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Whether they can continue to do so depends on how long the green freeze lasts.

This story is part of a Heatmap series on the “green freeze” under Trump.
By now I’ve come to expect the responses. “We’re continuing to assess the situation and aren’t able to speak on it at this time.” “We are not able to provide comment on this matter.” Oftentimes, all I’ll receive is a Gmail prompt to an unanswered email: Sent 9 days ago. Follow up?
This week, my colleagues and I are covering the “green freeze,” an economy-wide trend of canceled clean energy projects, a retreat from climate tech investments, and a tightening of purse strings perhaps best epitomized by Breakthrough Energy’s pullback from grantmaking and policy advocacy. I aimed to look more closely at how nonprofits are navigating the new political and economic landscape — with climate no longer a key policy focus of the White House, would related causes lose their appeal to donors? Or would the opposite be true: Given the federal funding gap, would philanthropy surge to fill the vacuum? Would it even be prudent to do so?
“In my experience, when the government takes a step back from a particular impact area — and climate is no different — often philanthropists end up leaning in,” Amy Duffuor, a co-founder and partner at Azolla Ventures, told me. Azolla invests in climate tech start-ups using both traditional venture capital and catalytic capital, the latter of which comes primarily from philanthropists. But for many organizations, especially at the grassroots level or in the environmental justice space, it might not be that simple.
Talking about donors is always delicate and awkward, but I was still surprised by how closed-lipped local and national nonprofits became when I started asking these questions. Many groups that have spoken candidly with Heatmap News in the past declined to talk to me on the topic, even on background. One media relations manager for a conservation organization that receives federal grants delicately implied, while turning down my request for comment, that no one wants to stick their neck out when there’s a climate witch-hunt going on.
“Nonprofits have to be really conscious of where their support comes from and how they protect that,” Cyrus Wadia, the CEO of Activate, a nonprofit that offers fellowship support for early-stage science entrepreneurs looking to launch climate start-ups, told me when I explained what I was seeing.
He’s right that the wariness is understandable. The Trump administration is attempting to claw back some $20 billion in funds awarded to climate nonprofits under President Joe Biden, including hundreds of grants from the Environmental Protection Agency, many of which were earmarked for local environmental justice nonprofits. A number of these nonprofits are, as a result, facing unexpected funding shortfalls, forcing them to consider cuts to staff and programs in the weeks and months ahead. “If this lasts much longer … then we’re going to start seeing more organizations saying this program and that program have to shut down, they’re having to reduce capacity because they can’t make payroll, or they’re closing their doors,” Rick Cohen, the chief communications officer for the National Council of Nonprofits, recently told The Chronicle of Philanthropy.
There is a sense among some in the nonprofit space that the hesitation among donors might be more of a reassessment than an actual freeze. “There is definitely a ‘pause and wait and see and figure out our strategy and maybe start over’ moment that I think a couple of these foundations are having,” Lara Pierpoint, the managing director of Trellis Climate — a 501(c)(3) that helps philanthropists, donors, and foundations invest in climate opportunities that wouldn’t go forward without philanthropic support — told me. A policy director for a national policymaking and advocacy group similarly suggested to me that the election of Trump caught some of their donors flat-footed, adding that they “didn’t have strategies ready to go.”
That doesn’t necessarily indicate a broader trend. “The good news is that we aren’t seeing a huge amount of change just yet among our donor set,” she told me. “I think our donor set tends to be folks who are already very focused on climate,” she went on. “They are not only not afraid of the word ‘climate,’ but I think they really see the need to focus on it, particularly given what’s going on.”
She did note, however, that it’s still early, and that there are two main headwinds she and her peers are facing. “Some of the donors that we’ve spoken to have said, ‘Hey, we can’t really talk right now or commit to anything because we’re doing a wholesale reevaluation of our portfolio and how we approach giving,’” she said. Additionally, philanthropists who think of themselves more as investors might have questions about how viable their investments will be, given what’s happening with both federal priorities and the gyrating economy.
As my colleague Katie Brigham has reported, climate tech investment had already started to slow down from the frothy days of the early Biden administration; some companies had started to pivot away from promoting the clean, green climate perks of their business models even before Trump took office. (Bloomberg has labeled this semantic game “greenhushing”; the general wisdom is, “it’s still a great time to start a climate startup. Just don’t call it a climate startup.”) Anxieties about the economy can, as a rule, also impact the giving patterns of donors.
“At the end of the day, for very good reasons, philanthropists want to invest in projects and ideas that are likely to be successful and go forward and do the things they are meant to do,” Pierpoint said. “And all of that is under threat right now because climate tech is hard, it’s expensive, it’s competing with fossil fuels, and counting out government support and tax credits, the picture is daunting.”
Others were similarly cautiously optimistic about the days ahead. “There’s a gap, and philanthropy is often well-suited to close gaps,” said Duffuor, the partner at Azolla Ventures. (Both Azolla Ventures and Trellis Climate are part of Prime Coalition, a nonprofit focused on climate financing.)
Like Pierpoint, Duffuor expects to see a “doubling down” by philanthropists who are motivated by climate. Donors who were more on the cusp to begin with — who saw climate investment as en vogue, or were more driven by financial returns — might back away, she agreed. But it seems unlikely that people who genuinely believe in climate causes will be dissuaded by who’s in the White House. “I think people are waiting to see where the gaps are most effective,” she said.
Wadia, the CEO of the venture capital firm Activate, who spoke with me from the CERAWeek energy conference in Houston, agreed that while the language around giving may change, he is still seeing a “momentum for innovation.”
“If we all just step back, what are we really trying to do?” he said, speaking of nonprofits, philanthropists, and start-ups alike. “Everybody might have a different version of how we do it, but we’re all working towards trying to make the planet a better place for people — for all species on this planet. There’s a general consensus that’s a good thing.”
The nonprofit sector is large and diverse, and the impacts of the political and economic moment will not be felt equally. Local environmental justice nonprofits that relied on federal grants will undoubtedly be worse off than the better-insulated climate financing organizations like Activate, although the turbulence at Breakthrough suggests that even the deepest of pockets can still close to climate causes. (Tellingly, companies funded by Breakthrough’s investment arm, Breakthrough Ventures, do not appear to be affected.) The tension and anxiety aren’t likely to break soon; uncertainty and fear remain pervasive.
If anything can be counted on, though, it’s that climate causes — whether local, national, community-focused, or innovation-related — will need their donors more than ever. The people I spoke with expect them to step up. But is that even a good thing?
“It’s not just the immediate impact — the question mark around grant funding and things like that,” Pierpoint of Trellis Climate told me. “It’s also the question of, is this, in the long term, going to reduce trust in the federal government in a way that lowers investment when folks are trying to leverage dollars?” She paused. “I think it would be bluntly catastrophic for climate development if we get into that world.”
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to reflect the fact that Activate is a nonprofit, not a venture capital firm.
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The global vehicle market is splitting into two — with just a few exception.
The past three months have been crucial for Rivian, America’s biggest all-electric car company not run by Elon Musk.
The California-based automaker debuted the R2, its long-awaited and somewhat more affordable sport utility vehicle. (Our reviewer gave it high marks.) Rivian also formally took out a nearly $6.6 billion loan from the Department of Energy to finance its new Georgia factory. And it finally unveiled the plans for that facility, which will include a rail tie-in and a 1,000-acre preserved woodland.
All that was well and good, but the crucial question remained: How is the R2 selling? And the answer is: Pretty well, seemingly! Rivian delivered 19,248 vehicles last quarter, beating analyst expectations and setting a new all-time quarterly sales record. More importantly, its vehicle deliveries have now recovered above where they stood in the third quarter of last year — a key milestone, since President Trump and Congress ended the federal government’s consumer-side EV incentives last September.
Tesla is seemingly also about to clear that threshold, although nobody outside the firm knows for sure. Elon Musk’s company doesn’t break out its sales by continent or model, but it delivered 486,532 vehicles last year — just about 2% below last year’s third quarter results. (Although a few of Rivian’s Amazon delivery vans have made their way into fleets abroad, the company only sells its consumer R1 and R2 vehicles in the United States and Canada, so its sales data is mostly U.S. by default.)
Alas, those two stand alone for now. No other automaker is close to breaking its quarterly EV sales record in the United States, and Ford, General Motors, and Hyundai all saw their domestic EV sales crumble last quarter. The new Chevrolet Bolt, GM’s most affordable EV — and its only American-made vehicle of any kind priced below $30,000 — has sold abysmally, moving just 8,090 units since the year began. The company is now likely to cap its production run at 35,000 units sold; it initially planned to produce 150,000.
Looking at these trends, I think you can see two different phenomena taking place.
The first is a big and growing divergence between America’s transportation sector and the rest of the world’s. The oil supply shock triggered by America’s war in Iran (and the resulting closure of the Strait of Hormuz) may be driving a long-term shift, encouraging consumers and countries to move away from oil. But for now, the crisis’s high prices have hit parts of Europe, Africa, and Asia far worse than they’ve impacted much of North America. Global EV sales reached a record high in the spring, for instance — just not in the United States.
The second is that we’re seeing demand destruction without decarbonization. According to new Nikkei data, gasoline-only cars made up less than half of global new car sales during the six months of 2026.
That’s never happened before, and it is a remarkable change: Gasoline-only cars have lost about a quarter of their global market share in less than five years. But as consumers switched away from gasoline, they didn’t move only to battery-only cars — instead, more than half of them shifted to hybrids or plug-in hybrids. That shift is good news, in that it will depress global oil use and therefore global greenhouse-gas emissions. But it won’t allow for the possibility of zeroing out emissions in the same way that EVs can.
But sometimes demand destruction will cut emissions significantly. If want to see that in the United States, check out the diesel market. As my colleague Alexander Kaufman wrote about this morning, FedEx has responded to eye-watering domestic diesel prices by placing an order for 2,000 electric box trucks with the California-based automaker Harbinger Motors. The shipper believes that the move will save it $800 million in fuel costs over time. When I talked to John Henry Harris, Harbinger’s CEO, last year, he told me the company didn’t need tax credits to sell vehicles — the math justified it on its own. Seems like FedEx agrees.
How the bill would have affected (or not affected) the Keystone XL pipeline, the Lava Ridge wind farm, and other major project proposals.
O ne of the non-negotiables for Senate Democrats in putting together a bipartisan permitting bill was to limit the president’s ability to reverse federal project approvals or otherwise gum up the works for developments they simply dislike. The authors’ goal was to prevent a situation like the one we’re in now, where Trump has revoked permits for wind farms, refused to permit new ones, and tried to stop construction of fully permitted offshore wind projects.
But the language on “project certainty” in the Bipartisan American Affordability and Jobs Act is technology neutral — it would protect fossil fuels as much as clean energy. While Trump has perhaps gone the furthest of any president in using the authorities of the executive branch to enact his preferences, his Democratic predecessors have taken similar steps to stop mines, pipelines, and oil and gas drilling — often in the name of stopping climate change.
“This bill is clearly looking backwards at five to 10 years of case studies in how an executive branch can delay or revoke permits, and it is targeted at those case studies,” Travis Annatoyn, the former deputy solicitor for energy and mineral resources at the Interior Department under Biden, told me.
The bill section in question contains two key provisions. The first would make it illegal for a federal agency to rescind, terminate, or alter a federal authorization or permit, or to prevent the construction or operation of a project that has all of its necessary federal approvals — though there are exceptions for cases involving a court ruling, violation of a permit’s terms, fraud, or new environmental harms or threats to national security.
The second big provision would give companies a course of action if they suspect the federal government is discriminating against certain types of projects or unduly dragging out the permitting process. An applicant can sue the government for displaying a “pattern of disparate treatment,” defined as a “substantial increase” in delays or “improper” denials for a given project type compared to the previous five years. Applicants also have the right to sue if the government takes longer than a year to issue a decision on a permit after all of the applicant’s paperwork is deemed complete.
Environmental nonprofits, particularly those that work on public lands issues, are extremely worried about these provisions, as illustrated by a transcript of several groups discussing the bill on a conference call that was leaked to Punchbowl News last week. “A future administration will not be able to challenge anything that is in fact permitted during the presidency of the Trump administration,” Erik Shlenker-Goodrich of the Western Environmental Law Center said on the call, “which is going to create an incentive for all these data centers and fossil fuel companies to rush through a process, hoard leases, permits and authorizations, and then basically tell a future administration to go fly a kite.”
But constraining the power of the executive branch is tricky. Even if the bill passes as written, and its provisions work as intended, there will probably still be some ways by which a president could throttle permits if they are motivated enough to do so, Annatoyn said.
Case in point: The laws as written haven’t stopped Trump from testing their limits. The main advantage to these provisions would be clearer consequences in the courts, giving affected parties more confidence to file a suit, and compensation if they win. On the other hand, those affected parties would still need to have the resources to sue the government.
It’s helpful to apply BAAJA to past examples of executive energy decisions to see how they would fare under the law. I walked through some case studies with Annatoyn and Ben Schiffman, the former attorney-adviser at the Interior Department’s Office of the Solicitor under Biden, to get a better understanding of what these provisions would do.
First proposed in 2008, the Keystone XL pipeline would have brought Canadian crude oil from the Alberta tar sands into the U.S. Almost immediately it attracted fierce opposition from environmental advocates, indigenous groups, and even Midwestern farmers, who eventually formed a coalition that staged attention-grabbing protests aimed at convincing the federal government not to approve the plans.
In a presidency-defining move, Barack Obama sided with opponents and rejected the project’s permit in 2015, stating that to prevent the worst of climate change, “we're going to have to keep some fossil fuels in the ground.” Trump later reversed that decision, however, approving Keystone in 2019. Then the project got held up in litigation brought by the Northern Plains Resource Council, a Montana environmental group, over one of its Clean Water Act permits.
When Biden took office in 2021, he signed an executive order reversing Trump’s reversal. Leaving the permit in place, he wrote, “would not be consistent with my Administration’s economic and climate imperatives.” A few months later, Keystone XL’s developer, TC Energy, officially canceled the pipeline.
Keystone is unique, however, because it would have crossed an international border, which requires direct presidential approval. Had BAAJA been in effect, Biden still would have been able to revoke the permit, Schiffman told me. “Keystone is a really unusual example,” he said. “The president is not considered an agency under the Administrative Procedure Act, so it’s just not subject to review in the way an action by the Secretary of Interior or other agencies are,” he said.
This bill’s effect is more ambiguous in this example. Trump’s 2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act required the Interior Department to hold two oil and gas lease sales on the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge’s coastal plain. Trump held a sale in January 2021, just before he left the White House, issuing nine leases. When Biden took office later that month, he signed an executive order directing his Interior Secretary, Deb Haaland, to conduct a new environmental analysis of the entire leasing program, citing “alleged legal deficiencies underlying the program.”
That June, Haaland concluded that there had been “insufficient analysis under the National Environmental Policy Act, including failure to adequately analyze a reasonable range of alternatives in the environmental impact statement,” and suspended the previously sold leases. Two years later, after completing a new environmental review, she canceled all the remaining leases in the Refuge. Biden’s Bureau of Land Management also later issued a new Record of Decision significantly downsizing the leasing program from 1.6 million acres to the minimum 400,000 required under the law.
When Trump began his second term, he directed his own Interior Secretary, Doug Burgum, to consider reversing the cancellation of the leases and to reinstate the Record of Decision that his first administration had issued in 2020. Ultimately, Burgum did not have to reverse the cancellations because the lessees had sued the government and a federal court sided with them, vacating the terminations in March 2025. (Alaska Native and environmental groups are currently appealing that decision.) Meanwhile, Trump’s Interior Department has issued a new Record of Decision reinstating the leasing program’s original 1.6 million acres.
There’s nothing in BAAJA that would seem to have prevented the Biden administration from conducting a new environmental analysis and issuing a new Record of Decision on the leasing program. It’s less clear whether it would have prohibited Haaland from terminating the leases. The word “lease” is conspicuously absent from the definition of a “federal authorization or permit” in this section of the bill, which would seem to have supported Haaland’s decision. But it’s an open question, Annatoyn told me, because the bill’s definition of federal authorization contains the catch-all phrase “or any other approval or order that is necessary … for the construction or operation at full capacity of a project.”
“I imagine if something like this gets passed, someone will make the argument that it includes leases,” Annatoyn said. It will be a question for the courts.
In 2011, Barack Obama’s Environmental Protection Agency rescinded a key Clean Water Act permit for Spruce No. 1, which would have been the largest mountaintop-removal coal mine in West Virginia. The type of permit, known as Section 404, was for the discharge of dredged material, and it had initially been approved by George Bush’s Army Corps of Engineers in 2007. Under that section of the Clean Water Act, however, the Environmental Protection Agency administrator has broad authority to reject the Corps’ decisions about discharge sites “whenever” he or she determines, after notice and public hearings, that there would be unacceptable adverse environmental effects. The move was extremely controversial, as the EPA’s reversal came four years after the Corps approved the permit.
BAAJA contains an amendment to Section 404 that would seem to prevent exactly this kind of thing from happening again. It establishes a limited window during which the EPA can review and veto a given site for a discharge permit, beginning when the applicant first submits their complete application for the permit, and ending when the Corps approves it. That means a Section 404 veto post-permit would have been off the table.
BAAJA appears tailor-made to prevent what happened here. In December 2024, Biden’s Interior Department issued a Record of Decision to approve the Lava Ridge wind farm in Idaho, set to be one of the largest such developments in the country. When Trump stepped into office in January, he issued an executive order asking his Interior Department to review that decision. Secretary Burgum canceled the permit last August, again citing unspecified “legal deficiencies in the issuance of the approval.”
Schiffman said the Interior Department would not have been able to do this if BAAJA was the law of the land unless it provided evidence that fit one of those exceptions I mentioned earlier, such as a court order, or if Lava Ridge violated its permit.
Annatoyn agreed, but added that this is not a totally foregone conclusion. “The agencies can still inadvertently or deliberately choose to press on the limits of that prohibition — you know, test it or even violate it outright,” he said. At the end of the day, he added, Trump could still do this under BAAJA, and the burden would fall on the project developer to undertake a lengthy, expensive court fight to undo it.
In December 2025, Burgum ordered the five offshore wind farms that were already under construction off the east coast to pause their work. He cited “national security risks identified by the Department of War in recently completed classified reports.”
While the courts quickly rejected those orders, BAAJA may have prevented them in the first place. The bill prohibits agencies from taking any action “to interfere with or prevent the construction or operation” of a project that has all necessary permits. And if the administration had chosen to issue the orders anyway, BAAJA would have at least given the affected companies the right to recover costs attributed to the delay, which in this case was millions of dollars per day. On top of that, the companies would be entitled to payment of 25% to 50% of their project’s total costs up to the time the government intervened.
Another reason BAAJA would have likely prevented Burgum’s December order, Annatoyn said, is that it contains a provision to bar serial attempts of the same action. Burgum had issued stop work orders on two of the five wind farms earlier in the year, both of which were struck down by courts. Under BAAJA, the companies would be entitled to injunctive relief preventing the government from taking the same action again unless it obtained a court order condoning the action from the same judge.
The Trump administration has stopped permitting offshore wind projects altogether, and has kept onshore wind projects in a holding pattern despite a court’s order to resume the permitting process. Under BAAJA, wind companies would have new ammo to challenge this inaction and delay. They might be able to identify a “pattern of disparate treatment” or cite other language in the bill that limits the number of days the government can sit on a permitting decision. At the same time, the discrimination language is a new area of law, Schiffman told me, so there’s some uncertainty as to how it would apply. And again, the burden would be on the company to bring a lawsuit.
Can a kit you buy at the hardware store really save your home from a Palisades Fire-sized blaze?
Nicholai Allen, a Southern California wildland firefighter, opened his Instagram DMs this summer to find a photo of a beautiful A-frame home set against a backdrop of mountains and pine forests. At first glance, it looked almost like an advertisement for a vacation rental. But the amazing thing about the picture was not the cozy mountain scene, but the fact that the house was still standing. “Very thankful this product works,” read the accompanying text. “Saved our house and all our outbuildings. Little Giant Fire.”
Allen is a firefighter — he was on the scene when the Pacific Palisades burned in 2025 — and a wildfire survivor, having evacuated his family from the deadly Woolsey Fire near Malibu in 2018. He’s also the founder of Safe Soss, a home-hardening company advertising a “three-step supplemental wildfire defense system,” which includes a carbon filter ember guard, ember tape, and the company’s marquee product: an ammonium phosphate-based wildfire risk-reduction spray. They’re all sold at Lowe’s, where you can get the whole kit for less than $200.
“In the aftermath [of the Woolsey fire], I kept asking: How come some homes survived, and some didn’t?” Allen recounted to me. “Some get retardant dropped on them, and some don’t. I thought, ‘Why don’t homeowners just do their own fire‑retardant drops so we’re not leaving that to chance?’”
The Little Giant Fire was Washington’s biggest fire of the 2026 season, and hearing from the homeowner who made it through intact “made my whole year, frankly,” Allen told me. But one happy customer doesn’t settle the lively and ongoing debate in the fire safety world about the effectiveness of wildfire mitigation products, which can range from lumber and vegetation treatment sprays to rooftop sprinkler systems and mesh vent covers. Some products — like a Class A metal roof resistant to ordinary combustible material like wood — are widely agreed to be effective, but can cost $10,000 or more. An off-the-counter mesh vent, spray, or treated wood is vastly cheaper — and certainly less overwhelming to install — but also a grayer area in terms of efficacy.
“To me, the concept of treating wood because you think it’s going to be fire-resistant or not ignitable is fooling yourself,” Beth Burnam, the Firewise USA Regional Coordinator for California’s Mono and Inyo counties, told me.
No single certification, organization, or agency vets new home-hardening treatments and systems before they hit the market, even as that market continues to grow; one estimate puts the wildfire home retrofit industry at $4.8 billion by the end of 2033, up from $2.1 billion in 2024. The stakes are high for homeowners, too, who not only put their faith in the hands of such products to protect what’s likely their largest asset, but who might spend $2,000 to $87,000 on a full hardening retrofit, a 2025 study by Earth Economics found.
Burnam’s assessment of the burgeoning home hardening market was blunt. “There’s a lack of knowledge base, and then there’s all the shysters out there trying to sell you the next best, greatest product that will let people pretend to sleep at night,” she said.
At the same time, it’s not the Wild West for home hardening products. The California State Fire Marshal tests wildfire-resistant building products and publishes a handbook of approved materials. The Insurance Institute for Business & Home Safety, a scientific research group that operates a large-scale ember lab for lighting things on fire, has also published a series of white papers on mitigation product categories, including one on flame retardant coatings.
In that report, the IBHS found that sprays and paints could potentially provide “enhanced protection to buildings during a wildfire” — but its researchers also raised concerns about the products’ durability. “It’s really hard to have something that you spray or paint onto a wooden surface maintain its fire-resistant or retardant capacity in a period that’s longer than a year,” Spencer Eusden, the curriculum developer of Living With Fire, a wildfire preparedness and education program based out of the University of Nevada, Reno, explained to me. “There’s so much UV exposure; there’s moisture. Wood contracts and expands as it changes temperature, so it’s hard to maintain a treatment.”
That conclusion is consistent with similar research by the U.S. Forest Service around flame-resistant paints. Laura Hasburgh, a materials research engineer at the Forest Service’s Forest Products Laboratory in Madison, Wisconsin, and one of the authors of that study, told me in an email that while flame-retardant vegetation treatments fell out of the scope of that particular research, she’s skeptical about them, too. “A vegetation spray might temporarily alter fuel moisture or flammability under particular conditions, but its performance could be affected by time since application, rainfall, irrigation, heat, wind, plant growth, uneven coverage, and the intensity of an approaching fire,” she said.
“In general, a product’s marketing claims should not be treated as proof that it can protect a home or stop a wildfire,” Hasburgh added. In general, she encouraged customers to “look for independent test results” and find out whether a company’s claims are “supported by a recognized testing organization or fire-safety authority.”
That doesn’t mean all sprays and foams are worthless, though. Stuart Mitchell, the founder of Wildfire Mitigation Advisors, a Santa Rosa-based home hardening consultancy, told me they have a time and place. “A simple example is: I would say, don’t have a fence connected to your home,” he said. “But if you say, ‘Well, my dad made that fence and gate, and it’s really dear to me,’ I’d say let’s keep it. Let’s go to plan B: Give that fence or gate defensible space, and then coat it in a long-lasting flame retardant coating.” Eusden, the Living With Fire curriculum developer, likewise said vegetation treatments can be useful when done by professionals, though he echoed Hasburgh’s urging that most homeowners are likely to find their time and energy better spent on other treatments such as moving vegetation back from a house.
Safe Soss’ spray, notably, is intended as a temporary treatment rather than a long-term solution. It’s designed to be applied during a red flag warning or when a home is under a pre-evacuation notice, which Allen said means it doesn’t need to last as long as a once-a-decade paint job. (He told me that a single application can last up to three months.) The product was self-certified by its Japanese manufacturer in a standard UL crib test, which is used to test fire extinguishers against a standardized pile of burning sticks (a “crib”) in a lab. But it also means it was only formally lab-tested as a “wetting agent,” i.e. basically a fire extinguisher, rather than as a retardant used to treat wood or vegetation before a fire. It’s a distinction that Allen is conscious of, since he doesn’t want Safe Soss to encourage people to stay behind and use it to fight fires themselves.
Instead, Allen told me he’s field-tested Safe Soss by using it himself on prescribed burns — that is, to help contain controlled intentionally set fires ignited by other fire professionals, sans the chaos of an actual wildfire but under real world conditions in a forest or field, rather than in a lab. The results were enough to give him the confidence to launch the product for commercial sale. “I can pursue more certifications as time goes on,” he told me. “But if I can help people right away, I’m not going to hold it up until I get some arbitrary number.”
Another company, CitroTech, produces what it boasts is the “only long-term fire inhibitor recognized by the EPA Safer Choice program,” a voluntary certification that is focused not on fire resistance but on the use of safe chemicals. While the company also makes an outdoor vegetation treatment spray, its chemicals are primarily designed for treating interior lumber, where concerns about weathering are less of a factor, Aaron Good, the company’s director of sales, told me. (California State Fire Marshal has not certified CitroTech, but the company is working to get it onto the Forest Service’s Qualified Products List.)
CitroTech also installs rooftop sprinklers on homes, which can activate during a wildfire to saturate a roof and surrounding vegetation with, in this case, CitroTech's proprietary fire inhibitor. But many home-hardening experts I spoke with expressed doubt about sprinkler systems more generally, which often rely on water mains and electrical grids that are prone to fail during major disasters. “After you’ve done all your other home hardening and defensible space work that you need to do, if you still have money left over, go ahead and buy a sprinkler system,” Burnam said. “But understand, it probably won’t work.”
Other experts warned that the water or chemical treatment likely won’t go where you need it to, could be blown away by the high winds that often accompany major conflagrations, or cause water damage to the home. Good himself acknowledged that fires can burn for weeks, offering the example of the 2025 Palisades fire, which burned for 28 days. “If you’re trying to protect a home or a property, that means you need access to water and power for the full 28 days throughout.” CitroTech’s chemical applicant uses no water, insulating it from the water failure problems its competitors face in a disaster like Palisades, though it still relies on working electricity.
Burnam told me that one of the fundamental problems with home hardening is a misunderstanding of how homes actually ignite. For too long, she said, experts — and firefighters in particular — have focused on direct flame contact as a source of ignition, such as when a bush or tree alongside an exterior wall of a home catches fire, and it spreads to the house. Direct flame contact makes creating a defensible space important — that is, the all-important buffer zones around your home where vegetation is removed in order to slow the progress of a wildfire. But it’s also why sprays and plant treatments can be so seductive to a concerned homeowner browsing the shelves of their local hardware store: It’s probably how you’d imagine a home catching in a wildfire, but you’d mostly be wrong.
Homes can also ignite from radiant heat, when materials exposed to a nearby fire get so hot they combust. But it’s the third ignition pathway, embers, that causes an estimated 90% of housing loss and damage during wildfires. Embers can travel two miles or more from the main fire front and drift into garages and attics through vents, igniting a house from the inside out. They also tend to accumulate in gutters or at meeting points between materials, such as an angle on a roof or at the edge where a house meets a deck. This is why roof replacements and covered gutters, while extraordinarily costly, are some of the best money you can spend to protect your home.
In fact, when Allen received the DM about the home in the Little Giant Fire, the homeowner didn’t credit the company’s smoke-filtering vent cover or its wood- and vegetation-treatment spray directly. Rather, they sent photos of the company’s “ember tape,” which the homeowner used to keep flammable material out of potential access points as the fire encroached.
Along with vent covers featuring eighth-of-an-inch holes of noncorrosive metal mesh — such as those sold by Wildfire Defense Mesh, which Burnam called “absolutely the gold standard” — it is the nitty-gritties of stopping embers from entering or accumulating on a house that seem to be the best hardware store-derived trick to preventing your house from burning down.
The risk, according to many of the researchers I spoke with, is that off-the-shelf or unvetted products could lull homeowners into a false sense of security. Allen, the Safe Soss founder, said his primary goal is the exact opposite: He wants people to leave their homes as early as possible. “I’ve witnessed loss of life from people staying behind during active evacuation orders because they had a trash pump and a fire hose from their pool,” he told me.
“If you don’t feel like you can evacuate because you haven’t given your home that fighting chance,” he added, “I’m hoping that these tools will provide you enough comfort to leave and save your life.”