From Sacrifice Zone to Death Zone

Long before last month's train derailment in East Palestine, Ohio, that area qualified as a sacrifice zone, but the environmental toxins unleashed by the train crash and subsequent burning of leaking chemicals has transformed it into a death zone.

Sacrifice zones are areas that face environmental and/or economic hardships because of exploitative industrial activity, pollution, and disinvestment. These areas typically face abandonment by political leaders as well. In such zones, death flourishes as physical and mental health and economic well-being deteriorate, and people find themselves cut off from resources that could help them.

Once supported by various manufacturing jobs, East Palestine's economic fortunes and population have declined for decades. These trends mirror those in other areas around the country and particularly in the Midwest, marking East Palestine as one of many sacrifice zones in the United States.

Yet the February train derailment put the town in another class entirely: East Palestine almost immediately became a death zone. Within weeks, more than 43,000 animals had died because of toxins from the crash. Now, a new report has revealed alarming levels of dioxin, a known carcinogen, in East Palestine's soil. Dioxin is a byproduct produced by the burning of vinyl chloride, one of the chemicals the derailed train was carrying. While cancer risk from dioxin is present at 3.7 parts per trillion (PPT), the soil tested after the East Palestine derailment showed 700 PPT. Amazingly, the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) will initiate a site cleanup only in response to results indicating dioxin levels of at least 1,000 PPT, which is 270 times the threshold the agency itself set for a cancer risk.

As it turns out, people with the power to help will abandon death zones just as readily as they abandon sacrifice zones.

A Black Cloud of Apathy

The black smoke rising high above East Palestine, Ohio, looked ominous enough, but the cloud hanging over what has happened there since a train derailed on February 3, spilling hazardous chemicals, has only grown darker as the lack of concern from the rail company and government officials becomes increasingly apparent.

When the chemicals were burned off shortly after the derailment, a towering cloud of black smoke formed over the area. Even from the safe distance of news reports, the scene looked horrific. Then, animals began dying and residents started reporting symptoms of illness. 

How anyone could watch what was unfolding without feeling the strongest concern and sense of urgency is difficult to comprehend. Yet neither the company (Norfolk Southern) nor the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) seem very worried about the situation. Residents, who had been asked to leave prior to the burning of the chemicals, were soon told it was safe to return.

After people began complaining of illness, Norfolk Southern hired another company to conduct tests for contaminants. That test, which outside scientists found "flawed," reported "no contaminants." It would seem that the point of the test was to quiet the complaints rather than to find out what was happening. Meanwhile, the United States EPA has yet to conduct any of its own tests.

The apathetic responses to the harm caused by these chemicals have darkened the cloud into a gathering storm of fear and distrust among the residents of East Palestine. As the rest of the country watches aghast, it appears likely that storm will reach far beyond eastern Ohio.

A Sad but Important Record

Unfortunately, in the world of bird-watching, not all sightings bring joy.

To those of us who love and watch birds, seeing a dead one elicits great sadness. While it might be something we would rather forget, recording bird deaths generates important data that helps other birds.

Many bird-watchers use eBird to track their sightings of living birds. On the other hand, dBird.org helps collect data on where dead birds are found.

An online tool from the Audubon Society, dBird.org collects information that can be used to mitigate bird mortality, especially deaths related to collisions with windows.

Although seeing a dead bird produces a sense of loss and powerlessness, reporting the sighting to dBird.org can be a powerful way of helping other birds.

One Last Bird

As 2022 wound down, I added one last bird to my yearly bird-watching list.

During one of my jogs this month, a birding calling from the top of a tree caught my attention. I'd never seen the species before, but after collecting enough visual and auditory evidence, I was able to return home and identify it through the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's All About Birds site.

The bird was a Townsend's solitaire. It was the 82nd and last species I sighted this year and the only addition to my life list that 2022 brought.

This year of birding certainly ended on one good note.

A Fall of Two Weeks

Fall lasted for about two weeks in western Washington this year.

The summer weather of high temperatures and smoky air continued through October 20. By then, the land was bone dry and the vegetation ready to flame up like tinder. Coniferous trees had begun dying off due to a lack of water. As for the deciduous trees, unless their leaves had dried up or dropped because of the drought, they remained green far into October, giving few signs that the calendar had turned to fall.

On October 21, rain finally arrived. The temperatures slipped into the 50s, and the deciduous trees began to change into their autumn colors.

The fall feeling didn't last long though as temperatures declined abruptly. A November 2 storm even dropped snow at Lake Crescent (elevation 580 feet) near Port Angeles on the Olympic Peninsula less than three weeks after the October 16 record temperature of 87 hit Seattle. 

Such a sudden shift from summer to winter has left many areas without green grass. In a normal year, fall rains would push up green shoots to replenish the grasses that go dormant and turn brown in the dry months of July and August. This year, the rain came so late that much of the grass had barely started growing again before the cold temperatures arrived to discourage further growth. Consequently, many fields and prairies remain brown.

It was a short fall to say the least.

Lost in a Place I Know

I know where I am, but I don't recognize this place.

Never in my life have I seen an October in Washington state like this one. Summer will not let go, and hardly a hint of fall has presented itself. Seattle recorded its latest day of 85+ degrees on October 16 by reaching 88, one degree shy of breaking its all-time October high temperature, which was set on October 1, 1987, more than two full weeks closer to summer.

Perhaps the most disorienting factor comes from the constant presence of wildfire smoke. For the second time since September 2020, Seattle and Portland, Oregon, have the worst air quality in the world because of wildfires. Socked in for days on end, the smoke has defined this October as it had done to August and September in recent years. Today, even despite rain, the smoke would not relent.

Once one of my favorite months, the Pacific Northwest October has become an alien experience. It's hard to make sense of it. 

Something's been lost here, and now, I am as well.

Do You Know Where Your Migratory Bird Is?

Just in time for fall migration, the National Audubon Society has unveiled a great tool for understanding the journeys and challenges migratory birds face twice each year.

Bird Migration Explorer shows where species can be found at certain times. It also allows people to make larger connections by revealing other places a species they have seen can be found. Additionally, the tool has the ability to support conservation initiatives by allowing people to plan ways of helping birds make the difficult journeys. For more information, watch the video from the National Audubon Society below:

Birds have always served as great ambassadors for wildlife and the environment because people tend to encounter them more frequently than other types of wildlife. By offering the Bird Migration Explorer, the National Audubon Society helps people expand the impact a bird sighting has on them. To access the tool, click here.

Through this tool, we can learn more about birds, the interconnectedness of our environment, and our environmental influence.

Hot No Matter What

When the Pacific Northwest set all-time temperature records in June 2021, it did so following one of the driest springs on record, so in that sense, the records weren't a huge surprise.

In 2021, summer seemed to start at the beginning of April, giving the temperatures nearly three months to heat up to 110 degrees or more in late June.

The spring of 2022 presented a clear contrast to its predecessor though. Wet, cool weather carried into the middle part of June, bringing to mind springs of 20 or 30 years ago.

Still, the last part of June provided indications that the weather of spring might not hold back summer's high temperatures. From June 25 to June 27, temperatures shot up suddenly, approaching and even surpassing 90 degrees.

Cool weather returned for a couple of weeks to start July. It even brought a little rain around the Fourth of July, again harkening back to the trends of earlier decades.

Then, starting on July 26, an unprecedented stretch of 90-degree weather gripped the Pacific Northwest. For the first time in recorded history, Seattle experienced six straight days that reached at least 90 degrees. The previous record was five straight days of 90-degree weather. It had been achieved three times, most recently in 2015, a year that like 2021, had begun heating up and drying out early in the spring.

In light of 2021's heat, this year's record fits into a larger trend. That the 2022 record came out of a year that had been relatively cool (by recent standards) gives it its own alarming reality though.

The fact is that extreme heat is becoming so common in the age of global warming, it requires hardly any lead-up to take hold and set new records.

Connections and Relationships

Building connections and relationships has always been crucial to social causes. Its importance continues to grow as the bonds linking society fray and rupture.

In its efforts to undertake conservation projects in southwest Washington, which I previously blogged about here, Conservation Northwest is taking steps to ensure such connections and relationships have strong roots.

On July 20-22, the nonprofit organization will co-host the Southwest and Coastal Washington Connectivity Summit. The summit will bring together nonprofits, tribes, government agencies, land owners, and businesses to lay the groundwork for future efforts to ensure habitat connectivity and address ecological issues like global warming. This will be the first summit on these issues in southwest Washington, but the plan is to continue holding them every two years.

This year's event is in Ridgefield, Washington. However, it can also be attended virtually.

I'm very excited to see the potential of the relationships that come out of these summits.

The Stuff of Childhood Dreams

When I was a kid, I did not walk to school in the snow uphill both ways. However, I did like dinosaurs and subscribe to Ranger Rick, the magazine from the National Wildlife Federation (NWF).

That's why a new development in the Ranger Rick offerings made me think what a wonderful opportunity children today have.

Earlier this month, the NWF announced that it would begin publishing a Ranger Rick dedicated to just dinosaurs. My childhood self jumped for joy at this news because I knew many kids would love the magazine as much as I would have if it had been around when I was growing up.

Ranger Rick Dinosaurs will join Ranger Rick, Ranger Rick Jr., Ranger Rick Cub, and three Zoobooks in the NWF's list of magazines for kids. I think it's a great addition to a lineup that is already very strong, and I hope a lot of children have a chance to read it.

For this magazine, I would definitely walk in the snow uphill both ways.