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THE HEALING FOREST is located on the grounds of the Yakama Nation Rehabilitation Facility in Toppenish.

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THE HEALING FOREST is located on the grounds of the Yakama Nation Rehabilitation Facility in Toppenish.

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This Tiny Forest always appreciates those willing to volunteer their time to help weed, etc.

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Yakama Nation, USA

A forest that restores the harmony to body, mind & spirit.

Our goal is to transform a barren landscape into a thriving, lush forest at the"Yakama Nation Corrections & Rehabilitation Facility" to nourish the land and restore the lives of inhabitants.

The Healing Forest will teach the wisdom of the old ways, in which individuals live in balance with themselves, their neighbors, and the natural world. Illness happens when this harmony is broken.

This is to be a forest that restores harmony to body, mind, and spirit, and to relationships with family, community, and nature.

Forest Maker Ethan Bryson

Forest Partner

"With the right attention we can nurture a barren space to become a model of natural diversity and abundance. The way we treat the life around us is a reflection of ourselves. For the long term wellbeing of our planet and ensuring healthy communities we need to care for life in the soil, and enliven the return of nature's bounty."

- Ethan Bryson, Urban Natural Forests

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Twelve months of growth at the Healing Forest:

"I have never observed growth like that. The smaller trees were only about 8-10 inches and those trees are now 3 feet."

- SUGi Forest Maker Ethan Bryson

Why a Healing Forest?

Our goal is to transform a barren landscape into a thriving, lush forest at the"Yakama Nation Corrections & Rehabilitation Facility" to nourish the land and restore the lives of inhabitants.

The Healing Forest will teach the wisdom of the old ways, in which individuals live in balance with themselves, their neighbors, and the natural world. Illness happens when this harmony is broken. This is to be a forest that restores harmony to body, mind, and spirit, and to relationships with family, community, and nature.

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Native Species & Traditional Medicine

We will combine the Miyawaki Method with site specific attention to the soil biota to ensure soil health and nutrient retention.

Forest matrix selection with up to 36 total species in 4 ascending layers (shrub, subtree, tree, and canopy). Some examples include once common trees and shrubs to the habitat zone for the selected site as well as Black Cottonwood, Scouler Willow, Trembling Aspen, Wild Rose, Buffalo Berry, Native Blackberries, and Huckleberry.

Medicinal herbs to be planted include: stinging nettles for pain relief; tree moss for overall health; huckleberry leaves to settle the stomach; pine needle tea for digestive health; and yarrow for wound-healing.

Forest Planting - with the Yakama Nation Corrections & Rehabilitation Facility.

"Part of the philosophy that we have is to bring a type of rehabilitation program that would get them out of the detention setting."

Discover more SUGi Projects

A forest learning center in Sint-Niklaas

Tackling air pollution in industrialised East London

A symbol of resilience, hope, and healing for the local community.

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A forest to bring nature back for the Yakama Nation. - SUGi

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Yakama Nation, USA Our goal is to transform a barren landscape into a thriving, lush forest at the"Yakama Nation Corrections & Rehabilitation Facility" to nourish the land and restore the lives of inhabitants. The Healing Forest will teach the wisdom of the old ways, in which individuals live in balance with themselves, their neighbors, and the natural world.

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Dr. Jessica Hernandez (Binnizá & Maya Ch'orti') is a transnational Indigenous scholar, scientist, and community advocate based in the Pacific Northwest. She has an interdisciplinary academic background ranging from marine sciences to environmental physics. Her work is grounded in her Indigenous cultures and ways of knowing. She advocates for climate, energy, and environmental justice through her scientific and community work and strongly believes that Indigenous sciences can heal our Indigenous lands.

Her book Fresh Banana Leaves: Healing Indigenous Landscapes through Indigenous Science (2022) breaks down why western conservationism isn't working-and offers Indigenous models informed by case studies, personal stories, and family histories that center the voices of Latin American women and land protectors.​ She is in the process of writing her second book, Growing Papaya Trees: Nurturing Indigenous Roots of Climate Displacement & Justice.

She currently holds appointments at Sustainable Seattle (Board Member), City of Seattle's Urban Forestry Commission, and the International Mayan League (Climate Justice Policy Strategist).​

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Dr. Jessica Hernandez (Binnizá & Maya Ch'orti') is a transnational Indigenous scholar, scientist, and community advocate based in the Pacific Northwest. She has an interdisciplinary academic background ranging from marine sciences to environmental physics. Her work is grounded in her Indigenous cultures and ways of knowing.

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Too often communities that are most severely and frequently impacted by environmental health hazards in the state have lacked clear and effective mechanisms for addressing environmental injustice. The council provides a forum that can bring forward the voices of these disproportionately impacted communities to inform the state's environmental justice efforts.
Purpose and Responsibilities
The Environmental Justice Council's purpose is to advise state agencies on incorporating environmental justice into agency activities. Specific council duties included are to:

Provide recommendations to the state on implementing environmental justice requirements such as environmental justice assessments, community engagement plans, and strategic plans.

Develop guidance on identifying overburdened communities and the use of the environmental health disparities map.

Track progress toward increasing health equity and ensuring environmental justice throughout Washington.

Provide recommendations on the development and implementation of climate programs, including programs funded from carbon revenues.

Serve as a forum for environmental justice concerns and priorities.

Provide recommendations to the governor and legislature on actions that advance environmental justice.

Seven Washington State agencies that develop policies and programs that most directly impact environmental justice must comply with the HEAL Act:

Department of Agriculture

Department of Commerce

Department of Ecology

Department of Health

Department of Natural Resources

Department of Transportation

Puget Sound Partnership

Other state agencies can also voluntarily comply with the HEAL Act.

Authority

Chapter 70A.02 RCW was signed into law on May 17, 2021. It directs the Department of Health to convene and staff an Environmental Justice Council. The law outlines the council's membership, duties, and reporting requirements to the Legislature.

Membership

The council consists of 16 members appointed by the governor. Council membership includes seats for community representatives, a youth community representative, environmental justice practitioners, tribes, labor and business. Those interested in being considered for appointment to serve on the council may apply on the Governor's Boards and Commissions website. One executive level person from each covered agency will serve as non-voting liaisons to the council.

Related Resources
Environmental Justice Environmental Justice Task Force Climate Commitment Act Environmental Justice Factsheet (PDF)
Fact sheet in Spanish (PDF) | Fact sheet in Vietnamese (PDF) | Fact sheet in Russian (PDF)

Contact us
Subscribe to Environmental Justice Council email updates

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Too often communities that are most severely and frequently impacted by environmental health hazards in the state have lacked clear and effective mechanisms for addressing environmental injustice. The council provides a forum that can bring forward the voices of these disproportionately impacted communities to inform the state's environmental justice efforts.

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Save Our wild Salmon is a diverse, nationwide coalition working together to restore wild salmon and steelhead to the rivers, streams and marine waters of the Pacific Northwest. Learn more...

Save Our wild Salmon is a non-governmental 501(c) non-profit organization - donations are tax deductible as allowed by law

Artists Against Extinction (NWAAE) support bold urgent action to protect wild salmon and steelhead from extinction and to restore them to abundance

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Save Our wild Salmon is a diverse, nationwide coalition working together to restore wild salmon and steelhead to the rivers, streams and marine waters of the Pacific Northwest. Learn more...

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Natural Urban Forests | Projects | Franconia

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Using an innovative method, our native forests grow 10x faster and are 30x denser. These forests capture more carbon and address the urgency to restore ecosystems that encourage biodiversity.

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See this article on WA farmworkers on climate/environmental justice:

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See this article on WA farmworkers on climate/environmental justice:

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https://crosscut.com/environment/2022/02/how-wa-farmworkers-push-climate-justice-amid-heat-and-wildfire

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Over the next few days, temperatures crept into triple digits. In Oregon, emergency rules to protect farmworkers go into effect when the heat index reaches 90 degrees Fahrenheit. In California, additional rules are triggered at 95 degrees. But in Washington, second only to California in producing labor-intensive crops like apples, asparagus, hops and berries, the mercury has to hit 100 before employers are required to provide shade or guarantee rest breaks. In an industry notorious for not complying with labor standards and workers’ rights statutes, Ruddy, the UFW’s regional director for the Pacific Northwest, was skeptical that those rules would be enforced. So she and the others had organized a heat caravan: They would visit farms around Sunnyside to hand out water, Gatorade, KN95 masks and information on avoiding heat-related illnesses.

Before they left, everyone gathered around the truck. It was now 85 degrees, and the ice in a large blue bucket in the back of the pickup had already started to melt. Ruddy looked out at the anxious, excited crowd and read three names from a list.

“Ricardo Sotelo,” Ruddy said, naming a farmworker who died picking blueberries in Washington on June 30, 2015, in 107-degree heat. “Presente,” the crowd responded, their voices muffled by their face masks.

Next: Heat and smoke protections for WA farmworkers may fall short

“Sebastian Francisco Perez,” she said, speaking more forcefully now, referring to a farmworker who died in Oregon on June 26, the day after his 38th birthday, while moving irrigation lines during the previous heat wave. “Presente,” the crowd called back, louder, angrier.

“Florencio Gueta Vargas,” Ruddy yelled, her voice firm and clear.

“Presente!” the crowd shouted, their calls reaching a crescendo.

Gueta Vargas, a married father of six, had died only two weeks earlier outside the nearby city of Toppenish under the kind of conditions climate scientists predict will become more common and extreme. He woke as usual around 3:30 a.m., made coffee with cinnamon, pocketed the fresh tortillas his wife had made him and drove to his job at Virgil Gamache Farms. He tended rows of hops, a crop notorious among farmworkers for being hard to work in high temperatures.

Next: Latinx farmworkers fight for their rights and lives while feeding America

Hops are fast-growing leafy vines with pine cone-shaped buds, which contain a resin that gives beer its distinctive hazy citrus flavor. It’s a lucrative crop in the beer-obsessed Northwest; the Yakima Valley alone produces about three-quarters of the nation’s hops. But the plants also trap the sun’s warmth and humidity, raising the heat index by several degrees. There’s scant shade during the hottest part of the day, when the rows turn into sticky, humid tunnels of heat.

On July 29 — when almost all of Eastern Washington was under a National Weather Service heat advisory — Gueta Vargas collapsed toward the end of his shift and died. The official cause was atherosclerotic disease, or problems with his arteries, but the coroner noted that environmental conditions were a contributing factor; it was about 101 degrees when he died.

Gueta Vagas' background resembles that of many of the roughly 200,000 farmworkers in Washington. He grew up on his family’s ranch outside of Zacatecas, Mexico, before leaving for the United States. He loved growing food; at the home he recently purchased in Wapato in Yakima County, he grew cabbage, cucumbers and spicy peppers next to the cherry tree his daughters had given him for Father’s Day.

Most of the food that people in the U.S. consume, from the apples and pears in our fruit baskets to the milk and eggs in our fridges, has likely been touched by someone like Gueta Vargas. The 2.5 million farmworkers in the U.S. form the backbone of the food system, but they also comprise one of the nation’s most disenfranchised groups of workers.

Farmworkers have historically been denied labor rights, including overtime, paid breaks, health care and hazard pay. In the 1930s, policymakers drafting federal legislation on unionization and worker protections left out two crucial groups: agricultural workers and domestic workers. At the time, both were predominantly African American. By the mid-20th century, most migrant farmworkers in the West were Hispanic, in part due to the bracero program, a federal policy created during World War II that allowed millions of Mexicans to work in the U.S. on short-term contracts. Today, most farmworkers are migrants from Mexico or Central America. They’re still largely excluded from work-based injury or safety standards, and most lack basic protections, including workers’ compensation, health insurance and disability insurance.

Next: Hop growers balance demands of craft beers with climate concerns

Now, they face new hazards. Farmworkers are already about 35 times more likely to die from heat than other workers, and studies predict that by 2050 climate change will almost double the number of dangerously hot workdays. And it’s not just the heat: Climate change is also driving bigger and more frequent wildfires, which release toxic fumes and fine particles that can aggravate asthma and respiratory illnesses.

Climate change will impact agriculture more than most industries, according to the United Nations. Extreme weather is already destroying crops and disrupting supply chains, and drought and water shortages will become increasingly common. Overall, climate change is expected to make food less available and more costly.

Industrial agriculture is also one of the main drivers of climate change, a result of deforestation, shipping emissions and petroleum-based agrochemicals. According to some estimates, the food system is responsible for as much as 40% of global emissions. It does one thing really well: produce cheap food. But its long-term impacts are less palatable. Every dollar spent on food in the U.S. costs $2 in negative impacts on public health and the environment, according to a National Academy of Medicine study.

“In order for the industry to keep up the profits that they are making, it means that the exploitation of the workers is going to increase,and so is exploitation of the soil,” said Rosalinda Guillén, a farmworker advocate and the founder of Community-to-Community Development, or C2C, a grassroots organization dedicated to food, economic and environmental justice led by women of color. “There is a way to make it better,” she said. But time is running out. A landmark 2019 report by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change showed that massive changes in the global food system are necessary to avert catastrophe and adapt to climate change.

One way to enact that change is through climate justice, acknowledging the structural inequities farmworkers face and pushing for changes that benefit both laborers and the environment, with workers at the helm of decision making. In Washington, farmworkers, activists and labor organizers like Guillén are advocating for better oversight and worker protections and finding ways to involve farmworkers in state policy solutions.

Perhaps the most visible sign of change is the creation of Familias Unidas por la Justicia, the only independent farmworkers’ union in Washington, and Tierra y Libertad, a farmworker-owned cooperative. But the transition from farmworker to farmer has not been easy. The cooperative has had to face the realities of growing and selling food in a system designed to keep prices low, in part by exploiting the labor force. At the same time, it has had to contend with widespread racism and mistrust. Meanwhile, the pandemic and extreme weather have created yet more obstacles — even as they’ve made the need for systemic change that much clearer.

Next: Climate change forces WA apple cider industry to adjust

On Feb. 10, 2020, about a hundred farmworkers packed into a hearing room at the Washington Supreme Court building. It was standing room only, filled with legislators and the general public. The farmworkers shuffled nervously, both elated and proud at the chance to testify in Washington’s highest seat of justice, on topics ranging from pesticide exposure to sexual harassment to the effects of climate change. It was Latino Legislative Day, and the seventh annual Farmworkers Tribunal was just beginning. Two state judges were joined by three women who would act as community judges; together they would issue recommendations to state officials and the wider community based on the testimony they heard. Guillén, who founded the tribunals in 2014, acted as moderator.

She was no stranger to organizing. The daughter of farmworkers, she dropped out of school in 10th grade and followed the farmworker labor-camp circuit for almost a decade, then worked at a bank before joining the National Rainbow Coalition, a prominent multiracial political organization, in the mid-’80s. Through the coalition, she helped lead union organizing efforts in the 1990s  after farmworkers from Washington’s largest winery, Chateau Ste. Michelle, went on strike. They protested working conditions and a lack of protection from pesticides that were making them and their children sick. After eight years of boycotts and negotiations, the farmworkers won their first union contract. Guillén went on to work for the United Farm Workers in California, first as an organizer and then as a lobbyist.

She can look back now and laugh at memories of butting heads with industry lobbyists, but her time in Sacramento, California, and Washington, D.C., revealed a disturbing truth about corporate agriculture. “They have their people in the halls of Congress fighting for everything the agricultural industry needs,” Guillén said. “And they don’t see us as human beings or equitable members of the community. We’re just another tool, like the tractors or the pesticides.”

Guillén knew better: Farmworkers are key to imagining a new future for agriculture. But before that future can be realized, the injustices of the past and present must be addressed. So Guillén started the annual tribunals to give farmworkers a way to testify about the conditions they face. It was inspired by people’s tribunals, forums set up by grassroots and civil society organizations to adjudicate human rights abuses, famously used in Latin America to expose the crimes committed by military regimes.

Testimony given at Washington’s tribunal has already sparked a number of policy changes in the state, from an overtime law passed last year to the formation of a committee to regulate and monitor the rights of temporary agricultural workers.

Guillén’s views have been influenced by activists around the world. Along with two other people who were also at the 2020 tribunal — Ramón Torres and Edgar Franks — Guillén has been critical to the formation of the farmworkers’ union Familias Unidas por la Justicia and the cooperative Tierra y Libertad. The cooperative was inspired by the Landless Workers Movement, a mass social movement of rural workers in Brazil famous for occupying unused land and creating worker-owned cooperatives for sustainable food production.

“They taught me that it’s not just about the collective bargaining agreements and working within capitalism,” Guillén said. “It’s that the entire food system has to shift so that the human beings that are laboring in the food system are seen as human beings.” It spurred Guillén to return to Washington, where, for the past decade and a half, she has been putting those principles into action.

Next: Washington wineries considering dramatic changes for climate change

At the Washington Supreme Court building, Ramón Torres stepped forward to give his testimony. Tall, with an easy smile and a fondness for flat-brimmed hats, he’s now the president of the union Familias Unidas por la Justicia. But back in 2013, he was just starting his second year of picking at the Sakuma Brothers Berry Farm, a Skagit Valley farm owned by Driscoll, the world’s largest berry company. That’s when hundreds of farmworkers began protesting their low pay. Torres helped them fight for three and a half years to form an independent union: Familias Unidas por la Justicia. The first farmworkers’ union to be recognized in almost three decades in the U.S., it remains one of only five in the country.

“We see our people suffer,” he told the tribunal’s judges. People who haven’t picked berries don’t know what it’s like, he said. “We pick in June, in the rain, on our knees — six years ago you couldn’t take breaks, leave work, until you finished blocks.”

Edgar Franks, the union’s policy director and a close friend of Torres, listened to his testimony. Franks is in his early 40s, with a bushy beard and a Fjällräven beanie that’s often pulled down to the gauges in his ears. His family is originally from Reynosa, Mexico, and he moved from Texas to Mount Vernon in Skagit County, with his mother, a farmworker, when he was 6.

Franks was working at C2C, the food and environmental justice organization, when he was brought in to lead a boycott against Sakuma Brothers and Driscoll, which has a history of multiple allegations of labor abuses. He met Torres during the years of strikes and boycotts, and now they help run the union, which has grown to 500 members and functions as a de facto support organization for farmworkers all over Washington. Over the past several years, climate change has become a core issue.

The summer of 2017 in particular stands out. That September, plumes of wildfire smoke hung over northern Washington from burning forests in British Columbia and across the Western U.S., prompting the governor to declare a state of emergency. “There was just smoke everywhere,” Franks said. “People were told to stay indoors and take precautions, but farmworkers were still out in the heat working.” Honesto Silva Ibarra, a father of three in his late 20s who came to the U.S. on a temporary agricultural-worker visa, was one of them; he died after working in triple-digit heat. A state investigation concluded that he died of natural causes, but found that the farm where he worked had violated labor requirements for rest breaks and scheduled meals.

While the impact of climate change on individual farmworkers is critical, Franks sees the union’s work as part of a much larger struggle. “We also need to be part of this larger transition away from dirty energy to regenerative,” he told me when I visited him  in October at the union office in Burlington in Skagit County.

This framework — a just transition — is the idea that when coal, oil and gas extraction are necessarily phased out to avoid catastrophic global warming, workers in the fossil fuel industry and communities whose health has often been impacted by fossil fuel production should not get left behind. Instead, they deserve to benefit from the green economy through retraining and inclusion in policymaking. Franks said agriculture, as a main driver of climate change, needs a just transition of its own — one guided by farmworkers.

Franks took this concept to Glasgow, Scotland, for the Conference of the Parties, or COP26, the annual United Nations conference on reducing global climate emissions, in November 2021. Franks was there as part of a multiracial delegation led by people on the frontlines of racial, housing and climate justice across the U.S. He said a just transition was barely mentioned in the negotiations. Instead, delegates promoted more corporate solutions, like carbon capture, carbon markets and what the agricultural industry calls “climate smart agriculture” — seeds and practices that will support industrial-scale farming under increasingly uncertain climate conditions.

Franks didn’t seem too surprised. “The people that have access are always big companies that are defining and setting the rules,” he said. And as long as that’s the case, the union is crucial for changing the rules in a way that benefits farmworkers. “We got the wage rate for farmworkers, we got paid rest breaks and overtime, because of a union,” said Franks. But Familias Unidas por la Justicia isn’t the endpoint; it’s a catalyst toward a different and better future, one that farmworkers themselves should control.

“They’re the ones who are in the mud, they’re in the heat,” said Franks. “Not the owners or the managers; it’s them. So they know firsthand the kind of work and labor that’s needed.”

Two posters stand propped up against a fence at the gate of Tierra y Libertad, or Land and Freedom, a 65-acre farmworker-owned cooperative in the northwest Washington town of Everson. On one of them, a man with a sombrero and an exuberant mustache welcomes visitors as purple blueberries and bright pink strawberries rain down behind him. Torres — the president of the union — co-founded the cooperative with support from C2C. He had recently broken his arm repairing a cistern and was still getting dressed when I visited in mid-September. Usually, a broken arm would spell doom for a farmworker: Without workers’ compensation or health care, they’d be out of a job and saddled with debt. Instead, Torres has been able to keep working, focusing on other tasks. His wife, several months pregnant, opened the gate for me, two friendly dogs bounding around her.

Torres told me that the idea for a cooperative came when they first began to form the union. The workers realized that there was no reason they couldn’t grow berries just as well or even better than their employers, using organic methods and treating laborers fairly. C2C helped them find and purchase land in the middle of Whatcom County, which produces about 85% of the red raspberries grown in the U.S. Overnight, five farmworkers went from working for less than minimum wage to being their own bosses.

But as we walked down a dirt path, past rows of quietly dying raspberry vines, Torres was honest about just how hard running the farm has been. They have faced racism and xenophobia, as well as a deep distrust of the change the cooperative signals. As organic farmers, they’ve found it almost impossible to compete with large berry farms that use agrochemicals and cheap labor. In 2018, Torres went to the local growers’ market to sell 20 acres’ worth of raspberries. Once buyers realized that he was the cooperative’s founder, they refused to deal with him. “They bought them from everybody else, just not us,” Torres said. All 20 acres of raspberries rotted in the fields.

Then the pandemic hit. COVID-19, like climate change, served to highlight the ongoing labor and racial inequities within the food system. Horrific accounts of employers forcing employees to work inside crowded, unventilated rooms and without protective equipment gave way to stories of massive outbreaks and deaths in factories and plants all over the country. Washington Gov. Jay Inslee declared all agricultural workers essential in March 2020, but didn’t introduce a plan to keep them safe until two months later. By then, Yakima County had the highest per capita rate of COVID-19 infections on the  West Coast.

That May, Torres and Franks received a call from some angry and frightened fruit warehouse workers in Yakima, whose bosses weren’t supplying proper protection. More than 400 workers from seven companies went on strike. Torres and Franks drove to Yakima to teach them how to form a union, vote for representatives and function as democratically and transparently as possible. It was a tense few months: Torres had to return to Whatcom County to tend to the farm, and Franks caught COVID-19. But the strikes were a success; the employers enacted some protections, and a group of warehouse workers eventually formed their own union, Trabajadores Unidos por la Justicia — Workers United for Justice.

For the cooperative, the pandemic was yet another blow. Local companies bought some raspberries in 2020, but in 2021, the co-op decided not to grow any at all, Torres said. It still grows blueberries and has introduced chickens and goats. Recently, it bought a cow. But the farm is not yet financially self-sufficient; it stays afloat through grants, donations and selling directly to consumers through U-pick.

As we walked toward a greenhouse in the distance, Torres told me that they’ve changed their goals. Their new aim is to plant and improve the farm so that, in five years’ time, five families will be able to make a living there and provide part of the capital to buy a new piece of land to start the process over again for more families.

We reached the greenhouse and stepped inside. The humid air was a pleasant 70 degrees Fahrenheit, and in front of me were rows of potted nopales, or prickly pear cactus, their round green spiked pads piled on top of each other, interspersed with dragon fruit vines climbing wooden stakes. Both are desert plants native to Mexico and adapted to dry environments — nothing like the crops typically grown in the Pacific Northwest. The fleshy pads and fruit of the nopales are treasured for their versatility, enjoyed fresh, cooked, pickled or preserved, while white or pink dragon fruit, dense and nutritious, is usually eaten raw.

Torres grew the new fruits last year as an experiment, lining a greenhouse with potted plants. This year, he plans to put more greenhouses into production. Torres said there are already people who have committed to buying the farm’s current crop. “Everyone who gets into farming here always thinks of blueberries or raspberries, because it’s the only thing around here,” he said. But that market is saturated, with little to offer small farmers who want to produce a variety of crops, a necessity in a future defined by climate extremes.

He gestured in front of him, painting a vision of a field full of greenhouses stocked with diverse fruits and vegetables, run by workers that don’t have to risk their lives to earn a decent living. “This is a better option,” he said. “We don’t want to do what the big farmers are doing. Now we want to make our own decisions and create our own models.”

When Edgar Franks returned from COP26 in mid-November, it had already started to rain. Over the next few days, an atmospheric river storm dumped record amounts of water over northwest Washington and British Columbia.

The massive floods that followed cut off towns and Indigenous reservations from the outside world. Sumas, an agricultural town in Whatcom County, was one of the worst-hit places in the U.S. More than 500 people had to be evacuated, and many farmworkers lost their documents and their homes. The flooding was the costliest disaster in Whatcom County’s history.

C2C, along with Familias Unidas por la Justicia, had planned a farmworker meeting for Nov. 18, a precursor to the next farmworker tribunal. They hoped to debrief the farmworkers on the Glasgow climate talks and discuss how to best advocate for wildfire smoke exposure rules for outdoor workers. Perhaps more important, Franks said, they also wanted to talk about the cooperative and the new economy they envision — a diverse regional economy of small farmers and cooperatives. One that would fundamentally change the way food is produced and valued, taking into account the true cost of production on workers and the environment, creating a system that is as just as it is sustainable.

The extreme weather shifted their plans. They spent the meeting talking about the community’s immediate needs: how to find housing for those displaced by floods in freezing temperatures, how to replace lost documents, how to get money to those who needed it but, because of their visa status, were not eligible for government support.

Six weeks later, around the new year, an extreme cold snap pushed temperatures to a record low around Everson and other areas hit hard by the flooding. Everything at Tierra y Libertad froze, including the cactus. Torres, who had been away for the holidays, came back to a greenhouse full of rotting stalks.

“It’s hard,” Torres told me in January, his voice sounding weary at the thought of how much work he had lost, and how much more it would take to get the farm running again. “But we know these kinds of things will continue to happen with climate change.” The only thing to do, he said, is not lose motivation. So Torres plans to fill the greenhouses with dragon fruit and nopales again this year, and he’ll try to prepare for a future where extreme heat and extreme fires are followed by equally extreme flooding and cold, the same future shared by all farmers. At least now, he and the other workers will be the ones making the decisions.

This story was first published at High Country News on Feb. 1, 2022.

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How WA farmworkers push for climate justice amid heat and wildfire | Crosscut

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Agricultural workers and advocates aim to make workplaces safer while helping the environment.

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The Future of Food

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Environmental Justice topic and speaker (Maria Cuevas)

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Environmental Justice topic and speaker (Maria Cuevas)

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Dr. Yvonne Sherwood is a sociologist of American Indian (Spokane and Couer d'Alene)) and Chicana (Mexican-origin) descent, born and raised on the Yakama Nation reservation. She received her AA from YVC, BA from EWU, and PhD in sociology from the University of California Santa Cruz; her doctoral research is on environmental justice and indigenous womxn's knowledge and activism. She is currently an Assistant Professor at the University of Toronto in Mississauga, Ontario.

Yvonne is in addition to Dr. Jessica Hernandez who is currently working in Bothell, WA at the University of Washington. Her expertise is in indigenous environmental science.

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WSU - Energy Department

Jim Jensen

Jim Jensen is our senior bioenergy and alternative fuels specialist. He conducts research and provides up-to-date information and technical assistance about bioenergy and alternative fuels and vehicles. Jensen supports federal and state agencies, local governments, and private clients. His current research activities include biogas/biomethane, biodiesel, electric vehicles, and green fleets. He serves on the state’s multi-agency bioenergy team, the anaerobic digestion task force, the Alt Fuel/Vehicle Technical Assistance Group, and the Western Washington Clean Cities Steering Committee. During 20+ years of work in the private and nonprofit sectors, Jensen has provided technical assistance to businesses in dozens of industries, assisted corporate social responsibility programs, and supported new green technologies and products. His technical knowledge and experience encompass research, development, and implementation of projects in the voluntary carbon market, renewable energy, recycling, waste prevention, anaerobic digestion, and composting. Jensen holds a B.A. from Grinnell College, Iowa.

https://energy.wsu.edu/AboutUs/MeetOurTeam.aspx

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Hello All,

Michael Buck is a young environmental scientist from the Yakama Nation and a dynamic speaker, whose family has defended the environment for generations. I asked him if he would be interested in being a speaker for your series. This is his reply.

I met Dr. Hernandez once in Seattle. As a local, I'd be honored to speak on environmental justice issues. I'd also like to know more, when you have the chance. Fresh Banana Leaves, interesting (?).

I began my education at Yakima Valley Community College and it would be nice to reconnect, of course I would need to know in advance to what dates I'd be committing.

Michael’s contact information is: Michael_Buck@Yakama.com

Thanks

Jean Mendoza

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Barbara Glover Special to the Yakima Herald-Republic

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Wine Scene: Leading the state in sustainable wine growing

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Sustainable winegrowing practices protect the soil, air and water — elements that breathe life into wine grapes and, ultimately, wine. Being good stewards of the land and good neighbors are