By Max Graham for Grist.
Broadcast version by Alex Gonzalez for Arizona News Connection reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration

Below the red-tile roofs of the Catalina Foothills, an affluent area on the north end of Tucson, Arizona, lies a blanket of desert green: spiky cacti, sword-shaped yucca leaves, and the spindly limbs of palo verde and mesquite trees. Head south into the city, and the vegetation thins. Trees are especially scarce on the south side of town, where shops and schools and housing complexes sprawl across a land encrusted in concrete. 

On hot summer days, you don’t just see but feel the difference. Tucson’s shadeless neighborhoods, which are predominantly low-income and Latino, soak up the heat. They swelter at summer temperatures that eclipse the city average by 8 degrees Fahrenheit and the Catalina Foothills by 12 degrees. That disparity can be deadly in a city that experienced 40 straight days above 100 degrees last year — heat that’s sure to get worse with climate change. 

The good news is there’s a simple way to cool things down: Plant trees. “You’re easily 10 degrees cooler stepping under the shade of a tree,” said Brad Lancaster, an urban forester in Tucson. “It’s dramatically cooler.”

A movement is underway to populate the city’s street corners and vacant lots with groves of trees. Tucson’s city government, which has pledged to plant 1 million trees by 2030, recently got $5 million from the Biden administration to spur the effort — a portion of the $1 billion that the U.S. Forest Service committed last fall to urban and small-scale forestry projects across the United States, aiming to make communities more resilient to climate change and extreme heat. 

But in Tucson and many other cities, tree-planting initiatives can tackle a lot more than scorching temperatures. What if Tucson’s million new trees — and the rest of the country’s — didn’t just keep sidewalks cool? What if they helped feed people, too?

That’s what Brandon Merchant hopes will happen on the shadeless south side of Tucson, a city where about one-fifth of the population lives more than a mile from a grocery store. He’s working on a project to plant velvet mesquite trees that thrive in the dry Sonoran Desert and have been used for centuries as a food source. The mesquite trees’ seed pods can be ground into a sweet, protein-rich flour used to make bread, cookies, and pancakes. Merchant, who works at the Community Food Bank of Southern Arizona, sees cultivating mesquite around the city and surrounding areas as an opportunity to ease both heat and hunger. The outcome could be a network of “food forests,” community spaces where volunteers tend fruit trees and other edible plants for neighbors to forage. 

“Thinking about the root causes of hunger and the root causes of health issues, there are all these things that tie together: lack of green spaces, lack of biodiversity,” Merchant said. (The food bank received half a million dollars from the Biden administration through the Inflation Reduction Act.)

Merchant’s initiative fits into a national trend of combining forestry — and Forest Service funding — with efforts to feed people. Volunteers, school teachers, and urban farmers in cities across the country are planting fruit and nut trees, berry bushes, and other edible plants in public spaces to create shade, provide access to green space, and supply neighbors with free and healthy food. These food forests, forest gardens, and edible parks have sprouted up at churches, schools, empty lots, and street corners in numerous cities, including Boston, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Seattle, and Miami. 

“It’s definitely growing in popularity,” said Cara Rockwell, who researches agroforestry and sustainable food systems at Florida International University. “Food security is one of the huge benefits.” 

There are also numerous environmental benefits: Trees improve air quality, suck carbon from the atmosphere, and create habitat for wildlife, said Mikaela Schmitt-Harsh, an urban forestry expert at James Madison University in Virginia. “I think food forests are gaining popularity alongside other urban green space efforts, community gardens, green rooftops,” she added. “All of those efforts, I think, are moving us in a positive direction.”

Researchers say food forests are unlikely to produce enough food to feed everyone in need of it. But Schmitt-Harsh said they could help supplement diets, especially in neighborhoods that are far from grocery stores. “A lot has to go into the planning of where the food forest is, when the fruits are harvestable, and whether the harvestable fruits are equitably distributed.”

She pointed to the Philadelphia Orchard Project as an emblem of success. That nonprofit has partnered with schools, churches, public recreation centers, and urban farms to oversee some 68 community orchards across the city. Their network of orchards and food forests generated more than 11,000 pounds of fresh produce last year, according to Phil Forsyth, co-executive director of the nonprofit.

Some of the sites in Philadelphia have only three or four trees. Others have over 100, said Kim Jordan, the organization’s other executive director. “We’re doing a variety of fruit and nut trees, berry bushes and vines, pollinator plants, ground cover, perennial vegetables — a whole range of things,” Jordan said. 

The community food bank in Tucson started its project in 2021, when it bought six shade huts to shelter saplings. Each hut can house dozens of baby trees, which are grown in bags and irrigated until they become sturdy enough to be planted in the ground. Over the past three years, Merchant has partnered with a high school, a community farm, and the Tohono O’odham tribal nation to nurse, plant, and maintain the trees. So far they’ve only put a few dozen saplings in the ground, and Merchant aims to ramp up efforts with a few hundred more plantings this year. His initial goal, which he described as “lofty and ambitious,” is to plant 20,000 trees by 2030.

The food bank is also organizing workshops on growing, pruning, and harvesting, as well as courses on cooking with mesquite flour. And they’ve hosted community events, where people bring seed pods to pound into flour — a process that requires a big hammer mill that isn’t easy to use on your own, Merchant said. Those events feature a mesquite-pancake cook-off, using the fresh flour.

Merchant is drawing on a model of tree-planting that Lancaster, the urban forester, has been pioneering for 30 years in a downtown neighborhood called Dunbar Spring. That area was once as barren as much of southern Tucson, but a group of volunteers led by Lancaster — who started planting velvet mesquite and other native trees in 1996 — has built up an impressive canopy. Over three decades, neighborhood foresters have transformed Dunbar Spring’s bald curbsides into lush forests of mesquite, hackberry, cholla and prickly pear cactus, and more — all plants that have edible parts.

“There are over 400 native food plants in the Sonoran Desert, so we tapped into that,” Lancaster said. “That’s what we focused our planting on.” 

The Dunbar Spring food forest is now what Lancaster calls a “living pantry.” He told Grist that up to a quarter of the food he eats — and half of what he feeds his Nigerian dwarf goats — is harvested from plants in the neighborhood’s forest. “Those percentages could be much more if I were putting more time into the harvests.” The more than 1,700 trees and shrubs planted by Lancaster’s group have also stored a ton of water — a precious commodity in the Sonoran Desert — by slurping up an estimated 1 million gallons of rainwater that otherwise would have flowed off the pavement into storm drains.

Another well-established food forest skirts the Old West Church in Boston, where volunteers have spent a decade transforming a city lawn into a grove of apple, pear, and cherry trees hovering over vegetable, pollinator, and herb gardens. Their produce — ranging from tomatoes and eggplants to winter melons — gets donated to Women’s Lunch Place, a local shelter for women without permanent housing, according to Karen Spiller, a professor of sustainable food systems at the University of New Hampshire and a member of Old West Church who helps with the project. 

“It’s open for harvest at any time,” Spiller said. “It’s not, ‘Leave a dollar, and pick an apple.’ You can pick your apple, and eat your apple.”

Merchant wants to apply the same ethic in Tucson: mesquite pods for all to pick — and free pancakes after a day staying cool in the shade.


Max Graham wrote this article for Grist.


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A Knoxville-based environmental group is advocating for the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act expansion, currently awaiting House approval.

It would provide compensation to more states such as Tennessee for radiation exposure from U.S. government nuclear activities such as weapons testing and uranium mining.

Tanvi Kardile, coordinator for the Oak Ridge Environmental Peace Alliance, said the current act fails to compensate Tennesseans exposed to nuclear waste from the Y-12 weapons complex, a significant part of the Manhattan Project.

"This expansion bill does extend compensation to people in Tennessee," Kardile acknowledged. "It will directly affect us because it would allow people here to receive that compensation for being exposed to radiation from nuclear waste, which is a big issue here. "

Uranium miners, millers, and ore transporters may be eligible for a one-time payment of $100,000. The law would create a grant program for the study of epidemiological research. The research would focus on how uranium mining and milling affects the health of people directly involved, such as the families of miners and millers.

Kardile emphasized the importance of Tennesseans collaborating with lawmakers to work on expanding the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act since the existing program expires in less than sixty days.

"The Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson, has to bring up the vote in the House, and he hasn't done that yet," Kardile noted. "He has to bring it up by June, which is when RECA is set to expire. So we do want to urge people to call Speaker Mike Johnson."

Kardile added the U.S. Senate passed the reauthorization of The Radiation Exposure Compensation Act on March 7. However, current benefits are limited to specific regions, excluding areas affected by events such as the Trinity atomic test in New Mexico.

The State of Arizona has received $156 million to invest into solar systems for Arizona families.

Adrian Keller, Arizona program director for the nonprofit Solar United Neighbors, said the group is "thrilled" about the grant made available through the federal solar policy known as Solar For All. The policy sets out to expand or create new low-income solar programs, which the Environmental Protection Agency claims will enable more than 900,000 homes across the nation to benefit from.

Keller expects the funding will help between 10,000 and 11,000 Arizona families.

"These are all low- to middle-income families," Keller pointed out. "The state is projecting somewhere around 61 megawatts of new solar throughout the state of Arizona and there are a bunch of different funding pools and mechanisms to make sure that this funding is disbursed equitably and throughout communities in the state, not just hitting certain metro areas."

Despite Arizona ranking second for solar energy potential in the nation, Keller acknowledged there are still many in the Grand Canyon State who would like to transition to solar but cannot afford to do so. He stressed the federal funds are a step in the right direction. He added through the Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund, Solar for All will allocate $21 million to support clean-energy job creation and train workers.

Keller argued while there are significant federal dollars flowing into Arizona for solar systems and incentives, some of the state policies around solar energy are lackluster. Keller noted the Arizona Corporation Commission is in the process of determining how rooftop solar customers in the state will be compensated, but could end up lowering bill credits.

"We're kind of in this interesting place with the current landscape of solar in Arizona," Keller explained. "In some ways it's really good, because we've got these great federal policies, but at the same time the state is sending mixed signals, particularly the corporation commission about the value of solar in Arizona."

Keller considers Solar for All to be a "transformative opportunity" to change the narrative surrounding solar-energy accessibility and added his organization is eager to partner with the state to start rolling out the program later this year. He said 300 rural households will also benefit from solar plus battery systems for their homes, protecting them from electricity service disruption.

By Bryn Nelson for Yes! Media.
Broadcast version by Eric Tegethoff for Oregon News Service reporting for the YES! Media-Public News Service Collaboration

At the Fernhill Wetlands along the Pacific Flyway in suburban Forest Grove, Oregon, dedicated birders have documented more than 240 avian species. Uncommon birds like the American bittern and Virginia rail have appeared more frequently on the 90 acres of marshland since it was constructed in 2014. Human visitors have flocked to the picturesque park as well, to sit, walk, watch, and even wed.

Not bad for a wastewater treatment plant.

Fed by five million gallons of treated wastewater every day, Fernhill's constructed waterfalls add oxygen back to the flow. One million reintroduced native plants representing about two dozen species (plus other species returning on their own) remove excess nitrogen, phosphorus, chemicals, and suspended solids, while providing the shade needed to cool the water before it reaches the nearby Tualatin River. During construction, workers installed 180 logs and snags, and even varied the topographies of wetland basins to mimic the region's aquatic habitats and offer more diverse niches for marsh birds, shorebirds, and other wildlife.

The natural water filtration system fashioned from old sewage lagoons has become an "ecological bridge" between treatment plants operated by the Clean Water Services utility in western Oregon and an increasingly vulnerable Tualatin River. "I always say wetlands are the kidneys of the Earth," says Jared Kinnear, a biologist who helped design Fernhill and now manages it and the utility's other reuse projects. "We're just harnessing the process that's been going on for millions of years."

Constructed wetlands have been used for decades in Europe and some parts of the United States as natural water-cleaning systems. Amid the growing threats of the climate crisis and habitat fragmentation, they're gaining in popularity as a form of nature-inspired infrastructure that can not only prevent pollution but also create vital green spaces for wildlife and humans alike.

In 2011, after reviewing its options for a needed expansion, Clean Water Services found that an $18 million wetland buffer made good financial sense as well: It cost roughly half as much as a concrete-and-steel treatment system. "Not only did Fernhill cost less, but it certainly offered a whole lot more environmental and social benefits than other options," says Diane Taniguchi-Dennis, the utility's CEO.

Constructed wetlands require active tending, such as periodic dredging, removal of invasive species, wildlife management, and even controlled burns. But these semi-wild spaces have proven so popular that the utilities operating them have had to regularly remind visitors of their primary function: cleaning wastewater.

Wildlife Encounters

Along the Atlantic Flyway in central Florida, the Brevard County Wastewater Treatment Plant similarly transformed 200 acres of pastureland back into water-filtering wetlands in 1998. Workers constructed four marshes-each with its own small island and all separated by earthen berms-and then reintroduced more than 200,000 native plants representing 19 species. Arrayed around a central lake, the Ritch Grissom Memorial Wetlands, known locally as the Viera Wetlands, help purify wastewater that's reclaimed for irrigation or discharged into the Four Mile Canal and upper St. Johns River during the rainy season.

One scientist called the Viera Wetlands the "best place I've found in Florida for both fabulous birding and photography." Local resident Kim Englert, a health care coach, recalls seeing so many ibises on a late spring day in 2021 that the entire landscape appeared speckled white. Her favorites, though, are the wetlands' alligators. "My Kentucky friends, they flip a wig when I show them pictures of gators," she says.

In April 2023, frequent visitors were far less pleased when county commissioners announced an impending six-month closure of the wetlands to remove a buildup of muck and dead vegetation that had raised nitrogen levels past the limits mandated by the Florida Department of Environmental Protection. "Most people here don't really understand what their purpose is," Englert says of the wetlands. Through a Facebook group that she co-manages and other social media sites, she hopes to educate the community and underscore safety concerns-such as dogs getting too close to the alligators and vehicles destabilizing the berms-that could shut down public access for good. "It's a gift," she says, "not a guarantee."

In Arizona, the Sweetwater Wetlands on the western edge of Tucson have likewise become a big tourist draw. Interpretive displays at the urban wildlife habitat, park, and natural treatment system describe the water reclamation process, while a photography competition emphasizes the importance of the desert oasis for migrating and permanent animal residents.

Retired software engineer and photography enthusiast Steven Winker won a second-place award for a dramatic photo of a bobcat about to pounce on an unlucky rat. He recalls the thrill of passing within feet of another bobcat nicknamed "Mama"-so named by her many admirers because she had raised multiple litters in the wetlands.

In November 2022, about a month after researchers outfitted her with a radio collar, Mama died; researchers suspect she was struck by a car on a nearby road. Beyond an outpouring of grief, her death sparked a bitter controversy among residents who suspected that the radio collars were changing the behavior of the bobcats and making them more susceptible to harm. Tracking data suggested no ill effects on the animals, though the deaths of multiple collared bobcats pointed to another sad truth: Creating inviting semi-urban spaces for wildlife brings the animals closer not only to adoring fans but also to highways and hunters.

Restoring Nature

The popularity of Oregon's Fernhill has required Clean Water Services to defuse its own share of potential public relations disasters, like the mass die-offs of cackling geese in 2020. The birds ate fungus-contaminated grain in nearby fields and then expired in the wetlands. "We're in a fishbowl," Kinnear says, keenly aware of how the deaths could have been wrongly attributed to something in the treated water if the incident had not been properly investigated and explained.

At the same time, he has had to continually weed out invasive plants and animals threatening the site's water filtration function. The utility's proactive management, though, has created new opportunities to educate the public about the benefits and limits of nature-inspired systems, and to explore how human stewardship might nurture new ecosystems.

The Las Arenitas Wetland Project, an international collaboration at a wastewater treatment plant south of Mexicali in Mexico's Baja California state, has aimed even higher by seeking to improve the flow and quality of freshwater through the Colorado River Delta.

The river's meager flow by this point in its course, drained by chronic drought and upstream water rights, has effectively concentrated its pollution and threatened its connectivity to the sea at the Gulf of California. "Everything comes back to the lack of fresh water," says Edgar Carrera, who grew up in Mexicali and now coordinates the Colorado River Delta project for The Nature Conservancy, a project partner.

An initial 250-acre wetland created in 2007 wasn't enough to accommodate the region's population growth and the resulting influx of wastewater that is now roughly double the existing plant's treatment capacity. That wetland, Carrera says, has already become an oasis for migratory and resident birds like the endangered Yuma clapper rail, mammals like bobcats and foxes, and reptiles like chameleons. "So it is now a wildlife refuge," he says.

In parallel with upgrades to the plant's treatment process, tentatively slated for 2025, a new series of intermediate water-filtering wetland basins will significantly improve the quality of the 3.5 billion gallons of reclaimed water before it flows into the larger wetland and then into the Colorado River Delta. Improving that flow can lower the concentration of other contaminants-essentially using treated wastewater to help dilute pollution-while nourishing the downstream estuary's wildlife.

Carrera has alleviated some community concerns that the natural water purification won't be enough to clean the Colorado by emphasizing that the process will combine the filtering abilities of a more efficient treatment plant and the series of constructed wetlands to aid the ailing delta. "They are very conscious that the water, for them, means income," he says of local residents who depend upon the river for agriculture, fishing, boating, and tourism.

For many ecosystems, recycled water means life. In a lower stretch of Oregon's Tualatin River, water released from an upstream reservoir and treated wastewater from the utility's four treatment plants account for up to 86% of the late-summer flow.

Taniguchi-Dennis believes that creating "river-ready" water and a wildlife sanctuary is just the start of what might be possible with treated wastewater. Providing a foothold for keystone species such as beneficial kinds of algae, for example, could feed a wide assortment of creatures while further purifying and oxygenating the water. "What if we could create the right biodiversity within the wetland that actually amplified what the river needs to restore its health and its waters?" she asks. It's a question made possible by reimagining how the problem of polluted wastewater can become the basis for a sustainable, nature-inspired solution.


Bryn Nelson wrote this article for YES! Media.


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