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Riders in Chicago, Philadelphia, and the San Francisco Bay Area are staring down budget crises, with deep service cuts not far behind.

Three of the country’s largest public transportation systems are facing severe budget shortfalls that have left them near a breaking point. Transit riders in Chicago, Philadelphia, and the Bay Area of California could see severe service cuts as soon as next year if their representatives don’t secure funding to fill significant gaps in their operations budgets, the result of dwindling ridership and federal aid.
Should these lawmakers fail or fall short, they could kick off what transit advocates refer to as a “death spiral,” where higher fares and worse service leads to lower ridership, which leads to more cuts, etc., until there’s effectively no service left.
“I think that in a lot of cases, the public, legislators, governors are maybe not aware of just how high the stakes are right now,” David Weiskopf, the senior policy director for Climate Cabinet, a nonprofit that helps to elect climate-minded politicians, told me.
Public transit is a uniquely tricky, political issue, as it requires convincing elected officials from across a given state to address an issue that primarily affects people in one concentrated region — even if that region happens to be one of the main economic engines of the entire state economy. And yet transportation is the No. 1 way Americans contribute to climate change. While electric vehicles get a lot more attention as a climate solution, expanding public transit can also reduce emissions with the added benefits of minimizing the raw materials extraction and electricity demand that come along with EVs.
But that’s just a part of what Weiskopf is talking about in terms of the stakes. Millions of people rely on public transit to get themselves to work and their kids to school. Public transit also reduces local air pollution and traffic. Losing the services that already exist would surrender all of those benefits — worsening affordability and quality of life just as they have become top-tier political issues.
There’s a clear chain of events that led so many major transit systems to the brink of collapse this year. In the late 1990s, Congress eliminated federal funding for public transit operations in major cities, instead allocating all of its financial assistance to capital transit projects, such as new or improved infrastructure. Buses and metros began to rely more heavily on revenue from fares to cover operating expenses like staff and fuel. That became disastrous when the COVID-19 pandemic hit and cut ridership dramatically.
Congress passed a series of pandemic relief laws that provided substantial funding for transit operations, keeping them afloat to shuttle essential workers. But that money dried up, and in many places, ridership has remained stubbornly below pre-pandemic levels for reasons including the rise in remote work. Meanwhile, transit systems continued to age, and the cost of labor and materials rose.
State lawmakers have been slow to act, allowing their biggest cities’ transit systems to inch dangerously close to the edge of a fiscal cliff. In Illinois, the legislature has just a few days left in its session to find the money to prevent layoffs and service cuts across Chicago’s three transit systems next year. In California, the state is hammering out a stopgap loan to keep Bay Area operators funded through 2026, while betting the longer-term health of the system on a ballot measure next fall. The split Pennsylvania legislature is at a total impasse on the issue. Governor Josh Shapiro recently authorized transit agencies to dip into their capital budgets to prevent immediate service cuts, but there’s no longer-term solution in sight.
These three states are not entirely unique — almost every public transit system in the country is dealing with the same challenges. But they’re useful case studies to illustrate just how high the stakes are, and what kinds of solutions are on the table.
Prior to the pandemic, two of San Francisco’s regional rail systems — Bay Area Rapid Transit, or BART, and Cal Train — were covering upwards of 70% of their operating costs with fares, Sebastian Petty, the senior transportation policy director at the San Francisco Bay Area Planning and Urban Research Association, or SPUR, told me. In 2024, however, fare revenue was roughly half of what it was in 2019, covering just under a third of the cost of running the system, with the rest filled in by emergency federal assistance. “There’s no real, obvious path to financial sustainability that doesn't involve some longer source of sustained new public funding,” Petty said.
BART now projects that its COVID relief funding will be gone by spring of next year, after which it will face a deficit of $350 million to $400 million per year. The implications are catastrophic. The fixed costs of operating the system are so high that service cuts alone can’t make up the shortfall. BART estimates that even if it cut service by 90% — including closing at 9 p.m., cutting frequency from every 20 minutes to once an hour, shutting down two full train lines, laying off more than 1,000 workers — that would not be enough to close the gap.
The legislature decided on a regional sales tax as the best way to fund the system, but has left the final say in the matter up to voters. In September, lawmakers passed a bill that authorized a ballot measure in five Bay Area counties next year. Voters will be asked to approve a sales tax increase of half a cent — or a full cent, in the case of San Francisco — for a period of 14 years.
Regardless of whether the ballot measure is successful, however, the transit system still faces a fiscal cliff next year without some kind of bridge funding. A separate bill requires the state Department of Finance to propose a solution for short-term financial assistance for Bay Area transit agencies to bridge the roughly $750 million budget gap for the next year to prevent immediate service cuts. The department has a deadline of January 10, after which the legislature will have to vote on the proposal.
“To be frank, this is not a great position to be in,” Petty said. “People are really, really worried.” But he said this still seems like the best path forward given how large the scale of money needed is. “I say this as someone who’s worked in transit for a while,” Petty told me. “Transit seems to be in some degree of perpetual funding challenge, but this one really is different.”
Chicago’s Regional Transportation Authority, which governs the area’s three transit companies, says that it faces a $230 million budget shortfall next year, which could increase nearly fourfold in 2027 without new funding. The agency has warned that it will begin cutting paratransit service for people with disabilities as soon as April, which will expand to main line service and layoffs over the summer if the legislature can’t agree on a new revenue source this month.
Amy Rynell, executive director of the Active Transportation Alliance, a Chicago-based nonprofit, told me the uncertainty alone has hurt the transit operators’ ability to plan. “The agencies are having to spend a lot of time putting forth multiple budgets to figure out what to do in this moment,” she said. “That’s detracting from the ability to build for the future and develop new projects. People are having to look at keeping the doors open versus making transit better.”
Lawmakers in Illinois spent much of the first half of the year trying to nail down a deal, but they prioritized working on reforms to the regional transit system before figuring out how to fund it. On May 31, during the final hours of the regular legislative session, the state Senate passed a bill that would create several revenue raisers for public transit, such as a statewide $1.50 “Climate Impact Fee” on retail deliveries, a statewide electric vehicle charging fee, a real estate transfer tax, and a tax on rideshare services like Uber and Lyft. But lawmakers in the House claimed they didn’t have enough time to review the implications of such measures. An earlier idea to increase tolls died in the face of opposition from lawmakers representing the suburbs as well as labor groups.
The legislature has just three days left — October 28 through 30 — in a special veto session to reach an agreement on transit funding. Rynell was optimistic that it would get there. “It remains a priority of the House, Senate, and governor’s team,” she said. “People have put a lot of time and effort into getting a good package because the legislative leaders don’t want to be back in the same place in five or 10 years.”
For two years in a row, the Southeast Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, or SEPTA, has narrowly avoided a fiscal crisis with stopgap solutions from the governor’s office after the legislature failed to secure any transit funding. In November 2024, Governor Shapiro got approval from the Biden administration to transfer $153 million in federal capital highway funds to SEPTA, preventing immediate service cuts and postponing a 21% fare hike. But the agency still anticipated a $213 million gap, and said it would have to implement both the rate hike and service cuts this fall unless it secured additional funding.
The funding never came. The Pennsylvania legislature, paralyzed by a one-seat Democratic majority in the House and a Republican Senate, let a June 30 state budget deadline come and go. “Five of these funding bills, sort of different permutations, passed the State House that would have given sustainable revenue for transit,” Stephen Bronskill, the coalition manager at Transit Forward Philadelphia, told me. “All these bills were bipartisan. They failed in the State Senate.”
Weeks of uncertainty and chaos followed. In late August, SEPTA followed through with raising fares and began cutting service. Just two weeks later, however, a court sided with consumer rights advocates who argued that the cuts disproportionately impacted people of color and low-income riders, and ordered SEPTA to restore service.
During those two weeks, residents got a taste of what the future could hold: workers late to work, students late to class, overcrowded buses and trolleys, confusion about which routes were still operating. After the court order, SEPTA turned to a desperate measure — a request to use up to $394 million of state funds designated for capital expenditures on its operations, instead. The move would preserve full service for two years, but at the expense of infrastructure repairs and upgrades. Governor Shapiro approved the request.
“It’s a Band-Aid solution, and no new money for transit has been allocated,” Bronskill said. It’s also a particularly terrible time to deplete SEPTA’s capital budget, as its aging railcars are becoming dangerous to operate. There have been five fires on SEPTA railcars in 2025 alone. A recent report from the National Transportation Safety Board found that the Authority’s 1970s-era “silverliner” cars, which make up about 60% of the fleet, predate federal fire safety hazards and require either extensive retrofits or replacement.
The money will also only benefit transit systems in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, Bronskill noted. “Every other transit agency across the state faces the same cliff of having to cut service in the face of the deficits. So we are continuing this fight.”
Pennsylvania lawmakers have proposed some of the same ideas that have been floated in Illinois to raise money for transit. They’ve also considered a car rental and lease tax, diverting funding from the state sales tax, taxing so-called “skill games” common at bars and convenience stores, and legalizing recreational marijuana.
To Justin Balik, the state program director for the climate advocacy group Evergreen Action, the challenge is not so much about coming up with revenue options as mustering “political will and urgency and prioritization.”
But more than anything, Pennsylvania suffers partisan politics and total paralysis due to its split legislature, which is now more than 100 days past the deadline to set even a basic state budget for next year. “I think once that is done, we all have our work cut out for us to tell the story in a compelling way of why the problem isn't solved and why we need faster action on this,” Balik said.
Evergreen is part of a new coalition of environmental and transit advocacy groups and think tanks called the Clean RIDES Network, which stands for Responsible Investments to Decrease Emissions in States, that’s trying to engender the political will for and prioritization of clean transportation solutions in statehouses around the country. The group is advocating for “a more holistic plan for transportation advocacy” that brings together ideas like avoiding highway expansions, improving transit access and efficiencies, and investing in vehicle electrification. Over 100 organizations are involved, including national groups like RMI, Sierra Club, and the NRDC, as well as state advocacy outfits like the Clean Air Council in Pennsylvania and Active Transportation Alliance in Illinois.
Advocates like Balik and Weiskopf, of Climate Cabinet, argued that it’s the right time to put transportation at the front and center of the climate fight. While there’s little state leaders can do to counter President Trump’s actions to weaken U.S. climate policy, public transit is one of the few areas they control. “This is a place that all of these lawmakers have the opportunity to do something meaningful and effective,” Weiskopf said, “even if it is just to prevent another thing from becoming much worse.”
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Facing down a sea change, the automaker has staked its next EV bet on a compact, sporty pickup.
“Full fathom five, your father lies,” the invisible spirit Ariel sings early in The Tempest, as a handsome and grieving prince listens, rapt. The song tells of a shipwrecked skeleton transforming into something else — its eyes have become pearls, and its bones pink coral — as it undergoes, yes, a “sea change.” It is the first time that phrase appears in the English language.
Ford is now facing its own kind of sea change. Over the past decade, the automaker has doubled down on its most profitable and exciting vehicles — pickups, SUVs, and the Mustang muscle car — and dropped from its line-up the cheap, boring cars that once made it famous. It embraced, then backed off, the transition to electric vehicles, in part because it failed to make money from them; and it began to reckon with the surge of cheaper, cleaner, and “far superior” EVs from Chinese producers that are transforming global auto markets around the world.
Locked into its aging but reliable line-up, yet unable to innovate at the low end, Ford might seem like the epitome of a company facing disruptive innovation. No wonder its stock has traded flat from where it was five years ago — even as the broader market has surged by more than 70%.
Its solution is an EV skunkworks, run by Tesla alumni, where it can develop a new “universal EV platform” to undergird future vehicles. Today, we got a peek at the first car to emerge from that secret shop: an all-electric compact pickup that will hit the roads by the end of next year. Its name? The Ford Fathom.
We know very little about the Fathom, as our correspondent Andrew Moseman wrote today. It will retail for just over $28,000, and even with mandatory delivery costs and other add-ons will stick to this side of $30,000. That makes it only a smidge more expensive than the gas-burning Ford Maverick, a sporty, compact, and popular pickup that starts around $27,000.
Ford promises that the Fathom will have as much seating capacity as Toyota’s RAV4, America’s best-selling car that isn’t a truck. (Ford’s own F-150, of course, holds the true No. 1 spot.) Those dimensions suggest the Fathom will sport a four-door crew cab, like the Maverick, making it more acceptable to families with kids — or young professionals who want to give their friends rides on the weekend. It will also have a frunk.
Beyond that, though, we don’t know much. We don’t know its range, for instance, and its price point shouldn’t inspire too much confidence on that front. Nor do we know, frankly, whether Ford can pull it off: When the automaker announced its first electric truck, the F-150 Lightning, in 2021, it claimed a price point of less than $40,000. Eighteen months of inflation later, it actually sold them for closer to $55,000 — and it still lost money on every EV that it made. Fixing the latter problem is part of why the skunkworks exists in the first place, and Ford now has an additional half-decade of experience making EVs. But consumers hoping for a miraculously priced electric pickup from the Blue Oval have been burned before.
If the Fathom disappoints, though, then consumers will soon have other options. The American car market is about to be deluged with sporty, compact pickup trucks — a welcome change from just a few years ago, when the segment was almost entirely dominated by mid-size and half-ton models. The Jeff Bezos-backed startup Slate will start delivering two-door, all-electric pickups starting at $25,000 at the end of this year. The automaker Stellantis, which owns the Dodge and Jeep brands, says it wants to bring another compact pickup — it’s almost more of a ute — called the Rampage to North America soon.
That’s welcome news for me — I love these little trucks — but I’m a little worried I’ll be outside my pickup-buying years by the time they actually make it to market. In the meantime, I’ll keep you posted on other updates about the Fathom. Will “sea nymphs hourly ring its knell”? No, but it will have Apple CarPlay and Android Auto.
The company confirmed its plans to market research company Cleanview.
The data center buildout has hit a new inflection point. It has long been true that artificial intelligence is fueling climate change by driving up power demand; more recently, tech companies have started directly financing new natural gas plants in their quest for AI glory. Now one is backing the biggest fossil fuel-fired power plant ever to exist in the United States — exclusively to power an AI data center complex.
That company is Amazon, according to the market research company Cleanview, which reported on Friday that the tech giant is building an AI data center campus in Texas powered by an up to 7.65-gigawatt off-grid natural gas plant.
That’s larger than any other power plant in the country — fossil or otherwise. The next biggest plant is the Grand Coulee hydroelectric plant in Washington State, at 7 gigawatts, followed by Arizona’s 4-gigawatt Palo Verde nuclear plant, and the West Count Energy Center, a 3.7-gigawatt natural gas plant in Florida.
The new power plant’s developer, Pacifico Energy, announced in January that it had secured permits from Texas regulators for the project, dubbed “GW Ranch.” The site is also permitted for up to 750 megawatts of solar and 1.8 gigawatts of battery energy storage.
It was not clear who the customer for all this energy would be until earlier this week, when Cleanview uncovered construction permits Amazon filed showing that the company owned the GW Ranch site. The company confirmed to Cleanview that it acquired the site and planned to buy power from Pacifico’s plant.
Not only will this natural gas plant be larger than the one in Florida, it will also use far less efficient technology. Pacifico’s permit says it plans to build 35 “simple cycle” generating units, which are typically installed in rarely-used peaker power plants and waste a lot more fuel potential than the modern “combined cycle” natural gas plants that serve as baseload power for the grid today. These more efficient turbines are essentially on backorder for years, and power-hungry developers have increasingly turned to the simpler versions as a quick fix as they race to bring facilities online.
According to its permit, the GW Ranch plant is allowed to emit as much as 33 million tons of CO2 per year. That’s twice as much as the most-polluting power plant in the country, the James H. Miller Jr. coal plant in Alabama, emitted in 2023, the most recent year for which data is available.
In a statement to Cleanview, an Amazon spokesperson said the company “believes in paying the full costs of powering our operations,” and that this Texas project “does just that: it’s powered by new on-site generation that won’t raise electricity costs for Texas families and designed to transition to grid-connected service as interconnection timelines allow.”
Some researchers disagree on that point, however. In an opinion piece for Utility Dive, Energy Innovation director Jeffrey Rissman and senior fellow Eric Gimon argue that the proliferation of off-grid natural gas generation for data centers will increase costs for regular people more than if the data centers connected to the grid, because they will be competing with utility companies for gas supply. “Data centers can buy gas in bulk and sign long-term contracts (as we’ve seen in Texas, Pennsylvania and New Mexico), giving them access to cheap gas, even if this unfairly drives up prices for everyone else,” they write.
Jane Flegal, a senior fellow at the Searchlight Institute, has also argued that building off-grid natural gas plants to serve data centers locks in emissions for decades because the plants don’t face competitive pressure from other resources. When a new natural gas plant is hooked up to the grid, by contrast, there’s a far greater chance that cheaper, cleaner resources will displace its generation over time.
The Rhodium Group recently developed a scoring system to help investors differentiate between projects that are likely to accelerate the energy transition, those that will have little effect one way or the other, and those that will actively slow it down. They used it to assess options for powering data centers, and found that off grid natural gas plants scored the worst, falling at the bottom of the latter category.
Regardless, Amazon still, somehow, asserts that it is committed to achieve net zero emissions by 2040.
The smoke pouring into Seattle from Spokane is particularly bad, but there’s also no such thing as good smoke.
I wrote this story from inside a cloud of smoke. Owing to some funky meteorology in the Seattle area this week — a pressure ridge paired with a thermal trough — the region’s usual westerly winds reversed, causing smoke from the fires burning in the eastern half of the state to pour through the mountain passes and river valleys of the Cascades and pool over the populous Puget Sound lowlands, where I live.
Though it’s cleared up some today, I’m still running my air purifier on full blast because I know what’s in the lingering smoke. Unlike the still blazing wildfires in Ontario that are burning through mostly uninhabited forests, the smoke in the Seattle area this week came to us partially from Spokane, where the Old Trails fire razed at least 700 buildings and homes last weekend. That means that beyond the usual organic matter associated with wildfire smoke, the pollution that has hung over Seattle has likely also contained particles and chemicals from burned plastics, batteries, cars, and household appliances.
But how can the average person be sure whether their wildfire smoke is the bad kind or the worse kind? (At least assuming that well-adjusted people do not obsessively watch the animations on AirNow.Gov, as I do.) I turned to Coty Jen, an associate professor of chemical engineering, and Albert Presto, a research professor of mechanical engineering, both of Carnegie Mellon University, to learn more about the chemistry of wildfire smoke.
“There is no safe smoke,” Jen said, setting me straight immediately. “It’s all bad. It will piss your body off.”
While it’s true that some smoke is more toxic than other smoke, what you might call the “all natural, organic” variety will still spike hospital emission rates and exacerbate pre-existing respiratory diseases, even if it is mostly burning trees.
Under ideal conditions, when cellulose or lignin — the main structural components of trees and plants as well as leaf litter and soil, the largest sources of carbon during a forest fire — heat up and combust, the chemical reaction creates carbon dioxide, water, heat, and light. But wildfires don’t burn cleanly, and the chemical reactions often stall midway through that process due to things like oxygen availability and temperature variation, producing intermediate products like carbon monoxide or partially broken-down bits of carbon, often called soot. The tiniest of these particles can be smaller than 2.5 micrometers across — 30 or more could fit across the width of a human hair — and are measured collectively as PM2.5, a catch-all term that refers to the size of the particle rather than what it is. What’s important, though, is that these particles are small enough to penetrate deep into our lungs and potentially enter our bloodstream, factors that add to the known mortality associated with PM2.5 exposure.
Different kinds of forests create different emissions — heavy duff, or leaf litter, which is common in pine forests, creates some of the densest smoke conditions. Wetter fuels also burn “dirtier,” creating more pollution. Different topographies also impact air quality in myriad ways; it’s no surprise that some of the worst pollution from the Spokane wildfires pooled in mountain valleys as a warm overhead layer of air trapped the particles near the ground.
Even “natural” wildfires can be extra toxic; burning eucalyptus, which grows in Southern California, is not something you want to inhale. Pine smoke can cause mutations in bacterial DNA, a common lab test for a substance’s potential to cause cancer. Wildfires that smolder are worse than those that burn fast; researchers have found that PM2.5 can be up to 70 times higher when fuels aren’t actively on fire. “You can even see this if you’ve ever built a fire yourself,” Presto explained. “There’s a period where everything is big and flaming, and then, if you’re burning a log, it eventually goes down to smoldering. The emissions are different.”
In the case of something like a house burning down in a wildfire, however, it’s not only cellulose and lignin combusting. “We’re good at engineering materials that are extremely robust, but when they burn, they release very exotic compounds,” Jen said. She pointed to the common plastic PVC, which is used for everything from exterior siding to plumbing and window frames. When it combusts, PVC releases chlorine, “which is very bad for you,” Jen told me. “It’s like how bleach is bad for you — it’s a pretty nasty chlorine compound. PVC isn’t releasing bleach, but it is releasing radical chlorine molecules that produce some crazy compounds.”
If you’re following a smoke event at home, the answer is “not really.” PM2.5 is measured in micrograms per cubic meter, which tells us how much small stuff is floating around, but not what that small stuff is. “It is pretty difficult to measure all the different compounds that wildfires, or broadly any pollution, will emit,” Jen said. “The easiest way to quantify it is to literally suck air onto a filter and measure how heavy it got.”
Measuring what exactly is in that mass requires instruments that cost in the ballpark of half a million dollars, which is not financially feasible at every air monitoring station, Jen went on. But while there are certainly academic applications for that kind of knowledge, a person trying to decide whether or not to go for their run in wildfire smoke doesn’t need that level of granularity.
“Some smoke is definitely more dangerous,” Jen said. “But as innocent bystanders, it’s not like we can pick and choose what smoke floats over to us. You just have to live with it, so the best mentality is to treat all smoke as bad.”
In a 2026 Science Advances study that attributed more than 24,000 deaths per year to wildfire smoke in the U.S., researchers found no safe threshold for PM2.5 exposure. Every 0.1 microgram per cubic meter increase in a county’s average annual PM2.5 from smoke was associated with nearly 5,600 excess deaths nationwide, even though most counties saw only trace amounts of smoke — about 0.4 micrograms per cubic meter a year. While it’s “orange sky” days, when the pollution spikes into triple-digit AQI numbers, that get the most media attention, even low exposure that you can’t smell or even see can be affecting your health.
PM2.5 is just one component of wildfire smoke — the other is gases, including benzene and formaldehyde. Many gases chemically transform as they move from where the fire is to where you inhale them. “The atmosphere is extremely oxidizing — it likes to add oxygen molecules onto compounds,” Jen said.
Some of those compounds react faster than others, “so it depends how downwind you are,” Jen went on. That’s why people closer to a wildfire — maybe a day or less downwind — get the distinctive campfire smell, mainly from the “young” vapors and volatile organic compounds. But for people on the East Coast who were subject to the Ontario smoke several weeks ago, the smoke had to travel several days to reach places like Pittsburgh and New York, and by then the sharper-smelling compounds had transformed into new pollutants like ozone.
The AQI only measures a few specific gases that are considered “criteria pollutants” under the Clean Air Act, which means, as Presto told me, “during these fires, you could emit a whole bunch of different other gases that don’t have an AQI number.”
Instead, you can look at the PM2.5 number to get the gist of how prevalent wildfire gases are. “If your PM 2.5 is high, it’s impossible for the bad gasses to be low,” Jen said. “The way we think about it is, there’s a bunch of junk on the particle, and if the same junk’s not also in the gas, it will evaporate off the particle into the gas. They always exist together.”
You might notice by now that I’ve written little about the actual AQI number, that score that appears on your weather app and runs from zero to 500 (or, confusingly, even higher). That’s because while the AQI is a great communication tool, it doesn’t offer us much in the way of the science of wildfire smoke.
The AQI measures five different pollutants — PM2.5, ozone, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrogen dioxide — with the EPA setting specific concentration thresholds for each one, as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo has explained. “If local concentrations of any one of them tick up above those protective standards, the AQI will jump from green to a more alarming color,” she wrote. “The higher the level of pollution is, the higher the AQI and the darker the color will be.”
If you want to impress your friends, though, you ought to zero in specifically on the PM2.5 concentration — again, because the prevalence of the tiniest particulates is a good indicator of all the other gunk you can assume is in the air, too. (You can find the specific PM2.5 concentration usually by clicking for more information about the AQI on your weather app or checking IQ Air’s widget.) For example, at the time of this writing, my local PM2.5 concentration is 50 micrograms per cubic meter, more than triple the World Health Organization’s 15 micrograms per cubic meter threshold for 24-hour exposure. (The EPA’s 24-hour threshold is much more lenient, at 35 micrograms per cubic meter.)
When I asked Jen how she stays sane knowing all she knows about smoke exposure, she laughed. “I have just generally become more terrified of all campfires and all barbecues, but people already think I’m weird, so I might as well add to it,” she told me.
In all seriousness, though, she told me the answer is air filters, and her confidence in their ability to work. When wildfire smoke rolled through Pittsburgh, she had two running that she moved from room-to-room with her family, as well as a whole-house air filter. “We were getting PM2.5 concentrations in our house of about 80 micrograms per cubic meter when it was 150 outside,” she said. “But with the air filter on, we could drop that down to less than eight.”
Jen pointed out, though, that many people do not run their air filters properly. Filters are rated at their highest blower level, “so for them to be effective, you need to crank them to their highest setting to get all the air through,” she said. Most people keep their filters on auto or low because they’re so loud — myself included, until I learned otherwise.
Additionally, while an air filter is a rather large appliance, it really ought to be placed in the center of your room to be the most efficient, rather than up against a wall. (Again, my bad.) “When these wildfire events happen, the most effective place for the air filter is where you are, and you have to run it loud, which kind of sucks,” Jen said. “But it is better than breathing in gross air.”