youngquist, 38, is the lead researcher on the chicago shedd aquarium’s “amphibian response to habitat restoration” project, where she has worked since 2019. youngquist works on experimental sites across la grange park woods and salt creek woods nature preserve, each about 30 minutes west of the aquarium, located in chicago’s south loop. 

over the past several years, she has worked with the shedd aquarium in chicago; the chicago park district, which oversees more than 600 parks in chicago; and the forest preserves of cook county, which oversees over 70,000 acres of land in chicago and the chicago-area suburbs, to transform these degraded areas into flourishing savannas and wetlands to welcome frogs and other amphibians. she analyzes how this restoration can help native species thrive.

it’s a battle between fighting off the dense, shadowy “wicked witch of the west” woods to restore the budding “cinderella” woods, with increased sunlight and biodiversity, said krystyna kurth, shedd’s coordinator of conservation action, who leads restoration at the skokie lagoons, a man made site roughly 45 minutes north of chicago’s downtown.

“in addition to the ecosystem services such as carbon sequestration, holding water and mitigating drought and flooding, all the birds, all the mammals, all the amphibians, all the reptiles, the insects, they are all relying on these habitats that only hold water for a few months every year,” youngquist said. “[ephemeral wetlands] are little hidden gems that have an outsized role in our well-being.”

laying the groundwork

currently, youngquist is examining the adverse effects of invasive species on wetlands and the native species that inhabit them. 

when youngquist started, she focused on removing buckthorn, an invasive shrub that grows in a dense monoculture, she said. a monoculture is when one shrub excels and pushes out all the other plant species, affecting the biodiversity of the habitat. buckthorn’s berries act as a laxative, so when animals eat them, the plant spreads everywhere, kurth said.

native to eurasia, buckthorn was brought to north america in the 1800s as an ornamental plant but has since infiltrated the wild. the dense buckthorn creates shading over wetlands, which affects the water temperature and blocks the sunlight necessary for algae to grow — a crucial food resource for tadpoles, including chorus frogs and toads, and insects, youngquist said. other species, such as invasive cattails, have similar effects. 

“with shading, you get colder water, and [the amphibians] grow slower, so there’s a higher risk that they won’t make it out before the pond dries,” youngquist said.

she added that buckthorn also contains a chemical called emodin, which can contaminate the wetlands and lead to deformities in tree frogs’ and other amphibians’ eggs and even prevent them from hatching. those that do hatch can suffer liver damage as tadpoles.

after graduating with a b.s. from pacific lutheran university in washington, youngquist went on to pursue her ph.d. in ecology, evolution and environmental biology at miami university. there, she found a project studying amphibian communities and agricultural landscapes, supporting her lifelong love of amphibians and reptiles, and has pursued research on amphibians ever since, she said.

she focuses on nine ponds across la grange park woods — removing invasive species at 15, 10 and zero meters from the ponds’ edges, and salt creek woods nature preserve — where all buckthorn has been removed — to see various effects of restoration on habitats for amphibian and plant life.

“the idea … is to figure out, if you only clear a very small area of buckthorn, does that have a measurable effect right on the plants and animals,” youngquist said.

she said at 15 meters of restoration, grasses and flowering plants make a prominent return. at 10 meters, there is less biodiversity restoration due to shade from the buckthorn.

invasive species are also altering the physical structure of the wetlands, youngquist said. restoration is important so that these wetlands, especially the manmade skokie lagoons, north of the city, can properly manage water.

“wetlands are really important for flood management and water control, keeping water on the landscape during drought years, and also managing water during very wet years when you get flooding,” she said. “by having a properly structured and functioning wetland, you’re helping people with that water management as well.”

taking action

the negative effects of buckthorn go beyond youngquist’s experimental site and the skokie lagoons, which are under jurisdiction of the forest preserves of cook county. four sites in the southeast side of chicago, under jurisdiction of the park district, suffer degradation as well.

the southeast side parks allow youngquist’s team to further monitor amphibian response to the removal of invasive species as well as their response to installation of water control structures and regrading shorelines, said cassi saari, a project manager for the chicago park district. like youngquist’s experiment, these changes help restore biodiversity in wetland habitats.

“a lot of these sites have an industrial pass … where it’s just a street with a steep drop off, and so there’s very limited habitat between aquatic ecosystem and the terrestrial ecosystem. so we’ve been regrading shorelines to make it a much more gentle slope,” saari said. “that allows a huge variety of plants that could grow in that slope area, compared to if it’s just a steep drop off.”

youngquist also collaborates with community volunteers organized through shedd’s “action days” program. volunteers remove buckthorn around ponds in the winter so that the area is clear for youngquist to do her research in the spring and summer months.

kurth leads restoration and recreational programming that takes places outside of shedd. “action days,” devoted to sites such as the skokie lagoons, encompass the largest program. 

kurth, 27, said many of the volunteers do not have a background in science, rather they range from young adults to retirees wanting to get involved in the work in their own backyard. she added that she believes aquariums appeal to a wide audience and offer a “cool gateway opportunity” for volunteering.

“our team works really hard to build a dedicated volunteer community from the sites that we’re working out,” kurth said.

some volunteers are fairly new. allison witek began volunteering with the forest preserves in the fall as part of a class project. she graduated from chicago’s roosevelt university in december with a degree in sustainability studies. volunteering has inspired her to pursue a career in fieldwork, rather than behind a desk, and she hopes to turn her commitment into a more permanent role.

others are more seasoned. phillip stalley, a professor of political science at depaul university in chicago, has been a part of this volunteer community for three years. volunteering not only feels great, he said, but also makes small steps to calm his “ecoanxiety” about the state of the planet.

 “to be out here and be part of the solution is great for mental health,” stalley said.

kurth has worked at the shedd’s skokie lagoons site just north of the city since 2019. she also assists youngquist at la grange park woods and salt creek woods nature preserve. this has allowed her to apply her learnings from the experimental site to the skokie site and copy and paste some of the work youngquist is doing, kurth said.

the restored “cinderella woods,” otherwise known as woodland savannas, are home to massive oak trees, spread out to allow sunlight through, restoring the biodiversity of grasses and shrubs, kurth said. they are also better at carbon sequestration, the process of capturing and storing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, making small contributions to combat climate change.

increased biodiversity also makes habitats more resilient in the face of climate change.

“having more diverse animals and plants gives you this idea we would call ‘redundancy,’ so that if one species is lost and the role that species plays in the environment is lost, another species is doing the same thing and can replace it,” youngquist said. “that creates that resiliency by having lots of different species all kind of overlapping in their sort of ecosystem role and services.”

restoration and revival

kurth said the skokie lagoons took “extra muscle” to bring back to life. figuring out what seeds can be replanted and thrive naturally in a man-made area is a very fine-tuned task. in their restoration efforts, researchers are planting hyper localized seeds — from no more than 20 miles away.

kurth first replants “weedier natives,” such as goldenrod, that are able to fight back against the buckthorn resprouting. then, she can thin out the heartier natives and plant more sensitive ones to thrive without the threat of buckthorn.

“as we remove these invasives, we’re putting back these awesome, diverse natives that not only help the amphibians, but the whole food chain there,” kurth said.

despite restoration of plant diversity, youngquist has yet to see effects in amphibian and insect populations. climate change is altering precipitation patterns and leading to droughts in some areas. the rain is coming in the summer, despite the amphibians needing it in the spring, which affects breeding, she said.

“having that drought effect from climate change and extreme events is kind of overshadowing the only buckthorn effect that we have,” youngquist said.

despite the last five dry springs, youngquist said she hopes the next few years bring rain so that she can better observe the effects of buckthorn removal and restoration on amphibian populations. she wants to continue examining the wetlands across la grange park woods and salt creek woods nature preserve for the next decade or so in order to see the full effects of climate change and restoration efforts on such a crucial habitat.

“hopefully, it’ll be a decade or two of data, so we can really see how weather and climate are impacting amphibians across a large area,” she said.

“instead of planting trees, we are cutting them down, harming nature, and causing drought in the valley. but today, kashmir’s environment is under threat,” environmental scholar ab majeed said.

kashmir, the northernmost part of the indian subcontinent surrounded by the himalayas and amazing landscapes, is home to famous springs that have flowed for hundreds of years. the achabal spring in anantnag, the nishat garden spring in srinagar, and the aripal spring in tral are notable water sources in kashmir, each known for their unique charm. these springs are not only scenic, but also hold cultural and historical significance. 

but these springs are facing a serious problem. in february 2025, for the first time ever, each one stopped flowing. the unexpected drying of these important water sources is a clear warning to the people living there, who are now dealing with a growing water shortage that affects drinking water, farming, and the culture of kashmir.

these springs have always provided hydration for the land and its people. their constant water flow was taken for granted, a promise of life and prosperity even during tough winters. but now the balance has been disrupted by a long dry spell, made worse by 75% less snowfall according to meteorological department srinagar director mukhtar ahmad.

the drought has been worsened by pollution and deforestation. places that used to be full of water are now dry. the loss is not just about the water; it’s about the strong connection between the people and their environment.

mohd amin dar, a gardener who has cared for the ancient nilnag spring in south kashmir — connected to seven other springs in tral — shared his sadness. “the nilnag spring, which has helped our community for many years, has dried up. i remember when its water was vital for drinking and irrigation. there were times when the water would slow down naturally, but now our actions have caused it to disappear,” he said. 

his assistant, filled with emotion, added, “this is the second time i have seen such a disaster. these springs are not just sources of water; they are special gifts from nature. our neglect and pollution have pushed us into a severe drought.”

farming, which is a vital source of income for many local families, is struggling because of the water shortage. fields that used to thrive with water from these springs are now dry and unproductive. 

in tral, a village in south kashmir, the aripal spring used to provide steady water for crops, but sudden losses now threaten not only farmers’ incomes but also the food supply for the whole region. people are scared that if quick action is not taken, these issues could hurt farming for years.

the aripal spring is especially important to the tral people. located in the mountains not far from tral, its clear waters were praised in kashmiri poetry and seen as a sign of divine favor. poets like wahab khar wrote ” ار پل چھ پانی یتھ ونہ ژھالان، چشمس پانی نہ چھ آمو ترالہ” (the water of aripal does not dry up in any season; the spring’s water never stops flowing to tral.)

but today, that promise is broken. according to gh mohd bhat, a phe (public health engineering) employee from tral, kashmir who lives nearby, “the aripal spring has a rich history. its water used to drop a little in november and december but would return in february. this time, because of what we have done, it has completely vanished.”

tourism, a significant industry in the area, is also affected. gardens like achabal and nishat, once known for their beauty and the sound of flowing water, are now quiet reminders of nature’s troubles. 

“tourists are no longer visiting these gardens. the springs that used to attract visitors are now gone. their absence hurts both the environment and the economy of our towns,” said dilshada begum, an employee connected to the local heritage.

the drying up of achabal spring, a vital feature of the historic mughal garden built by empress noor jahan, has severely impacted both tourism and the local economy. the decline in tourist visits has hurt businesses such as handicraft sellers, hotels, and transport services.

as the water disappears, many people feel a loss of hope. the natural beauty and importance of these springs have brought people together in celebrating their culture. “cutting down trees and dumping waste has sped up this crisis. instead of caring for our trees and waters we are hurting them,” environmental expert mohd shafi sofi said.

but amidst this sadness, there is a new hope emerging. out of their grief, local volunteer groups are taking action. young people, students, and concerned citizens have come together, dedicated to fixing the damage done to their beloved environment.

javed dar, a renowned photojournalist, has started an initiative to clean the polluted rivers and streams of south kashmir. to inspire others to participate in the cleanup operations, he formed a team of roughly 40 individuals. the sandran river, which used to be a popular place for kids to play in muniwar village, anantnag district, is now overflowing with trash. with regret, javed recalled, “as children, we used to play in this river. it’s so polluted now that it’s hard to even walk next to it.” the anguish of people witnessing this once-beautiful river become a landfill is reflected in his remarks.

a significant effort toward environmental conservation has taken shape in the gulmarg belt, north kashmir’s most-visited tourist spot. rah-e-umeed foundation, a non-profit organization that supports the underprivileged and those in need, led a large-scale cleanliness drive, bringing together hundreds of volunteers to keep gulmarg and tangmarg clean.

in aripal village, a local school has started drives that focus on environmental care. “our teachers and classmates are dedicated to keeping our area clean. we hope that what we do will inspire others to see how important our springs are and to act before it’s too late,” said umais nazeer, a student involved in these efforts.

campaign members like qamran, a recent media graduate from university of kashmir, are actively taking part in the cleanup drives and rallying with passion, believing that bringing back these springs is not just about the environment but also about cultural heritage. 

“we want to raise awareness throughout the kashmir valley,” he said. “we need everyone to see that saving our waters means saving our heritage. with help from local contractors and our personal efforts, we are doing all we can to clean up and restore these springs’ natural flow.” many share his belief that together, they can make a difference even in tough times.

the story of kashmir’s dried springs is complex — a tale of poor environmental management and the tough consequences of neglect, mixed with the strong spirit of a people determined to reclaim their heritage. it is a story filled with tears and sadness, but also filled with hope. each volunteer, every clean-up event, and the collective voice of local communities signal a promise that past mistakes will not shape the future.

“even if the achabal, nishat, and aripal springs seem calm now, the voices of kashmir’s people are not silent. we are united in healing our land — every piece of trash we remove and every drop of water we save is a step toward restoration. nature is fragile, but our spirit is strong. with hope, perseverance, and collective dedication, i believe we can revive these springs and build a sustainable future,” volunteer sajad murinwari said.

despite their distinct differences, maui and iceland shockingly share many of nature’s similarities. from cascading waterfalls to stunning beaches and volcanic landscapes, both maui and iceland boast the beauty of nature. however, these elements are as similar as they are different, as the unique environments of each island shape how these landscapes physically manifest. as climate change continues to pose a threat to the very elements that make maui and iceland so special – from melting glaciers to rising sea levels – we must do our part to protect them.

the striking waterfalls in both maui and iceland draw visitors from all around the world. while less abundant in waterfalls than iceland, maui is most well known for the cascades lining the famous hana highway. the road to hana boasts over 18 waterfalls in a 54 mile span, making it a popular tourist attraction. iceland, on the other hand, is home to over 10,000 waterfalls, including the popular gulfoss or “golden falls” waterfall located in the hvitá river canyon. the seljalandsfoss waterfall located atop the south coast allows visitors to walk behind the water, offering a unique experience and perspective. though the islands often contrast one another, both maui and iceland offer breathtaking waterfalls that showcase the beauty of nature.

maui’s coastline spanss 130 miles, and about 30 of those miles are beautiful stretches of beach. maui’s beaches are diversely beautiful, ranging from soft, white sand to black rock. the warm climate provides the perfect environment for water activities and these beaches are particularly popular for snorkeling, scuba diving, and surfing. iceland’s rugged coastline is made up of many otherworldly black sand beaches defined by their unique beauty. diamond beach is one of iceland’s most renowned beaches,  the shimmering glaciers standing in stark contrast to the black sand on the shore. iceland’s arctic weather makes the beaches less ideal for water activities compared to those of maui, but their distinct beauty still makes them a popular destination among visitors. 

about 75% of the island of maui is formed of the haleakala volcano, with mauna kahalawai making up the remaining 25%. currently, haleakala is the only active volcano in maui, and it has erupted at least 10 times over the past 1,000 years. iceland has many more active volcano systems; its 30+ active systems makes it one of the most volcanically active places in the world. iceland’s unique location, situated on the mid atlantic ridge in the north atlantic ocean, where the eurasian and north american tectonic plates are constantly pulling apart, makes it prone to more volcanic activity. 

despite their geographical differences, stunning volcanoes, waterfalls, and beaches shape the environments of both maui and iceland, which are both becoming increasingly vulnerable to the impacts of climate change. these islands are both facing urgent environmental challenges. maui’s renowned beaches are being threatened by rising sea levels and temperatures across the globe which impact ecosystems that are vital to island functions. these rising temperatures are also playing a role in melting the iconic glaciers that shape iceland’s landscape. furthermore, these unprecedented geological conditions may very well impact the eruption rates of active volcanoes, which could be detrimental to both islands.

we must act now to help preserve the planet’s natural wonders for future generations. reducing our carbon footprint, using renewable energy sources, recycling, and conserving water are just a few simple ways we can take measures towards preventing climate change and protecting nature on an individual level. it is crucial that we all do our part in attempting to protect not only maui and iceland, but the planet in general. by making conscious choices to prevent climate change, even through seemingly-small individual actions, we can ensure that the beauty of nature still exists for those who come after us to enjoy.

the orca pod-cast explores the taxonomy and definition of orca whales as a species.

in it, i discuss how i was inspired by a post i saw from emma luck, the northern naturalist on instagram, and get into topics such orca ecotypes, and the recent recommendation to consider orca subspecies, resident and biggs, to be their own species.

works consulted.

podcast transcript:

hello, my name is emily.

i’m a senior undergrad in wildlife science, and today i’d like to talk about killer whales after seeing an instagram post from a marine biologist named emma luck, username northern naturalist, that inspired me to read up on the proposal of two new killer whale species.

we’ve all heard of killer whales. many of us probably saw free willy as kids. these iconic citations are actually in the delphinidae family, classifying them as dolphins despite their common names containing, “whale.”

this is said to potentially be a result of a mistranslation of the spanish name, “asesino de ballenas,” which means “whale killer” rather than “killer whale.” keeping on theme, their genus name, orcinus, is in reference to an etruscan god of the underworld. they’ve also earned the nickname, “the wolves of the sea,” because of how they hunt as a group.

you might be wondering how such a charismatic species ends up with major taxonomic changes. i know that i personally often assume that because a species is popular or well known, it must be super extensively and thoroughly researched by now.

however, it turns out that’s not necessarily true, and with orca whales there are a lot of knowledge gaps on the species, actually. a lot of new species or reclassification of a species in the modern day comes from filling the knowledge gap on known organisms, rather than from undiscovered organisms.

not that we don’t still discover new organisms, but they’re usually found in places humans have historically struggled to research because of physical restraints and technological limitations. so places like the deep sea or caves.

the definition of what makes something distinct enough to be a species seems pretty intuitive at first.

like, you know, a bird and a dog are obviously different species, but how do we know that a dog is a different species from a wolf? or that crows and ravens aren’t the same species?

reproductive isolation – not being able to reproduce with species outside of your own species – is the most clear definition.

however, it isn’t the only definition and there are many exceptions to it. a species can be based on morphology, feeding habits, social behavior, and geographic location which are usually supported by genetics.

one of the more “out there” examples i can think of, is the time my evolution professor told us about a bird, whose name i can’t recall, that was delineated into a few species based solely on their unique songs, as the species would only reproduce with birds who use the same song as them, even though they were compatible with other birds.

and if i recall correctly, they weren’t significantly genetically different either.

but for the sake of this podcast, i’ll focus on the definitions provided from a paper that i cover later.

it defines a species as a separately evolving lineage composed of a population or collection of populations. and it defines subspecies as a population or collection of populations that appears to be a separately evolving lineage with discontinuities resulting from geography, ecological specialization, or other forces that restrict gene flow to the point that the population or collection of populations is diagnosably distinct.

so with that being said, let’s dive back into orcas. a lot of what we know about orcas varies depending on the specific population.

orcas have a diverse range, being found in every ocean around the globe, so naturally there’s been variation observed based on region. orca pods are also a tightly knit matriarchal community, so even different families in the same area can be pretty distinguishable from each other.

while all orca whales are considered understudied, so much so that the iucn red list feels that there is not enough data to assess the species risk of extinction.

orcas, in particular in the southern hemisphere, are considered significantly less studied than other northern orcas because there isn’t really a lot of land mass in the southern hemisphere, so historically it’s been difficult to observe them in the open ocean.

because of the extensive range of the killer whale, they have been broken down into ecotypes. however, as i was reading the literature, it sounds like most scientists are suggesting that the risk of oversimplifying these understudied individuals outweighs its usefulness.

the northern naturalist on instagram cited a 2013 paper by dee brune et al. titled, “killer whale ecotypes: is there a global model?” this paper does a deep dive into the concept of ecotypes and critiques the concept.

as someone who didn’t know anything about ecotypes going into it, i found the paper very easy to understand and i felt like it gave me a pretty solid grasp on the concept while introducing their critique as well.

the ecotypes in the eastern north pacific include the resident, offshore, and transient ecotypes.

transient also being known as biggs, named for the canadian scientist michael bigg, and in the southern ocean it includes the ecotypes type a, b, c, and d.

while the paper does describe a population in the north atlantic, it doesn’t name them as the type 1 and type 2 ecotypes i’ve seen mentioned in a few articles.

one of my biggest takeaways is that a major thing that really makes a population of orcas unique is their hunting strategy that gets passed down through generations and is specialized to their prey of choice.

about a year ago now, the paper by moran et al. titled, “revised taxonomy of eastern north pacific killer whales (orcinus orca): bigg’s and resident ecotypes deserve species status,” was published and this paper reviewed the data available on resident and biggs ecotypes.

as the title suggests, they concluded that they deserve species level status. they focused on these ecotypes because they have the most extensive data available.

they used a combination of ecology, behaviour and morphology, and molecular genetics to support their findings.

the resident killer whale is named subspecies ater and bigg’s killer whale is named subspecies rectipinnus.

their names were actually given by edward drinker cope way back in 1869.

the paper mentions that the common name of resident killer whale is a placeholder, while they hope to consult indigenous people for a new common name, which i think is a really nice way to acknowledge the history indigenous people have with the species, but also especially since their people are often overlooked in western science.

the post i originally saw said that the two species proposed were accepted as subspecies, not species. and i reached out to emma luck on instagram to ask if she could help explain who gets the authority to approve a new species.

i’m very grateful for her quick response that pointed me to the taxonomy committee of the society of marine mammalogy.

they do an annual review of marine mammal species and subspecies, and it was in this that they explained the reasoning for classifying biggs and resident ecotypes as a subspecies rather than the proposed species.

their big concerns were about gene flow and a desire for a more comprehensive data on orca clades globally to understand just how distinct these groups are from other orcas. 

however, emma luck commented that this wasn’t the most popular decision and it might change in the future. 

i’m excited to see what taxonomic changes come from the orca community in the future and i hope we are soon better able to research the southern populations.

it’s pretty crucial to have an understanding of these populations so that we can take steps towards the best management practices and assure that we don’t let more vulnerable populations suffer because they were lumped together with better off populations.

it’s also important to research the species now so that we can better understand how climate change is impacting them.

thanks for listening and i hope you enjoyed learning more about the species as much as i did.

beneath the surface of the ocean we can find a hidden world, vast and full of life. it is a world of mystery, where light fades into darkness, and silence is filled with the whispers of unseen creatures. but beneath all this beauty, a battle rages—a battle not of war, but of survival.

sharks, the guardians of the oceans, have ruled these waters for longer than humans have roamed the earth, keeping the ocean in balance. yet they are hunted, misunderstood, and feared, with around 100 million sharks killed globally each year. this is the story of one shark, caught in the struggle between survival and extinction. a creature feared as a monster but destined to be a protector.

people call me a monster, a murderer. but if i wasn’t important, i wouldn’t have a place in the ocean. without me, the ocean would die. i am lurking in the deep, gliding through the water watching the sunlight dance on the waves above. i hunt the weak, the sick, keeping the ocean healthy and thriving. when a human sees me, they only see fear. looking at my sharp teeth or the shape of my body, they swim away in fear. but they don’t understand that without sharks like me, the ocean would be a desert, a blue lifeless desert.

after a night’s sleep, i wake up, ready to hunt. but even when i sleep, i am never truly at rest. only half of my brain sleeps, while the other half remains awake, keeping me alert to any predators. my eyes never fully close. no, i am not the biggest animal in the ocean. orcas, larger sharks, and, of course, humans are my predators. having this unique ability helps me survive.

like you, i also need to eat. i spend most of my day swimming alone, searching for food. i am a solitary hunter. when i find a fish that looks like a good meal, i approach carefully, circling it from a distance, watching its every move. then, with a burst of speed, i strike, biting it before my prey even realizes i am there. that first attack is enough to weaken it, making an escape impossible.

i play a crucial role in the ocean. by hunting the sick and the weak, i ensure that only the strongest fish survive. i also keep fish populations in check. if certain fish become too abundant, they can destroy algae beds and disrupt the delicate balance of the ocean.

yet, despite my importance, you fear me. you judge me by my sharp teeth and the stories you’ve heard. but the truth is, i should fear you more than you fear me. every year, humans kill an estimated 100 million sharks, while sharks only kill around 10 humans annually. i don’t hunt humans. i approach out of curiosity, wondering what these strange creatures with two legs and no fins are.

but something is wrong. i am becoming hungrier. there are fewer fish, and i don’t understand why. when i gather with others to reproduce, i notice fewer and fewer sharks. our numbers are falling. something is happening to my ocean, and i don’t know if it will ever be the same.

suddenly, i see a fish’s tail flicker in the distance. hunger takes over. instinct drives me forward. i don’t think, i just act. i lunge at my prey, jaws open, ready to strike.

then pain.

a sharp, unnatural pull tugs at my lip. i try to escape, but something is holding me back. the ocean around me feels wrong. i try to dive, but i can’t. i am stuck, pulled upward, against my will. the light gets brighter. the water gets thinner. i break the surface, gasping, but i am no longer in control.

i am being taken.

it doesn’t feel right. i can hear loud noises, feel rough hands grabbing me and placing me on the boat. i try escaping but i can’t. i’m trying to breathe, but i am suddenly paralysed. after a few minutes i become unconscious.

by surprise i wake up, disoriented. this feels wrong, the water is different, thinner and unnatural. i am surrounded by invisible walls. i don’t see the vast blue horizon like i used to. i decide to swim forward searching for a way out. i swim and swim but there is nowhere to go. i am stuck in a cage made from glass. doomed to swim in circles for the rest of my life.

suddenly i feel a vibration through the glass. i go to take a closer look and see these strange, pale fleshy objects pressing against the glass. hands. these creatures are humans. a small one comes closer and presses her hands against the glass. her wide eyes look into mine, then she runs away in fear. and she screams, “it is going to eat me? look at his teeth; they are so pointy!”

this happens every day. small humans press their faces in on the glass, make faces at me or sometimes scream. but then in the background i hear a voice, the voice of an angel, calm unlike the rest. “don’t be scared; sharks are not dangerous!” amazed by this voice i turn toward the sound. this human speaks not with fear but with passion. in a calm voice, she explains, “did you know that sharks only kill 10 humans a year?”

the children looked at her with surprise.

she carried on talking with such passion and says, “but do you know how many sharks are killed by humans every year? around 100 million, so who are the real monsters?”

the children were all gobsmacked and responded, “wait, are we really more dangerous than sharks?” the brilliant scientist answered, “yes, we are. sharks are incredible animals, so vital for the ocean’s health. the first shark appeared over 400 million years ago, long before dinosaurs were around. and if they have survived for so long, this means that they have an essential role in the balance of the ocean.“

the children turned to look at me. i could see that the fear in their eyes had turned into curiosity. questions poured from their mouths, their excitement growing. and then one child, smaller than the others, said softly, “i thought they were monsters… but they are not. we need them and i want to protect them.”

for the first time since being trapped i saw a glimmer of hope. if these children could understand, then maybe one day the entire world would, too. maybe one day, everyone will see me for what i truly am. not a monster, but a guardian and a protector of the sea. until then, i wait, watching and hoping that it will change.

can urbanization actually be good for the environment? this video explores this question through conversations with students, professionals and people with both positive and negative personal experience with urbanization and urban environments.

a majority of the human population lives in urban areas, or will soon. there are ways that this can be used as an opportunity to address some of the most pressing issues we face today as a global community.

when we discuss climate change, the focus is often on how human activities are affecting the environment. but have we considered how the climate is affecting us? climate influences nearly every aspect of our lives — from what we wear and eat to how we feel and function. but could it also shape our cultural norms surrounding work, rest, and leisure — and even how we approach environmental conservation?

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mike barandiarán, a manager at the u.s. fish and wildlife vieques national wildlife refuge in puerto rico, believes it does. with a career spanning diverse climates and cultures, barandiarán has observed how geography and weather influence not only our perception of time but also our approach to preserving the natural world. he frames this contrast as the difference between “gringo time” and “island time.”

“gringo time” embodies the rigid, industrial expectations tied to american work culture. it’s a mindset rooted in punctuality, strict deadlines, and a highly structured approach to tasks. efficiency and productivity are paramount, driven by external pressures and a sense of urgency to succeed in a demanding capitalist system. as barandiarán notes, viequenses often use the term “gringo time” as a signal to “lock in” and get tasks done quickly when necessary.

on the other hand, “island time” reflects a more relaxed and fluid approach to work, common in puerto rico and the caribbean. here, tasks are completed with flexibility, guided by the belief that things will get done when they need to get done, rather than adhering to rigid schedules. this cultural understanding of time prioritizes balance over urgency, a rhythm shaped by the steady, tranquil climate of the island.

cultural norms clash, but resiliency efforts persevere

barandiarán’s work in vieques, a small island just eight miles off the coast of mainland puerto rico, has given him a front-row seat to these contrasting time cultures — and their implications for environmental conservation.

vieques is a natural treasure trove, home to crystalline waters, black sand beaches, and bioluminescent bays that glow under the night sky. yet, its idyllic present conceals a turbulent past. for decades, the u.s. navy used the island for military testing, sparking fierce protests and resistance from viequenses who fought tirelessly against the destruction of their homeland. the navy’s withdrawal in 2003 marked a turning point, but it left behind a legacy of undetonated bombs and chemical contaminants, posing ongoing risks to the island’s residents and its fragile ecosystems.

in the wake of the military retreat, conservation efforts began to restore the island to its original state. building on this foundation of resilience, barandiarán and his team have prioritized hiring local viequenses for conservation efforts: “when you hire local people, you know they’re going to stay. not many adapt to the rhythms of life here — not even people from san juan.”

the locals are intelligent, educated, and professionally equipped, but their work styles often clash with the rigid expectations of the u.s. federal government.

traditional practices intertwine with conservation

this disconnect became clear as barandiarán observed their fluid approach to punctuality and deadlines. it wasn’t laziness or a lack of preparedness, as some outsiders might assume, but a reflection of the caribbean rhythm of life.

“in the caribbean, people don’t live to work; they work to live. they’re not lazy — they simply don’t have the same need to work nonstop like in northern countries,” barandiarán said.

in the u.s., changing seasons create clear boundaries between work and rest. but in the caribbean, where seasons blur and the landscape remains perpetually lush, life moves to a different beat.

this cultural rhythm also shapes how viequenses interact with their environment. traditional practices like fishing and crabbing for “jueyes” (land crabs) are not just livelihoods but deeply ingrained traditions.

barandiarán and his team have integrated these practices into conservation efforts, allowing sustainable harvesting during designated seasons. “we’ve found a balance between conservation laws and the needs of the community,” he said. “it’s about cooperation and education, not imposition.”

however, challenges remain. the tight deadlines imposed by mainland funders often clashed with the viequense concept of time. for instance, assurances that work would be completed “ahorita” — or “right away” — marked a cultural divide. in vieques, “ahorita” doesn’t mean immediately, but rather “sometime soon,” a fluid timeframe that could stretch from now to an undetermined point in the future.

compounding these challenges is a deep-seated wariness of “gringos” and their demands, rooted in a history of outside intervention. the island’s residents, scarred by decades of military occupation and environmental exploitation, approach external expectations with suspicion. this cultural resistance, paired with the relaxed pace of “island time,” has added layers of complexity to conservation efforts.

“the concept of national parks is a european and anglo-saxon one,” barandiarán said. “in developed countries, parks don’t directly impact communities, but in developing countries, people depend on these resources for their livelihood.” in vieques, conservation must balance ecological preservation with the needs of those who call the island home.

discovering ways to cross the cultural divide

so, how do we bridge the gap between “gringo time” and “island time” in environmental conservation? barandiarán’s advice is simple: “patience, tolerance, communication.” these three elements are crucial for successful cross-cultural collaboration. by fostering open dialogue and mutual respect, it’s possible to navigate the nuances of differing work styles and time perceptions.

as conservation efforts worldwide become more interconnected—and as climate change reshapes our environment—adapting to diverse cultural norms is not just an asset, but a necessity. with shifting weather patterns potentially bringing more tropical conditions to parts of the u.s., we may even witness a gradual shift towards a more “island time” mindset in some regions.

ultimately, our climate shapes not only our environment but also our cultural identity, influencing everything from daily routines to our understanding of professionalism and deadlines. by acknowledging and embracing these differences, we can create a more harmonious and effective approach to conservation — one that values both ecological preservation and the well-being of the communities that depend on these resources.

it’s not about choosing one “time” over the other, but about finding a way to work together, respecting the diverse rhythms of life and work that each culture brings to the table. 

as barandiarán puts it, “you don’t have to agree on everything, but you have to respect each other’s perspectives. that’s how you find the middle ground.”

the wilting bush is right in front of a sitting area, a tupperware full of homemade cookies in the shapes of trees on the table. a pitcher of iced tea, minty and fresh, made just for us on a small plot of land adjacent to the embarras river. it reminds me of my grandparents’ farm. the colorful set of wind chimes strumming chords into the air carries the same cadence of those hung from the trees around my grandmother’s vegetable garden.

this is someone’s backyard, someone’s home, but the greenery that makes this place so vibrant is dying because of herbicide drift. patsy hopper is one of many farmers living in the rural midwest. she’s angry about what she sees, yet approaches anyone who will listen with kindness and hospitality.

hopper’s story calls into question the experiences of people who make their way on small farms, like many of my family members, the many that aren’t aware of the dangers under their noses, and the corporations behind mass herbicide misuse. 

we see firsthand the damages of herbicide drift. the curling, dehydrated leaves are evidence of attempts to bolster crop output for higher profits. according to prairie rivers network, farmers and corporations in the row crop industry have oversaturated their fields with herbicides, often disregarding the scarcely enforced regulatory guidelines. 

in a six-year comprehensive study, prairie rivers network showed that herbicides are drifting more than a mile from the source, threatening human health, trees, crops, and pollinators, with ripple impacts through the ecosystem. this affects the environment and people, like hopper, their livelihoods, health, and quality of life.

hopper tells us that she used to use herbicides like most farmers in central illinois, but went organic after learning more about the dangers and seeing the effects firsthand. this puts her in a minority. only 1% of farms in the united states are certified organic. 

as a descendant of many generations of family farmers, on both my mother and father’s sides, i consider my ties to this damage. how much of my own family uses herbicides? misuses herbicides? have bushes like patsy’s, dying and brittle, in their backyards? 

if you know a farmer, you know what it means to them, to be in touch with the land. however, the nature of farming in illinois has changed dramatically over the years. according to the illinois department of agriculture, since 1959 the average farm size has more than doubled. more than 49% of illinois farmers hold other jobs, treating farming as their secondary occupation. large scale family farms and non-family farms account for the bulk of farm production. for most, farming alone is no longer a sustainable way to support a family.

yet these small farms, scattered between the sterilized sites of the larger industry, are personal. there are the rows of hay bales we would climb and run along as kids, the corn fields we would weave through in a game of hide and seek, the trees we learned to climb. there are the backyards where the tired farmer takes a breath after a long day amongst the corn, the vegetable garden that feeds a family. these places are under threat, and the threat is largely invisible, “hidden in plain sight,” as prairie rivers network says in their 2024 report. 

greenpeace international’s “4 myths about industrial agriculture” discusses how industrial agriculture pushes the idea of “feeding the people,” using the narratives of the actual farmers who earn their livelihood from the land. however, the reality of corn production in the u.s. tells a different story.

according to the usda, 45% of corn grown in the united states is used for ethanol. in illinois alone, the department of agriculture records that 274 million bushels of illinois corn are used each year to produce about 678 million gallons of ethanol– more than any other state.

beyond diverting crops from food production, ethanol contributes to environmental damage. the us energy information administration states that ethanol and ethanol-gasoline mixtures burn have higher evaporative emissions from fuel tanks, contributing to smog formation and air pollution. rather than feed the people, the crop industry is growing gasoline, and increasing pollution while they’re at it.

hopper tells us how heavy branches drop out of her trees on a windless day. the dull thud of a rotted life plucked from something once beautiful and full. she grieves the ghostly falling limbs, whole trees dying from the chemical infection. i consider this as we say goodbye to her. she insists we take tea and cookies for the road. hopper’s humanity stands in contrast to the detached systems of corporations, illustrating their distance from the individuals impacted. individuals, kind, good people, are affected. 

who is responsible for herbicide drift — the individual or the institution, the absentee land-owner farmer or the hired hand? many farmers may not even know the impact of herbicide drift. does my family? blame moves in circles — from the government to the corporation, to the individual, and back again — but proximity to the damage is often closer than we realize.

after all, patsy hopper, a dedicated and informed organic farmer, is the outlier. we need to heed the message, the warning, of the echo of limbs falling from trees on a still afternoon.

“reading sea creatures & corals: a penghu story” (esri story map) is my love letter to the coral reef ecosystem and the organisms it supports in the penghu archipelago, taiwan. i collaborated with the foundation of pescadores citizens, a local ngo, to organize volunteer sessions on penghu’s main island for scleractinian coral rehabilitation.

while stationed on the island, i was inspired by the terns soaring through the sky and the sea turtles swimming freely in the ocean. this inspiration led me to write two short stories featured in the story map, looking into their challenges living under anthropogenic impacts. by the end of last summer, i had helped transplant over 90 coral stems with volunteers and mapped live coral coverage across five sites (2020–2023) on penghu’s main island and in south penghu marine national park for long-term monitoring efforts. the map integrates underwater footage, photography, film and digital photos, gis maps, and figures from the scientific literature to immerse the audience in the underwater world.

the story map is divided into five sections, beginning with my short stories on greater crested terns and sea turtles, an introduction to the biology of corals, and the restoration work i carried out with the ngo in penghu. my story raises awareness of the urgent need to preserve coral reef ecosystems and inspire a deeper love for the ocean.

click on the presentation below to read the full story!

in the heart of manitoba, a prairie province in canada, there exists community filled with the narratives and wisdom of its indigenous elders. this narrative explores the experiences of four elders from distinct communities, each offering a brief narrative on coexisting peacefully with mother earth. their stories serve not only as a representation of a vibrant cultural legacy but also as an essential lesson in caring for the environment and demonstrating resilience.

joe zaste: a lifetime on the water

at 88 years old, joe zaste carries the legacy of both his cree heritage and french-canadian roots from his father, a fisheries entrepreneur in red deer lake, manitoba. growing up, joe’s life was deeply entwined with the community, where cree and saulteaux languages filled the air, and his family’s home was a hub of local celebrations. after a stint in the army and years working on power dams across manitoba, joe now spends his retirement in winnipeg, surrounded by a large family that spans generations. his story is a testament to the blend of traditional indigenous lifestyles and modern canadian life, encapsulating the spirit of resilience and cultural fusion.

geraldine shingoose: a survivor’s advocacy for healing and justice

geraldine shingoose, a 67-year-old saulteaux elder, grew up in the bush near hudson bay, shaped by the land and the harsh realities of the muscowequan residential school. her early experiences of cultural suppression and personal resilience have driven her lifelong advocacy for indigenous rights and healing. now a grassroots grandmother, geraldine is a vocal member of her community in winnipeg, actively engaging in dialogues to heal and empower through sharing her story and supporting others. her journey from the traumas of residential school to influential advocacy highlights a profound transformation, making her a beacon of hope and change.

fred boucher: life’s work in harmony with nature

fred boucher’s early life in barrows, manitoba, was rooted in the rich traditions of the cree, learning from his grandparents the essential skills of living off the land. at 68, he reflects on a life guided by the principles of sustainability and respect for nature, which he now passes on through his work with the sapotaweyak cree nation. his narrative captures the essence of a man who has seen the evolution of his land and community and strives to maintain the balance between progress and preservation. fred’s dedication to his community and environment is evident as he continues to serve, ensuring medical and essential supplies reach those in need across the province.

helen settee: education and empowerment through indigenous knowledge

at 62, helen settee, an anishinaabe elder and educator from winnipeg, has dedicated her life to bridging the gap between indigenous knowledge and mainstream education. her career has been marked by significant strides in integrating indigenous perspectives into educational curriculums, advocating for a more inclusive approach that respects and honours her heritage. helen’s journey from a dental assistant to a key figure in education administration exemplifies her commitment to empowering future generations through education. as a cancer survivor, her resilience extends beyond personal challenges, influencing her advocacy work and her role as a grandmother, continuously nurturing her family and community.

the stories of joe, geraldine, fred, and helen are a testament to the resilience and wisdom of our indigenous elders. their lives and teachings are crucial narratives that contribute to our understanding of and reflection of how to live in harmony with nature, as well as with one another. through their voices, we learn the importance of community, resilience, and the enduring wisdom that guides us toward a more sustainable and just world.