezing, and as it melts, its fragments can travel hundreds of miles along waves and currents.In an article published this month in the journal The Yearbook of Polar Law, Tsiouvalas and his co-authors, Mana Tugend and Romain Chuffart, argue that piecemeal updates to current laws simply will never keep up with this fast-changing and threatened environment. Future governance of sea ice will require a transformation of some sort, and they argue that the clearest path forward is to bring the rights-of-nature movement to the high north.  Since Ecuador’s landmark 2008 constitutional protection of nature, Bolivia, India, New Zealand, and other countries across the world have made natural entities legal persons, or otherwise given them inviolable rights. The UCLA Law professor James Salzman, who has taught a class on nature’s rights, told me that this idea does not represent a single legal framework but that it does answer what he calls the “Lorax problem” of environmental law, referring to the Dr. Seuss character who claims to “speak for the trees.” Granting a voiceless entity legal personhood provides it with a representative to argue on its behalf.With this designation, Tsiouvalas and his co-authors note, sea ice would get the highest legal status possible. In many cases, environmental protections can be bent to accommodate other, conflicting benefits to human society. But personhood grants an inherent right to exist that can’t be superseded. The new paper is mostly an ethical exploration and, the authors acknowledge, still just a stepping stone to more concrete regulations, but granting ice rights would create firmer standing to, for example, keep ships out of areas that humanity might otherwise want to use. The authors also note that rethinking sea ice’s status could include Indigenous people who have been routinely excluded from decisions around Arctic sovereignty and whose millennia of living on and with ice could guide its future governance.But Sara Olsvig, the chair of the Inuit Circumpolar Council, told me recently that the legal interest in Arctic rights of nature is a “worrying development.” To Olsvig, the phrase rights of nature itself implies some separate concept of nature that doesn’t exist for the Inuit. And in the past, the environmentalist movement has elevated its idea of “nature” above the interests of Indigenous people. Decades-long bans against whale and seal hunting, for instance, devastated the cultural continuity and health of Inuit in the far north.To answer such concerns, any legal right granted needs to be very clear about the duties that follow, Salzman said: If sea ice has a right to not be harmed, what constitutes “harm”? Would that mean blocking all human interference with the ice, or merely banning fuels that emit black carbon? After all, the major threat to sea ice—global emissions—“is not something that can be locally managed,” Salzman pointed out, and so far, natural resources have obtained legal personhood only in a national context. Rights for sea ice would require international agreement, which could be not only harder to achieve but harder to enforce. Sara Ross, an associate law professor at Dalhousie University, in Canada, told me that, in her view, legal personhood granted via international treaty would be too dependent on goodwill agreements to be effective.But in some ways, legal personhood for nonhumans is an old idea, Ross said. Most countries grant it to corporations, and in the United States and Commonwealth countries, it’s typical for ships too. She especially likes the ship comparison, because—as maritime law has already discovered—floating pieces of ice aren’t so dissimilar. She imagines a more circumscribed role for sea-ice personhood, connected to, say, setting standards that ban icebreaking or heavy fuel emissions in icy areas. If these mandates are violated, local Inuit communities would have the power to sue on behalf of the ice—whether or not they could prove how much one particular ship degraded one particular stretch of ice. Without some legal protections put in place, the sea ice will soon disappear that much faster. In October, the U.S. bought new icebreaking ships from Finland and undermined an International Maritime Organization agreement that would have had shipowners pay a fee for the greenhouse gases their vessels emit. The next week, just after the conclusion of the Istanbul Bridge’s voyage, Russia and China made a formal agreement to co-develop the Northern Sea Route that the ship had followed. If summer sea ice disappears entirely, scientists predict accelerated catastrophe—leaps in temperature, more frequent and stronger storms, global sea-level rise—which will threaten the planet’s general livability. “The fact that we need sea ice to survive is not a rights-of-nature argument,” Salzman said. “But it’s still a pretty good case to make.”

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