The Colony Fire was within a mile of Sequoia National Park's iconic Giant Forest Thursday afternoon, which hosts around 2,000 sequoias including the General Sherman Tree, considered the largest on Earth in terms of volume, the Los Angeles Times reported. Officials raced to protect the grove from flames that could reach it within a day.
"It's a very significant area for many, many people, so a lot of special effort is going into protecting this grove," Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks spokesperson Rebecca Paterson told the Los Angeles Times.
The General Sherman Tree has a volume of 52,508 cubic feet, The AP reported. It also extends 275 feet into the air and has a circumference at its base of 103 feet. It is between 2,300 to 2,7000 years old, BBC News reported. Firefighters are protecting it along with other trees in the grove, the Giant Forest museum and other buildings by wrapping it in aluminum, according to The AP.
The wrap used is "like tinfoil basically," Mark Garrett, a spokesperson for the firefighting efforts, told the Los Angeles Times. It is the same material used to wrap homes and works by shielding the trees from embers and reflecting heat. Vegetation around the trees was also cleared to help protect them.
The grove is being menaced by the KNP Complex Fire, a joining of the Colony and Paradise fires that stands at 9,365 acres, according to the most recent information from InciWeb. The two fires were started by lightning strikes around a week ago and 482 firefighters are currently working to contain them.
In addition to immediate protections, the grove is also protected by the park's history of conducting prescribed burns to clear out other vegetation that might otherwise fuel fires in sequoia groves, The AP noted.
A "robust fire history of prescribed fire in that area is reason for optimism," Paterson told The AP. "Hopefully, the Giant Forest will emerge from this unscathed."
Sequoias have evolved to withstand wildfires and even to spread their seeds with help from the heat. However, the more intense fires fueled by the climate crisis can be too much even for these trees. Last year's Castle Fire killed between 7,500 to 10,600 large sequoias.
California is in the midst of yet another in a series of extreme wildfire seasons fueled by drought and climate change. Last year, a record 4.1 million acres burned, according to the National Interagency Fire Center. This year, more than 7,400 blazes have scorched more than 2.2 million acres so far, BBC News reported.
A tourist in Sequoia National Park in front of the largest tree in the world. haveseen / iStock / Getty Images Plus
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To help reduce the sheer volume of period products tossed in the trash, LastObject, a Danish brand of reusable personal care products, recently began crowdfunding a rewashable menstrual pad they call LastPad.
The company, which says it has "made hundreds of prototypes and samples that have been tested and feedback collected to improve on the design," claims each pad will last 240 uses.
While LastPad likely isn't the last attempt to make period care more sustainable, it's also not the first as more people think about the environmental impact of the products they need during their periods.
When Did We Start Using Single-Use Period Products?
Many developed countries switched to disposable menstrual care products decades ago. Kotex began selling the first disposable pads in 1920, The Cut explains, taking advantage of the same style of bandages used to treat soldiers during World War I.
About a decade later, a "modern" tampon consisting of a paper insertion tube filled with compressed cotton on a string was invented, according to Tampax, an international purveyor of period products. Several years later, the patent was sold to Tampax's founder, a woman named Gertrude Tendrich.
Once Tendrich actually began selling disposable tampons in 1936, Tampax says demand for their products took off as millions of women entered the workforce to fill in for departing soldiers during World War II. Yet despite the need for products designed for on-the-go women, taboos and sexual stigmas around tampon use persisted. By 1941, common information about such products lagged, causing the still nascent company to launch a traveling "Tampax Ladies" education team that toured colleges, schools, trade shows and conventions. The women helped eradicate the taboos and provide information.
Still, it would be decades before tampons would stop being considered "indecent" for regular use, according to a NARAL Pro-Choice America state affiliate. But other options did exist for women for whom tampons weren't an option.
In the late 19th century, suspenders and belts were commercially available to hold "bandages," aka pads, in place. But it wasn't until 1957 that a Black female inventor named Mary Beatrice Davidson Kenner filed a patent for a sanitary napkin "belt" that seems to have been more reliable than earlier iterations. The invention allowed women to venture out of the house during their periods more comfortably, maintain personal hygiene and avoid tampons if desired.
While the need to find a solution for menstruation-related bleeding is as old as humanity, the commercial period products obviously were not. Before modern tampons or pads were widely available, all variety of inventive solutions were concocted to prevent menstrual leaks, including rolled-up paper, grass, and moss.
Some Commercial Period Products Marketed for Sustainability
Westend61 / Getty Images
Reusable Pads
Reusable pads are a far cry from the used rags and cloths that people had to resort to before the advent of disposable tampons and pads. Like disposable pads, most reusable versions are typically secured onto the part of panties right below the vulva.
But many of these types of pads market the lack of disposable plastic involved in manufacturing — an important consideration, given that internal Natracare research shows that three mainstream disposable pad brands consist of enough plastic equivalent to roughly five plastic shopping bags.
In addition to LastObject's planned LastPad launch, commercial brands like Rael sell reusable pads, a huge variety of small-time brands and shops also sell them.
Reusable Menstrual Cups
Menstrual cups are similar to tampons in that they are inserted into a vagina and then removed with a small cord, but that's generally where the resemblance ends. Unlike tampons, menstrual cups don't absorb blood but instead act as a levee until the wearer can hygienically remove it and dispose of the blood.
Disposable options are commercially available, but the many brands of reusable cups can be washed in the sink and reinserted repeatedly, avoiding the need to repeatedly spend money on disposable options that later fill up landfills.
Menstrual cups can last up to ten years but, according to The Lancet, tend to be "made of medical-grade silicone, rubber, latex, or elastomer."
"Medical grade silicone menstrual cups are not recyclable through any conventional methods and cannot be placed into your recycle bins," states Period Nirvana, an online period product marketplace and educational site. The site adds that one brand, the DivaCup offers recycling through Terracycle, although that company was recently sued over claims it misleads customers about what can be recycled.
Some companies that sell menstrual cups include Saalt, JuJu, Ruby Cup and Nixit.
Period Panties
Have you worn underwear before? Great — you know exactly how to wear a pair of period panties, no training necessary. Just like underwear not made to absorb menstrual blood, period panties come in a variety of styles, from thongs to boy shorts.
But it's important to keep in mind that not all period panties are designed to replace other period products but are intended to serve as a back-up. Additionally, like most menstruation products, period panties aren't regulated, leading to questions about the chemicals used to make the garments.
Similar to other reusable period products, some types of period panties can eliminate the need for disposable products like tampons. Brands offering period underwear include Goat Union, Thinx, Trendix and Bambody.
Bridget is a freelance reporter and newsletter writer based in the Washington, D.C., area. She primarily writes about energy, conservation and the environment. Originally from Philadelphia, she graduated from Emerson College in 2016 with a degree in journalism and a minor in environmental studies. When she isn't working on a story, she's normally on a northern Maine lake or traveling abroad to practice speaking Spanish.
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During this event, PADI dive centers, resorts and professional divers from around the world host local events to advance conservation awareness and engagement.
"Aware Week started in 2018 to bring together divers all over the world to be a voice for the ocean and act for change," said Kristin Valette Wirth, chief brand and membership officer for PADI Worldwide. "PADI and PADI AWARE Foundation believe in the power of people to help address threats facing our ocean today and that large-scale transformation starts with individuals acting locally for global impact."
This year's explicit conservation mandates include advancing PADI's Conservation Blueprint, an initiative encouraging conservation action in direct support of the United Nations Decade of Ocean Science for Sustainable Development, Valette Wirth told EcoWatch. According to PADI, the focus will be on how to take PADI's existing Vulnerable Species Protection and Marine Debris programs "to the next level" by also addressing critical marine issues such as climate change, marine protected areas and coral reefs. These represent the five key components of PADI's Blueprint for Ocean Action and directly align with and support UN efforts.
On the marine debris front, PADI is inviting ocean enthusiasts and divers to collect trash from the shorelines and seafloor through its signature citizen-science diving program, Dives Against Debris. Everything collected is sorted, weighed and then added to a global database that can be used by marine researchers and policymakers for conservation action. The scuba organization hopes to use this data about what is entering our ocean to positively influence upstream policy changes to curb this flow.
"As divers, we have the skills and vantage point to gather data that no other community can," Valette Wirth explained to EcoWatch. "Around the world, more than 90,000 PADI Divers and Torchbearers for the ocean have removed and reported marine debris from underwater environments since 2011, representing the largest underwater citizen science database and movement for marine debris on the planet."
A diver removes a discarded face mask floating in the ocean during a dive. PADI
The impressive scale of data collected by the recreational dive community and its global nature allow for PADI AWARE to collaborate with scientists, researchers and independent research organizations to broaden and strengthen their data. In this way, marine debris trends and potential solutions can be addressed more quickly and effectively, Valette Wirth added.
Recently, data submitted from 118 different countries by PADI divers has been used in a global analysis of marine debris to identify marine debris hotspots and how they came to be. As different policy solutions are proposed, recreational scuba divers can help "in real time" through continued data collection that will speak to the effectiveness of any policies implemented, Valette Wirth said.
Essentially, PADI wants to galvanize the global diving community to clean our seas and put pressure on key decision makers to increase protections for the ocean, Valette Wirth said. Through the collective impact of their efforts, PADI believes global ocean impact can be achieved.
"Protecting the ocean requires the actions of everyone around the globe working together," said Valette Wirth. "Together with PADI AWARE Foundation, Seiko and our other partners in conservation, we recognize that anyone with passion for the ocean can become an ocean ambassador and contribute to worldwide efforts to save the ocean... AWARE Week 2021 will inspire people with a clear and effective path to action for the planet."
A novice Dive Against Debris participant removes and coils ghostline found on a coral reef during a Dive Against Debris. Tiffany Duong / Ocean Rebels
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Top 10 Cities for Solar in Utah
When narrowing down the 10 cities leading Utah's charge toward clean energy, we looked at sources including solar power generation data from the Energy Information Administration, maps from the National Renewable Energy Laboratory and the latest Shining Cities report from Environment America.
Based on this data, the following are the top cities for solar in Utah:
- Salt Lake City
- Provo
- Park City
- St. George
- Ogden
- Alta
- Castle Valley
- Orem
- Springdale
- Logan
EcoWatch
1. Salt Lake City
According to the Shining Cities report, Salt Lake City is one of the brightest "solar stars" in the nation. The report ranks the city No. 11 in the country for per-capita solar installation, or watts of DC current per person. It's also one of more than two dozen Utah municipalities that have pledged to use net-100% renewable energy by the year 2030.
2. Provo
Provo, south of Salt Lake City, is consistently ranked as one of the best places to live in the entire U.S. — and it's certainly a good place for solar enthusiasts. NREL maps show that consistent year-round sun exposure makes Provo well-suited for residential solar installation.
3. Park City
Park City is another municipality that has pledged to use 100% renewable energy by the year 2030, and it has a separate goal of using 100% renewable electricity for all city operations by 2022. To incentivize homeowners to go solar, the city has waived all building permit and site inspection fees for new solar installations.
4. St. George
Located close to the Arizona border, St. George is a city filled with sand dunes, desert vistas and, of course, plenty of sunlight to keep solar panels humming. In fact, the city gets an average of 255 sunny days per year — 50 more days than the average U.S. city.
5. Ogden
This ski hub and outdoor mountain town is another municipality taking steps toward solar adoption. Ogden City Council recently voted to enter Utah's program to transition to 100% renewable energy by 2030.
6. Alta
Another snowy, ski-lovers paradise, Alta is also part of the pledge to use net-100% renewable energy by the year 2030. It has already installed nearly 100 solar panels on ski patrol structures, ski shops and government buildings.
7. Castle Valley
Castle Valley, just east of Utah's iconic Arches National Park, is another solar leader. In 2017, Castle Valley became the first city in the state to use 100% renewable energy, generating all of its electricity through solar panels and renewable energy credits from Rocky Mountain Power.
8. Orem
Orem is home to the corporate headquarters of Blue Raven Solar, one of the top solar companies not only in Utah, but in many other parts of the U.S. as well. As a municipality, it has also pledged to use 100% renewable energy by 2030.
9. Springdale
The gateway to Zion National Park, Springdale is a more tourist-driven town. But it has signed on as a participant in Utah's program to transition to 100% renewables by 2030. Inside the park, photovoltaic panels have already been installed on the south-facing roof of the visitors center, and the Zion Lodge has a solar array and a thermal solar water heater installed as well.
10. Logan
Logan, located in the northern part of the state, has its own net metering program that residents are able to enroll in after installing solar panels. It also has a Green Power Program, which allows Logan City Light & Power customers to purchase "green blocks" of renewable energy at a rate of $2 per 100 kWh.
Where Solar Panels Work Best
There are a few factors that can make a city particularly well-suited for solar installation. Of course, the most important factor is the amount of sunlight the city gets from season to season. Utah's cities tend to fare pretty well in this regard, even the more mountainous and snowy locations.
Something else that makes a city well-suited for solar power is high energy costs. If a city has expensive electricity, then homeowners tend to save more money by switching to solar. By contrast, if utilities are already low, solar savings will be more modest.
Average Utah Electricity Costs
The average household monthly consumption of electricity is 727 kWh in Utah, while the average monthly residential electric bill is $75.63. This is by far the lowest rate of any state in the region, well behind neighboring states such as Arizona ($126.09 per month), Nevada ($106.83) and even New Mexico ($80.04).
Utah Solar Tax Incentives
Utah residents have a number of financial incentives for investing in solar power beyond their month-to-month utility savings. Specifically, Utah offers a residential solar tax credit. However, this credit is phasing out, which means the value of the credit isn't as high as it used to be.
For installations completed in 2021, the maximum tax credit will be $1,200. In the year to come, the tax credit will be capped at $800. In 2023, it will go down to $400. After that, unless the state's legislature extends the credit, the program will be phased out completely.
Also note that Utah offers net metering, which means that if your solar panels generate more electricity than you really need, you can feed it back into the power grid in exchange for credits.
Federal Solar Tax Credits
In Utah, as in the rest of the country, homeowners can also claim a 26% tax credit when they install a residential solar system. This credit exists to make solar installation more affordable and more widely accessible.
Utah Solar Regulations
Though Utah does not have a ton of solar regulations to be aware of, there are a couple that are worth noting:
- Senate Bill 154 limits the power of homeowners associations to restrict solar installations within their communities.
- Utah also has laws to protect solar easements, which are written agreements between property owners to protect long-term access to sunlight.
Final Thoughts: Top Cities for Solar in Utah
Utah is a city leading the charge toward solar in the U.S., but there's always room for improvement. If your city didn't make our top list of solar stars in Utah, there are a few ways to raise your area's solar profile. These include:
- Installing a solar PV system on your own roof
- Educating your neighbors about the benefits of solar energy
- If your city has not already joined Utah's commitment to 100% renewable energy, contact your elected officials to urge for stricter goals
There are currently 1,046 active wells, 637 idle wells, and 2,731 abandoned wells in unincorporated areas of the nation's most populous county. according to a memo to the board dated June 3, 2021. County Supervisor Janice Hahn praised the plan as "a framework for how we transition from dirty fossil fuels to clean energy and make sure we bring our labor partners with us."
The Board also voted to create a program to ensure that wells are properly closed and cleaned up, and to expand the county's task force focused on a just transition for fossil fuel workers and communities.
A boy plays basketball in front of an oil well that is covered with large colorful flowers and is located next to Beverly Hills High School. Wells like this are hidden throughout Los Angeles. Sarah Craig / Faces of Fracking
As reported by The Associated Press:
Among the sites is the Inglewood Oil Field, one of the largest U.S. urban oil fields. The sprawling, 1,000-acre (405-hectare) site, owned and operated by Sentinel Peak Resources, contains over half the oil and gas wells in the county's unincorporated areas. The field produced 2.5 million to 3.1 million barrels of oil a year over the past decade, according to the company.
"The goal is to provide direction to county departments to begin addressing the variety of issues, environmental and climate impacts created by these active and inactive oil and gas wells," said Supervisor Holly J. Mitchell, who represents the district where most of the Inglewood Oil Field is located.
Mitchell, along with Supervisor Sheila Kuehl, made the motion to phase out drilling in the county's unincorporated areas.
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Inglewood Oil Field is adjacent to several Black communities, including Baldwin Hills, Ladera Heights and View Park, where residents have worried about the field's impact on their health and the local environment for at least a decade. Residents have complained of foul odors from the wells and say they have seen oil bubbling through sidewalk cracks in their neighborhoods.
"There are tens of thousands of people who live in very close proximity to oil wells, 73% of whom are people of color," Mitchell said in an interview before the vote. "So, for me, it really is an equity issue."
For a deeper dive:
AP, LA Times,News City Service
For more climate change and clean energy news, you can follow Climate Nexus on Twitter and Facebook, sign up for daily Hot News, and visit their news site, Nexus Media News.
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I didn't know it would be one of the most important things I'd do with my life, or that I would begin advising everyone I met who found themselves in the situation I did – unemployed, unsure – to do the same.
~ ~ ~
It's hard to pinpoint when WWOOF first came to my attention; it seems like the kind of thing you always hear about in circles of young, unattached people – an opportunity for college kids looking to fill their summers or gap years, or a backburner activity for a hypothetical future when you have the time. When I, like many Americans, lost my job in early 2020, I started relying on short-term, freelance, and gig work; without a true full-time position, I found myself with rare, exhilarating, and daunting amount of freedom. It (finally) felt like the right time.
WWOOF – Worldwide Opportunities (formerly Willing Workers) on Organic Farms – is essentially a network of national organizations that each facilitate homestays on farms. One-hundred and thirty countries have their own, separate branches of WWOOF, all with the goal of supporting sustainable, ecological farming through an educational work exchange.
Linnea Harris
The arrangement – at least for WWOOF-USA – is rather straightforward: WWOOFers (as participants are informally called) seek unpaid work on one of nearly 1,700 participating farms across the country in exchange for housing and meals. Beyond that, the details vary wildly. Some farms grow vegetables, while others produce herbs, fruit, flowers, mushrooms, or hemp. Some raise cows, chickens, and other livestock for milk, eggs, or meat. Many focus on value-added products like soap, medicinals, wine, maple syrup, and cheese. Some sites are large, established farms; some are community gardens or homesteads. Some seek WWOOFers for a few weeks of work; others for an entire growing season.
Anyone can search the website for host sites, but to see the names of the farms and contact them about a visit, users need to create an account for a $40 yearly fee. Potential volunteers then set up their profile, answering questions about their capabilities, interests, qualifications, etc.; hosts set up a similar profile, detailing all sorts of information about the farm and their expectations for workers.
Linnea Harris
Visitors are able to filter for hosts by all sorts of qualities: location, languages spoken by the farmers, farming methodologies, types of animals raised, type of housing offered, whether WWOOFers may bring children or pets, diets that can be accommodated, and preferred length of stay. Visitors can filter for only BIPOC or LGBTQ+-owned farms, or the maximum number of workers allowed at the site. During the pandemic, new filters were added, such as whether a host could accommodate folks working or schooling remotely.
Farmers can be contacted through the website, and, if it seems like a good match, the rest of the details – specific dates, transportation, etc. – are decided from there.
On the website's map of hosts, I zoomed in on Colorado. I found a farm that grew vegetables and raised chickens, sent a message showing my interest, and heard back from the farmer within a few days. We set up a time to chat, and he called me while driving home to Mancos from Durango, describing the scenery around him and what they were looking forward to on the farm this season. I packed two bags and took the cheapest flight out of Newark.
Linnea Harris~ ~ ~
From my discussions with other folks who have WWOOFed, I've learned that it's futile to compare experiences; no two will share many similarities besides your purpose there being to farm. WWOOF as an organization has very little to do with the ordeal beyond facilitating that initial conversation between WWOOFer and farmer (although they can provide resources for emergent situations). Once you're on the farm, it's your relationship with the host that matters; your experience is entirely in your hands.
For the months of June and July, I lived and worked on a small market farm in Southwest Colorado. We grew vegetables on a few acres of land and in some small greenhouses, raised a couple hundred chickens and a handful of goats and pigs, and then sold the produce, eggs, and sausage at two weekly farmer's markets. Three Great Pyrenees theoretically kept the animals in check, but would often trot up to you in the fields with a smile on their face after, yet again, escaping from a rogue hole in the fence.
Linnea Harris
I lived in a trailer along the edge of a creek, downhill from the main house, accompanied by an old blue school bus, a few other stationary trailers, and a green VW van, all home to other farm folks and a few surprisingly friendly cats. We shared a firepit, some indoor-turned-outdoor furniture, and an open-air kitchen with a propane stove that would singe your eyebrows clean off if you weren't paying attention.
We started working after 7 a.m. – before the sun got too strong – and ended the day between 2 p.m. and 3 p.m., or whenever the task at hand got done. During the early part of the season, we did a first pass at weeding all the beds that had already been planted, the greens and turnips in full swing and the onions and squashes just beginning to grow in earnest. There were raised beds and a new greenhouse to be built, eggs to collect and wash, compost to be spread, and crops to be harvested and cleaned and weighed for market on Thursdays and Fridays. As the summer carried on, harvest days became longer, and late-season crops were transplanted – and, of course, there was more weeding to be done.
Linnea Harris
While I retreated mid-afternoon to hike, or read, or cool off in the river, the farmer continued working; when we finished dinner in the evening, he went back into the fields with a headlamp. Work on a farm was never finished, I soon learned; it didn't happen between set hours, but all the time, until the work was done – which, of course, it never is.
When you search for a host on the WWOOF website, the farm profiles display photos of lush pasture, wicker baskets of cherry-red tomatoes, smiling goats and bins of freshly-harvested produce. It's true that the buckets of kale and lettuce looked almost suspiciously lush, and watching the sunset from the hill overlooking the farm and valley felt practically ethereal, but to live and work on a farm is to dispel a bit of that pure idealism – to learn the reality of a place that grows things without industrial machinery or pesticides that allow for such neat, uniform rows of crops.
Linnea Harris
You learn the reality of weeding the same acre for three months for two short weeks of harvesting; of black widows crawling from the piles of pulled bindweed and wild amaranth that you kneel on between the beds, and no-see-ums biting the tips of your ears until they swell. You learn how dry dirt gets into the crevices of your overalls and never seems to come out, and on the first day of monsoon season, you learn that your trailer isn't as watertight as you'd expected. Your body learns to wake up when the sun does, and go a little longer between showers than you'd prefer.
If you're lucky enough to WWOOF in Southwest Colorado – and if you're an east-coaster, like me – you'll learn for the first time what drought really feels like. The cracks in the ground were wide enough to drop quarters into. The creek running through the farm was hardly more than a trickle, the crawdads dragging themselves towards the last crevices of water, which became mere patches of mud as the weeks went on. Most of the Southwest has been in a chronic drought since 2000, and climate change is the unmistakable culprit; farmers in Colorado and the rest of the region have been forced to make painful changes, including major cutbacks on crops for lack of water.
Linnea Harris
Our days were almost entirely dictated by weather. A heatwave rolled through during my first week as we were erecting a new greenhouse; the temperature dial on the side of the tool shed had crept to nearly 100ºF before noon, and we retreated into the shade until the sun began to set and the temperature to drop before returning to the task. The irrigation water was shut off towards the middle of the summer, and all we could do was wait for monsoon season. Evidence has suggested that, even when the rains do come to offer some relief, climate change has made them less helpful. They came in late June, and I learned that the smell of it is different – stronger, and more metallic – and that the ground sucks it up within seconds, the dirt as dry as if rain had never come.
But you also learn about a different way of life.
WWOOFing – or any experience that takes you out of your own world, and what you view as the norm – opens a window into the everyday lives of other people; it allows you to see a world that exists outside of your own. I learned when it feels like to live in a town of 1,000 people and know the majority of those you pass on the street by name. I learned how jobs like farming aren't just careers, but an all-encompassing way of life. I learned about the culture and attitudes of people in a different part of the country. I learned how it feels to live in nature, away from the city that moves a million miles a minute, even during a global pandemic.
Linnea Harris
There are a lot of different lives to live, which we can't truly understand until we see them.
While every WWOOF experience will be different, they will all have this in common.
~ ~ ~
Like most life-changing, view-altering experiences, WWOOFing really is a giant leap of faith. You read the reviews, look at the pictures, zoom in on the closest town on Google Maps, talk to the farmer and ask all your questions – but you'll never know exactly what will happen. It could be a disaster, or it could be wonderful. It does take a great deal of courage, and a willingness to live in less-than-glamorous circumstances. It requires meeting entirely new people, doing physically and intellectually demanding work, and launching yourself into an entirely unknown situation.
I didn't really know what the next few months of my life would look like when I got off that plane and into that red pickup truck. I didn't know what people I would meet on the farm and in Mancos, or that they'd become such staples and joys in my everyday life. I didn't know that I'd go to a wedding of ex-WWOOFers on this very farm where they met, or learn (the hard way) that I'm a terrible mountain biker, or climb up to 13,500 feet on a mountainside of scree. I didn't know that I would learn how to properly throw a dart, or form unexpectedly meaningful relationships. I certainly didn't know that I would fall in love with farming, but that happened too.
Linnea Harris
You build a new life from the ground up – especially when you're planning to stay for a significant amount of time – that you eventually have to leave, which is far harder than all the rest.
Many WWOOFers – as I learned from other transient types in Colorado, and from the farmers who had a slow-moving, revolving door of WWOOFers come work for them – will set up a schedule for themselves, booking short, back-to-back visits on farms as they travel across the country. While taking advantage of this unique opportunity for housing and companionship is great, I advocate for the way I did it: staying in one place long enough to become a part of the community, and form some real, lasting relationships with the people there.
Another major consideration for many when choosing a host site is the number of WWOOFers housed at a given time; the difficulty of moving to a strange, faraway place is eased knowing that there will be others there to share it with. I had the experience of being both a lone WWOOFer and one of a group, my time split in half. Working alone with the farmer for my first month, I was able to get a lot of individual mentorship, learn about the things I was interested in, and form a closer relationship with him and others on the farm than I might have if I shared the time with lots of other workers.
Linnea Harris
As my second month rolled around, two other WWOOFers joined me, and besides the benefit of having more hands as the harvests got bigger, we formed a special kind of friendship: we shared a life experience together – one that no one could ever really understand besides each other. I have no doubt that they will remain a part of my life, even after going our separate ways.
In the end, togetherness was the crucial piece to the puzzle. We all worked together, cooked together, ate together, took weekend hikes and swims and played Tuesday night bar trivia together. Of all the wonderful benefits of WWOOFing – working outdoors, exploring the mountains, traveling – the community you form is the most important part.
For many, WWOOFing is a way to support yourself on a shoestring budget, with your food and living expenses paid for. But it's also clear why the majority of participants are young, unattached people: without an income, making student loan, rent, or mortgage payments is extremely difficult, and only possible if you've been able to save money for some time beforehand. Most people can't just step away from their lives and dependents to move away and work for free. It's yet another example of how privilege factors into our ability to have certain experiences.
Our lives have changed a lot in the past year and a half – in ways that, hopefully, might make experiences like this possible for more people: student loans payments are on hold, remote work and school are prevalent phenomena, and for some – myself included – stimulus payments and enhanced unemployment benefits have granted more financial freedom to pursue different kinds of work.
After losing my own job in 2020, I shuttled between temporary and part-time gigs, trying to find something that would stick. As COVID dragged on, I'd started to give up on finding passion and joy in anything. The days and months blurred together, and it felt like the "most important" years of my life were quietly slipping away. I lost all sense of what I wanted from my life, and found myself looking around, wondering how I got here.
During that time, when I needed something to hold on to – some hope for a pre-pandemic future – I pictured a different kind of life: working away from a screen, somewhere in nature, doing something with my hands. I didn't know what kind of life I wanted to live, but I needed to find out – and WWOOFing gave me the chance to.
Linnea graduated from Skidmore College in 2019 with a Bachelor's degree in English and Environmental Studies, and now lives in Brooklyn, New York. Most recently, Linnea worked at Hunger Free America, and has interned with WHYY in Philadelphia, Saratoga Living Magazine, and the Sierra Club in Washington, DC.
Linnea enjoys hiking and spending time outdoors, reading, practicing her German, and volunteering on farms and gardens and for environmental justice efforts in her community. Along with journalism, she is also an essayist and writer of creative nonfiction.