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Despite what some climate change apologists might have you think.

Does everything actually suck right now? Or is it just the end of January?
It can be difficult to tell. We’re officially in the thick of what Americans consider to be the worst time of year, when complaining about the weather is an acceptable salutation and feeling “blah” is the basic condition of being alive. Even setting aside seasonal affective disorder — a condition linked to limited daylight, and thus not directly affected by climate change — studies have shown that people have a lower quality diet in the winter, and body weight usually reaches its peak this time of year. Physical activity, which is also important for mental health, dips as the weather gets worse, and research has even shown that people with Alzheimer’s disease experience more severe symptoms when the planet is tilted away from the sun.
Some have taken these winter blues as an opportunity to question the basic premise that climate change is bad. “The chief benefits of global warming” include “fewer winter deaths” and lower heating bills, Matt Ridley argued in The Spectator in 2013. Former President Donald Trump even has a quasi-annual tradition of tweeting something like “Wouldn’t be bad to have a little of that good old fashioned Global Warming right now!” during cold snaps this time of year.
Winter is, in fact, warming faster than any other season in the United States, with some parts of the country on track to lose over a month of freezing days as soon as 2050. Even if you do believe — correctly — that climate change is a global catastrophe, unless you’re a skier or snowboarder, this might sound like a good thing. So, as sacrilegious as it feels to ask, could a warmer planet make us healthier in the wintertime?
When I asked Leslie Davenport, a climate psychology educator at the California Institute of Integral Studies, if she expected milder winters to impact people psychologically, she answered immediately. “Oh, one hundred percent!,” she told me. That doesn’t mean she thinks the impact will be positive. She said she has heard people “who are a little more on the climate denial end of things” make comments like “this is great, it used to be so cold and now I can go golfing,” she told me, but “I can’t honestly call that an upside.”
Far more often, Davenport said she hears from people experiencing a sense of “unsettling” as they notice winter isn’t as cold or as snowy as they remember it being. Some might even express a feeling of “solastalgia,” a neologism that describes the sense of displacement or nostalgia that arises when a place changes environmentally. “Whether it’s the loss of snow, or areas that are drier or hotter or wetter, it is like, ‘Well, this is not the town I grew up in or the place I chose to move to because it has changed so much,’” Davenport said.
While there might be an abstract appeal to the Los Angelesification of winter nationwide, it would be a mistake to count on climate change making the season “better.” Quite the opposite, actually — warmer winters could make winter much worse, especially for those living in midlatitude cities like New York, London, or Amsterdam. “I have observed, in my travels and my research and in talking to people, that it is often much easier and more pleasant to cope with winter weather that is slightly below freezing consistently than weather that is slightly above freezing consistently,” Kari Leibowitz, a health psychologist who is working on a book about winter mindsets, told me.
Cold temperatures can actually improve our lives in several ways, Leibowitz argued. For one thing, snowfall “opens up a whole bunch of winter opportunities” like sledding, snowmobiling, snowshoeing, and all those winter sports that get people out of the house. That helps combat some of the bluesiness that otherwise comes from moping around indoors when it’s too gray and rainy to do anything active. Frozen lakes offer opportunities for skating and hockey, plus “there’s also a lot of beauty and intrigue in ice — you know, icicles and frozen rainstorms,” Leibowitz went on.
Snow, meanwhile, “reflects the light, so it makes the darkness of winter feel much, much brighter,” Leibowitz said. “And most people think it’s really beautiful — it’s clean and fresh and it smells good.”
Of course, winter weather can be dangerous, too, but “places that are colder and have really frozen winters have good infrastructure for dealing with that, and houses tend to be better insulated and heated more efficiently,” Leibowitz said. Bad winter weather can also give us much-needed permission to rest.
While there are certain places further in the south, such as Atlanta, where winter might genuinely become more pleasant as the planet warms, “there are far more places where the end of winter is just going to mean places are dark and wet,” without the upsides that come with the snow and freezing temperatures, Leibowitz stressed.
Michael Varnum, the head of the Culture and Ecology Laboratory at Arizona State University and a specialist in seasonal psychology, did find one positive. “Nobody likes to feel down, or to look at their waistline and see it’s grown,” he told me. “So potentially, there could be some upsides there.”
Naturally, much of how you feel about winter will depend on the climate where you live. In general, though, “we are somewhat more insulated from the changes in temperature that come with the seasons than we were, say, 10,000 years ago or even a couple hundred years ago,” Varnum said. Feelings of climate anxiety and distress tend to be highest in Indigenous communities in or near the Arctic, where the cold weather is a part of cultural identity and inheritance. Likewise, Davenport told me, in “places where there tends to be a lot of snow” like Japan or Finland, “there’s talk about things like ‘winter grief,’” where a milder winter makes it so that “certain rituals or holidays that have been planned in the past can’t happen anymore or as consistently.”
Many Americans, too, lose a sense of themselves when winter gets milder. “It’s what a lot of us love about living here: our winters,” Erich Osterberg, a Dartmouth climate scientist, told The New Hampshire Bulletin in 2022. “It’s more than changes to the climate,” he added, “it’s changes to our livelihood and our culture.” I encountered similar comments from Minnesotans when I was looking into how an unseasonably dry winter is imperiling this year’s cross country ski season: “Spiritually, this is terrible,” Claire Wilson, the executive director of Minneapolis’ Loppet Foundation, recently told the Star Tribune.
Winter doesn’t have to be dreaded, Leibowitz said — much of one’s enjoyment of the season comes down to mindset. But it does seem to matter that winter is actually, well, wintery, too. Whether that’s a question of our evolutionary seasonal biology (winter appears to be an important trigger for the human reproductive cycle, for one thing), or a matter of our cultural practices, or something as simple as snow being more fun than rain, it’s hard to make the case that warming winters will leave us better off.
“If you want me to find the psychological upside of anything, I could maybe do it,” Leibowitz confessed. She added, though, that “a lot of people think, ‘I hate winter, I hate the cold, I would be happy if it was warmer all year round.’ But people underestimate how much there is to be lost in losing winter.”
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Current conditions: Tropical Storm Moke sideswiped Hawaii yesterday just weeks after a weakened Hurricane Lala became the first major storm to hit the Big Island in decades • On the western fringe of the United States’ Pacific borders, Typhoon Saudel struck Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands over the weekend, bringing heavy rain and flooding • Temperatures in Khorramshahr, on Iran’s border with Iraq, are topping 118 degrees Fahrenheit, rendering the southwestern port city the hottest place on Earth.
With water levels in reservoirs across the American West at record lows, the Trump administration has directed Arizona, California, and Nevada to cut back on how much water they use from the Colorado River over the next two years. On Friday, the Department of the Interior imposed the reductions via a series of documents detailing a two-year and a 10-year plan to salvage the supplies from the drought-stricken river fed by snowmelt from Colorado’s stretch of the Rocky Mountains. As climate change has shifted snow patterns, levels on the river have dropped. Yet the seven states that depend on the water — the aforementioned three in the Lower Basin, and Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, and Wyoming in the Upper Basin — could not come to agreement among themselves on how to divvy up the dwindling supply. Instead, the Interior Department came up with a proposal that forced the Lower Basin states to pare back first. As you may recall, Arizona’s Democratic governor called the cuts “draconian” when the administration released its proposal in early August. The plan, which imposes short-term cuts while leaving a larger split for later, sets the stage for what E&E News predicted would be “a behemoth legal fight.”
When the Department of Energy announced a review last year of droves of grants the Biden administration had given for clean industrial projects, the nation’s leading green steel project appeared on the chopping block. Cleveland-Cliffs, the steel giant based in Vice President JD Vance’s hometown in Ohio, said it was renegotiating the $500 million grant that was supposed to fund construction of a modern, integrated mill that could increase U.S. steel production and allow the country to compete with China in selling lower-carbon material to Europe. More than a year later, the deal has finally been renegotiated. As expected, the money will now go instead toward upgrading a coal-fired blast furnace at the Middletown Works plant, Canary Media reported on Friday. Never mind the fact that Congress promulgated the money specifically for lower-carbon steel, making the shift “possibly illegal,” as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo reported last year.
Congestion costs on PJM Interconnection skyrocketed 43% to $6 billion during the first half of this year, up from $2.1 billion during the same period of 2025. That’s according to the grid’s independent watchdog, which last week warned that bottlenecks on high-voltage transmission lines during high-stress events such as storms or heat waves were now what Reuters put bluntly as “the single biggest driver of the increase in soaring wholesale electricity costs.” Across the U.S., July’s electricity bills were, in the frank words of Heatmap’s Matthew Zeitlin, “higher than ever.”
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Last week, the uranium miner Ur-Energy sent the first shipment from its mine in Wyoming, World Nuclear News reported Friday. That same day, the American subsidiary of the European uranium giant Urenco broke ground on its latest facility in the U.S., NucNet reported. Downstream, meanwhile, Standard Nuclear — a fuel manufacturer specializing in extra-expensive but extra-safe ceramic-coated fuel pellets called TRISO, which I have written about previously— just cut another deal with a major vendor.
I have a confession. Nearly a decade ago, I sat at my sister’s kitchen counter in Massachusetts after she gave birth to my niece, trying to write about the latest technology to come out from Tesla. Not yet burdened by its billionaire chief executive’s political baggage, the company was largely seen at the time as subverting preconceptions about the popularity of electric vehicles. Tesla’s erstwhile absorption of Musk’s former solar manufacturer, Solar City, only cemented the company’s status as an industry leader in producing and deploying panels domestically. The conventional wisdom, at least among some industry analysts at the time, was that any bet against Tesla was an ill-advised gamble against the lucky Mr. Musk. So, I wrote about it as a breakthrough. But the solar-generating roof tiles the company unveiled that fall when I was in New England turned out to be little more than a passing fantasy. Now Electrek has reported that the company plans to discontinue the product.

Say what you will about Spain’s solar records or America’s gas surge, nothing quite matches the enormous surge of power that is a new hydroelectric station. This week, Tanzania christened its largest-ever hydroelectric station, the Julius Nyerere Hydropower Dam, named for the country’s revolutionary first prime minister after independence. Mwananchi, the country’s largest newspaper, said the plant’s launch “opened a new chapter in Tanzania’s energy sector.”
The only other U.S. state to have a chief heat officer? Arizona.
The past three months will go down in the books as the hottest meteorological summer on record in Boston — but that is not a record that’s likely to stand long. At 3.5 degrees Fahrenheit of warming since 1970, Massachusetts has outpaced the national average by half a degree; by 2050, researchers expect the state will see more than two-dozen 90-plus-degree days every year. According to a 2023 climate report, that could result in as many as 400 excess deaths in the Commonwealth annually.
Now it’s someone’s job to do something about it. In mid-August, Massachusetts Governor Maura Healey announced the appointment of the state’s first heat resilience officer, making the Commonwealth only the second state in the country to have such a position — after the much more obvious choice, Arizona. (Healey is up for reelection this year, but the race is largely expected to be uncompetitive.) The inaugural role has gone to Katie Schlick, who most recently headed the resilience portfolio at the U.S. Climate Alliance and previously served as a special assistant to Ali Zaidi, the White House’s national climate advisor under Joe Biden.
I caught up with Schlick at the end of her first full week on the job to learn more about what leading heat resilience in a state like Massachusetts will look like in practice. Our conversation has been lightly edited and condensed.
Why does Massachusetts need a heat resilience officer?
This role was established because Governor Healy has seen the science and the public health data on heat risk in the state and worldwide. But she’s also heard from, felt, and understands the lived experiences of communities all across Massachusetts who are really dangerously impacted by extreme heat — and increasingly so.
We know that extreme heat is the No. 1 killer across all other extreme weather events, and that fact holds true not just for the United States but also globally. July was the hottest month ever recorded, and the last three years are the hottest ever recorded in human history. And heat waves in cities are about 46 days longer than they were in the 1960s.
Those are the trends that we’re seeing in the science. But we’ve also seen tons of impacts in the state. Massachusetts itself has warmed about 3.5 degrees Fahrenheit over the last century, and then we’re expecting those numbers to double, if not triple, in the coming decades. We saw 1,500 heat-related emergency room visits in 2025 alone, and we’re seeing higher numbers of visits on unhealthy heat days. We have heat island communities and heat equity communities in the state that are literally degrees hotter because of decades of complicated history. One in five public schools in the Commonwealth don’t have air conditioning, and that only not only impacts learning, but also, when school is closed because it’s too hot to keep the kids and the the staff in the building, then that means parents and guardians have to leave their jobs and figure out child care, which impacts the economy. There are projections that about 20% of the workforce in Massachusetts is exposed in some way to extreme heat, and that impacts work hours, productivity and the economy. And, of course, there are tons of impacts to our natural environment, crop losses in the agriculture sector.
I’ve been calling these the geographies of heat resilience, and I think what we’ve seen from the governor is an understanding that this means we need to put the full weight of the state government behind solutions. It will be a whole government, whole of community process, assessing what the work is that’s already been done to date — and we’ve seen a lot of great stuff coming out of the Department of Public Health, with their different extreme heat initiatives and a lot of good data tracking. Even just in these past two weeks or so, as I’m getting up to speed, there’s a lot of real energy and momentum and excitement from partners all across the state, academia, community organizations, local governments, and regional organizations, who have also seen this problem and are really eager to be part of the solution.
Speaking of academia, I spoke earlier this week to Professor John Rogan at Clark University about the role forests and trees play in cooling communities, particularly in western Massachusetts. Are nature-based solutions part of what you’re considering?
I’m glad you brought him up, because last week we had an event at Clark University, which is the home to the HERO program. It’s been operating for several decades now in Worcester, and I spoke to some of the students last week who were out there all summer researching different types of trees — both if they are resilient themselves to the impacts of hotter temperatures, but also the shade cover, and is it impacting and increasing or decreasing the temperature of different neighborhoods?
What they found is, shade from trees can cool down certain areas and neighborhoods by several degrees, as can white roofs and greener spaces. And not only does it cool an area down, which means that you’re hopefully able to spend less on your electricity bill, but having greener spaces creates safer communities and contributes to public safety. It is also a great space for families to go out and hang out. Nature-based solutions are something I’m excited to dig into, and something that I know our climate chief is really passionate about as well.
One of the big things about heat is that it’s a hyperlocal issue. How are you thinking about that in Massachusetts, where you have large cities and quieter suburbs and remote towns spread across the state?
That’s why this role is positioned at the state level. We’ve seen across the country that there are different regional approaches to heat, and I think that’s important as well — we’ll be leaning into working with our regional and local partners and community organizations — but it’s also important to have someone at the state level who can coordinate all of this, and make sure that there is attention for all the different pieces. Even just last week, during our [Clark University event], we were talking about the rural areas and different research that is showing how even if they might be a little bit cooler right now, because they don’t have the urban effect, eventually those temperature levels are going level out, so they’ll see hotter temperatures as well. So we need to take a whole of state approach. We have an understanding of the social issues and impacts around heat, like school closures, job loss, and impacts to productivity, as well as the health and safety needs and trends, and we’re paying attention to all of the above.
How does the region’s older housing stock affect your approach to heat resilience in the state?
One of the big challenges that we see in the Northeast for living with climate change is that our built environment was generally constructed to keep people warm during intense winters. Now we are having to do a lot of thinking on the loan side about making sure our housing stock and our buildings are resilient to all sorts of climate impacts, whether that be extreme winds or hail or other types of storms and flooding, but also how it can keep people cool during instances of extreme heat.
One of the things we’ll be thinking through is different solutions to decarbonizing our building stock. We want to make sure that people have access to air conditioning, but we also want to make sure they can afford to pay their electricity bill. But we’ve seen rates skyrocket, and that’s one of the hottest topics these days. We want to make sure that we have access to cooling, not just for homeowners, but also for tenants. If someone can’t get access to that in the near term, do we have community cooling centers? Do they have transit to them? And are they aware of where they are? And do we have good community leaders that can help us maintain those?
Again, going back to schools, we’ve seen under this federal administration a huge slash of the funding that went out under the Biden administration for greener schools. We want to make sure that schools are decarbonizing, but also that they are safe and healthy for students to be in and learn in, even on the hottest and smokiest of days. And there are a lot of cool solutions for decarbonizing buildings in general, whether it be with weatherization, insulation, other types of retrofits, cool roofs, or heat pumps — which is something the governor has championed, and I think a good example of how we can think through incentives for different technologies that are more cost effective and easily implementable.
What most excites you about this job, at the end of your first full week? What projects are you most excited to tackle?
For a long time, I’ve loved working on climate resilience issues. I’m such a climate policy person in general, both on the mitigation and the resilience side. But I think resilience in particular reminds us that it’s not just doom and gloom that we’re experiencing, but also hope and possibilities. It’s about leaning into partnership and innovation.
We’ll be establishing a council that will help us get our arms around the breadth of this challenge. We’ll be putting together a plan that also outlines our levers for change across state and local government, and our opportunities for action. But when I think about the different metrics of success for this role at a high level over the next couple of years, we’re hoping to make cooling solutions more affordable for the people of Massachusetts. We want access to clean and cool air, even on the hottest and smokiest days. Wherever you are, we want to see lower school cancellations from heat, and lower emergency room visits, and better health outcomes. We want people to feel more educated on the risks from heat and trained up on how they can respond to them, no matter what their field is. We want to see more heat pumps deployed, and safer workplaces, whether you work inside or outside. We want local governments to feel ready and prepared in the face of something like extreme heat.
All of those are opportunities for action, and to pull in people from across the state to be a part of the solution.
Roads bring people, and people start fires.
The United States has more roads than you could possibly imagine. Eighty-three percent of the land in the Lower 48 lies within one kilometer of a road; if you’re seeking isolation, the furthest you can get away from one is likely only about 25 miles, in a far-flung corner of Yellowstone National Park.
The Trump administration wants to build even more. Earlier this week, the U.S. Department of Agriculture filed to rescind the nearly quarter-century-old Roadless Area Conservation Rule, which protects about 45 million acres of pristine national forest lands from the construction of — and dissection by — new permanent roads. The USDA’s given reason? That new roads will provide the access forest managers and fire practitioners need to better prevent wildfires in the nation’s most remote locations.
Fire ecologists immediately cried foul. Researchers have long understood that roads enable wildfire ignitions by bringing people — who are responsible for starting nearly 85% of fires — into the landscapes. Just this past January, new research found that wildfires ignited four times more often within 50 meters of a road than in an untracked, intact forest. “The notion that you can prevent fires by building roads seems to me precisely backwards when you look at what the science says,” Ben Goldfarb, the author of the road ecology book Crossings, told me.
But this past spring, Americans got a good idea of what wildfires look like when there aren’t roads around. Lightning storms in Northern Ontario ignited fires in an area so remote that officials found it “impossible to get firefighters on the ground” to fight them, per The New York Times, or even to react early with airplane water tankers. The result? More than 1.8 million acres burned in the province so far this year, with the resulting smoke causing the Midwestern U.S. and New England to experience some of its worst air pollution in decades.
“There’s a duality — roads are neither necessarily good nor bad from a fire perspective,” Eric Kennedy, an associate professor of disaster and emergency management at York University, told me. “They bring opportunities for ignition and they bring opportunities for firefighting.” Those opportunities include the aforementioned access for fire personnel, as well as serving as a fuel break so crews can gain a foothold against an approaching conflagration. In a populated area, more roads can also mean more evacuation routes when there is a disaster, preventing potentially deadly traffic jams.
Forest defenders were already suspicious of the administration’s motivations when it comes to wildfire policy. “There’s all of the Trump administration directives to increase logging on public lands, which rescinding the Roadless Rule helps to facilitate,” Goldfarb noted. Environmental groups have pointed to attempted legislation such as the Fix Our Forests Act, which removes obstacles for forest management methods, including timber harvest, as another example of how the administration is allegedly using wildfire as a cover to cut down and sell more trees.
Viewed in the context of recent changes by the administration to weaken the Endangered Species Act — namely, narrowing the definition of “harm” to a species to exclude disturbances to its habitat — rescinding the Roadless Rule can appear to follow a kind of rapacious internal logic that “wildlife doesn’t need habitat, and we can build roads wherever we want to disrupt” the forest, Goldfarb went on.
Fires igniting in remote areas is also not a new problem. Agencies adapt to the fire conditions in their areas, such as Quebec, which has an entire apparatus for fighting fires in tractless wilderness, including shuttling in fire crews via float plane. “You can fight fires via helicopter. You can also build temporary roads under the Roadless Rule,” Goldfarb said. As one Montana-based National Forest manager of 25 years recently wrote for a local newspaper, in his experience, “the Roadless Rule doesn’t pose an insurmountable barrier to good land management; it simply requires baseline analysis and thought before impacting the landscape.”
Those who are cynical about the Trump administration’s motivations also pointed me toward the grandiose scale of the Roadless Rule rescission. Fire managers frequently talk about the need for tailored, local, and precise responses to America’s wildfires, which run the gamut from grass fires to chaparral fires to forest fires in regions that both do and do not have histories of regular burning. Policymakers would more appropriately approach wildfire management fireshed by fireshed, they say, and through proposed management plans. Perhaps most notably, the Roadless Rule protects about half of the nearly 17 million acres of the Tongass National Forest, a temperate rainforest and one of the wettest locations in North America, which “does not experience wildfires like those in other places,” the Alaskan environmental conservation group SalmonState wrote in a statement with other advocates and business groups.
Most cynical, though, is the argument that the Trump administration is proposing rescinding the Roadless Rule at the same time that it has gutted the Forest Service that is supposed to maintain all those roads. The agency already struggles with an overwhelming backlog of maintenance projects, from washed-out bridges to erosion problems that impact the water quality in drought-stressed areas. If the USDA were really interested in using roads to combat wildfires, the line of thinking goes, then it would be investing more in the Forest Service, people told me, not less.
“The wildfire challenge really calls upon us to be able to hold different dimensions and different layers and seemingly contradictory ideas at the same time,” Kennedy said, again emphasizing that one can make the case that roads have benefits in certain contexts and scenarios. But while there may be a valid line of debate about when, where, and how roads can help with wildfire management, using the cudgel of a rescission, it doesn’t appear to be one the administration is interested in having.