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A conversation with the author of The Cactus Hunters: Desire and Extinction in the Illicit Succulent Trade

It was questionable if we needed a second season of Tiger King — or, let’s be honest, a first season. Regardless, if Netflix ever decides it’s interested in a story that features surprisingly charming criminals, IWT violations, and yes, even possibly murder (but without the tabloid tone and mullets), producers might look in the future to Jared D. Margulies’ delightful debut, The Cactus Hunters: Desire and Extinction in the Illicit Succulent Trade.
Wait, illicit succulent trade? you might be wondering. Oh yes.
From the cliffs of California and the deserts of Brazil to the markets of Seoul and the private greenhouses of Czechia, Margulies follows the extraction and relocation of plants so rare that they might only exist in one valley or mountainside in the world. Weaving in ample philosophy and research about what drives these sorts of obsessions — as well as his personal reflections as he, in turn, is captivated by the lovable, spiky plants — The Cactus Hunters is just the right balance of edgy and academic.
Last week, I caught up with Margulies about the process of researching the book, being mistaken for an undercover cop by his subjects, and the lie that is “the green thumb,” among other topics. Our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
You open The Cactus Hunters with a story about how you were going to study the illegal trade of tiger bones when you came across a story about saguaro cactus rustling that piqued your interest and sent you on this journey. What most stands out to you as the differences between the illegal trade of animals and animal products and the world of illegal cactus trading?
To clarify, I never actually got around to studying the illegal trade in tiger bones. I had encountered it a little bit in my past research on human-wildlife conflicts.
But there are a lot of important differences: One of the things that made the illegal plant trade so interesting to study, compared to illegal trade in animals, is that it receives a lot less attention, so there was just a lot more to learn that people hadn’t already researched. But also, the way that this material and these plants can move around the world — there are so many more options available because of the nature of plants. So if what you’re after is the genetics of the plant, to be able to grow them somewhere else in the world, there’s not just the one plant but there’s the cacti propagate, for instance. Pups. Their seeds. You can make cuttings of plants. None of these things are really available to people interested in illegal trade and animals. That affects supply chains and how these things can move around the world.
Also, because of the lack of attention to illegal plant trade compared to animal trade, the subject is a lot less criminalized. I would argue that my access to informants and research participants was a lot better because it did happen that, every now and then, people thought I was a cop. Or maybe, like, an undercover detective. But usually within pretty short order, they realized that wasn’t the case and I was generally interested in trying to understand their perspectives. I think that it would be a lot harder to develop trust within certain trades that are a lot more heavily criminalized.
Over the course of the book, you encounter the Indiana Jones of plants and the Robin Hood of cacti, among others. Can you talk a little about why these enthusiasts, who clearly care deeply about conservation, sometimes break the law by smuggling seeds or entire cacti out of the places where they naturally grow?
One of the fascinating things that really gripped me was this seeming contradiction, where you have people who are made out as conservation villains by certain actors seeing themselves as unsung conservation heroes. The reason for that is, for a lot of these collectors, they saw their community as really passionate people who wanted to get access to the plants that become objects of their desires. By and large, the people who want these plants aren’t trying to do harm to the species in the world, and they care a lot about them. But they also recognize that in their desire is something fairly insatiable and that people are going to go to lengths to get the plant that they have to go to.
For a lot of these collectors, they might see engaging in a kind of illegal activity as still a socially acceptable behavior, if it meant it got material out into the world in a way that people might want it. And the goal there, the long-term goal, is to try to reduce demand on wild harvesting of plants and wild populations. If you get a little bit of material out into the communities that delight in these plants, then you can start grafting them, propagating them, growing them from seed, and, in theory, get that material out into the world.
I wanted to take that perspective seriously. It’s a hard thing to study empirically and so it was important for me to try to be open to a really diverse set of opinions about the right way to do conservation.
You leave most of the sources in the book, including those working within the law, anonymous. Why did you make that decision?
The really short answer is, I was part of a larger research project called BIOSEC, which was run by Professor Rosaleen Duffy at the University of Sheffield in the Department of Politics and International Relations, and we were using a fairly symmetrical ethics approval process, or what in the U.S. we would call an institutional review board approval. Because a number of us were studying illicit economies, in order to ensure research-subject protection and anonymity and security, we were required to make all of our sources anonymous.
But this caused some issues because, on the one hand, it meant that everyone in the book is anonymous, even if they’re people who are law enforcement officials or botanists who would have probably really enjoyed having their names in the book. I regret that.
Most interesting, though, were the number of collectors who were mad at me because they’re also anonymous. One of the reasons for that was they saw anonymity as being suggestive of wrongdoing and for a lot of these people, they don’t feel like what they’re doing is wrong, necessarily, even if it’s against the law. They wanted their story told. I think one of the reasons I had good access to the kinds of interlocutors I had was because they felt like I was providing a space for them to get their version of the story out into the world.
You were asked to be an expert witness in a case against a South Korean smuggler who took thousands of plants from the California coast. How do you navigate moments like this, when your position as an illicit trade researcher is perhaps in tension with your own ethical code?
This was a really difficult decision for me, and I write about this. I went back and forth about whether or not to serve as an expert witness, which in this case just required writing a statement. I never had to go to court or, you know, be on a witness stand — thank goodness. But I go back and forth about if I would do it again.
I think that in the end, I chose to do it because I realized that my testimony would only serve to probably reduce the sentence that this person was facing. And I don’t say that because I think that what they were doing was okay. It was really bad and really harmful to this species of plant. I just don’t think that criminalization and incarceration actually do rehabilitative work or serve much function. It costs us a lot of money as taxpayers and causes harm.
It was complicated; I guess that’s how I would leave it. I debated whether or not to include [the story] in the book but I felt like, in the end, it would be wrong not to include it. I think that if people eventually found out I had served in that capacity, they might felt like I was trying to not disclose something. But yeah, I have some ambiguous feelings about it. In the end, what I was asked to actually do was very limited: I was just asked to put a value on these plants. But as I wrote in my letter to the judge, that value in monetary terms is such an arbitrary thing. The price of those plants has declined precipitously since I wrote that, and it had already gone down a lot since the person who sold them stole them. How interesting, though, that the court of law — at least in the United States — in order to assess the damage done to the state, it had to be valued in monetary terms.
I really liked the inclusion of the story. It’s interesting for a researcher of illicit and illegal trade to all of a sudden be dragged into the concrete legal system, and have it, you know, ask something of you.
Sometimes academics are hard on ourselves in that we think we put in all this work and do all this writing and no one actually reads it. And that’s not true. People do read your work when you publish it and you should think about who those people might be. They might be district attorneys for the state of California. People will use your work, and you should think from the outset about what the social implications of that might be. It was a big lesson for me.
At the end of the book, you write that your experiences in the cactus and succulent community have left you with hope that meaningful change is possible “not through the repressions of desire but through its celebration.” After spending so much time among people that some might call poachers, what makes you optimistic?
We have so many examples from other illicit economies where prohibition doesn’t work. I am concerned by a tendency to move in that direction. Given that we’re talking about plants — you know, as far as we know, this conversation could be different in 50 years — but we’re not having to really think about the welfare issues of, say, illegal trade in animals. There are pragmatic solutions to these problems. This material could get out into the world so that people who want these plants can get it in a way that doesn’t harm wild-growing species.
There’s still a ways to go in working through regulatory conventions to support those efforts. And importantly, in doing so, supporting the people who should have the most support, which I would argue are the communities in places in the world that have lived with these plants the longest.
I see hopeful promise in this, and I saw a whole lot of love. I really did. I saw a lot of love between people and plants, and what that can do for people in moving into developing more careful relations with plants and other species. I don’t have a large collection of cacti and succulents, but I do have some, and I have like a cactus right now that’s in flower. Do you want to see it?
Yes!
This is where I think it’s fun, to think about what plants can teach us—
Oh, it’s gorgeous!
This is a Mammillaria laui. Named for Alfred Lau, who I write about in one of the chapters of the book — a German who lived in Mexico, who has a lot of different species named after him. This is Mammillaria laui, subspecies subducta. It’s got this gorgeous crown of pink flowers.
I love having these plants. Specifically, I’ve started a small collection of plants that are associated with particular people that I wrote about, or that I thought about. Bringing some of that social history to our plants, I think, is a really nice thing that people can do. Learn about where our plants come from and the histories of how they got to where we are.
That’s kind of what set me off on this whole journey, anyway. I think there’s a lot of opportunity for thinking thoughtfully about the place of these plants in the world and how they travel and maybe, hopefully, that can help move us towards a more ethical kind of relation.
Are you worried now that once you collect all of the plants that are connected to your book, you’ll throw your whole collection out?
I don’t think I have a strong collector tendency, per se. I have been accused of being a low-key hoarder before. I’m excited to think about how I’m going to slowly develop a collection over time. Yeah, but your reference — the worst thing that can happen to a collector is completing a collection. Freud wrote about this in the context of completing his collection of statues and dying days later. This one collector who I went to see, I thought I was going to see a giant greenhouse of cacti, but I found a bunch of Mexican chili plants. Because he’d just tossed [the cacti collection] off, he was done with it. I don’t see myself going down that road but one never knows.
For someone reading this interview who might be interested in collecting, where would you say to start?
We need to get over this idea that cacti and succulent plants are great house plants because they don’t require any care. It’s not true. Everyone I know who’s had a succulent has killed it very quickly.
I killed mine.
Yeah, if you just throw a succulent on, like, a north-facing windowsill, it’s not going to do well, especially if you ignore it.
Also, get over the idea that there are natural people in the world with a green thumb — I think that is also nonsense. We just need to spend time learning about what these plants need. One of the ways you can do that is by paying attention to them.
In terms of obtaining material — you know, so much plant material can also just be found for free, gifted from friends or colleagues or the community. A lot of collector clubs, like, say, the Cactus and Succulent Society of America here in the U.S., I believe may even send you free seeds of cacti, and stuff like that.
The thing that I want to start doing is trying to grow cacti from seed. They’re slow-growing plants but I think it’d be really fun to actually watch that process unfold. And it’s quite easy to obtain seeds for a lot of these plants. Just, you know, be careful where you’re buying stuff from. Reputable nurseries are a good source. But be wary of buying from unknown people on the internet. That might be where people start to get into trouble.
Is there anything I haven’t asked you about that you’d like to let me know about your book or your experience writing it before I let you go?
I’m not too prescriptive at the end of the book about what I think the answer is. Some people may find that frustrating, like, “Oh, but you didn’t tell us like what should we do” or “What’s the right response?” One of the reasons for that was I just wanted to let people develop some of their own thoughts about this. But also it’s because the work isn’t done.
I’m developing some work right now dealing with illegal succulent trade in South Africa with some colleagues, both in South Korea but also in South Africa. I’m doing a new project on illicit Venus flytrap harvesting and the carnivorous plant trade. I’m trying to continue the process of thinking and learning with plants. But the work continues.
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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.”