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Plus how it’s different from carbon capture — and, while we’re at it, carbon offsets.

At the heart of the climate crisis lies a harsh physical reality: Once carbon dioxide enters the atmosphere, it can stay there for hundreds or even thousands of years. Although some carbon does cycle in and out of the air via plants, soils, and the ocean, we are emitting far more than these systems can handle, meaning that most of it is just piling up. Burning fossil fuels is like continuously stuffing feathers into a duvet blanketing the Earth.
But there may be ways to begin plucking them out. That’s the promise of carbon removal, a category of technologies and interventions that either pull carbon dioxide from the air and store it securely or enhance the systems that naturally absorb carbon today.
Carbon removal is not, inherently, a license to continue emitting — it is far cheaper and easier to reduce the flow of emissions into the atmosphere than it is to remove them after the fact. Climate action has been so slow, however, that removing carbon has become a pressing consideration.
There are many technical, political, and economic challenges to deploying carbon removal at a meaningful scale. This guide will introduce you to some of those challenges, along with the basics of what carbon removal is, the rationale for trying to do it, and the risks and trade-offs we’ll encounter along the way. Let’s dive in.
Variously called carbon removal, carbon dioxide removal, CDR, and negative emissions technologies, all of these terms refer to efforts to suck carbon from the atmosphere and store it in places where it will not warm the planet, such as oceans, soils, plants, and underground. The science behind carbon removal spans atmospheric studies, oceanography, biology, geology, chemistry, and engineering. The carbon removal “industry” overlaps with oil and gas drilling, farming, forestry, mining, and construction — sometimes several of these sectors at once.
Carbon removal encompasses an astonishingly wide range of activities, but the two best known examples are probably the simple practice of planting a tree and the complex engineering project of building a “direct air capture system.” The latter are typically big machines that use industrial-sized fans to blow air through a material that filters carbon dioxide, and then apply heat to extract the carbon from the filter.
But there are many other methods that fall somewhere in between. “Enhanced rock weathering” involves taking minerals that are known to slowly pull carbon from the air as they break down over millennia and trying to speed up those reactions by grinding them into a fine dust and spreading it on agricultural fields. In “ocean alkalinity enhancement,” minerals are deposited directly into the ocean, catalyzing chemical reactions that may enable surface waters to soak up more carbon from the atmosphere. Companies are also experimenting with ways to take carbon-rich organic waste, like sewage, corn stalks, and forest debris, and bury it permanently underground or transform it into more stable materials like biochar.

If you read the words “carbon capture” literally, then yes, carbon removal involves capturing carbon. It’s common to see news articles use the terms interchangeably. But “carbon capture” is also the name for a technology that addresses a very different problem, with different challenges and implications. For that reason, it’s useful to distinguish carbon removal as its own category.
By definition, carbon removal deals with carbon that was previously emitted into the atmosphere — the feathers piling up in the duvet. Carbon capture, by contrast, has historically referred to systems that collect carbon from the flue of an industrial site, like a power plant, before it can enter the atmosphere.
Some carbon removal methods, such as the aforementioned direct air capture machines, share equipment with carbon capture. Both might use materials called sorbents to separate carbon from flue gas or from the air, and both rely on pipelines and drilling to transport the carbon to underground storage wells. But carbon capture cleans up and extends the relevance of present-day industrial processes and fuels. Carbon removal can be deployed concurrent with or independent of today’s energy systems and addresses the legacy carbon still hanging around.
There are different opinions on this. Some consider “geoengineering” to mean any large-scale intervention to counteract climate change. Others reserve the term for interventions that deal only with the effects of climate change, rather than the root cause. For example, solar radiation management, an idea to release tiny particles into the atmosphere that reflect sunlight back into space, would cool the Earth but not change the concentration of carbon in the atmosphere. If we started to do it at scale and then stopped, global warming would rear right back, unless and until the carbon blanketing the atmosphere was removed.
Any global cooling achieved by carbon removal, by contrast, would likely be more durable. To be clear, scientists don’t propose trying to use carbon removal to bring global average temperatures back down to levels seen during the pre-industrial period. It would already take an almost unimaginably large-scale effort to cool the planet just a half a degree or so with carbon removal — more on that in a bit.
While scientists have been talking about carbon removal for decades, a sense of urgency to develop practicable solutions emerged in the years following the 2015 Paris Climate Agreement. The signatories to that United Nations agreement, which included almost every nation in the world, committed to limit warming to “well below 2 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels” and strive for no more than 1.5 degrees of warming.
When scientists with the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change reviewed more than a thousand modeled scenarios mapping out how the world could achieve these goals, they found that it would be extraordinarily difficult without some degree of carbon removal. We had emitted so much by that point and made so little progress to change our energy systems that success required either cutting emissions at an unfathomably fast clip, cutting emissions more gradually and rapidly scaling up carbon removal to counteract the residuals, or “overshooting” the temperature targets altogether and using carbon removal to back into them.
If limiting warming to 1.5 degrees was a stretch back then, today it’s become even more implausible. “Recent warming trends and the lack of adequate mitigation measures make it clear that the 1.5°C goal will not be met,” reads a January 2025 report from the independent climate science research group Berkeley Earth. The authors expect the threshold to be crossed in the next five to 10 years. Another independent research group, Climate Action Tracker, estimates that current policies put the world on track to warm 2.7 degrees by the end of the century.
To many, carbon removal may seem Sisyphean. As long as we’re still flooding the atmosphere with carbon, trying to take it out bit by bit sounds futile.
But our relatively slow progress cleaning up our energy systems only strengthens the case to develop carbon removal. Just think of all the carbon that’s continuing to accumulate! If we reach a point in the future where energy is cleaner and emissions are significantly lower, carbon removal offers a chance to siphon out some of it and start to reverse the dangerous effects of climate change. If we don’t start building that capacity today, future generations will not have that option.
Scientists also make the case that carbon removal will be essential to halting climate change, never mind reversing it. That’s because there are some human activities that are so difficult or expensive to decarbonize — think commercial aviation, shipping, agriculture — that it may be easier, more economical, or even more environmentally friendly to remove the greenhouse gases they emit after the fact. Stopping the planet from warming does not necessarily require eliminating all emissions. The more likely path is to achieve “net zero,” a point where any remaining emissions are counterbalanced by an equal amount of carbon removal, including from human activities as well as natural carbon sinks.
It would certainly be easier, less expensive, and less resource-intensive to cut emissions today than it will be to remove them in the future. Some scientists have even argued we may be better off assuming carbon removal will not work at scale, as that might motivate more rapid emissions reductions. But the IPCC concluded pretty definitively in 2022 that carbon removal will be required if we want to stabilize global temperatures below 2 degrees this century.
The Paris Agreement temperature targets are not thresholds after which the world falls apart. But every tenth of a degree of warming will strain the Earth’s systems and test human survival more than the last. Abandoning carbon removal means accepting whatever dangerous and devastating effects we fail to avoid.
The latest edition of the “State of CDR” report, put together by a group of leading carbon removal researchers, found that all of the Paris Agreement-consistent scenarios modeled in the scientific literature require removing between 4 billion and 6 billion metric tons of carbon per year by 2035, and between 6 billion and 10 billion metric tons by 2050. For context, they estimate that the world currently removes about 2 billion metric tons of carbon per year over and above what the Earth would naturally absorb without human interference, 99% of which comes from planting trees and managing forests.
These estimates, however, are steeped in uncertainty, as the models make assumptions about the cost and speed of decarbonization and society’s willingness to make behavioral changes such as eating less meat and flying less. We could work toward other futures with less reliance on carbon removal. We could also passively drift toward one that calls for far more.
In short, the amount of carbon removal that may be desirable in the future depends largely on how quickly we reduce emissions and how successful we are in solving the hardest-to-decarbonize parts of the economy. It also depends on what kinds of trade-offs society is willing to make. Large-scale carbon removal would likely be resource-intensive, requiring a lot of land, energy, or both, and could impinge on other sustainability goals.
Afforestation and reforestation are responsible for most carbon removal that happens today, and planting more trees is essential to tackling climate change. But it would be a mistake to bank our carbon removal strategy on that approach alone. For one, depending on how much carbon removal is needed, there may not be enough land that can or should be forested without encroaching on food production or other uses. Large-scale tree planting efforts also often produce monoculture plantations, which are an inexpensive way to maximize carbon sequestration but can harm biodiversity.
The other argument for developing alternative solutions has to do with time. As I explained earlier, carbon dioxide emissions can stay in the atmosphere for millennia. Most tree species do not live longer than 1,000 years, and some are known to survive only for a few decades. The carbon stored in trees is vulnerable to fires, pests, disease, drought, and the simple fact of mortality. Climate change is already increasing these risks.
If we use carbon removal to neutralize residual fossil fuel emissions — which, again, could help us halt warming faster than we otherwise would be able to — the carbon will need to stay out of the atmosphere for as long as the emissions stay in. When we rely on trees to offset CO2 emissions, the climate scientist Zeke Hausfather wrote in a 2022 New York Times op-ed, we “risk merely hitting the climate ‘snooze’ button, kicking the can to future generations who will have to deal with those emissions.”
Every form of carbon removal has trade-offs. Direct air capture uses lots of energy; enhanced rock weathering relies on dirty mining processes and its effectiveness is difficult to measure. It’s still too early to know the extent to which these can be minimized, or to say what the ideal mix of solutions looks like.
There are hundreds of companies and research labs around the world working on various methods to remove carbon from the atmosphere, and the number of real-world projects is growing every year. But the field’s progress is limited by funding. There’s no natural market for carbon removal — it’s essentially a public service. Most of the money going into the field has come from tech companies like Microsoft and Stripe, which have voluntarily paid for carbon removals that haven’t happened yet to help startups access capital to deploy demonstration projects.
Experts across the industry say that in order for carbon removal to scale, governments will need to play a much bigger role. For one, they’ll likely need to pony up for research and development. The U.S. government has been spending about $1 billion per year to support carbon removal research, but according to one estimate, we’ll need to scale that to $100 billion per year by 2050 in order to make the technology set a viable solution. Many argue that compliance markets, in which governments require companies to lower their emissions and permit the purchase of carbon removal to meet targets, will be key to creating sustained demand. (These are not to be confused with carbon offsets, which have also been part of these markets, but have been more focused on projects that avoid emissions.) That’s already starting to happen abroad — this summer, the U.K. decided to incorporate removals into its emissions cap and trade program in 2029, and the E.U. proposed doing the same.
The few programs we do have in the U.S., on the other hand, are currently at risk. Congress appropriated $3.5 billion to the Department of Energy in 2021 to develop several direct air capture “hubs,” but Secretary of Energy Chris Wright may try to cancel the program. The agency also had a pilot program in which it planned to pre-pay for carbon removal, similar to what the tech companies have done, but it’s unclear whether that will move forward. But there’s more action in other countries.
Another central preoccupation in the field today is the development of robust standards that ensure we can accurately measure and report how much carbon is removed by each method. While this is relatively straightforward for a direct air capture system, which is a closed system, it’s much harder for enhanced rock weathering, for example, where there are a lot of outside variables that could affect the fate of the carbon.
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Facing down a sea change, the automaker has staked its next EV bet on a compact, sporty pickup.
“Full fathom five, your father lies,” the invisible spirit Ariel sings early in The Tempest, as a handsome and grieving prince listens, rapt. The song tells of a shipwrecked skeleton transforming into something else — its eyes have become pearls, and its bones pink coral — as it undergoes, yes, a “sea change.” It is the first time that phrase appears in the English language.
Ford is now facing its own kind of sea change. Over the past decade, the automaker has doubled down on its most profitable and exciting vehicles — pickups, SUVs, and the Mustang muscle car — and dropped from its line-up the cheap, boring cars that once made it famous. It embraced, then backed off, the transition to electric vehicles, in part because it failed to make money from them; and it began to reckon with the surge of cheaper, cleaner, and “far superior” EVs from Chinese producers that are transforming global auto markets around the world.
Locked into its aging but reliable line-up, yet unable to innovate at the low end, Ford might seem like the epitome of a company facing disruptive innovation. No wonder its stock has traded flat from where it was five years ago — even as the broader market has surged by more than 70%.
Its solution is an EV skunkworks, run by Tesla alumni, where it can develop a new “universal EV platform” to undergird future vehicles. Today, we got a peek at the first car to emerge from that secret shop: an all-electric compact pickup that will hit the roads by the end of next year. Its name? The Ford Fathom.
We know very little about the Fathom, as our correspondent Andrew Moseman wrote today. It will retail for just over $28,000, and even with mandatory delivery costs and other add-ons will stick to this side of $30,000. That makes it only a smidge more expensive than the gas-burning Ford Maverick, a sporty, compact, and popular pickup that starts around $27,000.
Ford promises that the Fathom will have as much seating capacity as Toyota’s RAV4, America’s best-selling car that isn’t a truck. (Ford’s own F-150, of course, holds the true No. 1 spot.) Those dimensions suggest the Fathom will sport a four-door crew cab, like the Maverick, making it more acceptable to families with kids — or young professionals who want to give their friends rides on the weekend. It will also have a frunk.
Beyond that, though, we don’t know much. We don’t know its range, for instance, and its price point shouldn’t inspire too much confidence on that front. Nor do we know, frankly, whether Ford can pull it off: When the automaker announced its first electric truck, the F-150 Lightning, in 2021, it claimed a price point of less than $40,000. Eighteen months of inflation later, it actually sold them for closer to $55,000 — and it still lost money on every EV that it made. Fixing the latter problem is part of why the skunkworks exists in the first place, and Ford now has an additional half-decade of experience making EVs. But consumers hoping for a miraculously priced electric pickup from the Blue Oval have been burned before.
If the Fathom disappoints, though, then consumers will soon have other options. The American car market is about to be deluged with sporty, compact pickup trucks — a welcome change from just a few years ago, when the segment was almost entirely dominated by mid-size and half-ton models. The Jeff Bezos-backed startup Slate will start delivering two-door, all-electric pickups starting at $25,000 at the end of this year. The automaker Stellantis, which owns the Dodge and Jeep brands, says it wants to bring another compact pickup — it’s almost more of a ute — called the Rampage to North America soon.
That’s welcome news for me — I love these little trucks — but I’m a little worried I’ll be outside my pickup-buying years by the time they actually make it to market. In the meantime, I’ll keep you posted on other updates about the Fathom. Will “sea nymphs hourly ring its knell”? No, but it will have Apple CarPlay and Android Auto.
The company confirmed its plans to market research company Cleanview.
The data center buildout has hit a new inflection point. It has long been true that artificial intelligence is fueling climate change by driving up power demand; more recently, tech companies have started directly financing new natural gas plants in their quest for AI glory. Now one is backing the biggest fossil fuel-fired power plant ever to exist in the United States — exclusively to power an AI data center complex.
That company is Amazon, according to the market research company Cleanview, which reported on Friday that the tech giant is building an AI data center campus in Texas powered by an up to 7.65-gigawatt off-grid natural gas plant.
That’s larger than any other power plant in the country — fossil or otherwise. The next biggest plant is the Grand Coulee hydroelectric plant in Washington State, at 7 gigawatts, followed by Arizona’s 4-gigawatt Palo Verde nuclear plant, and the West Count Energy Center, a 3.7-gigawatt natural gas plant in Florida.
The new power plant’s developer, Pacifico Energy, announced in January that it had secured permits from Texas regulators for the project, dubbed “GW Ranch.” The site is also permitted for up to 750 megawatts of solar and 1.8 gigawatts of battery energy storage.
It was not clear who the customer for all this energy would be until earlier this week, when Cleanview uncovered construction permits Amazon filed showing that the company owned the GW Ranch site. The company confirmed to Cleanview that it acquired the site and planned to buy power from Pacifico’s plant.
Not only will this natural gas plant be larger than the one in Florida, it will also use far less efficient technology. Pacifico’s permit says it plans to build 35 “simple cycle” generating units, which are typically installed in rarely-used peaker power plants and waste a lot more fuel potential than the modern “combined cycle” natural gas plants that serve as baseload power for the grid today. These more efficient turbines are essentially on backorder for years, and power-hungry developers have increasingly turned to the simpler versions as a quick fix as they race to bring facilities online.
According to its permit, the GW Ranch plant is allowed to emit as much as 33 million tons of CO2 per year. That’s twice as much as the most-polluting power plant in the country, the James H. Miller Jr. coal plant in Alabama, emitted in 2023, the most recent year for which data is available.
In a statement to Cleanview, an Amazon spokesperson said the company “believes in paying the full costs of powering our operations,” and that this Texas project “does just that: it’s powered by new on-site generation that won’t raise electricity costs for Texas families and designed to transition to grid-connected service as interconnection timelines allow.”
Some researchers disagree on that point, however. In an opinion piece for Utility Dive, Energy Innovation director Jeffrey Rissman and senior fellow Eric Gimon argue that the proliferation of off-grid natural gas generation for data centers will increase costs for regular people more than if the data centers connected to the grid, because they will be competing with utility companies for gas supply. “Data centers can buy gas in bulk and sign long-term contracts (as we’ve seen in Texas, Pennsylvania and New Mexico), giving them access to cheap gas, even if this unfairly drives up prices for everyone else,” they write.
Jane Flegal, a senior fellow at the Searchlight Institute, has also argued that building off-grid natural gas plants to serve data centers locks in emissions for decades because the plants don’t face competitive pressure from other resources. When a new natural gas plant is hooked up to the grid, by contrast, there’s a far greater chance that cheaper, cleaner resources will displace its generation over time.
The Rhodium Group recently developed a scoring system to help investors differentiate between projects that are likely to accelerate the energy transition, those that will have little effect one way or the other, and those that will actively slow it down. They used it to assess options for powering data centers, and found that off grid natural gas plants scored the worst, falling at the bottom of the latter category.
Regardless, Amazon still, somehow, asserts that it is committed to achieve net zero emissions by 2040.
The smoke pouring into Seattle from Spokane is particularly bad, but there’s also no such thing as good smoke.
I wrote this story from inside a cloud of smoke. Owing to some funky meteorology in the Seattle area this week — a pressure ridge paired with a thermal trough — the region’s usual westerly winds reversed, causing smoke from the fires burning in the eastern half of the state to pour through the mountain passes and river valleys of the Cascades and pool over the populous Puget Sound lowlands, where I live.
Though it’s cleared up some today, I’m still running my air purifier on full blast because I know what’s in the lingering smoke. Unlike the still blazing wildfires in Ontario that are burning through mostly uninhabited forests, the smoke in the Seattle area this week came to us partially from Spokane, where the Old Trails fire razed at least 700 buildings and homes last weekend. That means that beyond the usual organic matter associated with wildfire smoke, the pollution that has hung over Seattle has likely also contained particles and chemicals from burned plastics, batteries, cars, and household appliances.
But how can the average person be sure whether their wildfire smoke is the bad kind or the worse kind? (At least assuming that well-adjusted people do not obsessively watch the animations on AirNow.Gov, as I do.) I turned to Coty Jen, an associate professor of chemical engineering, and Albert Presto, a research professor of mechanical engineering, both of Carnegie Mellon University, to learn more about the chemistry of wildfire smoke.
“There is no safe smoke,” Jen said, setting me straight immediately. “It’s all bad. It will piss your body off.”
While it’s true that some smoke is more toxic than other smoke, what you might call the “all natural, organic” variety will still spike hospital emission rates and exacerbate pre-existing respiratory diseases, even if it is mostly burning trees.
Under ideal conditions, when cellulose or lignin — the main structural components of trees and plants as well as leaf litter and soil, the largest sources of carbon during a forest fire — heat up and combust, the chemical reaction creates carbon dioxide, water, heat, and light. But wildfires don’t burn cleanly, and the chemical reactions often stall midway through that process due to things like oxygen availability and temperature variation, producing intermediate products like carbon monoxide or partially broken-down bits of carbon, often called soot. The tiniest of these particles can be smaller than 2.5 micrometers across — 30 or more could fit across the width of a human hair — and are measured collectively as PM2.5, a catch-all term that refers to the size of the particle rather than what it is. What’s important, though, is that these particles are small enough to penetrate deep into our lungs and potentially enter our bloodstream, factors that add to the known mortality associated with PM2.5 exposure.
Different kinds of forests create different emissions — heavy duff, or leaf litter, which is common in pine forests, creates some of the densest smoke conditions. Wetter fuels also burn “dirtier,” creating more pollution. Different topographies also impact air quality in myriad ways; it’s no surprise that some of the worst pollution from the Spokane wildfires pooled in mountain valleys as a warm overhead layer of air trapped the particles near the ground.
Even “natural” wildfires can be extra toxic; burning eucalyptus, which grows in Southern California, is not something you want to inhale. Pine smoke can cause mutations in bacterial DNA, a common lab test for a substance’s potential to cause cancer. Wildfires that smolder are worse than those that burn fast; researchers have found that PM2.5 can be up to 70 times higher when fuels aren’t actively on fire. “You can even see this if you’ve ever built a fire yourself,” Presto explained. “There’s a period where everything is big and flaming, and then, if you’re burning a log, it eventually goes down to smoldering. The emissions are different.”
In the case of something like a house burning down in a wildfire, however, it’s not only cellulose and lignin combusting. “We’re good at engineering materials that are extremely robust, but when they burn, they release very exotic compounds,” Jen said. She pointed to the common plastic PVC, which is used for everything from exterior siding to plumbing and window frames. When it combusts, PVC releases chlorine, “which is very bad for you,” Jen told me. “It’s like how bleach is bad for you — it’s a pretty nasty chlorine compound. PVC isn’t releasing bleach, but it is releasing radical chlorine molecules that produce some crazy compounds.”
If you’re following a smoke event at home, the answer is “not really.” PM2.5 is measured in micrograms per cubic meter, which tells us how much small stuff is floating around, but not what that small stuff is. “It is pretty difficult to measure all the different compounds that wildfires, or broadly any pollution, will emit,” Jen said. “The easiest way to quantify it is to literally suck air onto a filter and measure how heavy it got.”
Measuring what exactly is in that mass requires instruments that cost in the ballpark of half a million dollars, which is not financially feasible at every air monitoring station, Jen went on. But while there are certainly academic applications for that kind of knowledge, a person trying to decide whether or not to go for their run in wildfire smoke doesn’t need that level of granularity.
“Some smoke is definitely more dangerous,” Jen said. “But as innocent bystanders, it’s not like we can pick and choose what smoke floats over to us. You just have to live with it, so the best mentality is to treat all smoke as bad.”
In a 2026 Science Advances study that attributed more than 24,000 deaths per year to wildfire smoke in the U.S., researchers found no safe threshold for PM2.5 exposure. Every 0.1 microgram per cubic meter increase in a county’s average annual PM2.5 from smoke was associated with nearly 5,600 excess deaths nationwide, even though most counties saw only trace amounts of smoke — about 0.4 micrograms per cubic meter a year. While it’s “orange sky” days, when the pollution spikes into triple-digit AQI numbers, that get the most media attention, even low exposure that you can’t smell or even see can be affecting your health.
PM2.5 is just one component of wildfire smoke — the other is gases, including benzene and formaldehyde. Many gases chemically transform as they move from where the fire is to where you inhale them. “The atmosphere is extremely oxidizing — it likes to add oxygen molecules onto compounds,” Jen said.
Some of those compounds react faster than others, “so it depends how downwind you are,” Jen went on. That’s why people closer to a wildfire — maybe a day or less downwind — get the distinctive campfire smell, mainly from the “young” vapors and volatile organic compounds. But for people on the East Coast who were subject to the Ontario smoke several weeks ago, the smoke had to travel several days to reach places like Pittsburgh and New York, and by then the sharper-smelling compounds had transformed into new pollutants like ozone.
The AQI only measures a few specific gases that are considered “criteria pollutants” under the Clean Air Act, which means, as Presto told me, “during these fires, you could emit a whole bunch of different other gases that don’t have an AQI number.”
Instead, you can look at the PM2.5 number to get the gist of how prevalent wildfire gases are. “If your PM 2.5 is high, it’s impossible for the bad gasses to be low,” Jen said. “The way we think about it is, there’s a bunch of junk on the particle, and if the same junk’s not also in the gas, it will evaporate off the particle into the gas. They always exist together.”
You might notice by now that I’ve written little about the actual AQI number, that score that appears on your weather app and runs from zero to 500 (or, confusingly, even higher). That’s because while the AQI is a great communication tool, it doesn’t offer us much in the way of the science of wildfire smoke.
The AQI measures five different pollutants — PM2.5, ozone, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrogen dioxide — with the EPA setting specific concentration thresholds for each one, as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo has explained. “If local concentrations of any one of them tick up above those protective standards, the AQI will jump from green to a more alarming color,” she wrote. “The higher the level of pollution is, the higher the AQI and the darker the color will be.”
If you want to impress your friends, though, you ought to zero in specifically on the PM2.5 concentration — again, because the prevalence of the tiniest particulates is a good indicator of all the other gunk you can assume is in the air, too. (You can find the specific PM2.5 concentration usually by clicking for more information about the AQI on your weather app or checking IQ Air’s widget.) For example, at the time of this writing, my local PM2.5 concentration is 50 micrograms per cubic meter, more than triple the World Health Organization’s 15 micrograms per cubic meter threshold for 24-hour exposure. (The EPA’s 24-hour threshold is much more lenient, at 35 micrograms per cubic meter.)
When I asked Jen how she stays sane knowing all she knows about smoke exposure, she laughed. “I have just generally become more terrified of all campfires and all barbecues, but people already think I’m weird, so I might as well add to it,” she told me.
In all seriousness, though, she told me the answer is air filters, and her confidence in their ability to work. When wildfire smoke rolled through Pittsburgh, she had two running that she moved from room-to-room with her family, as well as a whole-house air filter. “We were getting PM2.5 concentrations in our house of about 80 micrograms per cubic meter when it was 150 outside,” she said. “But with the air filter on, we could drop that down to less than eight.”
Jen pointed out, though, that many people do not run their air filters properly. Filters are rated at their highest blower level, “so for them to be effective, you need to crank them to their highest setting to get all the air through,” she said. Most people keep their filters on auto or low because they’re so loud — myself included, until I learned otherwise.
Additionally, while an air filter is a rather large appliance, it really ought to be placed in the center of your room to be the most efficient, rather than up against a wall. (Again, my bad.) “When these wildfire events happen, the most effective place for the air filter is where you are, and you have to run it loud, which kind of sucks,” Jen said. “But it is better than breathing in gross air.”