Addressing Community Needs through environmental stewardship

I used to think I understood forests because I knew how to look closely at trees. It wasn’t until I stepped into them that I began to understand what a forest really is. Growing up with the Sierra Nevada as my backyard, I knew the forests as a place for recreation. I also knew the smoke from wildfires in these forests backdropped many of my summers in the Central Valley. Diving headfirst into forestry was not where I anticipated myself to be after graduating from college. Dur

I didn’t know anything about grasses before working for the East Bay Regional Park District. Grasses were always a plant that I knew to persist in native ecologies, but my familiarity with the Poaceae family largely revolved around highly invasive species I would remove from habitat rather than introduce. I was introduced to Carquinez Regional Shoreline, a historic oak woodland and grassland interface, within my first week at the office. This habitat restoration site was tran

When I accepted my GrizzlyCorps position, I knew surprisingly little about oak trees for someone who would be dedicating a year to working with them. It was a steep learning curve— we have 10 species of oaks at the UC Hopland Research & Extension Center (HREC), and more hybrids than one can count. To familiarize myself with oaks, I started going on walks around the property with an oak ID sheet, testing myself on how many species I could correctly identify. Through these walk

I’m not an ecologist by training. After graduating with my economics degree, I’ve used my education in supply and demand to work as a wrangler, mule packer, and horsemanship student. I might not have the B.S. to show for it, but I’ve spent months immersed in the natural world, riding through mountains in California, New Mexico, Mongolia, and many places in between. Granted, I’m usually so focused on the six mules tied together in my pack string that I never stopped to tell th

When I accepted my GrizzlyCorps position in Mendocino County, I had just two weeks to prepare before packing my car and driving 32 hours from Wisconsin to California. Looking back, the excitement I felt for this new opportunity was immense. I was eager to learn about California’s unique fire environment, diverse ecosystems, and landscapes. I was also ready to trade snowy winters for a new climate and to embrace the professional opportunities that came with living and working

Growing up in the Sierras, where the late summer air would be thick with smoke and evacuations happened more than once, I was aware–like many Californians–of fire as a natural and ubiquitous risk to the beautiful landscape I called home. With a mother who is a professional forester and a father that had a long and multifaceted career in the forest service, I learned from an early age about the role that beneficial fire plays in a healthy forest. Now, serving in GrizzlyCorps,

I don't know many people that would move, abruptly, from the bustling streets of New York City to a rural farm in the agricultural mecca of California. But having grown up in San Diego, a part of me has always belonged to the warmth of an unblocked sun and land that stretches without interruption. I’ve been shaped by a relationship to the Earth, one I walked away from when I left for New York—with a belly rumbling for change, convinced a different geography might satiate my h

Since childhood, I have countless memories of road trips from the Bay Area to Southern California. I remember staring out the window, looking at the agricultural fields, grasslands, and ranches of I‑5. Most of all, I remember being suddenly struck by the infamous and unavoidable smell of Harris Ranch. This ranch stretches on for what feels like forever, with an unfathomable number of cows packed into the pastures, standing practically body to body. This was the first and only

If you showed a room of Californians a picture of a California poppy, many of them easily identify our state flower. But what about other natives? Who might recognize a picture of a lupine, monkeyflower, or California fuchsia? How many of us can identify a toyon, manzanita, or coffeeberry? I wasn’t very familiar with native plants until I studied Environmental Science at UCLA. By volunteering at Sage Hill Preserve and the UCLA Botanical Garden, I learned how native species

I grew up in the Salad Bowl of the world and attended elementary school in the outskirts of Salinas, in a farm town named Spreckels. In the late 1800s to the 1900s the town was known for Spreckels Sugar Company, a sugar beet refinery whose old buildings still stand across the street from the town. As part of a field trip one day, we went on a tour around the small town to learn about its history and I was told about the diamond shaped sugar beet design that was placed at the