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Canadian wildfire smoke is returning to the United States this week, triggering air quality alerts around the country. But when I open up my weather app and check the weather conditions in some of the cities that the smoke will hit — New York, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Nashville — the word “smoke” doesn’t appear anywhere. Even the air quality alerts don’t mention it.
Smoke exists in a weird place, weather-wise. Our vocabulary for it is entirely divorced from the usual ways we talk about the outside world; our partly cloudies and rains and snows exist alongside temperatures and wind speeds and dew points that, put together, arm us with a crisp picture of the weather before we ever step outside. Describing smoke, on the other hand, sort of depends upon whom you ask.
The National Weather Service recognizes smoke as a type of weather event, but the agency rarely talks about it that way. The NWS’s observations of those smoky June days in Chicago only mention “haze,” a catch-all term that is generally used in the context of transportation (if it’s hazy, visibility is low). Apple Weather and Accuweather don’t have icons for smoke, but Weather Underground does. For the most part, smoke makes itself known through exactly one metric: the Air Quality Index, which was first created to measure something else entirely and is so separated from the weather that it doesn’t even appear on the NWS’s forecasts.
Experts told me this is by design. Air quality and weather exist on separate, if parallel, tracks: Weather data from the NWS turns into the forecasts we see from TV meteorologists and in the weather apps on our phones. The air quality forecasts turn into the number we see in the EPA’s AirNow app.
“Air quality forecasting is a little bit different from weather forecasting,” said Amy Huff, an atmospheric chemist at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration who used to be an air quality forecaster herself. While the NWS issues weather forecasts, Huff told me that air quality forecasts aren’t conducted at the national level, but by state, local, and tribal environmental agencies. Each of those agencies has different pollutants they’re looking out for, and different thresholds at which they’ll send out air quality alerts. “The process is going to vary, because not everyone is requesting the same thing.”
For the most part, this has worked fine. Local sources of pollution historically have the most impact on air quality, and local environmental agencies know which pollutants are the most relevant to their area. California’s environmental protection agency, for example, forecasts for a wide range of pollutants due to a history of serious air quality issues. Maryland, on the other hand, just forecasts for ozone and PM 2.5 particles (which are present in wildfire smoke).
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Where air quality and weather overlap is through the alerts system. If the local agencies think pollution is going to be bad enough to cause harm, they tell the NWS, which will send out the alert through its system — which is how we see those alerts in our phone’s weather apps.
“The people who pay attention to the air quality on a day-to-day basis historically are the sensitive groups. So if you're a parent of an asthmatic child or you're a senior citizen, you have COPD, you are much more susceptible to the impacts of air quality,” Huff said. “But for the general public, air quality is not really something that historically people are aware of, until there's an event like this.”
For a long time, this made a lot of sense. When air quality monitoring and standards were first set up across the country, regulators were reacting to industrial air pollution that has since reduced dramatically. The fact that air quality is usually good enough in most parts of America to go unremarked-on (outside of wildfire-prone states in the west, at least) means that the regulations worked. This is also why people who live on the West Coast are more familiar with the risks of wildfire smoke: It’s a common enough regional phenomenon that locals know how to talk about and deal with it.
What we’re seeing with the Canadian wildfires is more complicated. Measuring and forecasting pollution from localized sources, including wildfires, is relatively easy. But the Canadian wildfire smoke is getting caught up in the same low pressure systems that usually bring rain around to the Midwest and East Coast — in essence creating a smoke storm. Understanding what’s happening inside those storms is difficult.
“Satellites can detect fires, or we get human reports, so we know where they are location-wise and how much smoke is coming out,” said Shobha Kondragunta, who leads the Aerosols and Atmospheric Composition team at NOAA. “But these fires are injecting smoke into the atmosphere, and these satellites don’t provide the vertical structure of the smoke plume.”
In other words: Smoke is easy to see from above, but it’s hard to tell just how high or low in the air the smoke is sitting. Forecasters can use models to try and predict the smoke’s verticality, but they’re not always accurate, in part because fires themselves are so unpredictable.
“You already have the complexity of predicting the weather, but then you have to add on top of that the difficulty of predicting how a fire is going to behave,” Huff told me. “There’s a lot of things that depends on, like the type of fuel that's burning and what the atmosphere is like around the fire. So it gets complicated quickly trying to predict all these things.”
What they can tell with a fairly good amount of certainty is where that smoke will go as it drifts into weather systems that usually pick up more benign passengers, like the water that eventually turns into rainstorms. So we know when smoke is coming, but we don’t know whether it will be low enough to trigger an air quality alert. It’s like seeing the approach of storm clouds without knowing how much rain will fall.
But conditions can change quickly, and the air quality forecasting system isn’t set up to respond as quickly as weather forecasts are. Many environmental agencies don’t have full-time air quality forecasters, so forecasts can sometimes be delayed simply because there’s nobody around to issue a forecast. Air quality alerts can also trigger automatic operational changes like changes to public transit service and optional telework, and those changes take time to implement. To give agencies and companies time to respond, Kondragunta and Huff told me, some regions mandate that air quality forecasts can’t be updated for 24 or even 48 hours after they’re issued.
When smoke does turn hazardous, it’s usually up to the media to communicate the problem — a system that Huff thinks worked quite well during the June smoke events. “It seemed like people were getting the message and were changing their behavior to protect themselves,” she said. And as more Canadian wildfire smoke has made its way to the United States this summer, local environmental agencies seem to be issuing alerts earlier, as we’ve seen this week.
I can’t help wondering, though, if it’s time to make room for a bit of uncertainty in how we talk about smoke, and to let the word replace “haze” when we know it’s coming — even if we don’t quite know how it will affect air quality. Environmental agencies would still be able to take their time forecasting air quality, but at least people would know that smoke was coming even if an alert is delayed. That would allow them to take precautions like packing a mask just in case the air quality does turn bad, just as they might take an umbrella with them if the forecast called for rain.
As my colleague Robinson Meyer has written, the Canadian wildfire smoke could keep coming until October. And while the American wildfire season has been relatively quiet so far, a rash of Southwest heat waves means it could soon pick up. The future is hazy; our weather forecasts don’t have to be.
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A new PowerLines report puts the total requested increases at $31 billion — more than double the number from 2024.
Utilities asked regulators for permission to extract a lot more money from ratepayers last year.
Electric and gas utilities requested almost $31 billion worth of rate increases in 2025, according to an analysis by the energy policy nonprofit PowerLines released Thursday morning, compared to $15 billion worth of rate increases in 2024. In case you haven’t already done the math: That’s more than double what utilities asked for just a year earlier.
Utilities go to state regulators with its spending and investment plans, and those regulators decide how much of a return the utility is allowed to glean from its ratepayers on those investments. (Costs for fuel — like natural gas for a power plant — are typically passed through to customers without utilities earning a profit.) Just because a utility requests a certain level of spending does not mean that regulators will approve it. But the volume and magnitude of the increases likely means that many ratepayers will see higher bills in the coming year.
“These increases, a lot of them have not actually hit people's wallets yet,” PowerLines executive director Charles Hua told a group of reporters Wednesday afternoon. “So that shows that in 2026, the utility bills are likely to continue to rise, barring some major, sweeping action.” Those could affect some 81 million consumers, he said.
Electricity prices have gone up 6.7% in the past year, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, outpacing overall prices, which have risen 2.7%. Electricity is 37% more expensive today than it was just five years ago, a trend researchers have attributed to geographically specific factors such as costs arising from wildfires attributed to faulty utility equipment, as well as rising costs for maintaining and building out the grid itself.
These rising costs have become increasingly politically contentious, with state and local politicians using electricity markets and utilities as punching bags. Newly elected New Jersey Governor Mikie Sherrill’s first two actions in office, for instance, were both aimed at effecting a rate freeze proposal that was at the center of her campaign.
But some of the biggest rate increase requests from last year were not in the markets best known for high and rising prices: the Northeast and California. The Florida utility Florida Power and Light received permission from state regulators for $7 billion worth of rate increases, the largest such increase among the group PowerLines tracked. That figure was negotiated down from about $10 billion.
The PowerLines data is telling many consumers something they already know. Electricity is getting more expensive, and they’re not happy about it.
“In a moment where affordability concerns and pocketbook concerns remain top of mind for American consumers, electricity and gas are the two fastest drivers,” Hua said. “That is creating this sense of public and consumer frustration that we're seeing.”
The battery recycling company announced a $425 million Series E round after pivoting to power data centers.
Amidst a two year-long slump in lithium prices, the Nevada-based battery recycling company Redwood Materials announced last summer that it had begun a new venture focused on grid-scale energy storage. Today, it’s clear just how much that bet has paid off.
The company announced a $425 million round of Series E funding for the new venture, known as Redwood Energy. That came from some big names in artificial intelligence, including Google and Nvidia’s venture capital arm, NVentures. This marks the final close of the funding round, increasing the total from $350 million announced in October.
Redwood Energy adapts the company’s original mission — breaking down spent batteries to recover, refine, and resell critical minerals — to suit the data center revolution. Instead of merely extracting battery materials, the company can now also repurpose electric vehicle batteries that still have some life left in them as energy storage solutions for AI data centers, allowing Redwood to get value from the battery throughout its lifecycle.
“Regardless of where lithium prices are, if we can put [a lithium-ion battery] in a large-scale energy storage system, it can have a lot more value before we break it down into critical materials,” Claire McConnell, Redwood’s new VP of business development for energy storage, told me.
Over the past 12 to 18 months, she explained that the company had started to receive more and more used electric vehicle battery packs “in better condition than we initially anticipated.” Given the substantial electricity load growth underway, McConnell said the company saw it as “perfect moment” to “develop something that could be really unique for that market.”
At the time of Redwood Energy’s launch last June, the company announced that it had stockpiled over a gigawatt-hour of used EV batteries, with an additional 5 gigawatt-hours expected over the following year. Its first microgrid pilot is already live and generating revenue in Sparks, Nevada, operating in partnership with the data center owner and operator Crusoe Energy. That project is off-grid, supplying solar-generated electricity directly to Crusoe’s data center. Future projects could be grid-connected though, storing energy when prices are low and dispatching it when there are spikes in demand.
The company also isn’t limiting itself to used battery packs, McConnell told me. Plenty of manufacturers, she said, are sitting on a surplus of new batteries that they’re willing to offload to Redwood. The potential reasons for that glut are easy to see: already-slower-than-expected EV adoption compounded by Trump’s rollback of incentives has left many automakers with lower than projected EV sales. And even in the best of times, automakers routinely retool their product lines, which could leave them with excess inventory from an older model.
While McConnell wouldn’t reveal what percent of packs are new, she did tell me they make up a “pretty meaningful percentage of our inventory right now,” pointing to a recently announced partnership with General Motors meant to accelerate deployment of both new and used battery packs for energy storage.
While Redwood isn’t abandoning its battery recycling roots, this shift in priorities toward data center energy storage comes after a tough few years for the battery recycling sector overall. By last June, lithium prices had fallen precipitously from their record highs in 2022, making mineral recycling far less competitive. Then came Trump’s cuts to consumer electric vehicle incentives, further weakening demand. On top of that, the rise of lithium-iron phosphate batteries — which now dominate the battery storage sector and are increasingly common in EVs — have reduced the need for nickel and cobalt in particular, as they’re not a part of this cheaper battery chemistry.
All this helped create the conditions for the bankruptcy of one of Redwood’s main competitors, Li-Cycle, in May 2025. The company went public via a SPAC merger in 2021, aiming to commercialize its proprietary technique for shredding whole lithium-ion battery packs at once. But it ultimately couldn’t secure the funds to finish building out its recycling hub in Rochester, New York, and it was acquired by the commodities trading and mining company Glencore last summer.
“We started really early, and in a way we started Redwood almost too early,” JB Straubel, Redwood’s founder and Tesla’s co-founder, told TechCrunch last summer. He was alluding to the fact that in 2017, when Redwood was founded, there just weren’t that many aging EVs on the road — nor are there yet today. So while an influx of used EV batteries is eventually expected, slower than anticipated EV adoption means there just may not be enough supply yet to sustain a company like Redwood on that business model alone.
In the meantime, Redwood has also worked to recycle and refine critical minerals from battery manufacturing scrap and used lithium-ion from consumer electronics. Partnerships with automakers such as Toyota, Volkswagen, and General Motors, as well as global battery manufacturer Panasonic, have helped bolster both its EV battery recycling business and new storage endeavor. The goal of building a domestic supply chain for battery materials such as lithium, nickel, cobalt, and copper also remains as bipartisan as ever, meaning Redwood certainly isn’t dropping the recycling and refining arm of its business, even as it shifts focus toward energy storage.
For instance, it’s also still working on the buildout of a recycling and battery component production facility in Charleston, South Carolina. While three years ago the company announced that this plant would eventually produce over 100 gigawatt-hours of cathode and anode battery components annually, operations on this front appear to be delayed. When Redwood announced that recycling and refining operations had begun in Charleston late last year, it made no mention of when battery component production would start up.
It’s possible that this could be taking a backburner to the company’s big plans to expand its storage business. While the initial Crusoe facility offers 63 megawatt-hours of battery energy storage, McConnell told me that Redwood is now working on projects “in the hundreds of megawatt-hours, looking to gigawatt-hour scale” that it hopes to announce soon.
The market potential is larger than any of us might realize. Over the next five or so years, McConnell said, “We expect that repurposed electric vehicle battery packs could make up 50% of the energy storage market.”
Fossil fuel companies colluded to stifle competition from clean energy, the state argues.
A new kind of climate lawsuit just dropped.
Last week the state of Michigan joined the parade of governments at all levels suing fossil fuel companies for climate change-related damages. But it’s testing a decidedly different strategy: Rather than allege that Big Oil deceived the public about the dangers of its products, Michigan is bringing an antitrust case, arguing that the industry worked as a cartel to stifle competition from non-fossil fuel resources.
Starting in the 1980s, the complaint says, ExxonMobil, Chevron, Shell, BP, and their trade association, the American Petroleum Institute, conspired “to delay the transition from fossil fuels to renewable energy” and “unlawfully colluded to reduce innovation” in Michigan’s transportation and energy markets. This, it alleges, is a key driver of Michigan’s (and the country’s) present-day struggles with energy affordability. If the companies had not suppressed renewable energy and electric vehicles, the argument goes, these technologies would have become competitive sooner and resulted in lower transportation and energy costs.
The framing may enable Michigan to sidestep some of the challenges other climate lawsuits have faced. Ten states have attempted to hold Big Oil accountable for climate impacts, mostly by arguing that the industry concealed the harms their products would cause. One suit filed by the City of New York has been dismissed, and many others have been delayed due to arguments over whether the proceedings belong in state or federal court, and haven’t yet gotten to the substance of the claims. Michigan’s tactic “maybe speeds up getting to the merits of the case,” Margaret Barry, a climate litigation fellow at Columbia University’s Sabin Center for Climate Change Law, told me, “because those jurisdictional issues aren’t going to be part of the court’s review.”
The fossil fuel industry’s primary defense in these suits has been that cities and states cannot fault oil companies for greenhouse gas emissions because regulating those emissions is the job of the federal government, per the Clean Air Act. Making the case about competition may “avoid arguments about whether this lawsuit is really about regulation,” Rachel Rothschild, an assistant professor of law at the University of Michigan, told me.
The biggest hurdle Michigan will face is proving the existence of a coordinated plot. Geoffrey Kozen, a partner at the law firm Robins Kaplan who works on antitrust cases, told me that companies in these kinds of suits tend to argue that they were simply reacting independently to the same market pressures and responding as any rational market actor would.
There are two main ways for a plaintiff to overcome that kind of argument, Kozen explained. In rare cases, there is a smoking gun — a memo that all of the parties signed saying they were going to act together, for example. More often, attorneys attempt to demonstrate a combination of “parallel conduct,” i.e., showing that all of the parties did the same thing, and “plus factors,” or layers of evidence that make it more likely that there was some kind of underlying agreement.
According to Michigan’s lawsuit, the collusion story in this case goes like this. In 1979, the American Petroleum Institute started a group called the CO2 and Climate Task Force. By that time, Exxon had come to understand that fossil fuel consumption was warming the planet and would cause devastation costing trillions of dollars. The company’s scientists had concluded that cleaner alternatives to fossil fuels would have to make up an increasing amount of the world’s energy if such effects were to be avoided.
“A self-interested and law-abiding rational firm would have used this insight to innovate and compete in the energy market by offering superior and cheaper energy products to consumers,” the complaint says. Michigan alleges that instead, Exxon shared its findings with the other companies in the task force and conspired with them to suppress clean alternatives to fossil fuels. They worked together to “synchronize assessments of climate risks, monitor each other’s scientific and industry outlooks, align their responses to competitive threats, and coordinate their efforts to suppress technologies likely to displace gasoline or other fossil fuels through collusion rather than competition,” according to the complaint.
Michigan’s lawyers point to evidence showing that the named companies shut down internal research programs, withheld products from the market, and used their control of patents to stifle progress away from fossil fuels. The companies were all early leaders in developing clean technologies — with innovations in rechargeable batteries, hybrid cars, and solar panels — but began to sabotage or abandon those efforts after the formation of the task force, the lawsuit alleges.
The case will likely turn on whether the judge finds it credible that these actions would have been against the companies’ self-interest had they not known their peers would be doing the same thing, Kozen told me.
“The actions differ between defendants. They are over a wide range of time periods. And so the question is, is that pursuant to an actual agreement? Or is it pursuant to a bunch of oil executives who are all thinking in similar ways?” he said. “I think that’s going to be the number one point where success or failure is probably going to tip.”
Another challenge for Michigan will be to prove what the world would have looked like had this collusion not taken place. In the parlance of antitrust, this is known as the “but-for world.” Without the Big Oil conspiracy, the lawsuit says, electric vehicles would be “a common sight in every neighborhood,” there would be ubiquitous “reliable and fast chargers,” and renewable energy would be “supplied at scale.” It argues that economic models show that Michigan’s energy prices would also have been significantly lower. While such arguments are common in antitrust cases, it’s a lot more difficult to quantify the effects of stifled innovation than something more straightforward like price fixing.
The companies, of course, reject Michigan’s narrative. A spokeswoman for Exxon told the New York Times it was “yet another legally incoherent effort to regulate by lawsuit.”
If the state can gather enough plausible evidence of harm, however, it may be able to get past the companies’ inevitable motion to dismiss the case and on to discovery. While the case is built on heaps of internal emails and leaked memos that have been made public over the years through congressional investigations, who knows how much of the story has yet to be revealed.
“It’s, in my experience, almost impossible, if someone is actually a member of a cartel, to hide all the evidence,” said Kozen. “Whatever it is, it always comes out.”