B5. Resilience, Third Nature, and Transition

• As funding for transit from the Biden administration dries up, Americans who live in food deserts and can’t afford cars increasingly have problems accessing groceries, with some paying money they don’t have for delivery service because they have no other option. (The Guardian)
• Unless wages, safety and scheduling flexibility improve, the shortage of workers at transit agencies is likely to worsen, according to the American Public Transportation Association. (Smart Cities Dive)
• This list of cities with the most frustrating commutes doesn’t include a lot of surprises. (The Hill)
• Amtrak is considering making it easier to carry guns onboard trains, even though that’s how the man accused of trying to assassinate President Trump last month traveled to Washington, D.C. (Baltimore Banner)
• An NYU study found that a significant proportion of shared bike and scooter trips replace car trips, but those networks do not reach far enough into low-income neighborhoods.
• Massachusetts Gov. Maura Healey is introducing legislation that differentiates between e-bikes/scooters and faster, more dangerous types of two-wheeled transportation like motorcycles, which the administration said would protect pedestrians while keeping the safety focus on trucks and SUVs. (Streetsblog MASS)
• California is going to start citing driverless vehicles for violating traffic laws. If a Waymo breaks the law, the company gets the ticket. (CNET)
• Amtrak is discontinuing a route between Fort Worth and Oklahoma City after those respective states failed to include funding in their budgets. As a result, a proposal to extend the line to Kansas is probably kaput. (KERA)
• According to Greater Greater Washington‘s analysis of D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser’s long-suppressed congestion pricing study, drivers would benefit the most from the policy because of the time they’d save as a result of would reduce congestion.
• Pittsburgh is seeking input from residents on their perception of mobility and transportation safety. (WPXI)
• After a month-long education campaign, Richmond is now ticketing drivers who park in bike lanes. (12 On Your Side)
• Urbanist gamers have more choices than Sim City. (Planetizen)

Boletínes periódicos de TGA Suscribirse Puedes sucribirse en la página página de RiseUp. Última entrega * TEJIENDO ALTERNATIVAS #19: Educación y aprendizaje II (Abril de 2026) Anteriores (en español) * [TEJIENDO ALTERNATIVAS #05] Poder y Democracia * [TEJIENDO ALTERNATIVAS #06] Cambio Climático y Alternativas * TEJIENDO ALTERNATIVAS #07 Para Gustavo Esteva (1936-2022), in memoriam

FIXME Esta página no está completamente traducida, aún. Por favor, contribuye a su traducción. (Elimina este párrafo una vez la traducción esté completa) Cuando los ríos hablan: un tejido narrativo de las vías fluviales de una región Por Talking Wings

FIXME Esta página no está completamente traducida, aún. Por favor, contribuye a su traducción. (Elimina este párrafo una vez la traducción esté completa) Yutsilal Bahlumilal Pluriversidad: Co-creación de alternativas agro-eco-visuales Por Xochitl Leyva Solano y Axel Köhler

FIXME Esta página no está completamente traducida, aún. Por favor, contribuye a su traducción. (Elimina este párrafo una vez la traducción esté completa) Hacia una era postcrecimiento Por Robert Wanalo y Natalie Holmes El Post Growth Institute (PGI) es una organización internacional sin fines de lucro que lidera la transición hacia un mundo en el que las personas, las empresas y la naturaleza prosperen juntas dentro de los límites ecológicos. Trabajamos de manera colaborativa para desarrollar…

FIXME Esta página no está completamente traducida, aún. Por favor, contribuye a su traducción. (Elimina este párrafo una vez la traducción esté completa) TEJIENDO ALTERNATIVAS #07: Una publicación periódica del Tejido Global de Alternativas

Fomentar los vínculos a través de la educación Por Lina Álvarez Villarreal No cabe duda de que estamos atravesando una profunda crisis civilizatoria. Esta crisis se ha manifestado en una multiplicidad de crisis: políticas, económicas, ecológicas y, más recientemente, sanitarias. Creo que el principio motor de esta devastadora situación hay que buscarlo en la ruptura de la relación de las sociedades modernas con la Tierra (entendida como una red viva de relaciones). Esta ruptura se manifiesta e…

From ecosystem destruction to climate instability, today’s environmental crises are rooted in a deeper assumption: that humans stand apart from nature. This essay argues that addressing that divide requires a broader cultural and economic shift toward ecological responsibility.

In this interview with 15/15\15 magazine, Richard Heinberg argues that current transition strategies ignore a central reality: replacing fossil fuels is not enough without reducing overall energy use.

Nate Hagens expands on the case for holding a distribution of possible futures rather than a single preferred one, and walks through a structured scenario-building exercise.

A little-known federal insurance requirement could soon bring American trains to a halt — even though commuter rail is far safer than other modes of travel.

The commuter railroad industry is bracing for the impending publication of a new federal “passenger rail liability cap,” which will start a 30-day doomsday clock for every rail operator in America to either secure millions of dollars in additional insurance, or immediately cease operations.

Even more troubling: It’s unclear whether the insurance industry will be able to issue the requisite policies. Experts said it almost certainly won’t.

Rail advocates have repeatedly warned that global insurance companies have struggled for years to write policies for railroads, thanks to a rise in climate change-related claims straining the insurance market as a whole and the sheer scale of the liability coverage that Congress forces railroads to secure.

Worse, the level of those liability caps has little to do with the actual probability of insurable incidents, which is significantly lower than cars. And because many rail fans are unfamiliar with the wonky world of underwriting, few have spoken up about a potentially existential threat to their favorite mode of getting around.

“What we really need is a public groundswell,” said Jim Mathews, President and CEO of the National Rail Passengers Association. “You need the public to comment in the docket and send letters to their members of Congress … Regular people [need to know that] train services are potentially threatened because very safe train operators, who have never had a wreck, are facing the reality that their insurance is going to go up — just because the law says it has to. And the insurance market doesn’t want to do it.”

How we got here

The rail industry’s looming insurance crisis traces back to 1997, when the Amtrak Reform and Accountability Act first mandated that railroads secure $200 million in excess liability insurance to cover the maximum allowable settlement that all passengers can secure from a single incident. (That requirement also functioned as the minimum allowable liability insurance policy railroads can hold and still run trains, making the “cap” both a ceiling and a floor.)

At the time, the number seemed fair to many rail advocates, who recognized that serious train crashes are rare compared to serious car crashes, but can be devastating and costly for surrounding communities. What wasn’t fair, though, was how the cap continued to increase — even if the number of train crashes held steady.

Under the FAST Act of 2015, the liability cap ballooned to $294 million — a development some advocates attributed to the influence of trial lawyers chasing bigger settlements rather than any meaningful analysis of the current costs of railway disasters.

“[It’s] a little self serving, if I will say,” said KellyAnne Gallagher, CEO of the Commuter Railway Coalition. “The more that railroads have to carry, the higher a trial lawyer can push for a jury verdict.”

Visit the National Safety Council for an interactive version of this graphic.

Worse, federal law requires Congress to adjust the cap every five years; in 2021, the legislative body raised it to $323 million. The next adjustment is due any day now, and advocates believe the cap will rise to around $400 million — an increase of nearly 24 percent.

Some larger carriers will be able to adjust their budgets to cover the gap; smaller carriers, who are already paying a tenth or more of their budget on insurance, may not be so lucky.

Other modes of travel, meanwhile, have it far easier. The liability cap for freight truck companies, for instance, hasn’t budged since Congress set it at just $750,000 in 1980 — a staggering 46 years ago. This is particularly notable given the surging number and associated costs of truck crashes, which often leave victims and survivors destitute, especially when a big rig causes a grisly, multi-car pile-up with damages comparable to train crashes.

Furthermore, the federal government imposes zero liability minimums on the individual drivers of passenger cars, who cause the vast majority of transportation tragedies in America, and largely leaves insurance matters up to the states. Legislators in New York are actually working to reduce motorists’ insurance costs, even as advocates warn that crash victims will pay the price.

How a broken insurance market is getting worse

Even if the pending liability cap increase is arbitrary, both Mathews and Gallagher said that railroads have tried to prepare to pay it. If the insurance market isn’t ready to provide the necessary policies, however, rail operators may not be able to secure new policies anyway, which could take the trains entirely offline.

Mathews explained that, due to the sheer size of the liability coverage that railroads are obligated to secure, no single insurance company can afford to offer them a single, comprehensive policy. That forces operators to cobble together insurance “towers” of more than a dozen different policies that collectively reach the federal cap.

Because there are simply not enough American insurers to fully assemble these teetering “towers,” railroads are forced to rely on foreign insurance markets in places like Bermuda and London to cover the gap. That means a significant portion of railroad budgets, most of which heavily rely on local tax receipts, flow directly to overseas entities — all because Congress dictated an arbitrarily high liability cap.

“Even when we’ve gone on the Hill and pointed out how much has to be spent overseas to acquire this insurance, it doesn’t seem to resonate that tax dollars are being sent abroad,” Gallagher added. “We would have thought that that would be a trigger, and it hasn’t really triggered anyone.”

Recommended Op/Ed: Oil Shocks Will Keep Coming. High-Speed Rail Can Boost Our Resilience.  Alan Minsky April 21, 2026

With the insurance market across all sectors buckling under the weight of climate disasters, Mathews fears the Londons and Bermudas of the world will think twice before insuring a U.S. railroad. If that happens, and Congress doesn’t relax its unrealistic standard, American trains could stop rolling.

“Wildfires in Madagascar will affect the rate that you as a commuter operator in San Diego are paying for insurance,” he told Streetsblog. “We’re reaching a point where the insurance market just does not want to sell policies to these railroads anymore. And as the cap gets higher, the insurance just becomes out of reach.”

What to do — and why to do it now

An industry-wide insurance crisis would be a disaster for commuter rail passengers. But Gallagher said it would be a particular tragedy given the mode’s recent gains in service and ridership.

Commuter rail largely recovered its pre-pandemic ridership by 2024, and some systems, like Caltrain, even doubled weekend passenger counts. Railroads have made massive investments in safety since the cap was last raised, too, and they’re just starting to record the long-term benefits of innovations like “positive train control” systems, which advocates said make trains safer every year they operate.

Rail advocates hoped that this summer’s World Cup games would be an opportunity to show the world how far we’ve come on the rails. They now wonder if trains will run at all.

“We would have hoped that market forces would have had a positive impact on the premiums we pay for this insurance,” added Gallagher. “We would have hoped that a drop in ridership during COVID would have had a positive impact on the premiums. It is not so … Our safety record and our safety investments have no bearing [on what we pay].”

Recommended Ask An Insurance Industry Insider: Safe Streets Are The Best Way To Bring Down Insurance Costs DJ Falkson April 15, 2026

As Congress drafts the next major federal transportation bill, Gallagher is lobbying legislators to defer the recalculation of the liability cap by four years, and to provide railroads (and the overwhelmed insurance market) year to comply with it.

Mathews said Congress could explore more radical solutions, too, such as requiring the Federal Railroad Administration to use actuarial science when estimating the costs of rail disasters, and creating tiered minimums to accommodate a diverse range of operators. Authorizing state-level transportation departments and commuter rail agencies to create their own insurers to pool risks regionally is another idea he supports; so is the creation of a “risk-sharing backstop” at the federal level, and giving the Surface Transportation Board more power to help set fair requirements rather than forcing Congress into the weeds on such a complex issue.

As wonky as all that might sound, though, Mathews said the stakes of this conversation couldn’t be higher — and the time to call your Congressional representative is now.

“It’s very esoteric and nerdy, and people don’t really want to talk about insurance because it seems bizarre,” he added. “But at the same time, you’re going to care if your commuter operator has to suspend service because they can’t get insured.”

• Replacing a second car with a cargo e-bike can save a family thousands of dollars a year. While the initial purchase price and storage for apartment-dwellers can be a concern, buyers save on fuel, car repairs and insurance, reduce their carbon footprint and live a healthier lifestyle. (Momentum)
• Voters in one suburb voted Saturday to withdraw from Dallas Area Rapid Transit, but two others voted to stay in the system. (Texas Tribune)
• Sound Transit is moving forward with the West Seattle Link light rail project, but will need to make improvements to dangerous Fourth Avenue to shift bus traffic there from the SoDa bus corridor. (The Urbanist)
• Seattle reached a $9.25 million settlement with a cyclist who was severely injured in a crash in a protected bike lane and sued the city arguing that it was poorly designed. (Seattle Times)
• A driver drove onto an Oakland sidewalk and injured seven people, then abandoned the vehicle at the scene (SFGate). In Las Vegas, a driver who killed one person on a sidewalk along the Strip and injured dozens more in 2015 was sentenced to at least 18 years in prison after reached a plea agreement (8 News Now).
• A coalition of San Diego transportation, business and climate advocates jointed together to oppose proposed eliminating the city’s multimodal team. (Circulate)
• The Knoxville City Council approved a $22 Vision Zero project on Chapman Highway, one of its most dangerous roads. (WATE)
• Asheville needs a strong bus system as its economy continues to recover from Hurricane Helene. (Citizen Times)
• Albemarle County, Virginia, is boosting funding for Charlottesville transit by $700,000. (29 News)
• At a conference in Columbia — a major coal exporter that’s trying to diversity its economy — representatives from more than 50 countries gathered to discuss transitioning away from fossil fuels. (NPR)
• Former Paris mayor Anne Hidalgo and British architect Norman Foster participated in a discussion on the benefits and challenges of removing cars from public spaces. (CityLab)
• Montreal residents once used an abandoned railbed as an informal trail, and now the city has turned it into an official linear park. (Landscape Architecture)

Pooja Kishinani and Satakshi Gupta

An interview with visual artist Anuja Dasgupta, whose practice sits at the intersection of eco-art, ethnobotany and community. Using plant-based emulsions, cameraless photography, and repurposed wood, she creates art that refuses to represent the land, …

Thousands of Kentuckians across the state are saving money on their electric bills through rooftop solar installed by reputable local companies. But there are also companies operating here that are making big promises that don’t deliver, locking you into a costly solar installation that’s overpriced, improperly designed, unpermitted, or poorly installed.

So how do you tell the difference?

Here are some warning signs to look out for:

• “Get paid to install solar!” “No up-front cost with this special government program!” “Available only in your area!” “Limited time offer!” If an installer makes these types of promises, proceed with caution. In Kentucky, there are no state, federal, or utility programs that will pay you to install solar, or that offer financing with no up-front cost.

• Aggressive sales tactics and “instant rebates.” If someone wants you to sign up on the spot, or within a very limited window, that’s a red flag. A reputable installer won’t pressure you to make a big investment without time to fully think it over or to get quotes from another installer.

• They offer you a quote without looking at your electric bills or without first recommending or asking about past efficiency upgrades. Your installer should be familiar with your utility’s solar net metering rates and should design a system that maximizes the financial benefit to you.

• If you already have solar, watch out for “free” offers to “inspect” your array, even if they say they’re representing a company involved with your installation. They may be trying to get in the door to sell you on batteries or another costly service you don’t need. If you’re net-metered, a battery won’t save you much, if any, money on your electric bill.

Tips for Doing Your Due Diligence

A qualified, reputable solar installer will:

• Have North American Board of Certified Energy Professionals (NABCEP)-certified solar professionals on staff and/or be a NABCEP Accredited Residential PV Installation Company. This is the gold standard for solar installers. Look for installers at NABCEP.org. You can also find a list of Kentucky installers at KYSES.org.
• Provide you with staff or subcontractor qualifications. Don’t be afraid to ask for a copy of the KY Contractor License Number or Master License Number for the person pulling the electric permit.
• Do a site visit before finalizing a design and quote. While technology has made it easy to do initial solar assessments remotely, an installer should come to your home or business to do an in-person assessment before offering you a contract to sign.
• Handle permitting, inspections, utility interconnections and net metering applications. They should give you a copy of the net metering application submitted to the electric service provider if you ask for it.
• Fully explain how they calculate your estimated electric bill savings over the life of the installation. If they are incorporating electric rate increases by your utility, they should be reasonable – no more than 5% per year.
• Give you time to consider your options and get additional quotes. Although there are situations that might warrant higher or lower installation costs, for residential solar installations you should expect installed cost to be around $2,500 to $3,500 per installed kW. Larger commercial installation costs are typically $2,000-$2,400 per installed kW.
• Reputable battery installers will work with you to determine what you want to back up when the power goes out. Whole-home battery backup will be very expensive – make sure to compare it to the cost of a backup gas generator.

When in doubt, talk to an expert!

The Mountain Association provides unbiased, third party solar assessments and advice to local governments, small businesses, nonprofits and faith-based organizations in Eastern Kentucky.

Contact our Energy Team at energy@mtassociation.org or (859) 880-3904.

Download this information as a flyer: _Solar scam flyer 5.1.26 (1)Download

The post Solar Scams Back on the Rise appeared first on Mountain Association.

Fear and division have become defining forces in the lives of many immigrant communities — but they are not the whole story. Cristina Jiménez Moreta has spent her life working to transform that reality, drawing on her own experience growing up undocumented and her years of organizing to build collective power.

A co-founder of United We Dream, the largest immigrant youth-led organization in the country, she has helped lead some of the most influential campaigns for immigrant justice in recent history. In this keynote, she reflects on the role of community, courage, and organizing in shaping a more inclusive future.

This is an edited transcript from Bioneers 2026.

Cristina Jiménez Moreta:

I am proud to be here as someone who was formerly undocumented. My parents, Fausto and Ligia, immigrated from Ecuador, fleeing poverty and political turmoil — like so many others in our country’s history — in search of a better life for our family. We settled in Queens, New York, in 1998. 

I’m a community organizer, and right now I lead Shared Future, a new initiative building a movement in support of immigrants and a shared vision of what unites us as Americans.

Before this, and before becoming a mom, I was a young organizer working alongside high school and college students to build the immigrant youth movement. Together, we helped grow United We Dream into a catalyst for one of the most powerful and inspiring movements of the past 20 years.

But even before I could build a movement, lead an organization, or call myself a community organizer, I’ll tell you the truth: I was a young undocumented person growing up in Queens, in a small studio apartment, living with the constant fear that one day my parents, my brother, or I could be taken by deportation agents and disappear.

Today, that same fear, uncertainty, and division are gripping millions of people across this country. What once felt normal has been turned upside down. And all around us, it can feel overwhelming — like it’s too much, and like there’s not much we can do about it.

I don’t need to remind you what’s happening. We’ve seen it on our phones, on TV, in Minneapolis, Los Angeles, Chicago, and communities across the country. We’re seeing aggressive immigration enforcement, families living in fear, and people afraid to go to work or send their kids to school. At the same time, everyday Americans are making courageous choices to stand up for their neighbors.

This is a new level of fear spreading around us. But I invite you to be clear-eyed about it, because without facing the truth of what’s happening, we won’t be able to find a way forward together.

And I want to remind you of this: despite all the pain and all the harm we’ve witnessed, history — and my own experience organizing in communities across the country — shows that the way through is by building community and collective power. 

I’ll share why I believe this, because I grew up knowing what home felt like. Home was in Ecuador, with my abuela, making noodle soup in Quito on chilly evenings in the Andes.

But when I was 13, my family had to flee political turmoil. I left behind not just a place, but a sense of belonging. My parents didn’t have much, but they had love and courage. Guided by that, they did something incredibly hard: They left everything behind and came to this country in 1998.

Growing up in New York City, in a place where I didn’t know the language or the culture, I quickly learned to feel ashamed — ashamed of not speaking English, ashamed of being an immigrant, ashamed of my skin, my Indigenous features, ashamed of who I was.

I was undocumented, living in fear, and still trying to fulfill my parents’ dream that I would be the first in our family to go to college. I did everything I was told to do: worked hard in school, did community service, checked all the boxes.

Then 9/11 happened. And in that painful moment for our country, everything changed for families like mine, and for Muslim and immigrant communities across the country. Policies shifted. Immigrants were treated as threats to national security. In many places, including New York, undocumented students lost the ability to access higher education. People like my dad, who worked in construction, lost the right to drive.

One day, my dad was traveling between New York and New Jersey for work, crossing the George Washington Bridge. He was given the wrong change at the toll booth and tried to go back to fix it — an ordinary, honest mistake. But when you’re an immigrant, even something small can make you a target. As he turned back, a police car pulled him over. The officer asked for his license. My dad told him it was expired. That was enough. He was asked to step out of the car and taken to a local police station.

I got a call from him. He said, “I’m allowed one phone call. Mija, ayúdame.” Help me.

I told him to stay calm, to remember his rights — to remain silent, to not sign anything. Then I asked to speak to the officer and told him we knew my dad’s rights and that a lawyer was on the way. Right after that, I texted a network of organizers: “My dad needs help. This is where he is.” Within minutes, people responded. A lawyer was already on the way.

I share this story because I don’t know what happened to that police officer. What I do know is that he released my dad with a $150 ticket for driving without a license. And the only reason that happened is because we had a community behind us — people who had my back, who taught me my rights, and who gave me the courage to speak up in that moment.

That’s the kind of courage I want to share with you today. Because courage is a choice.

Undocumented people like me take real risks when we speak out and share our stories. So imagine what’s possible for those who aren’t in that same vulnerable position. Across the country, young people found courage in each other — fighting deportations, supporting one another through school, and committing to build something bigger than ourselves.

That’s how we built United We Dream. And that’s how I learned that in isolation, we lose. Alone, any one of us can be targeted, silenced, or pushed aside. But in community, we show up for each other. In community, no one has to face it alone.

I want to share this: The way we won DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) was by building community. We reminded each other we weren’t alone. We helped each other find our voices. And we took action together to fight for what was right.

I never imagined we would build a movement. I never imagined that years later we would be sitting across from policymakers and people in the White House, winning protections for more than 600,000 people. But we kept organizing.

I know that right now can feel uncertain. It can feel like we don’t know what comes next, or whether change is even possible. But I’m here to tell you that it is.

We’ve seen what’s possible in places like Minneapolis, where people believed in solidarity and built power together. We’re seeing it in Los Angeles and in communities across the country responding to increased immigration enforcement.

And there is a role for everyone here. This is not just about undocumented people or immigrants. All of us have a role, especially those of us with protections that others don’t have.

What’s inspiring is that people are already showing what that looks like. In some places, people are putting their bodies on the line. In others, they’re supporting neighbors in quieter but just as meaningful ways — buying groceries for families who are afraid to leave their homes, driving children to and from school, stepping in wherever help is needed.

In cities like New York and Chicago, people are building community defense networks through group chats, text chains, and rapid response systems. There are so many ways to show up.

There is a role for all of us.

I want you to see that our organizing isn’t just building hope, it’s also shifting public opinion. It’s making ICE and deportation deeply unpopular. Together, we built a mass movement that says no to ICE.

And I want to be clear: This administration wants us to believe they’re targeting people who pose a threat to our communities. But they are the ones creating fear in our communities. And people know that.

Look at what people are actually worried about: the cost of living, paying their bills, taking care of their families. Not these manufactured fears about immigrants. More and more, people are recognizing that the chaos we’re seeing is part of a strategy.

It’s a strategy to divide us. To use immigration as a scapegoat so we don’t pay attention to the real sources of harm: corporations exploiting workers and the planet, and an administration using immigrants to advance a more authoritarian vision of this country.

But people are waking up. They’re seeing through the lies. We know that lack of healthcare, underfunded schools, and economic struggle are not caused by immigrants. And even some who once supported this administration are starting to question what they’ve been told.

I’ll share one brief story. I’ve spoken with evangelical communities across the country who have told me, “We were raised conservative. We even supported this administration. But now we see what’s happening.” In fact, this week, many of them are launching a fast for immigrants and justice.

Across the country, communities — including U.S. citizens — are recognizing that this is not the future we want. And they’ve shared this message:

We are people connected by family, community, and faith. We refuse to turn away from injustice. We show up for one another. We organize with courage and compassion. And we turn our pain into power to build a future where dignity is the norm.

We won’t be divided. We have an opportunity to build a shared future — a multiracial democracy that includes all of us.

Sí se puede. Yes, we can.

The post From Fear to Power: Building a Movement for Immigrant Justice appeared first on Bioneers.

We often talk about climate change as a problem of carbon emissions rising and the technologies needed to bring them down. But that framing leaves out something fundamental.

Brett KenCairn, founding director of the Center for Regenerative Solutions and a longtime leader in community-based climate initiatives, has spent decades advancing nature-based solutions grounded in land restoration and local action. In his keynote at Bioneers 2026, he reframes the crisis as one rooted not only in emissions, but in the widespread degradation of living systems — and points toward restoration as a path forward.

This is an edited transcript of his talk.

Brett KenCairn: 

I come from Boulder, Colorado, a community with a unique relationship to climate change. We have 11 federal research labs, including the National Center for Atmospheric Research, established there in 1967. Our community takes climate science seriously, probably because around 3,000 climate scientists actually live there. There’s a bit of an inside joke in Boulder that we have more climate scientists than therapists and personal trainers.

Boulder was also one of the first communities in the world to step up when our federal government chose not to sign onto early international agreements to reduce emissions. We said we would. We committed to reducing emissions as a community, and then we started organizing — working with other cities across the country and helping build a broader global movement.

When I joined in 2013 to help shape the next generation of our climate action plans, I was given the opportunity to collaborate with teams all over the world: Helsinki, Stockholm, Rio, Sydney, New York, Seattle, Toronto. It was an exuberant time.

But many of those cities are now quietly stepping back from this work. There’s a real sense of despair and hopelessness among many of us who’ve been at it for years, because we can see that our strategy isn’t working.

What I’ve come to understand is that it was doomed from the beginning, built on a false premise and a half-truth. The premise was that this problem was purely about technology — about machines, about energy sources. That if we just changed those sources — built more wind farms, installed more solar, deployed more electric vehicles and heat pumps — we could solve it.

That’s the half-truth.

Climate Change Has Two Drivers

The other half is something we’ve known for more than 50 years. If you go back to the early days of global climate conversations in the 1970s, they all pointed to the same thing: Climate change has two legs. Yes, one of those legs is fossil fuel emissions. Nothing I’m saying diminishes the importance of reducing them. But even then, we knew there was a second leg: the degradation of land, the desecration of living systems.

Because the atmosphere isn’t just a geochemical machine governed by CO₂ in and CO₂ out. It’s a life-mediated system. Life created our atmosphere — for life. And the breakdown of these living systems is what’s been driving instability within them.

When the world came together in the 1990s at the Rio Earth Summit, we understood that there were three existential threats we needed to address. Climate was one, and we created the Convention on Climate Change — the IPCC we’ve heard so much about.

But there were two other conventions established at that summit. Biodiversity was one. The other was meant to be called the Convention on Land Degradation, but that didn’t sound compelling enough, so it became the Convention to Combat Desertification. Unfortunately, that framing led many of us to think, well, that’s a problem somewhere else; maybe Africa, but not here.

But I can show you places right outside Boulder that are desertifying right now. Because even then, we understood that this crisis was also about land degradation.

But then we started to forget. We need to understand why we made those choices. But what I will say is this: It’s time to change our strategy, because the one we’ve been using doesn’t offer much hope.

Let me summarize this in a way that might feel familiar.

If I asked many of you what’s causing climate change and how we solve it, you’d probably describe it something like this: Over the past few centuries, carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere have been rising. And as fossil fuel use has increased, emissions have risen right alongside it.

Those two trends line up so closely that it feels obvious, like clear cause and effect. It’s easy to say: There’s your answer. The smoking gun — or in this case, the smoking stack. 

When you understand climate change through that relationship, it naturally leads you to believe the solutions are technological. And if you’re a financier, if you like technology, that’s a very appealing frame to work within.

But we’re starting to learn that there’s another driver here. The science is finally beginning to catch up.

A 2017 report by Jonathan Sanderman and others looked at soil loss over the past 12,000 years. For most of that time, soil loss was minimal. But with the rise of early empires and the expansion of agriculture, you start to see it increase. And then, in the last century, it accelerates dramatically.

What Sanderman and his colleagues found is striking: Somewhere between a quarter and a third of the excess carbon in the atmosphere didn’t come from burning fossil fuels. It came from the loss of soil carbon — from degrading the land itself. And it’s not just about carbon. 

When we lose soil, we also lose the capacity of living systems to hold water. We’ve forgotten that the most abundant greenhouse gas driving warming isn’t CO₂. It’s water vapor. So as we degrade the land, we’re not only releasing carbon, we’re also releasing vast amounts of water that would otherwise be held in healthy ecosystems. And that, too, intensifies climate instability.

There’s another relationship here, too: how fossil fuels, used through machinery, have reshaped the land itself. You don’t have to look far to see it. Just look at our own backyards. Take the Great Plains, once one of the most extraordinary ecological systems on the planet. In the span of just 10 years, we plowed up 30 million acres. 

And it wasn’t just in the United States. This was happening all over the world. So while we’ve told ourselves the story that climate change is about industry and fossil fuel combustion, it’s also about the widespread degradation of the living world.

And the scale of it is immense.

The UN estimates that around 70% of the Earth’s terrestrial systems are degraded. A report last year suggested that roughly half of the planet’s biological capacity has already been compromised. 

We’re living on a planet operating at roughly half its basic photosynthetic capacity — what scientists call “net primary productivity.” We don’t even know what it feels like to live on a fully functioning planet anymore. Although we’ve heard the stories.

We’ve Recovered Before, and We Can Again

Remember the stories about the passenger pigeons? Wow, when they took flight, the sky would go dark? That the rivers were so full of salmon you could walk across them? That you could stand on the Plains, look in any direction for miles, and see the land moving with millions of buffalo?

That’s what this planet looked like when it was operating at its full capacity. And that’s what we have to bring back. It’s the only real hope we have to address the climate crisis.

Now, it can feel hopeless. But there have been other moments when it felt that way. If you haven’t watched documentaries about the Dust Bowl, you should. Try to imagine what it was like on the Great Plains after we plowed up 30 million acres and turned it into a monoculture of wheat, and then the dust storms began. At first, just a few each year. Then dozens. People describe walls of dust, miles high, rolling toward them — like hell itself descending. It must have felt hopeless.

But we lived in a time when we still believed we could do something about it. When we believed we could return to the land and repair what we had broken. Millions of people went back to work restoring it. We made a living putting the world back together. And we did it.

In the span of a decade, we stopped the destruction. Within another decade, we began to restore what had been lost.

What happened during the Dust Bowl affected nearly a third of this country, but it also showed what’s possible at scale. The work people did together was extraordinary. Billions of plants were put back into the ground. Thousands of miles of contouring and check dams were built. It was simple, practical work, but deeply impactful. And it’s exactly the kind of work we need to be doing again.

I recently heard a presentation from Elizabeth Heilman at Wichita State. She shared that in parts of Kansas, regenerative agriculture has now been adopted at a remarkable scale — something like 70% of a county has returned its land to living cover, to deep-rooted systems. Do you know what they’re seeing? They’re changing weather patterns. 

We can do this. We’ve done this. We are doing this right now.

The Real Shift: An Economy That Repairs the Planet

This won’t happen just because we shift consciousness, or do more education, or launch another communications campaign for the planet. It will happen because we change the economy. We have to make it possible to make a living repairing the planet.

There’s promising research showing that if we restored just a third of degraded land globally, we could stabilize the climate while also reversing biodiversity loss. And according to the World Economic Forum, that kind of effort could generate 190 million jobs and $3.5 trillion in economic activity.

That’s the future we need to demand. So where do we start?

• First, we have to prepare and plan, just like in the 1930s. When systems begin to unravel, it’s too late to start from scratch.
• Second, we need to test and prove what works. Pilot these approaches now. Get them underway.
• Third, we need partnerships at every level — across neighborhoods, jurisdictions, countries. And we have to learn quickly and scale what works.
• And finally, we have to remember: This is a political process. I know it’s more fun to talk about whales and growing things — I like that too — but this is political.

Yes, this is daunting. I know, especially for younger leaders, it can feel overwhelming. But you can start now.

In my own community, we’re starting with a simple idea: Remove the barriers to participation. We have to de-professionalize land stewardship. This isn’t complicated work. It’s something many of us can do. But when only professionals are allowed to participate, most people are left out.

First, we need to move beyond volunteerism. That was a 20th-century model. People’s time and knowledge deserve to be paid. Even modest support — 10 to 15 hours a month at a living wage — can sustain these systems. Water the trees, mulch, care for the plants. That’s enough to keep things going.

Second, we need the infrastructure to do this at scale. We’re training local contractors, especially small and minority-owned businesses, in things like wildfire-resilient landscaping, rain gardens, and biodiversity restoration. Then the public sector can seed that capacity through small contracts.

Third, we need to fund this work at scale. Through partnerships, we’ve seen how communities can generate tens of millions of dollars through local funding measures to invest in restoration.

That’s what we need to be doing everywhere. And we can. So join in.

Start by growing something. A flower, a medicinal plant, food. Then learn how it grows alongside other plants — what it needs, what it supports. And then start to see how that small system fits into something larger. Before long, you’ll find yourself part of a much bigger community — one that’s ready to welcome you and help you find your way.

The post Climate Change Has Two Drivers. We’ve Been Largely Ignoring One. appeared first on Bioneers.

What does it take for people to meaningfully participate in democracy? For millions of workers, the answer starts with something basic: being able to afford to live.

Saru Jayaraman, President of One Fair Wage, has spent decades organizing restaurant workers and advocating for fair wages across the country. In her keynote at Bioneers 2026, she made the case that economic justice is not separate from democracy or climate action, but foundational to both.

This is an edited transcript of her talk.

Saru Jayaraman: 

For 25 years, I’ve been organizing and representing workers in the restaurant industry. It employs 13.6 million people in the United States, many in the lowest-wage jobs in the country.

In past talks at Bioneers, I’ve shared that the subminimum wage for tipped workers was $2.13 an hour. Still today, in 2026, the largest employer of women, people of color, youth, immigrants, and really so many of us can legally pay just $2.13 an hour.

I’ve said again and again that when so much of America cannot afford to feed themselves or their families, they also cannot engage politically. There is no way people can take on issues like the climate crisis when they are working three jobs instead of one, and when those in power represent the opposite of what they need.

As I’ve continued to share this, I’ve faced a lot of pushback. In 2024, when we were raising money to put wage increases on the ballot in states like Arizona and Michigan, donors told me, “That’s cute. You’re trying to raise wages. We’re trying to save democracy.”

But raising wages is saving democracy.

Despite these repeated warnings, we’ve landed in a crisis that has been building for a long time. One clear example: Trump campaigned on and delivered “no tax on tips,” even though two-thirds of tipped workers don’t earn enough to pay federal income tax. But he at least recognized these workers as worth speaking to.

When that happened, I urged Kamala to engage this audience as well. The answer was no, again and again.

In the last election, many tipped workers either stayed home or shifted their support elsewhere. Not because they didn’t care, but because they felt unseen. We didn’t speak to them. We didn’t say, “Your lives matter.”

What the whole “no tax on tips” moment revealed is this: When you leave people out, you do it at your own peril. When large groups of people are excluded, they become vulnerable to being co-opted by the right.

In April of last year, a series of articles in USA Today documented a rumor spreading among MAGA voters that Trump had already raised the federal minimum wage to $25 an hour. The videos were widely shared and gained significant traction among right-wing audiences.

Now, we all know it’s a lie. That’s not the news. The news is that they didn’t claim he raised wages to $15, or $17, or even $20. They said $25 an hour: the minimum needed to live anywhere in the United States right now. They chose the number that reflects people’s lived reality, including their own base. And it resonated.

We have a five-alarm fire. The right is talking about $25 and energizing their base around it, while the left is stuck arguing for $17, or in some places, still $15. I’ll be blunt. This is why people are frustrated with us. They see us negotiating against ourselves before we even enter the room. They see us settling for half a loaf.

When we saw this, we organized an emergency convening in Los Angeles in June, bringing together 140 labor and community leaders from 15 states. The message was clear. It’s time to move beyond the Fight for $15. It’s time to demand a living wage for all, with a national floor of $25.

Since that gathering, we’ve launched campaigns, bills, and ballot measures in dozens of states calling for $25 across the board, and $30 in higher-cost areas. Several counties have already taken action.

Within our own movement, there was hesitation. “$25? That’s too high. $30? Impossible.” So we polled it across red, blue, and purple districts. The result was overwhelming support. And when we tested the opposition’s messaging, that this would raise prices, cost jobs, or hurt small businesses, support actually increased.

People are angry. If you tell them wages can’t go up because prices will rise, they respond, “What are you talking about? Prices have already gone up.”

The only thing that hasn’t increased is the value of human labor.

There’s so much talk about affordability, but most of it centers on bringing costs down. There is no world in which affordability comes from bringing costs down alone. Inflation over the last 75 years has never meaningfully reversed. The only way to make life more affordable for half of working Americans, and it is half who earn less than $25, is to increase wages.

This unprecedented affordability crisis is also a democracy crisis. And that makes this a moment of real consequence.

I know there’s a lot to be unhappy about. There’s a lot to defend. But if all we do is play defense, we will lose. We need a proactive vision that is bold, that shows people we are fighting. And it has to focus on the issue they keep telling us matters most, the cost of living.

We’re in a moment of real opportunity. The pendulum could swing toward a world where people work one job instead of three, where they can thrive instead of just survive, where they have time with their kids, and the capacity to engage with the issues they care about, including the climate crisis.

I believe we can achieve this because fair wages is one of the few issues working people across the political spectrum can agree on.

It’s time for our country to deliver.

The post Democracy Doesn’t Work Without a Living Wage appeared first on Bioneers.

Terry Tempest Williams, one of our nation’s living literary treasures and a guiding light for many of us regarding ethics and citizenship, shares how she emerged from a dream during the pandemic in 2020 with a renewed vow she had forgotten. In this time of political and climate chaos, as we seek beauty and cohesion wherever we can find its glimmer, Terry focused on “The Glorians,” the overlooked presences—animal, plant, memory, moment—that reveal our shared vulnerability and interconnectedness with the natural world and how they can inspire us to carry forward with grace. “The Glorians are reaching out to us,” she writes,” inviting us to dream a new world into being.”

This talk was delivered at the 2026 Bioneers Conference.

Terry Tempest Williams, a writer, educator, and environmental activist known for her lyrical and impassioned prose, is the author of over twenty creative nonfiction books including the environmental literature classic, Refuge – An Unnatural History of Family and Place, and: The Open Space of Democracy, Finding Beauty in a Broken World, When Women Were Birds, and Erosion – Essays of Undoing. Her most recent book is the The Glorians – Visitations from the Holy Ordinary (spring ’26). A Recipient of Guggenheim and Lannan literary fellowships, Ms. Williams’ work has appeared widely, including in The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Progressive, and Orion, and has been translated worldwide. A member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, she is currently Writer-in-Residence at the Harvard Divinity School.

Learn more at terrytempestwilliams.com

EXPLORE MORE Terry Tempest Williams: Noticing the Glorians in a Fractured World

In a recent conversation with Bioneers co-founder Nina Simons, Terry Tempest Williams reflects more personally on the inner terrain behind her work — art, activism, spirituality, and the discipline of staying open. She speaks to grief as a form of love, to community as a site of imagination, and to the quiet but radical act of not looking away. As she describes it, “finding beauty in a broken world is creating beauty in the world we find.”

Erosion and Evolution: Our Undoing is Our Becoming

In this podcast episode, Terry Tempest Williams asks: How do we find the strength to not look away at all that is breaking our hearts? Hands on the earth, we remember where the source of our authentic power comes from.

The post Terry Tempest Williams – The Glorians Are Among Us appeared first on Bioneers.

Terry Tempest Williams is one of the most celebrated and revered American nature writers. She integrates the musicality of a poet with the passion and purpose of an activist. Terry is also an award-winning conservationist, a fierce defender of her beloved Southwestern desert landscapes.

She has authored over 20 books that are translated worldwide. Her most recent book is The Glorians: Visitations from the Holy Ordinary.

Bioneers co-founder Nina Simons, author of Nature, Culture and the Sacred: A Woman Listens for Leadership, engaged with Terry at a Bioneers conference in a wide ranging conversation between two old friends.

Featuring

Terry Tempest Williams, a writer, educator, and environmental activist known for her lyrical and impassioned prose, is the author of over twenty creative nonfiction books. Her work has appeared widely, including in The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Progressive, and Orion, and has been translated worldwide. Her most recent book is the The Glorians – Visitations from the Holy Ordinary (spring ’26).

Credits

• Executive Producer: Kenny Ausubel
• Written by: Kenny Ausubel
• Producer: Teo Grossman
• Senior Producer and Station Relations: Stephanie Welch
• Associate Producer and Show Engineer: Emily Harris
• Host and Consulting Producer: Neil Harvey
• Production Assistance: Mika Anami

Resources

TerryTempestWilliams.com

The Glorians – Visitations from the Holy Ordinary

Terry Tempest Williams: Noticing the Glorians in a Fractured World

Erosion and Evolution: Our Undoing is Our Becoming | Bioneers Podcast

This is an episode of the Bioneers: Revolution from the Heart of Nature series. Visit the radio and podcast homepage to find out how to hear the program on your local station and how to subscribe to the podcast.

Subscribe to the Bioneers: Revolution from The Heart of Nature podcast

Transcript

Neil Harvey (Host): Standing in the lineage of the greatest nature writers, the acclaimed author, naturalist and activist Terry Tempest Williams links her deepest inner experiences with the state of the web of life. She plumbs connections: art and ecology – women and politics – democracy and social healing – wild lands and First Peoples – family and faith.

I’m Neil Harvey. This is “A Conversation with Terry Tempest Williams”

Terry Tempest Williams is one of the most celebrated and revered American nature writers. She integrates the musicality of a poet with the passion and purpose of an activist. Her tender personal reflections and intimate insights as a naturalist braid together with her keen political and spiritual insight in a voice that feels most at home in the liminal – in the space between words.

Her work and her life encompass many dimensions beyond writing. As a socially and politically engaged artist, Terry is also an award-winning conservationist, a fierce defender of her beloved Southwestern desert landscapes. She’s done everything from civil disobedience to testifying before Congress on women’s health issues, to buying gas leases to prevent the desecration of pristine and sacred lands.

She has authored over 20 books that are translated worldwide, including the masterwork Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place. Her most recent book is The Glorians: Visitations from the Holy Ordinary.

Terry has received numerous prestigious literary awards, and her long academic career recently included serving as writer- in-residence at Harvard Divinity School.

Terry Tempest Williams spoke at a recent Bioneers conference, where Bioneers co-founder Nina Simons, author of Nature, Culture and the Sacred: A Woman Listens for Leadership, engaged with her in a free-range conversation between two old friends.

Nina began by asking Terry to describe the story from her book Finding Beauty in a Broken World chronicling her experience making social healing mosaics in Rwanda with the artist Lily Yeh.

Nina Simons (NS): In Finding Beauty in a Broken World, you share the story of Lily Yeh’s work with barefoot artists, helping create healing places in Rwanda and globally through engaged community art creation. And in both her work and your own, my sense is that you each elevate art to a place where its healing capacity for people, society and culture is amplified in community. You wrote that finding beauty in a broken world is creating beauty in the world you find. So now, when the need to transform our culture and society is at an all-time high, and since artists often foresee the future, I wonder if you have any thoughts about the role of artists in times like this, and what you might suggest to artists whose catalytic capacity is so vital, though so often undervalued in this society.

Terry Tempest Williams (TTW): How many of you know the work of Lily Yeh? She’s a phenomenal artist. She’s now 85, almost to be 86 years old, Asian, born in Taiwan, in China, her family. I met her in 2001, after I realized September 11th, my rhetoric had become as brittle as the opposition. And I had forgotten my poetry.

And I remember being in Maine. We were at a family place. And it was high tide. I went out to a rocky point and I said prayers. And basically said to the sea: Give me one wild word and I promise I will follow. And the word that came back to me after listening was mosaic. And I thought, oh no, my life is now going to be relegated to breaking my mother’s dishes and making bad picture frames. You know? I was—I did not understand mosaic. 

And I did some research, and Lily Yeh, her name came up. She started the Village of Arts and Humanities just outside Philly, in a very tough neighborhood. And I went on a pilgrimage to meet her. And she really changed my life and showed me the aisle of angels made of mosaics, the safehouses of mosaics, how…her colleague who was—had been a former drug dealer, became a master mosaicist. And they made these beautiful murals, and it—her work has been one of placemaking around the world. 

Lily Yeh. Photo: Daniel Traub / Wikimedia Commons

She later came to Salt Lake to do a mural in one of the poorer neighborhoods that had been invisible to the community. It became highly visible with the Latina and Latino communities. And then she said, “I need to talk to you.” And she said, “Will you come with me as a barefoot artist to Rwanda?” And I said no. My brother had just died a month earlier, and I said I cannot. I did not want to be in any more death. I cannot go. And Nina, she just stared at me. And then I heard myself, and I realized if I said no, I would be saying no to my spiritual life and growth, and I heard myself say yes. And another life-changing moment. 

And, I have to tell you, here’s another lesson I learned from her. Very conscientious, you know, if I’ve got a job, I will take it seriously. So knowing we were going to go to Rwanda, I got a map, looked where it was, what it was next to. I read over 60 books, everything I could get my hands on – novels, non-fiction, government reports – went to the Library of Congress, looked at all the maps – fire maps, water maps, war maps – just to get it in my mind. And she called me and she said, “I just want to know how you’re preparing.” And so I gave her this whole list, told her what I just told you. And I said but I just don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere, but I’ve got more books to read. And I said, ‘How are you preparing?’ And there’s this long silence, and she said, “I’m meditating.” And I quit reading. And just sat with that. So she’s a real teacher. 

And I think that’s what art does for us, it bypasses rhetoric and pierces the heart, and the heart is really, I think, where all change resides. 

And I saw…the power of art, to go into communities…numb with grief, dead with grief, the bones of these women’s children were buried under trees that were still there, that they were carrying in the folds of their skirts. But when Lily got the paint out and the children took over and painted their houses – turquoise, yellow, red, animals – something lifted. And what it led to was the creation of a genocide memorial, where these women – and most of them were women – could bury their beloveds in a place of dignity. And that was Lily. 

NS: You know that conversation about Rwanda leads me to ask you, as we are both women who are childless by choice, about your decision to adopt a son, and how that’s changing you.

TTW: My hair’s white. [LAUGHTER] Louis Gakumba is our son. He was our translator in Rwanda. And so, again, Lily. You know? 

I think being a mother at 50, as you say, childless by choice… it has brought me to my knees, and I mean in the most beautiful ways, for both Brooke and me. And Louis has been our teacher. It’s been hard. I knew nothing. I still know nothing. I am a grandmother. I have two grandchildren – we do – Malka who is 8, and Shayja who is 7. Shayja loves birds. I love him. He’s constantly calling about what he sees. 

Malka, I will share this with you, since you asked how’s it changing me… When she was 5, she said to me, “Do you think I’m too black?” And I said, ‘Malka, you are beautiful.’ And I said, ‘Why do you think that?’ And she gave me her reasons. And I said, ‘Let’s look at all the beautiful Black women.’ And we looked online, and she said, “She’s black like me. She’s black like me. She’s black like me.” And then she said, “Will you show me your body?” And I have to tell you, it was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life, was take off my clothes in front of a 5-year old. And turn around. And then, as I am standing before my granddaughter, she says, “What color is your heart?” And I said, ‘The same color as yours.’ And we’ve never had that discussion again. 

And the other day, three years later, she said, “Te Te Terry, don’t you think I’m beautiful? And I just said, ‘You are so beautiful.’ And so I think it’s what we learn together. 

Terry Tempest Williams at Bioneers 2026. Photo: Boris Zharkov

Shayja, the other day, we were up in Shenandoah, and he’s staring at me. You know? And I think, okay, this’ll come out. And he goes, “If only you were a little tanner.” And I just—you know, so we are learning about interracial family together, and it’s a beautiful thing. And Louis just wrote his memoir. It’s tough, it’s beautiful, and he said I want my children to know where they come from. And I want them to know who my ancestors are and—so we’re learning. 

And my father, who would tell you in this audience, was a true racist. And he is now 92, and he and Louis are closer than I can ever tell you. And it was on a plane from Denver to Salt Lake, and Dad and Louis were sitting together on the exit row, and a flight attendant said, “Yes, yes, yes.” And when Louis said yes, she said, “Get out, you don’t speak English.” And my father stood up and said, “Apologize. He speaks six languages. He’s smarter than anyone on this plane.” And she said, “Get out.” And my father stood up and said, “This plane will not fly until you apologize.” 

And when dad came home, I called him to see if they’d gotten home, and the flight attendant let things go, apologized. When I called my father, he was crying. And he said Terry, “I knew racism from the inside out. I never knew racism from the outside in.” And that night, he had a stroke. And I think it was such a shock that he literally was rewired. And it was Louis who took him to the emergency room, sat with him all night, and held his hand. No one holds my father’s hand. So it’s those kinds of changes, Nina. Aside from love and joy and… I’m grateful. 

Host: When we return, Terry Tempest Williams and Nina Simons explore how to marry contradictions, being species-fluid, and feeding a spider.

I’m Neil Harvey. You’re listening to the Bioneers: Revolution from the Heart of Nature.

Host: If you’d like to see and hear more from Terry Tempest Williams, you can visit bioneers.org

Let’s drop back into the kitchen table conversation with Terry Tempest Williams and Nina Simons.

NS: Well, years ago, we had a conversation where you spoke of feeling drawn to marrying apparent contradictions. And it landed in me in a big way. And—

TTW: In what way?

NS: Well, in that every time I found myself encountering an apparent contradiction, I thought of you, and I thought, Huh, what does it mean to try to marry these things that seem so polarized. And…it was long before there was so much interest in non-binary gendered identities, and I found it a useful practice, to see how I could imagine them dancing together. Do you still find that resonant for you?

TTW: Every day.

NS: Yeah. [LAUGHS]

TTW: You know, living around Great Salt Lake, and living long enough to have seen her in her historic high, and now at her historic low, in retreat – and I don’t see it as retreat in the military retreat. I see it as a retreat as one goes on retreat or retreat in meditation or retreat in reflection. And I feel she’s inviting us to do the same.

So here is a saline lake that theoretically is dying, and alongside her death will be the death of the Wasatch Front – 2.5 million people if we do nothing. Not to mention the livelihood of 12 million birds. Right now, I have never seen Great Salt Lake so vibrant. I have never seen the Salt Lake area more alive with concern, with creative thinking, with young people, with artists, the Mormon Church. Great Salt Lake now has a new ally – Donald Trump. I don’t know how to deal with that, the paradox, because if I’m saying all hands on deck, that means Donald Trump’s hands too. And then I think, are we losing the lake even as we’re trying to save the lake?

I watch people who are saying it’s not called Great Salt Lake anymore, it’s the Lake. There are those that are saying this is America’s lake… I see them neutering her. And the Native people have said our Sacred Mother Lake. This is how we know her, this is how we want her dressed. I see the tribes not being brought to the table as sovereign nations, as sovereign governments. So it’s this, that and all of it. 

And the Wilson’s phalarope, which is now an endangered species, we’ve filed a petition for that species protection. The scientists on one hand say we have five years, seven years. The percentage of a saline lake ever being saved is zero.

Great Salt Lake. Photo: Patrick Hendry / Unsplash

But now, the governor, who’s on board, saying the deadline is 2034, which is the Winter Olympics. So that’s not the lake’s deadline. That’s not the phalarope’s deadline. So how do we juggle all of these things? It’s a paradox that feels like a hologram. And, yet, Great Salt Lake is directing us. 

And I think, again, what we were talking about today. If we are present, we’ll know what to do. If we’re listening to the lake, we will hear what she has to say. And, again, the elders, the different tribes, are leading the way, in my mind, and with integrity and a spiritual depth that I’m not seeing elsewhere. 

NS: I feel a tremendous connection with you and your writing through the way that you speak to and embody a quality of the feminine in your work. And the “feminine” I want to say, with quotes, because it’s such a weird word, and it’s been so malformed in our culture. And I think of When Women Were Birds. And I’ve recently begun studying the Tao Te Ching, and especially Ursula Le Guin’s version of it.

TTW: I love that.

NS: Which is so wonderful. And it’s reminding me of a long fascination that I’ve had with this quality that’s beyond binary genderism that’s about how one way of seeing how we’ve gone so wrong is the imbalance of the yin and the yang in all of us – in our culture, in our—you know, economy, in our education, in everything. I find myself reaching to expand the gender dialogue to encompass everyone and everything, and the archetypal necessity of rebalancing our inner framework. I wonder if you have any thoughts about that.

TTW: Just for the record, I’m thinking do I dare say this. You know? [LAUGHTER] I won’t have the right language, and I’m sure I will say it wrong and offend someone. But there was a moment in one of my classes, and we were—you know, the students write essays and braided essays, and gender pronouns, all of that comes up, and it’s important, and we’re all learning. And we’ve had some really powerful conversations in terms of what stories do we tell, what’s private, what’s personal, what about families, all of those. And we had an incredible conversation about queerness. And I said, ‘I think I’m queer.’ And you could have heard a pin drop. You know? And they go, “What do you mean?” And I said, ‘Well, we’ve been talking about being gender fluid. I feel I’m species fluid.’ And they got so excited. [LAUGHTER] You know? But I feel that. You know?

And I remember in An Unspoken Hunger, I talked about pansexuality in The Yellowstone: An Erotics of Place, and mentioned bison. And, you know, I think we’re so limited in terms of what we are capable of, in terms of our understanding different genders, in terms of understanding different species, and yet, if we can open ourselves and really be present with whomever we’re with, I think there is a depth of reciprocity and responsibility and empathy that is transferred. And I feel that again and again and again in the natural world. Call it serendipitous, call it the erotics of place, call it species—being species fluid. 

Talking to a person on the phone about the Say’s phoebes, that they were so beautiful. And I said, ‘I just love them.’ And then one jumped on my head. You know? And you just think, they know, you know? We’ve all had this experience.

Say’s Phoebe. Photo: Chuck Abbe / Wikimedia Commons

And it seems to me that the ultimate act of anthropomorphism is to assume that other species don’t feel, don’t communicate, don’t live and love and grieve. The exceptionalism that we have, I think, is so limiting, whether it’s our own view of gender, whether it’s our own view of the natural world, whether it’s our own view of ourselves.

So how do we keep expanding? How do we live and love with our hearts wide open, even in brokenness?

Host: The deeper story where the sacred dwells, where anything is possible.

As one of our generation’s greatest storytellers, Terry Tempest Williams engages with the world around her by building bridges between the human and other-than-human worlds.

In an excerpt from her recent book, The Glorians, she returns to the landscape she calls home, the Red Rock desert of Utah. She writes about what she calls “visitations from the holy ordinary,” moments and experiences that draw her deeper into relationship with the pulsing, thriving life that surrounds us all.

TTW: This is from The Glorians.

“‘I came from a family of repairers,’ the artist Louise Bourgeois once said, ‘The spider is a repairer. If you bash into the web of a spider, she doesn’t get mad. She weaves and repairs it.’

When I think of black widows in the desert, I wonder if this is true. Their webs are messy and hidden, not at all elegant like the orb weavers’ circular webs that spiral outward in summer fields of goldenrod. Black widows offer a warning. When their web is touched, it crackles like a witch, inspiring panic. The chaotic nest is a morgue of tightly wrapped victims that have had their blood sucked out of them, heightening the red hourglass on the female’s shiny black body.

Here in the Red Rock desert, they are everywhere – in between rocks, nestled in cliffs, and inhabiting our homes. Best to check coat pockets, behind pillows, and inside shoes. We have learned to live with them.

One summer, we had a large female, her abdomen the size of a Costco blueberry.” I wish I’d used a different metaphor. [LAUGHTER] “The size of a Costco blueberry, who lived behind our armoire in our bedroom. Brooke was out of town and I was about to leave for a longer period of time, so I left him a yellow sticky note attached to the wall close to where she would often come out to feed, and wrote: Please take care of her. X X X, T.

When Brooke returned home, he saw the note, and instead of understanding my message to mean please take her outside, he took it to mean please feed her. Which is exactly what he did for weeks. When I returned home, her abdomen was the size of a grape. [LAUGHTER]

The summer progressed, and one night, I was home alone again. It was hot and I couldn’t sleep. Rather than fight it, I decided I would listen to a group of soundscapes a friend had recently sent me as a stay against loneliness and heat-induced insomnia. One recording was from the Arctic in Alaska, one was from the rainforest in Costa Rica, and one was from Arizona Sonoran Desert. I listened to the Arctic. I didn’t think there was anything on it. I turned on the bedroom light and listened more closely. If one can hear cold, it was a faint growl. I changed CDs.

This time, I sat up with a low-wattage lamp. The rain intensified, and without thought, I started having an anxiety attack thinking there might be another flash flood, until I realized that it sounded, to my desert ear, like exactly that, a flash flood. I was two for two with no relief for loneliness or hope of a lullaby.

The final recording was of the Sonoran Desert, with giant saguaros on the cover. I placed the CD in the machine and returned to my chair. It was perfect. The familiar sounds of crickets, bat wings, and the pinpoint peeps, a band of coyotes and some insects I did not recognize. Just then, a shadow appeared on the wall. [LAUGHTER] I turned to see the black widow drawn from her hiding place by sounds of the desert night she inhabits. I was not startled, but welcomed her presence.

I sat in my chair. She was poised on the edge of her web. Together in soft light, we listened to night sounds from the Sonoran, a woman and a spider, comfortable with each other’s company.”

Thank you. Thank you so much. And let’s thank Nina for everything. [APPLAUSE]

NS: Thank you, all. Thank you, Terry, so very much. [APPLAUSE]

Host: “A Conversation with Terry Tempest Williams.”

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