When Communities Become Their Own Engineers
When Hurricane Ida hit Southeast Louisiana in August 2021, actor Wendell Pierce watched the water in his Pontilly neighborhood with what he later admitted was doubt. The $15.5 million drainage system his neighbors had designed themselves—retention ponds and bioswales that homeowners brought to the city in 2008 after Katrina flooded them with twelve feet of standing water—was facing its first real test while other parts of New Orleans went underwater.
Pierce had his doubts. Seventeen years later, nineteen community organizations across the city are learning to map flooding, design green infrastructure, and become their own engineers because the institutions that are supposed to protect them keep failing.
When Communities Become Their Own Engineers
When Hurricane Ida hit Southeast Louisiana in August 2021, actor Wendell Pierce watched the water in his Pontilly neighborhood with what he later admitted was doubt. The $15.5 million drainage system his neighbors had designed themselves—retention ponds and bioswales that homeowners brought to the city in 2008 after Katrina flooded them with twelve feet of standing water—was facing its first real test while other parts of New Orleans went underwater.
Pierce had his doubts. Seventeen years later, nineteen community organizations across the city are learning to map flooding, design green infrastructure, and become their own engineers because the institutions that are supposed to protect them keep failing.
Choosing Different Futures
Still Pulling Pots
Jake Petersen pulls crab pots off Neah Bay. Half come up dead, suffocated from low oxygen near the seafloor. He's twenty-six. Makes sixty percent of what his father averaged a decade ago. His girlfriend asked about buying a house, about doing something else. He knows how to work in weather that keeps other boats tied up, which grounds produce when others fail. Tomorrow he'll go back out. Pull the next string.
Learning to Weld
Maya Torres walks past her family's boat on her way to turn in financial aid paperwork for welding school. Twenty-four years old. Grew up on that boat. Her father made eighteen thousand last season, works construction now most of the year. She can read water and current, tell you where fish are holding. Welding pays twenty-five an hour. Benefits. Classes start in January. The boat's still there, tied up, waiting.
This Week Climate Reality
Tom Reichert spent three weekends in October cutting junipers within 30 feet of his house in northwest Bend. Not because he wanted to—the trees provided privacy from neighbors and kept his yard cooler in summer. But his homeowners insurance renewal came with a notice: properties in high fire-risk zones would need defensible space documentation by 2026 or face non-renewal. His neighborhood joined Firewise USA in September, one of 32 Oregon communities that signed up after last summer's fire season brought smoke and evacuations uncomfortably close.
The work cost him $1,200 for a tree service to handle the larger junipers, plus his own labor for smaller vegetation. His insurance company hasn't confirmed whether this qualifies for their new Wildfire Prepared certification that might reduce his premium. That program launched in November, after he'd already done the work.