Science
‘The Interview’: Ed Yong Wants to Show You the Hidden Reality of the World
The science journalist and author Ed Yong likes to joke that during the first wave of Covid-19 in 2020, the impact and reach of his reporting for The Atlantic turned him into “a character in the season of ‘Pandemic.’” Indeed, his Covid journalism — which documented the earliest stages of the pandemic and made him one of the first chroniclers of long Covid — established Yong as a key and trusted public interpreter of the illness and its many ripples. It also won him a Pulitzer Prize. (Additionally, Yong’s 2022 book about animal perception, “An Immense World,” became a best seller. A young reader’s edition will be published on May 13.)
But despite having achieved a level of success and attention that most writers can only dream of, Yong’s immersion in Covid left him feeling as utterly depleted as many of the health care professionals and patients he was covering. So much so that in 2023, he decided to leave his prestigious perch at The Atlantic. Since then, in addition to working on a new book, he has found a measure of salvation, even transcendence, in birding, a pastime that he, like so many others, took up in the wake of those grim days of social distancing and time stuck inside.
So as we approach the fifth anniversary of the U.S. pandemic lockdowns, I wanted to talk with Yong about his Covid lows, his hopeful response to those struggles and his perspective on the lessons we learned — or maybe more accurate, didn’t learn — from that strange and troubling time.
I want to start with a subject that a lot of people can relate to: burnout. How did you realize that you had given all that you had to give? I remember talking to public-health experts for a story and hearing people say that they were feeling depressed, anxious, they couldn’t sleep, and thinking, Man, that feels very familiar. That was in June of 2020. By the middle of 2023, I realized that I was doing my best work at severe cost to all of the other parts of myself. I actually dislike the word “burnout.” It creates this image that the person in question did their job, the job was really hard and after a while they couldn’t stand how hard it was and they stopped doing it. Which I don’t think is correct. A lot of the health care workers I spoke to said that it wasn’t that they couldn’t handle doing their job. It was that they couldn’t handle not being able to do their job. They saw all of the institutional and systemic factors that prevented them from providing the care that they wanted to provide. For them, it was more about this idea of moral injury, this massive gulf between what you want the world to be and what you see happening around you. At some point that becomes intolerable. I think that’s much closer to my experience of pandemic journalism too.
Do you have any answers for how to contextualize your feelings in a world where people are struggling for subsistence or with the threat of violence? I often think, when I’ll be low, What right do I have to complain? I’m sure you must have had similar thoughts. This is a great point because you don’t even have to go to that extreme of folks who are struggling to get by, folks who are in the middle of war zones. Let’s just talk about the people whose stories I’m trying to tell. What right do I have to say, “I have listened to your stories, and I’m trying to write about them, and that, for me, is too hard”? Doesn’t that sound a little bit pathetic?
There is something absurd about it. One hundred percent there is.
And yet, the feelings are real. Right. I’ve had this conversation with friends and with my therapist a lot. I think that if we as journalists do our job correctly, what we end up doing is extending as much empathy as we can to the people we are writing about, so that we can correctly characterize and convey their experiences to the world. Empathy really does mean, for me, spending days listening to the worst moments of dozens of people’s lives, having them run through my head again and again so that I can turn them into something that might shift the needle in someone who has never thought about those experiences. I’m sitting here still questioning myself about whether it’s ridiculous to say that that’s hard, but what I can tell you is that I know it’s hard because I felt it. I think that’s enough.
You’ve been clear in saying that Covid has not gone away. You ask people to wear masks at your events. But that attitude is not necessarily where the rest of the world is. How do you think about continuing to take precautions and advising others to do so when it feels as if society has moved on? I do it for a bunch of reasons. Firstly, I have learned that I enjoy not being sick. I know that the cost of long Covid is real and substantial, and I don’t want to run that risk lightly. I also know that I have many friends and people I’m close to who are immunocompromised. So for the sake of the people around me, I also don’t want to get sick. When I do events, I wear a mask for those reasons, and because I know that every time I do a talk, while the vast majority of people in the audience have probably moved on, there are going to be other people who haven’t. I think it makes a huge difference to them to have the person at the front of the stage wear a mask. It tells them, It’s not weird. So I do it for that reason, too. In terms of holding this line at a point when a large swath of society has moved on, I have written a lot about the panic-neglect cycle.
What’s that? The idea is, a crisis happens. Let’s say a new epidemic. Attention and resources flow toward that, people take it seriously, freak out, and then once the problem abates, so, too, does everything else. The resources dwindle, the attention goes away and we lapse into the same level of unpreparedness that led to the panic in the first place. This is real. I’ve seen it through my reporting. I’ve seen it for Ebola, for Covid — you name it.
Bird flu? Sure, why not? All of which is to say, for all of those reasons, I don’t feel self-conscious about still being cautious at a time when most people aren’t. I personally don’t want to lapse into the neglect phase, because I don’t think it’s warranted.
This has been blaring in the back of my mind the whole time we’ve been talking: How worried are you about a bird-flu pandemic? I try not to answer questions on things I haven’t specifically reported on because it is hard to make sense of all this. I didn’t come to these views on Covid lightly. So, specifically how worried am I about bird flu? On a scale of 1 to 10? I don’t know.
I’ll rephrase the question: How worried should I be about bird flu? That’s an even harder question. What I will say is that it is a threat that we should absolutely take seriously. In all likelihood the next pandemic will be a flu one, whether it’s H5N1 or something else. So the specifics of my level of worry about this particular pathogen are subsumed in this ambience of worry about everything. We live in a world where new viruses will have an ever easier time of jumping into us, and where the infrastructure of our societies continues to be poorly suited to handling those threats. If you think about what happened with Covid, why did the U.S. fare so badly? There’s all of these things that people rarely think of in terms of pandemic preparedness: It’s social stuff and, crucially, a lack of trust in government and one another that turns a pandemic into a true disaster. All of those problems are still with us, and, I would argue, are worse than they were in early 2020. The way that it’s often framed is: “Tell me, on a scale of 1 to 10, how worried you are that H5N1 is going to go pandemic.” I think the more important question is, if it does, how screwed are we? And the answer is: really.
So you were dealing with the feelings we talked about earlier, and you got to a point where you decided your life had to change. One of the things that then changed your life was birding. How did you find it? In the spring of 2023, just before I left The Atlantic, I moved to Oakland from D.C., and one thing that happened was I started paying attention to the birds around me. They were omnipresent in a way they weren’t before. On my first day in my new house, there was an Anna’s hummingbird in the garden. I would go for walks and hear birdsong: the melodious sound of a Pacific wren in a nearby redwood forest. I bought a pair of binoculars and would take it with me on neighborhood walks or hikes. I would have Merlin while I was working and look up occasionally and go: “Oh, that’s interesting. It’s an oak titmouse. I’ve never seen one before.” To me, the difference between being casually bird-curious and being an actual birder is making a specific effort to go and look at birds.
Going from passive to active. Exactly. So early September of 2023 was when I made my first trip to a local wetland to specifically look at birds and nothing else. That was, honestly, a life-changing moment.
Can you put me back in that moment? I went to a place called Arrowhead Marsh. It’s this relatively small stretch of wetland that has a boardwalk sticking out into this little chunk of bay, and on that day, I saw all these creatures. I’ve been writing about animals since I’ve been writing about anything, but a lot of my knowledge of the natural world, if you want to be reductive, it’s just trivia. Whereas the knowledge I gained from birding, that started on that boardwalk, feels rooted in the lives of the birds themselves in time and space. I look at the birds, and I see how they behave. Small things that I would never have noticed if I was just reading scientific publications. Those two halves, the academic side and the more lived knowledge, beautifully interact with each other. And the thing that I felt palpably at that place on that day, that I still do every time I go birding, is this incredible sense of being present.
When you’re watching birds — and this could apply to the natural world writ large — there is so much going on that is basically beyond our comprehension. Because of our sensory capabilities as human beings, we are condemned to having only an ankle-deep understanding of what it is to be alive on Earth. To me, that’s humbling and mind-blowing. What do you think? I fully agree. I mean, that is a beautiful précis of basically my entire body of work.
Nailed it! [Laughs.] I can go home now, right? All of it is about the idea that much of the world is hidden from us, that we don’t perceive it and don’t understand it, and that it is worth understanding and it is necessary to understand. I’m now working on Book 3, and I see them as a trilogy that all touch on this theme. “I Contain Multitudes,” the first book, was about the microbes that live inside our bodies and those of other animals, and the enormous influence they play in our lives. “An Immense World” is about how other creatures perceive things that we miss, and about how each of us is perceiving only a thin sliver of the fullness of reality, which is a wonderfully humbling concept. The book that I’m currently working on takes those themes and runs with them. The book is called “The Infinite Extent,” and it is about life at different scales. It is about what it is like to be the size of a blue whale or the size of a bacterium, to live for millennia like a bristlecone pine, or for just a few hours like a mayfly. It’s about these extremes of experience and existence.
I have a curmudgeonly question. Developing an awareness of the magic that’s happening all around us at any given moment, and understanding that there’s this vast cosmic dance playing out — in the abstract, I can see how internalizing those perspectives might change one’s perspective. Sometimes I’m able to get to that place. But the way I’m picturing it in my head is like, I blow up a beautiful balloon. I’m carrying that balloon around and looking up at the balloon: What a beautiful balloon I’m carrying with me. Then I get to the office, and the balloon pops on the halogen light, and I’m back in the [expletive]. Did your understanding of the bigger existential stuff you were writing about actually help you in the moments when you were struggling? I can say that thinking about these ideas constantly really helped me. It felt like a salve to all of that moral injury and despair that I was feeling. It doesn’t cure it, but it fills my life with wonder and joy, and that acts as a buffer against all the other existential dread and fear that we have to grapple with. One thing I’ve said about science as a field is that it is one of the only areas of human endeavor that take us out of ourselves. We exist at a time when we are being crunched ever inward. Whether it’s through a novel virus, or frayed social connections, or algorithms that feed us more of what we already were seeking out. There is a kind of implosive effect of the modern world, and the science and nature writing that I’m prioritizing, and the birding that I do, are all counters to that. They are a way of radiating your attention outward. I’m still wrestling with the curmudgeonly question that you asked. Like, does any of that matter? Sometimes when I go out and look at birds, there’s a voice in my head that says, Is this really the best thing you could be doing with your time?
It’s a dropout solution. Totally, because often people talk about birding as escapism, and there’s something about the word “escapism” that has a slight negative connotation. I had a conversation with a good friend about this, and what she said was, “I think it’s more important than ever to be out in the world.” I agree with that. We need to replenish ourselves, and it matters, because for those of us who care about biodiversity and diversity and the environment and equality, we need to be connected to the thing that we are fighting for. And if we don’t do that, then the work, the fights, become abstract.
So, putting work aside, one could reasonably feel a sense of moral injury just as a result of living in the world right now. We can change our work situation, or at least try, but changing the bigger problems is beyond our scope. Any advice for how to get through that feeling? A nice softball question! There are three ideas that come to mind. One is a quote from the amazing Mariame Kaba, who says, “Hope is a discipline.” She argues that hope is not this nebulous, airy thing. It is a practice that you cultivate through active effort. I think of a line by the great and late global-health advocate Paul Farmer, who said that he “fought the long defeat.” By which he meant that he was often swimming against forces that were extremely powerful, and he knew that he was going to suffer defeats and setbacks, and that he was going to fight nonetheless. Then the third one is an idea called the Stockdale paradox, which was named after Vice Adm. James Stockdale, who was a prisoner of war. When he was finally released, after a long time in captivity, he was asked how he managed to survive what he endured, and he talked about how he made it because he was able to hold two seemingly contradictory ideas in his head at the same time. One was the full and brutal realization of his situation, combined with the indomitable hope that things could get better. These three ideas anchor me in these moments when it feels like the gulf between what we hope the world should be and what it actually is seems vast and growing. That gulf is agonizingly difficult to bear, but we bear it nonetheless.
I’d like to wrench the conversation away from heavier topics. Tell me a cool scientific fact that you learned while you were researching your next book. Something that gave you delight. You know, I’m writing a section of the book that is about hummingbirds. The fact that hummingbirds have iridescent colors that are especially vivid at certain angles. The Anna’s hummingbird is a great example of that. In some angles it looks like this vivid capital-“M” magenta jewel. Then it might turn its head and look black and dark. Those colors are not inherent to the feathers themselves. They occur because the feathers have rows of tiny disc-shaped structures that are arranged perfectly at the nanoscale. The light they reflect interferes with and amplifies each other specifically in red wavelengths, and specifically at certain angles. I think about all that I’ve learned through scientific papers and talking with scientists, but I also know the things I’ve learned from watching hummingbirds as a birder. They are small bundles of sass and fury, and I love them for that. This is sort of what I meant when I said that my world now is this mix of the academic and the experiential. It’s all these sides of nature colliding in every single experience — and it’s wonderful.
This interview has been edited and condensed from two conversations. Listen to and follow “The Interview” on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, iHeartRadio, Amazon Music or The New York Times Audio app.
Director of photography (video): Aaron Katter
Science
Trump administration seeks to limit federal funding that doesn’t ‘advance’ presidential policies
A new rule proposed by the White House Office of Management and Budget would fundamentally overhaul the way federal grants are awarded and overseen — a sweeping change that one scientific society said “would all but end the use of scientific merit in the selection of grants and programs across the government.”
Proposed in late May, the rule would give political appointees unprecedented control over federal grants for research, education and infrastructure, and specifies that government funds can only be spent on projects “aligned with administration policies and priorities,” according to a copy of the proposed rule.
The rule would also restrict research topics, limit U.S. scientists’ ability to collaborate with colleagues in other countries and make it easier for the government to suspend or cancel grants at any time.
The changes are intended to improve “transparency, accountability, and oversight for Federal awards” while “ensuring that American tax dollars are not wasted or misused,” according to the White House office.
But critics say that if the rule is implemented, the final sign-off for grants will no longer be in the hands of subject-matter experts within individual agencies, but in those of political appointees.
“This touches all parts of American life,” said Dr. Eric Rafla-Yuan, a psychiatrist who practices at the Veterans Administration and San Diego County’s psychiatric hospital.
“Control of how all of the federal grants and programs are funded will fall under a small group of highly partisan individuals who would have very few limits on how they spend these billions of taxpayer dollars,” said Rafla-Yuan, who also chairs the Committee to Protect Public Mental Health advocacy group. “This touches everyone’s life, even if they don’t realize it.”
OMB published the proposed rule May 29, opening a 45-day comment period that closes July 13.
Opposition to the proposed rule has mobilized multiple sectors of society. Professional groups representing cancer researchers, civil engineers, county governments, medical schools, housing agencies, city and municipal governments, nonprofits and others have publicly expressed concerns about potential consequences.
By midday Thursday, the Federal Register logged nearly 100,000 comments about the proposal, many of them expressing concern.
“I understand the need for oversight, fiscal responsibility, and accountability. That is not the issue,” wrote Jack Feldman, a neuroscientist who holds the David Geffen School of Medicine Chair in Neuroscience at UCLA. “The issue is whether scientific research is to be judged by scientific merit, or whether it can be approved, denied, or terminated according to broad political criteria that may change from one administration to the next.”
Crucially, the rule converts policies governing federal grants from “guidance” into binding regulations that all agencies would be required to follow. It would give political appointees power to override federal agencies’ merit-based reviews and mandate that a political appointee review decisions to ensure that all awards “demonstrably advance the President’s policy priorities.”
The elevation of political appointees in what were previously merit-based decisions has alarmed many scientists.
“The proposed rule changes would all but end the use of scientific merit in the selection of grants and programs across the government,” read a statement from the Planetary Society, a nonprofit dedicated to space research.
Researchers and science groups have also expressed concern about a section of the rule prohibiting the promotion of “theories of disparate-impact liability” — a legal concept that refers to policies that appear neutral but cause disproportionate harm to certain groups.
The section’s vague language and many loopholes could have a chilling effect on any research that studies the effects of a disease, policy or public health intervention on any specific group of people, Rafla-Yuan said.
As an example, he said, “if there’s a specific age range that is at higher risk for suicide, and we want to figure out, well, what’s going on with people that are aged 14 to 19 … we can’t do that under the wording in this rule.”
New restrictions on collaborations with scientists in other countries would hinder opportunities for U.S. researchers and limit innovation, said Joanne Padrón Carney, chief government relations officer for the American Assn. for the Advancement of Science.
“Science is a global enterprise. Especially in biomedical and public health fields, diseases don’t care about borders or government policies,” she said.
California’s congressional delegation sent a letter Wednesday asking OMB to rescind the proposal, outlining concerns about its impact on scientific innovation, U.S. competitiveness and the fiscal stability of local governments, many of which rely on federal grants for local services.
The proposed rule grants the federal government broad powers to suspend or cancel grants for any reason, introducing “unprecedented unpredictability into local governance,” the lawmakers wrote, “leaving vital infrastructure projects unfinished and abandoning vulnerable populations who rely on these services.”
Republican Sen. Susan Collins has also asked the White House to withdraw certain parts of the letter and extend the public comment period, saying the proposed rule as written would “harm small and rural communities, undermine scientific and biomedical research, and conflict with Congress’ control over the federal funding process.”
Science
Diarrhea-causing cyclosporiasis exceeds 1,000 cases in U.S. What Californians should know
Several states, primarily in the Midwest and on the East Coast, have reported thousands of cases of cyclosporiasis, a parasitic disease that can cause an extended bout of debilitating diarrhea.
There have been cases of cyclosporiasis infection in California this year, but none has been linked to the current outbreak. Public health officials, however, have advice for residents to stave off illness.
Cyclosporiasis is an intestinal illness caused by several species of the microscopic parasite Cyclospora cayetanensis and is spread through the feces from an infected person that has contaminated food or water, according to the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
People become infected with the illness by consuming food or water that has been contaminated with the parasite — the infection is not transmitted from person to person.
The epicenter of the current outbreak is in Michigan, which has reported more than 1,000 cases since June, including 44 people who were hospitalized. The state typically reports about 50 cases of cyclosporiasis annually. Now there may be hundreds more infected as 17 states have reported numerous cases.
Officials say the true number of infected people is likely higher because some people recover without medical care and are not tested for the parasite.
In the United States, food-borne outbreaks of cyclosporiasis have been linked to various types of fresh produce imported from Latin America, including raspberries, cilantro, basil, snow peas and mixed salad, according to the California Department of Public Health.
Officials say those who have fallen ill became sick after eating food in the United States and did not report travel during the 14 days before they got sick.
Those who have contracted cyclosporiasis have ranged in age from 5 to 86.
There is currently no evidence of a single, multi-state cyclospora outbreak, meaning there isn’t a common source linking all cases, according to the CDC and the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, which are working with local public health authorities to investigate the cases in each state.
At this time, there aren’t any local outbreaks in California, and current cases of cyclosporiasis infection are not linked to the multi-state outbreak, according to the California Department of Public Health.
“From January to June 2026, California has reported 41 provisional cases of cyclosporiasis, compared to 80 cases during the same period in 2025,” said Beth Deines, information officer for the state agency.
Most of these cases are associated with recent international travel, she said.
“With the significant increase in cases in the Eastern and Midwestern states, we will monitor for cases that may be associated with travel to areas of the country that are experiencing these increases,” Deines said.
Similarly, officials with the public health department will look for clusters of cases that may indicate transmission occurring in California.
There have been four domestic cases reported since May 1.
Two of those who were infected reported that they had traveled to the Midwest. Investigation of these cases is ongoing. To protect patient privacy, the state public health department does not disclose where in the state the patients reside.
Symptoms of cyclosporiasis
Cyclosporiasis cases are reported year-round; however, infections are most common when temperatures are warmer, in the summer and early fall.
Infected people experience symptoms from two days to two weeks after consuming food or drinking water containing the parasite.
Some people who are infected, particularly those from areas where cyclosporiasis is endemic, may not have any symptoms.
Those who do develop symptoms could experience:
- Watery diarrhea
- Loss of appetite
- Weight loss
- Cramping
- Bloating
- Increased gas
- Nausea
- Fatigue
Less common symptoms may include:
- Vomiting
- Body aches
- Headache
- Low-grade fever
- Other flu-like symptoms
Cyclospriasis can be treated with a combination of antibiotics. Without treatment, symptoms can last from a few days to a month or longer.
Some symptoms, such as diarrhea, may go away and then return.
How to protect yourself
When traveling to areas where cyclospriasis is endemic — including tropical or subtropical regions — avoid drinking tap water. Also make sure hot food is served piping hot, health officials say, and cold food should be kept thoroughly chilled. Germs that cause food poisoning can grow quickly in lukewarm food.
A complete list of food and drink considerations provided by the CDC can be found here.
Most food-borne outbreaks of cyclosporiasis in the U.S. have been linked to various types of imported fresh produce, so public health officials in California and in states reporting infection cases recommend:
- Wash your hands with soap and water before and after handling or preparing raw fruits and vegetables. Note that hand sanitizer does not kill the parasite that causes cyclosporiasis.
- Wash all fruits and vegetables thoroughly under running water before eating, cutting or cooking.
- Scrub firm fruits and vegetables, such as melons and cucumbers, with a clean produce brush.
- Cut away any damaged or bruised areas on fruits and vegetables before preparing and eating.
- Refrigerate cut, peeled or cooked fruits and vegetables as soon as possible.
Science
‘I’d rather my house burn down than get cancer’: Herbicide use upends California’s fight to save forests
SOUTH LAKE TAHOE, Calif. — For years, Reid Reichardt walked the forest trails behind his Tahoe Basin cabin nearly every day with his dog Jasmine. Then in 2021, the Caldor fire swept through, incinerating it all.
“It was really a sense of mourning and grief to lose this,” Reichardt said, eyes fixed on the towering blackened sticks around him.
Since then, Reichardt has watched birds, flowers, a sea of green shrubs and baby conifers fill in the moonscape. It’s been a ray of hope for him, as Jasmine aged and eventually passed.
Reid Reichardt’s dog Jasmine.
(Reid Reichardt)
But two months ago, Reichardt got a text from a friend: The Forest Service had approved a plan to kill off shrubs it says are blocking the conifers from growing. It plans to use glyphosate, an herbicide California has determined causes cancer.
“I think many people, including me, would say, I’d rather my house burn down than get cancer,” he said.
Increasingly severe wildfires — fueled by climate change and more than a century of forest mismanagement — have forced an environmental reckoning on mountain towns nestled in California’s Sierra Nevada. Their residents face difficult questions: Will some kind of forest grow back? And, if not, should humans intervene to make that happen? Two communities, 100 miles apart, may be choosing different answers.
Many foresters and fire ecologists argue the plentiful baby conifers behind Reichardt’s home will struggle to compete with the fast-growing shrubs for sunlight, water and soil nutrients. Should another fire roll through, the seedlings are not yet tall enough to hold their branches above the flames.
But many Tahoe Basin residents say they are willing to live with whatever grows back, if it keeps glyphosate away.
Reid Reichardt stands next to Saxon Creek in the Caldor fire burn scar, near the area the Forest Service wants to use herbicide to kill the shrubs it says are crowding out the baby conifers.
(Scott Sady / For The Times)
“I’ll never see it like it was in my entire lifetime, and we need to be OK with that,” said Madeline Moritsch, who spent summers at her parents’ Tahoe cabin growing up and now lives in town. “It’s really sad … to lose connection to the forest, but then also, it is part of the forest life cycle. I have great trust that the forest is going to do what it’s going to do.”
In the Tahoe basin, opposition to the herbicide reached a fever pitch after an article chronicling the Forest Service’s use of the chemical across California appeared in Mother Jones magazine.
The agency had posted newspaper notices and sent emails mentioning herbicide use and seeking public input last year, but Tahoe residents said they had missed them or didn’t make much of them.
“We continue to welcome feedback from community members and appreciate the ongoing interest and involvement from the public,” the Forest Service said in a statement.
The controversy over reviving the forest is a shame, some say, because, done right, these projects can help restore the identity of forest towns and a feeling few have felt in decades: safety.
The stewards of the forest
Material to be burned is piled in an area the Konkow Valley Band of Maidu manage in the Dogwood District of Plumas National Forest.
(Sara Nevis / For The Times)
About 100 miles northwest of the Tahoe Basin, lower down in the foothills, survivors of the epic 2018 Camp fire that destroyed the town of Paradise have a very different relationship with forest stewards.
The Butte County Fire Safe Council — made up of three dozen foresters, former firefighters and local fire survivors — has countless stories of working with local landowners to heal forests and reduce wildfire risk.
In a ride with four of them in one of the council’s heavy-duty white pick-ups, conversation is constantly interrupted as they point out areas across the county’s rugged wild lands that they’ve worked on.
More than a third of Butte County’s 1 million acres have burned over the past decade. That has made taking action and having tough conversations — including about herbicide — unavoidable.
A flag marks a Konkow Valley Band of Maidu cultural site.
(Sara Nevis / For The Times)
Connor Gilmartin, the Fire Safe Council’s director of development, sympathized with residents in the Tahoe Basin. “It’d be completely reasonable that people feel slighted if they were to have something happening in their proverbial backyard without knowing about it,” he said. “It’s a non-option for us.”
The Fire Safe Council and forestry herbicide experts stressed that when herbicide is used, crews take significant precautions to protect ecosystems and communities. They post signs along trails and mix in dye so residents can see where the chemical has been used. It can’t be applied near streams and lakes.
Experts also said it is extremely unlikely for people using trails to get accidentally exposed to glyphosate levels that scientists deem unsafe.
Why use glyphosate
For well over a century, the state and federal government aggressively suppressed all fire in California forests — many of which were adapted to low-severity flames that rolled through the understory every five to 20 years. These free-range “good” fires, set by lightning and Indigenous tribes, thinned out and rejuvenated forests for millennia.
Without them, parts of the Sierra Nevada have grown five to six times as dense as they were a few hundred years ago.
Combine that with increasingly hotter and drier weather due to climate change, and forests in the Sierra Nevada are left with a ton of stuff that’s ready to burst into flames.
Now when a fire ignites, it’s often high-intensity, devouring virtually everything in its path — including hundred-foot-tall trees.
After such a fire, shrubs that usually fight for scarce sunlight on the forest floor suddenly have it all day and take over.
One of many conifers seedlings among the shrubs the Forest Service would like to eradicate using herbicide.
(Scott Sady / For The Times)
It’s for this reason many experts say intervention is necessary if the forests are to grow back within the next several decades.
Without intervening, “the Forest Service is not getting a forest back. That’s pure and simple,” said Scott Stephens, UC Berkeley professor of fire science. Hoping fire stays out of the forest during its slow recovery process, “I would call that risky business,” he said.
To cut back on the shrubs and give the conifers a chance, Stephens said land managers have a few options: Goats, hand crews and herbicides.
Goats are great at munching up unwanted vegetation; however, if they aren’t introduced immediately, the goats are no match.
Land managers can also send in hand crews to take down shrubs with loppers, hoes and chainsaws. But that is labor intensive, and when a fire burns thousands of acres, the time and cost involved can be too high.
That leaves herbicides.
Of those, glyphosate is one of the few reasonably priced, effective and, many argue, comparatively safe herbicides that land managers can rely on for restoration work.
Reid Reichardt hikes a well-known mountain bike trail, Toad’s Wild Ride, behind his home near South Lake Tahoe. Reichardt and others worry that hikers and bikers will be exposed to herbicide applied under a Forest Service plan.
(Scott Sady / For The Times)
In the Tahoe Basin, the Caldor fire restoration plan outlines roughly 3,600 acres where the Forest Service could use ground crews to apply herbicide directly to shrubs — no aerial spraying.
“Even though it’s gotten a bad name because so much attention has been focused on it, it’s actually effective and comparatively benign,” Jon Souder, retired Oregon State University forestry professor, said of glyphosate.
Whether glyphosate causes cancer is still debated.
The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency determined it is not likely a human carcinogen. The cancer research arm of the World Health Organization says it probably is.
For many residents near Lake Tahoe, it’s not a risk worth taking.
Teaching the land to trust
Matthew Williford Sr., tribal chairperson of the Konkow Valley Band of Maidu, shook his head as he stood on a dirt road overlooking the fire-ravaged Concow Basin, separated from Paradise by just one canyon.
“Nature needs help too, just like we need help from nature,” he said. “We don’t understand that because we went another way. We lost connection with the land. That’s why.”
“This is 3A,” he said, referring to the Forest Service’s name for this plot. “We have a tribal name for it — it’s called the Place of the Grasshoppers.”
Growing up, Williford heard stories of ancestors catching giant grasshoppers, wrapping them in a maple leaf, adding a berry, then roasting them in fire and eating them like popcorn.
But those grasshoppers were long gone.
Matthew Williford Sr., tribal chairperson of the Konkow Valley Band of Maidu, stands in front of a hand-made burn pile in the Dogwood District of Plumas National Forest.
(Sara Nevis / For The Times)
California outlawed cultural fire in 1850, the year it became a state. The forests grew dense. Conifers took over the oaks. The plants and animals Williford’s ancestors held relationships with became strangers.
Then everything burned.
The Forest Service began increasingly approaching the tribe for help.
With the blessing and support of the Forest Service, the tribe began working to restore parts of its homeland — not as a shrubland, or thick conifer forest, but an open and free tapestry anchored by oaks.
For the work, the tribe has sometimes leaned on herbicide — particularly to kill ornamental French and Spanish broom, which are invasive. The alternative, digging it up, risks damaging cultural sites.
Matthew Williford Sr. points out a native plant in the Concow Basin.
(Sara Nevis / For The Times)
On plot 3A, the tribe worked with the Forest Service to grow oaks and bring back good fire.
One day, Williford stopped by 3A.
As he hopped back into his truck, a loud buzzing startled him. His truck was covered in giant grasshoppers.
“It’s just getting the land to trust us and to see that we’re here to help it — like we used to,” he said. “The land will respond. There’s no doubt about it.”
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