a colleague recommended he apply due to his work at just roots, a group partnering with grassroots organizations where they have turned two vacant plots of land into community farms within the chicagoland area. ruane said they grow and distribute over 25,000 pounds of food each year at their farms, impacting over 8,500 people on an annual basis. 

ruane, originally an educator from chicago, founded just roots after conversations with students, parents, and teachers about the number of vacant lots in the city. ruane also said in their conversations it came up “time and time again” about the lack of access to community green space and to fresh foods. 

“that’s where the initial spark of the organization started,” ruane said. 

ruane added he remembers one conversation where a parent was “frustrated” over this problem. 

areas of chicago face food insecurity, or what some people like to call a food apartheid, ruane said. he said this term recognizes the connection between systematic racism and the issues of food insecurity. these areas where food apartheid is prevalent are predominantly in communities of color within the west and south sides of the city, he added. 

according to the greater chicagoland hunger report, 25% of people in the greater chicagoland area face food insecurity. additionally, 36% of people also cannot afford the basic cost of living within their county, per the same report. 

diet quality is the leading risk factor for death in the united states, according to the aspen institute’s research on food. the research also said living in a household faced with food insecurity can lead to increased risk of having a chronic condition. 

ruane said on average the communities just roots serves have a poverty rate of 24% and an employment rate of 12%. 

“the food we grow stays within a five mile radius,” ruane said.  

ruane added their farms are sustainable as they run using regenerative agriculture. he said they are using practices which not only help grow food to nourish people, but also nourish the soil. this is an aspect of agriculture he said the aspen fellowship shows a lot of interest in. 

during the 18 month long fellowship, ruane said he will continue to engage in in-depth conversations with the 17 other fellows in the program. he said all of them do work on agriculture and food, but they are doing it on different scales and have unique perspectives on their work. 

he said during the program, the fellows are able to discuss how they can do their work better and create a better future for the communities they serve.

“i’m excited to experience the rest of the process,” ruane said. 

the university of washington (uw) offered a screening of “these sacred hills” on nov. 6, 2025, sponsored by the burke museum, the nature conservancy washington state, uw center for nature and health, uw department of history, and uw school of environmental and forestry sciences.

the documentary featured elected member of the yakama nation council jeremy takala, rock creek band elder elaine howtapat, rock creek band chief bronsco jim jr., and rock creek band activist and uw alumnus elaine harvey. the film was directed by jacob bailey and christopher ward, and is centered around the implications of the northwest’s largest proposed pumped storage facility.

according to the documentary, the energy storage project would be located in goldendale, washington, and would destroy five indigenous archaeological sites, as well as three cultural ones.

“these sacred hills,” which alternated scenes of indigenous cultural practices, public hearings, and interviews with tribal members, followed the broader trend of the “green rush,” or influx of clean energy development, in washington.

there has been increasing pressure for emitters in washington state to decarbonize, especially following the climate commitment act (cca), passed in 2021.

the cca, according to indigenous affairs reporter b. ‘toastie’ oaster at high country news, contained a provision prior to its passing that granted tribes the right to consent to development on sacred lands. on the day of the bill’s passing, after the cca had been approved by the governor’s office, state legislators, and a coalition of 19 tribes, governor jay inslee vetoed all tribal civil rights provisions. 

“there’s nothing out there protecting indigenous rights,” oaster said.

the treaty of 1855 granted tribes the right to hunt, fish, and gather on public lands. the privatization of land, compounded with resource depletion, have increasingly threatened indigenous ways of life.

yakama nation peoples have been overlooked and displaced numerous times throughout history, as outlined in the documentary.

in 1941, after the attack on pearl harbor, tribes residing in the pine creek canyon were forced to relocate so that the area could be used for war plane target training. in 1971, subsequent to the completion of the john day dam, the army corps of engineers informed the rock creek band that they must relocate so that the area could be flooded.

protection of indigenous sacred lands, despite being a united nations standard, is absent in state and federal law in the united states.

the united states geological survey began assessing the columbia river for hydroelectric storage in 1967. klickitat county began working on the goldendale energy storage project in 2008, with the initial goal of completing it through their public utilities district. it wasn’t until several years into the process that the yakama nation was even notified of the proposal, giving them less than 60 days to conduct surveys on the site and give comment.

renewable energy in washington is usually developed on “low value” or low biodiversity land. but these lands often contain critical resources for tribes. according to the documentary, the goldendale energy storage project would be incredibly detrimental to the local shrub steppe habitat.

the goldendale energy storage project is just one of nearly 50 proposed renewable energy projects in the state, many of which overlap with yakama or colville reservations in eastern washington.

this history and sense of urgency was conveyed throughout “these sacred hills;” nearly every scene spanning the natural area of the yakama nation contained imagery of wind turbines.

rye development, the company leading the goldendale energy storage project, brought oaster to tour the project site. though they stressed the importance of indigenous rights, according to oaster, they also spoke of displacement almost as if it were inevitable, “us[ing] the rhetoric of manifest destiny.”

tribes are not against renewable energy, harvey emphasized. they are in favor of “responsible decarbonization,” which should respect tribal sovereignty.

while filming “these sacred hills,” tribal members had to share personal parts of their culture in order to encourage respect and understanding for tribal sovereignty.

the documentary was made with the intention to spread awareness, according to harvey. it’s been screened to the washington department of ecology, and will be screened to legislators in the future.

“we hope that this deepens the conversation about green energy,” bailey said.

as of november 2024, rye development plans to break ground on the goldendale energy storage project in 2026. according to the documentary, the federal energy regulatory commission has never directly consulted the yakama nation on the project.

several experts on a panel from rural and urban communities discussed their progress and challenges of being a farmer. the panel was hosted by mya o. price, an assistant professor at the global food institute, with panelists dion dawson, chief dreamer of dion’s chicago dream; cicely garrett, co-executive director of the national black food and justice alliance; qiana mickie, new york city’s inaugural executive director of the office of urban agriculture within the mayor’s office; and ashley c. smith, executive director of black soil ky.

before the panel began, opening remarks were shared by tambra raye stevenson, the founder and ceo of women advancing nutrition, dietetics, and agriculture (wanda). she discussed her heritage as a fifth-generation oklahoman and the historical significance of black farming communities.

she also highlighted the erasure of black cultural contributions and the need for policy changes. addressing the audience, she asked them to “plant hope,” meaning attendees should support black food sovereignty through community and policy efforts.

“by planting hope, we will not just simply survive: we will thrive,” stevenson said.

ashley c. smith of black soil ky, an organization promoting agriculture to black kentuckians, said a major challenge for black farmers in a rural area is balancing the finances. she said rural farmers know no one, like national funders, are coming to “save them.”

according to the economic research service, a part of the department of agriculture researching agriculture, the environment, and rural development, 86% of all united states counties with “high and persistent levels” of poverty in 2019 were rural.

“we can’t have our farmers standing in the food bank or food pantry lines,” smith said. “they have to be fully supported.”

cicely garrett of the national black food and justice alliance, an organization representing rural and urban black farmers, said she saw some successes amid the challenges. she specifically pointed to a growing number of people who are more open to collaboration. she said more people have space to breathe, they have the time to dream of certain ideas, and they want to collaborate to make their ideas possible.

“having more encouragement around people doing this, like organic, genuine relationships in which they have shared values and vision, is something we are seeing more of,” garrett said.

qiana mickie of the new york city mayor’s office said there are some innovations and strategies giving her hope today. one example was people creatively using spaces, especially in urban areas. she said she wants to use underutilized spaces, like by expanding community and school gardens.

“there is the opportunity of leveraging smaller micro-contracts, or meeting them where they’re at, at their scale and still creating contracts that can create food,” mickie said.

but she also added there is not much sustainability and upkeep in places like community or school gardens, as they require maintenance.

in terms of black communities responding to climate change, organizations are finding some success, dion dawson said. dawson runs dion’s chicago dream, an organization working to improve health outcomes and equity while addressing food security in chicago. according to dawson, the organization produces around a quarter of million pounds annually and does not waste anything.

while working towards a solution, dawson added, he hopes everyone does not have a doomsday plan; rather, he challenges everyone to think about a future they can hope for. he also said “resiliency” is necessary, but in some cases it is not needed. 

for dawson, the goal of building a sustainable future is a group effort. “i think everyone should look at themselves like a lego,” dawson said.

in many ways, florida is at the epicenter of the climate crisis in the united states. rising sea levels, intensifying storms, and deforestation are just some of the many challenges that those in the sunshine state feel the most. while academic research produces statistics and graphs that illustrate how the climate crisis is impacting the state, the real people behind the data get less attention. that is where the marjorie steps in. 

founded by florida natives and scientists hannah brown, rebecca burton, and anna hamilton, the marjorie is a non-profit, independent news outlet dedicated to uplifting the stories of people and communities across florida who are living through the extreme heat, intensifying weather, and changing landscapes that define the climate crisis in florida. through long-form storytelling and first-person narratives, the marjorie is slowly bridging the gap between scientific research and real-life impacts. 

named after three floridian environmental advocates — marjory stoneman douglas, marjorie kinnan rawlings, and marjorie harris carr — the marjorie’s coverage serves as a record of environmental advocates, scientists, and everyday people who are speaking up and fighting for florida. 

i had the opportunity to speak with one of the marjorie’s co-founders, hannah brown, to gain insight into their reporting, goals, and vision.

the contents below have been edited for length and clarity.

cameron glymph: your publication is named after three famous florida marjories. how does the legacy of the marjories impact your vision, and what is your goal with naming your publication after them? 

we’ve been really clear to acknowledge that things have changed since they were working, and some aspects of their legacies are something that we want to build on, not emulate — even the idea of the environment being separate from something else; we think about the environment as a more intertwined concept. especially with marjorie kinnan rawlings — there are racial issues with her texts.

it’s cool that there were three of them, and there are three of us founders. the idea of carrying on the legacy of being a woman and caring about florida’s environment is a special role to fill. it’s become a part of our vernacular: when we meet a new writer or we hear a [story] pitch, we call them “marjories,” as a way to signify a type of person who will fight for florida. 

cg: in your “about” statement, you highlight that the marjorie is intended to share the human impact of climate change in florida. this perspective is often missing from other mass media coverage. how does highlighting human stories help in illustrating the effects of climate change? 

hb: we have a goal of trying to localize climate impacts so that people understand that it’s not some far-out phenomenon that’s happening to somebody else — it’s happening to everybody, now outside of their door. research shows that what’s needed for more climate action is the ability for people to see that it’s happening in their communities. we try this with a particular emphasis on climate change impacts, to show the human side. it’s not just about numbers; what resonates more with audiences is how it impacts people personally. the emotional side is often missing from many scientific discussions. however, it is what gets at the heartstrings of people more quickly and maybe more effectively in some cases. 

cg: what gap is filled in the news cycle by focusing on long-form stories about the environment? 

hb: when working in a traditional newsroom, there are very limited resources for telling stories that require a lot of time. … we wanted to take a long-form model of journalistic storytelling from the ’80s and apply it to stories that really needed to be told. especially with environmental topics, there’s so much nuance and there are so many different perspectives that need to be fleshed out, and you can’t do that in 700 words. since we’re online only and we don’t have print restrictions, we have the ability to tell stories that are longer, and people can take their time. 

the environment is the ultimate common ground for people…” — hannah brown

cg: are there other independent environmental news publications that focus on small areas like the marjorie does? from a public service standpoint, why is this unique coverage important to your vision?

hb: when we started the marjorie, there was a national trend of non-profit outlets popping up to cover regional areas. environmental coverage is often a small aspect of local news, but it’s the source that many people turn to for that information. … as we covered stories, we’ve realized that the environment is the ultimate common ground for people; everyone cares to some extent and feels some part of bliss or awe in some part of the environment they are engaged in. it’s not a hard sell to ask people to care about or to think about it. 

cg: your website says that you prioritize diversity in your reporting. florida boasts a great deal of ecological diversity — every area is distinct, from the everglades to the apalachicola bay. how do you source a variety of both geographical and personal perspectives for stories about florida? 

hb: a lot of people outside of florida don’t realize the distinction between regions in the state. the three of us who founded the marjorie are from north florida. with our “dispatches from a sinking state” series, we feature first-person essays that are written by people who are not journalists. they represent different parts of the state. we also have staff writers from different regions, and they bring a lot of story ideas and connections that we don’t have. having other perspectives and the ability to tell stories from different regions is huge. 

cg: tell me more about “dispatches from a sinking state.” what type of stories are you looking to highlight with that series?

hb: the series goes beyond climate change impacts, and they usually begin with a noticeable environmental change. a lot of people approach us with scientific data, which is interesting and makes a good cornerstone, but it’s not what the purpose of the essay series is — the purpose is to see what those individual trends feel like for an individual and for a community. a lot of the time, we have to work with writers so that they can tell us how it feels to see it happen and what’s at stake for them. once we get people to see the personal value in their stories, they become very poignant pieces. 

one of our favorite ones was written by jesse wilson and it’s called “farewell sanibel.” she wrote it before sanibel island, off the gulf coast of florida, was hit and damaged by a hurricane. wilson wrote to the island like a friend that she was grieving because she knew she was losing it. she had just had a child, so she was grieving the fact that she knew that the island wouldn’t exist in the same way for her child. she kind of personified it in a way that was really meaningful. 

journalism is a public service, and we’re just trying to do our job of providing information.” —hannah brown

cg: what is environmental reporting like in florida, where the government does not allow its lawmakers to use the words “climate change” in legislation? what challenges do reporters face related to that and other politically volatile environmental issues?

hb: this is something that’s relevant nationally — there’s the struggle of trying to get state or federal agencies to cooperate, whether that’s providing information via public records or participating in an interview. we’ve come up [against] roadblocks on both of those accounts in the past, and i think that’s something that’s not just a florida problem. access to information is a struggle — especially in times like this that are particularly divisive. journalism is a public service, and we’re just trying to do our job of providing information. we try to be sensitive to competing interests, while not letting up the pressure of the demands of journalism and the needs of the people who need it. 

cg: the marjorie recently won first place in the society of professional journalists’ sunshine state awards for independent digital news website. what does this milestone mean for your publication? how will it impact you in the future? 

hb: we were really honored to get that recognition. it’s such a unique award, and i’m glad that they have the category. i think that that’s a huge part of us, that we are independent and answer to our readers, science, facts, and human interests — we don’t answer to ads. it’s great to see that we are maintaining some sense of relevance and can continue to pursue stories and publish. people are willing to acknowledge it as something meaningful, and that keeps us going. 

cg: in 20 years, what do you want people to think or say about the marjorie? 

hb: our legacy has become more about nurturing the next generation of storytellers, and we’ve done a lot of mentorship and amplification of others. people who haven’t been published before and who can’t find their traditional outlet find a place with us. i can’t think of anything like it. the more we can do that alongside these long-form series that need to be done, the better. 

“i’m glad i was able to participate in the training of solar entrepreneur as part of the community solar program from my village. my work is recognized in the village and people look up to me with respect when they know of my work. but i can’t ignore my household responsibilities and take up this work as a full-time occupation. even since my husband fell ill, i have had to leave the work of a solar entrepreneur and focus on my household and our agricultural work.”

these were the words of one of the interviewees of my field study in jharkhand, india, regarding the impact of the community solar program on beneficiary households. her comments represent the hidden cost of solar energy implementation in rural communities that are geographically remote, not connected to the grid, politically neglected, and economically marginalized.

in 2024, i spent a month in the dumardih panchayat of gumla block in gumla district of jharkhand, india, conducting an ethnographic field study on the distributional impacts of one such community solar program implemented by bindi international. 

the village population of dumardih panchayat consists of indigenous (tribal) households and non-tribal households that have historically depended on agriculture for their livelihood. however, non-tribal households are relatively well off compared to tribal households; furthermore, tribal communities rely on subsistence agriculture for their livelihood and reside in more remote locations away from the main village. as such, there are ethnic divisions between these two groups.

the beneficiary households are spread across tribal and non-tribal ethnicities. the geographical remoteness of tribal households further exacerbates their challenge to access, electricity, education and healthcare services compared to other households who are economically relatively well-off, have access to resources, and have higher power in decision making in community matters.

solar for rural communities in india

the dominant story of solar in rural india often emphasizes numbers: how many households have been electrified, how many watts of solar are installed, how many hours of additional study children get at night, and how much indoor air quality improves. the beneficiary households see reduced indoor air pollution, additional light hours, increased safety, and better sense of well-being. 

solar energy was first introduced in gumla district in 2015 by a non-governmental organization called mlindia with financial support from the indian renewable energy development authority (ireda) (kumar, m., 2022). the first program was a solar mini-grid (20 kw – 40 kw) installed for 44 villages for a total combined capacity of one megawatt (kumar, m., 2022). gumla district has been one of the aspirational districts in the country out of the 112. the categorization is based on literacy rate, health, nutrition, basic infrastructure, and poverty level in the district (green and kapoor, 2023). this has been the driving factor for setting up solar power base programs to reduce the challenges with last mile connectivity in the district and provide opportunities to set up rural enterprises, and boost livelihood (kumar, m., 2022). 

one such organization is bindi international association. the organization was established in 2015, with the aim of empowering rural women across india and contributing to the achievement of the united nations’ sustainable development goals. this focus informs their approach to providing financial independence to rural women: bindi international provides training in digital literacy, marketing, and banking to enable women in remote areas to participate in the rapidly evolving digital world. 

their community solar program model provides electricity access to non-electrified and under electrified households. the program also provides skill training on solar technology to rural women and has established women as key players in delivering renewable energy solutions to remote communities. bindi international identified mahila vikas mandal (mvm), a grassroots non-governmental organization that creates and supports women-led self-help groups as the ground partner for implementation. the organization selected beneficiaries based on a survey of households able to pay an up-front, one-time payment of inr 1000. the households were also required to pay inr 150 per month as a deposit towards a corpus fund created to finance the operation phase of the program. this fund is managed by a village energy and electrification committee (veec), composed of beneficiary household members. the home lighting system consisted of a 40-watt system (a battery pack, four bulbs or two bulbs and a ceiling fan).

the bindi international team designed the program based on consultations with the village community, including a committee representing the beneficiary households. this committee oversees several aspects of the program, including paying the trained women for repair services, replacing parts, and appropriating funds to scale up the system. the program introduced a new culture of ownership, management, and use of solar energy for lighting and cooking that was not present earlier.

however, data from the study showed that women who were trained in the installation, repair, service, market, and sale of new solar products bear the burden of responsibility of solar intervention falling on women, exacerbating existing inequalities in the gendered division of labor within these communities. this is the hidden cost of solar technology based intervention in rural communities. in the rush to adopt a clean energy society, we are overlooking the unequal burden of labour across gender created by such community renewable energy programs.

an uneven burden

my ethnographic study revealed an amnesia in energy scholarship and policy: nobody wants to talk about how the burdens of transition fall unevenly, often along lines of gender. gendered expectations of labour, cultural norms regarding decision-making, and marginalization based on income and ethnicity disproportionately impact marginalized women.providing clean energy through solar home systems gives rural households the power to control their energy supply. but although it represents progress in some ways, the transition from kerosene to solar energy does not automatically dismantle the social, and economic inequalities that shape women’s everyday lives. limited access to resources, limited role in decision making makes its way into design, implementation and operation of community energy programs. 

a woman could be trained in solar technology, confident in marketing and maintaining a system, and yet be bound by the rules of culture and tradition. her entrepreneurial work is not a replacement for household duties but an addition to them. she provides food, tends to children and elderly, and ensures household provisions are in adequate supply while also taking on the new responsibility of promoting renewable energy.

my study of this program in gumla district of jharkhand showed that community renewable energy projects cannot be based on an additive framework of renewable energy plus gender equity and social justice. it is an integrated framework, where existing gender divisions of labor and social inequality across ethnicity shape the access and use of resources across households, which in turn determines the extent of benefits derived from a beneficiary household in a community solar program. energy is political, cultural, and deeply personal. the solar entrepreneurs of jharkhand show that even well-intentioned energy projects can risk reinscribing existing inequalities in rural communities.

my heart raced. my brain automatically calculated escape routes – should i run? no. if i ran, he might take it as confirmation. but i could not move anyway. my body froze. i stood still, terrified but trying to stay calm. slowly, i held out my id and explained who i was and why i was there. a few villagers backed away. others stared in silence.

that moment crystallized a truth i had been learning throughout my fieldwork: trust is not something we can demand. it is not granted by credentials, institutions, or intentions. it must be earned–patiently, respectfully, and on the community’s terms.

i was in a remote village in northeast vietnam doing conservation and forest livelihood research, and this was not the first time i had been met with suspicion. in earlier visits, some villagers had called me a fraud, a reporter, or a trader. many refused to speak with me at all, shutting their doors, avoiding eye contact. it was painful, but i did not take it personally because behind their fear was something real. 

in places where children have disappeared, where trafficking has torn through communities, and where outside “projects” have come and gone with little care for those left behind, distrust is not irrational. it is a form of protection. these communities have been surveyed, studied, promised help, and too often, forgotten. that is when i realized: i could not simply “collect data.” i needed to build relationships. not with survey instruments or abstract stakeholder categories, but with people—mothers, elders, forest rangers, fruit vendors. i had to earn my place through consistency, care, and humility.

in forest science and social research, we often celebrate “community engagement.” it appears in proposals, presentations, and glossy reports. but in practice, engagement is too often reduced to workshops, consent forms, and checklists. genuine engagement, i have learned, takes time. thus, before each field trip, i tried to prepare thoughtfully. i read ethnographies, studied local customs, memorized greetings in indigenous languages. i met with commune officers and village leaders, explained my plans, and asked for their support. however, books and formalities did not open doors – presence did.

so i adapted to local rhythms. i joined morning tea with elders, walked the village paths at dawn with families tending livestock, and made time to greet everyone i saw with warmth. when visiting households, i brought small gifts for children – books, milk, or local fruit – not to buy favor, but to show respect for their time. and i always say thank you.

i did not move through villages as a researcher with a clipboard. i moved as a guest, aware that my presence carried weight. before any interview, i first went to the commune office, then the village leader to share my plan and ask for permission. i always remembered names, took their contact information, and followed up. trust, after all, is built on the little things.

eventually, villagers began inviting me in, not just to talk, but to share meals. i was sent home with dried bamboo shoots, wild honey, and medicinal herbs as signs of care and acceptance. i still remember one trip home from the field, when my motorbike was so full i had to carefully balance two burlap sacks strapped behind me, filled with gifts from different households. that ride made me realize something deeper: i had been received, not just as a researcher, but as a person. and with that warmth came responsibility – to carry their trust with care, and to give something meaningful in return. 

scientific research often relies on technical terms: carbon sequestration, ecosystem services, and biodiversity indicators. however, in the field, the most powerful tool i carried was not a gps unit, it was a willingness to listen. for me, conservation and forest science are not just about landscapes. they are about relationships – with people, places, and the meanings they attach to the land. that is something we cannot fast-track. it requires reciprocity. 

i have seen well-funded projects collapse not because they lacked science, but because they lacked trust. local people were called “stakeholders” but never truly heard. promises of participation were broken. cultural knowledge was mined, published, and never returned. these are not small oversights, they are ethical failures.

it is time we rethink the way we engage with communities in research. not as subjects or sources of data, but as research partners. in many indigenous and rural traditions, learning is not extractive; it is relational. a gift given should be returned, not necessarily in kind, but in spirit. the gifts did not ask anything of me, but the gesture and meaning behind them compelled me to carry myself with that same respect in all that i do. 

the knife that was once pointed at me eventually gave way to shared meals, laughter, and collaboration. that transformation did not happen by chance. it was the outcome of showing up, consistently, respectfully, and with care.

as we face increasingly complex global challenges from climate change to biodiversity loss, our success depends not just on better science, but on better scientists and professionals equipped to build bridges across cultural divides. we must recognize that knowledge comes in many forms. because in the end, what we do is not just about protecting species or ecosystems. it is about protecting relationships, between people and place, between different ways of knowing, between generations past and those yet to come. those relationships begin with simple acts: a morning cup of tea, a shared meal, a moment of genuine listening.

when i think about that knife now, i do not remember fear anymore. i remember what followed – warm, genuine conversations, working together to build trust, and the sweet taste of wild honey, offered generously from the community who had welcomed me.

the morning was soaked in the blistering sun. families were gathered across the motts run reservoir park in fredericksburg, virgina. — some are learning how to use a fishing rod for the first time, and others are excited to get into bright red and yellow kayaks. children squealed as volunteers from the virginia department of wildlife resources hooked sticky and wiggly worms onto their rods. one seven-year-old boy caught a small blue catfish on his second try. parents stationed in the parking lot called for them to slather on thick sunscreen, however even the beaming sun could not hold them back from the day.

it was a saturday morning. community members gathered around abel olivo, the executive director of defensores de la cuenca, a nonprofit also known as “watershed defenders.” he and his team had a special mission that day: to bring people to the water. the event, which was called dìa de pesca familiar, or family fishing day in english, took place where the water glistened under the heat. 

defensores de la cuenca — also known as defensores — focuses on connecting latinos and spanish-speakers through shared experiences within the chesapeake bay watershed. a latino-led organization co-founded in 2020 by olivo and herlindo morales, defensores’ programming highlights the intersection of culture, environmentalism, and latino communities across the district of columbia, maryland, and virginia.

“i wanted to create an environmental organization that really hit on something i thought was missing and that is the investment in the [latino] community,” olivo said. “my focus is to concentrate on those opportunities to enhance and build community level capacity so folks can address issues in their own lives.”

defensores is one of the many community organizations across the bay that prioritizes minority voices, but they are one of the few organizations in the area that specifically focuses on latino communities.

“we chose the word ‘watershed’ [cuenca] because it was a concept to try and understand that you don’t have to live near a body of water to have an impact on that body of water.”

abel olivo

the chesapeake bay is the largest estuary in the united states extending over 200 miles across six states: virginia, maryland, delaware, new york, pennsylvania, and west virginia. 

also known as the chesapeake bay watershed, the geographical region can be defined as a “land area that channels rainfall and snowmelt to creeks, streams, and rivers, and eventually to outflow points such as reservoirs, bays, and the ocean,” according to the national oceanic and atmospheric administration. 

the vast nature of the bay encompasses a landscape inhabiting over 3,000 species of flora and fauna, with the atlantic oyster and blue crab recognized as some of the most iconic species. the bay’s biodiversity expands across vibrant communities rich in culture, family, heritage within the mid-atlantic region. 

after a 12-year career lobbying for environmental advocacy on capitol hill, olivo reflected on how he wanted to do something different. a former stay-at-home dad for four years, olivo looked to create a new outlet for latino voices to learn and grow through his nonprofit. 

his passion for the environment led him to create a tree planting ambassadorship program, environmental focused youth groups, and an adult watershed education academy. he and his team believe through this they can foster a stronger relationship between latino communities and the watershed that surrounds them. 

for many families, an event like día de pesca familiar marks the first time they have ever been on the water together. however, the charge behind defensores’ programming is not only to sprout memories of fun in the sun, but inspire a blossoming branch of an eco-conscious and diverse community — latino-focused stewardship in the chesapeake bay.

“i think that historically speaking, we as a community as latinos, latinx, latinas have been left out of new opportunities,” olivo said. 

he believes in the community’s ability to become greater environmental stewards of the watershed, transitioning to not only be “recreational participants but also as people who can contribute and also lead others to do the same.”

members from defensores shared that linguistic isolation, funding opportunities, and watershed accessibility are some of the stark barriers standing in the way of latino communities’ involvement in watershed restoration and advocacy. 

by creating these unique spaces for learning and action, olivo and his staff of eight are teaching a neglected demographic how to combat environmental injustices and champion for a cleaner, more accessible chesapeake bay. 

translating resources

the majority of community members involved with defensores do not speak english fluently. and a greater majority do not prioritize environmental work in their professional or day-to-day lives, said johanna guadardo, programs coordinator for defensores. 

“one super important conflict is the language access barrier. a lot of the stuff that we need is not translated into spanish. so, people can’t access those resources,” guadardo said.  

a former member of the chesapeake conservation corps, guardado is now planning monthly outreach events with the nonprofit including river trash cleanups, community gardening, and a city tree keeper program. however, the issue of communicating environmental resources is a greater obstacle. according to her, english to spanish translations are hard to come by, especially accurate ones. 

“for example, we see that a lot in baltimore city,” guadardo said. “to become a tree keeper you need to do workshops and training and it is all in english, nothing is in spanish. so even if the community wanted to be tree keepers, there is no way because you need to know that language.” 

when it comes to translating environmental work into spanish, defensores utilizes interpretive programming and multilingual instructors to host workshops for community members. 

at a july event in st. michaels, maryland, they translated instructions during a water monitoring lesson taught by shorerivers, a nonprofit based in easton, maryland.

there, participants with defensores learned three methods of manual water testing throughout the day.

suzanne sullivan, director of education for shorerivers, reflected on the importance of diversity within environmental education and outreach. she was one of the three instructors at the workshop. 

“making sure that our organizations hire and have diverse representation goes so far in bringing other communities into our work and us being introduced to their work. so i definitely think making sure our work reflects the communities that we serve goes such a far way,” she said.

both organizations worked closely together to translate the activity in english and spanish. olivo later reflected that highlighting inclusion, language, and fun were central to engaging community members.

“if people don’t feel like they can go and participate and understand, then why even bother? language is a really basic factor that is inhibiting participation.”

abel olivo

according to the national park service, over eight percent of the 18 million residents across the chesapeake bay watershed are of hispanic or latino descent.

outreach events, like water monitoring with shorerivers, are fundamental for olivo to carry out his mission of reaching this population. however, funding for transportation, food, and event programming is expensive.

navigating funding and grant opportunities

types of grants vary across the chesapeake bay region from education to watershed restoration and assistance. 

according to jake solyst, a web content specialist for the chesapeake bay program, organizations like defensores are perfect for grants that prioritize community-oriented progress.

“from the chesapeake bay program’s perspective, it is all about finding those local community groups and giving them the resources they need to do their work, because it all aligns,” he said. 

according to olivo, successful grant applications are often only made possible by having access to higher education and consistent exposure to larger organizations.

“because these [grants] are competitive, all the [reviewers] can make their decisions on is with what’s on paper,” national park service chesapeake gateways director of partnerships and grants eddie gonzalez said. 

in addition to possible networking limitations, completed grant applications sometimes don’t align with what reviewers seek. 

in recent years, over $668,000 of chesapeake gateways’ funding has been awarded to latino organizations, gonzalez said.

without organizations like defensores de la cuenca, “then there isn’t anybody out there speaking for those [latino] communities and speaking for their needs,” gonzalez said. “and it is hard for us and it is somewhat not the right place for us to be defining those needs for those communities.”

the heart behind community organizations

with the increase of resources supporting latino-led organizations, latino stewardship is looking as vast as the bay’s horizon. 

although there are many more events to plan and grants to apply to, the current guiding defensores is shaped by one goal: to challenge latino communities to engage meaningfully with the watershed, and hopefully the chesapeake bay as a whole.

on that hot saturday, as dìa de pesca familiar wrapped up, children pleaded with their parents not to leave. although fishing rods were being put away and canoes were slowly taken out of the water, families cheered for olivo and his team.

ice cold lemonade, sweet sticky donuts, and hearty apples laid on picnic tables as the event came to an end. a small raffle also took place where three lucky participants won a brand-new fishing rod to take home and maybe continue practicing what they learned on the water. 

while the reservoir is a small pocket of nature when compared to the large size of the watershed as a whole, it represents a space for defensores to do what they do best. by gathering members of the community, they are not only bringing people closer together, but closer to what connects the spirit of the chesapeake bay region — to the water.

editor’s note: coverage of water stories is made possible, in part, by the walton family foundation.  the editorial content is determined by planet forward staff and students. we thank the walton family foundation for their continued support.

for students from families without vehicles, the park may have felt out of reach. not knowing if they would be interested, farquharson encouraged students to take advantage of a transportation program that offered bus service from the city to the park. then one day, farquharson saw a student he recognized walking off the bus at the park.  it was a full circle moment for him.  

“actually seeing people follow through — actually seeing children come back with their siblings or parents — feels gratifying and i am glad to be involved in a program that i can see myself that helps get people out to these spaces,” farquharson said.

the history of the albany nature bus

since 2021, a growing list of state, county, municipal and non-profit organizations have supported a bus that city and county residents can use to reach parks and preserves throughout albany county.

the nature bus, which was started by mohawk hudson land conservancy of the capital region, recognized a need for greater access to outdoor opportunities for city of albany and albany county residents — a need that became especially apparent during the covid-19 pandemic.

the conservancy responded by addressing what they saw as a major barrier to access — transportation. it was evident that many urban residents were not able to reach green spaces across the capital region. in 2020, sarah walsh, a programming specialist at the conservancy, proposed a solution. with no existing model to follow at the time, the conservancy developed an idea that continues to make an impact. 

partnering with organizations across albany county, the conservancy began planning routes, park programming and everything in between. the bus runs on saturdays during the summer, shuttling residents in the city and county to six parks and preserves throughout  the new york state birding trail network. these natural spaces feature waterfalls, fishing docks and around 50 miles of trail — approximately a quarter of which are designed for accessibility. in 2025, the nature bus will offer stops at all six of these sites over 20 weeks from may to october.

the albany nature bus is just one of many transit programs that are looking to connect communities to the outdoors. in new york alone, there are at least two other free bus programs that take people to outdoor spaces — one in erie county and one in ulster county — that have been established following the success of the nature bus. similar initiatives exist across the united states, from new jersey to washington state. the albany nature bus is not state or federally funded so it relies on funding and support from the conservancy, its partners and other community organizations.  

the program has also caught the attention of senators and congressmen from other states. in 2023, congressman jimmy gomez (ca-34) and senator cory booker (d-nj) introduced a bill to fund similar opportunities for americans in underserved communities across the country — the trails to transit act. for the albany nature bus, the bill could enable the program to expand, providing communities with additional transportation opportunities and greater accessibility.

although there have been no updates since its introduction in 2023, advocates remain hopeful the bill will pass  making programs like the albany nature bus more common across the country. new york state is home to one of the largest park systems in the united states, with over 360,000 acres dedicated to state parks alone.

because the nature bus is a free program — riders do not have to scan or pay to board the bus — collecting ridership data can be a challenge. nevertheless, bus driver estimates suggest that ridership has grown since the program began. the conservancy and its partners have raised public awareness of the program with flyers posted around the city, local outreach, social media marketing and press releases. as awareness and ridership have grown, the nature bus program’s support network has expanded to a cohort of 80 community partners. 

while the promotion of the nature bus has continued to grow over its first three years, albany mayor kathy sheehan says the program aligns well with the types of recreational opportunities families in the city are looking for.  

“this is a great thing to do and an opportunity for something different,” she said. “people are always looking for family friendly activities for their kids, so this is a nice addition to that list of opportunities.”  

so, grab your binoculars, double knot your sneakers and meet me at the bus stop. let’s take a ride on the nature bus! 

eli frequently stops to smell a patch of grass or to scan the forest for an animal that has been rustling in the bushes. instead of tugging on his leash to urge him to continue our walk, i pause for a moment to relax and reflect. as i stand still, i find it easier to narrow my senses in on the soft brush of wind across my cheek, the sweet earthy smell of the air right before rain, the melodic chirping of robins resting in the branches above my head.  

it is often easy to forget that this natural world exists around me, amidst the noise and chaos of our modern world. but in these moments, as i reconnect with nature, i am grateful to have the chance to experience the effortless beauty of the land around me.  

here along the winding paths of peace valley park is where i find myself several times a week whenever i’m back in my home state of pennsylvania on my breaks from school. i rely on this park, with its lush forests and glistening waters of lake galena, as my main connection to nature, a source of exercise and a way to clear my mind when life gets hectic. 

but as the trump administration continues to make deep cuts to federal programs that support parks like this one, i have begun to wonder if my time in this beloved park is coming to an end. what will i do if my main connection to nature is severed?  

the trump administration has fired over 1,000 national parks employees in its first months and frozen billions of dollars in federal funds that support these parks. on may 2, trump released a budget proposal that would slash the budget for national parks, historical sites, seashores and trails by almost 25%. that’s equivalent to over $1.2 billion from the national parks service’s budget. while these cuts may seem to exclusively affect bigger national parks, they also threaten the existence of smaller local parks like peace valley. 

the trust for public land is a nonprofit organization that works with communities across the united states to increase the access people have to public spaces and parks. the organization works primarily with local parks, but the tpl fears national budget cuts will catastrophically affect their efforts to better connect humans with nature.  

more than 100 tpl parks projects are now in a state of “limbo”, stalled by cuts to federal funding, said the tpl’s ceo, carrie hauser, in an interview with pbs. these cuts come despite public support for increasing access to public spaces across political parties, hauser said, citing extensive polling.  

one of tpl’s main projects is its 10-minute walk program. this is a national initiative to address the disparities in access to public parks for low- to middle-income communities. the initiative’s goal is to ensure that no american is more than a ten-minute walk from a park. 

the tpl released a funding proposal for the implementation of the 10-minute walk program in my home state. they call the plan essential in the effort to “preserve pennsylvania.” it outlines the financial sources for limiting disparities across communities in their access to public spaces. while the plan acknowledges funding from state and local sources, it is also dependent on federal funding from a variety of departments ranging from the us forest service to the national endowment for the arts.  

peace valley park is run by the bucks county park services located in the southeast corner of pennsylvania that i call home. there are multiple overlaps in the funding for the county’s parks and recreation services and the tpl’s preserve pennsylvania plan. cuts made to the us department of housing and urban development are sparking particular concern over how federal funding losses can destroy the operations of local parks.  

hud administers community development block programs that provide essential financial support for community projects such as public parks. the trump administration plans to cut 84% of the department’s staff that oversees these programs, according to documents obtained by npr.   

the office of planning and development is  set to be among the agency’s cut programs, which will greatly hinder the department’s ability to process grants, said hud employees interviewed by npr. not only will this affect my county’s ability to continue the upkeep of peace valley park, but it will also further limit the access lower income community members have to public spaces.  

i rely so heavily on my local park for the betterment of my physical and mental well-being, but i am not oblivious to those who have less access than i to public spaces, and therefore a greater reliance on their positive impacts. 

the benefits myself and many others have experienced from easy access to public parks are plentiful. they are also alarmingly vulnerable to federal budget cuts.  

increased access to parks has been proven to better physical health by lowering stress, reducing heart rates and increasing physical activity. time spent in parks has been linked to increased cognitive function and even presented as a viable prevention strategy for dementia-related diseases, like alzheimer’s. the presence of parks in communities has even been associated with a reduction in violent crime, according to the university of virginia public health system.  

my access to peace valley park has had a multitude of positive effects on my mental and physical wellbeing. without access to this park, i’d exercise significantly less and would lose the already limited opportunities i have to experience nature. for members of underserved communities that have insufficient access to parks and outdoor spaces, these losses will be significantly amplified.  

still, there is hope for funding to be restored to these projects through increased state and local sources and philanthropic efforts, hauser told pbs. it is also likely the loss of public spaces will anger american citizens across party lines, given that public polling has indicated bipartisan support of access to local parks, added hauser. 

while the thought of losing the park i cherish so much is a gut-wrenching reality i may have to face, there are others who will suffer from this loss even more than i will. parks have the power to connect people with nature in a way that is becoming increasingly rare in our heavily industrialized society. the major cuts we are currently seeing on a federal level to projects aimed at improving access to local parks and their many benefits will only further the devastating divorce from nature our society is experiencing. 

over 150 chemical plants dominate the industry of the area and according to propublica, “black residents in southeastern louisiana bear a disproportionate cancer risk from industrial air pollution.”

gainard has not only lived in cancer alley her entire life, but her family is prominent within the community. many of the buildings in the area are named after her family, and it is gainard’s love for her family and community that keeps her motivated to advocate against the toxic fumes within the area.

the interview below has been edited for clarity and length. 

ciara thomas: how did you initially find out about the risks in your community?

ashley gainard: living in this community, you start to notice that some of the things we find normal aren’t normal. like all of these diagnoses. i have eczema. as a small child i had bronchitis as well as one of my kids. i thought it was something that was just passed down. my mama has not had breast cancer, but she has had several surgeries for benign tumors. eventually you start talking to other women and they’re like, “oh yeah, i had a hysterectomy,” “i had a miscarriage.” 

ct: wow, it’s so sad to realize that all of these health issues that are normal in this community are in fact abnormal to everyone else. 

our conversation led to how the community’s economy continues to be dependent on the factories that are hurting them. a site of considerable industry, cancer alley is home to 25% of the nation’s petrochemical production.

ag: the industry that is located in their neighborhood gives money to the community. 

ct: so, they know that this is an issue and they’re trying to pay y’all to be quiet?

ag: exactly. it’s hush money. it’s a tactic to keep the community quiet to not put them on blast. they’ll even visit the schools to teach students how they work in the factories once they graduate. you don’t have to be smart enough to get a degree, we’re going to teach y’all how to work with your hands. even though it might be a little dangerous working on chemicals, but you’ll walk away with a trade. it’s heartbreaking. 

gainard expressed her frustrations with the continuous cycle that is taking place, and the lack of people who are standing up against these injustices. one may ask why she would choose to stay in this community. one that is continuously harming her friends and family, and where the community often seems silent. 

ag: i’m tied to the life here. i was raised here in donaldsonville. my family was influential here, with many street names and buildings being named after them (jones and stewart). we even have a graveyard where my family donated the property so that the community can know its history of who the first black doctor was and other important figures.

my family members are buried there, and my mom and dad still live here. my great-great grandfather came here from haiti as a free man. i can still walk the land where my family started. i love it here, so that’s why i stay. 

gainard also notes that moving somewhere else would not necessarily fix the problem. across the united states, black and hispanic communities are disproportionately impacted by environmental issues like pollution. since the problem is so widespread, picking up and leaving doesn’t necessarily work as a solution to many people from marginalized communities. communities like gainard’s face deeply personal issues which are very intentional and the only way this can change is if all communities not only recognize it but also act. 

when asked about the contributions that she makes in her community to fight the pollution in the air, gainard brought up the organization she founded called “rural roots louisiana”. 

her organization focuses on “fighting environmental justice, empowering [the] youth, building stronger communities, and promot[ing] social equity.” gainard takes pride in her work in advocacy and is trying to be the voice for her community. she hopes to one day push  the factories that are producing the pollution in the air out of her community. her final thoughts are that “the voices of the people should matter more than the profits of polluters.”