I’m 69 years old.
I grew up, raised my family, and made my living in cities. Politically and socially, I’m liberal; economically, I lean conservative. Growing up in Rochester, NY, that would’ve made me a Rockefeller Republican . . . or perhaps a slightly conservative Democrat.
My early lens on climate and the environment was shaped by what I read, the media I consumed, and the people around me—all of whom mostly looked and thought like me. I spent time outside, worked briefly in a backpacking store, hiked some, cross-country skied more . . . but I was a wilderness tourist at best.
My “bias,” to use a word that comes up in so many contexts, hit me square on during PNW Climate Week. It’s a sprawling meet-up that spans multiple cities and aims to animate and inform ideas, partnerships, and potentially drive action. I met wonderful people, saw numerous slides with numbers and charts, and marveled at the unanimity of views.
It all landed comfortably, sounding a lot like a voice I’ve long carried in my own head. I call it my “laptop voice”—a way of seeing the world shaped by graphs, policy papers, and satellite imagery.
Hold that thought.
About a year ago, I invested in a company called Regenerative Industrial. We utilize pyrolysis to convert forestry and logging waste into biochar, wood vinegar, and tar—products that have practical applications in agriculture, industry, and construction.
That decision has pulled me into a very different world: Lewis County, WA—part of one of the great working wood baskets of North America. Over these past months, I’ve spent time with loggers, sawyers, mill owners, and land stewards. I’ve seen how forest economies actually work, what real stewardship looks like, and how hard people work to balance productivity with sustainability.
Now there’s a second voice in my head. I call it my “boots on voice.” It carries on a regular conversation in my head with “laptop voice,” arguing on behalf of folks who go to work in the woods, fix their own equipment, and pay close attention to weather, markets, and regulations because their lives depend on it.
In the past week, those voices collided again while reading about a new rule proposed by the Washington Forest Practices Board—one that could radically change how working forests operate in the state. One voice is confident in the science and sure of its moral clarity. The other sees livelihoods, traditions, and entire communities at stake.
Sitting over coffee with a colleague, I tried to explain the discomfort I was feeling—how both voices made sense, and yet couldn’t seem to speak to each other. I wound up scratching out five blockers that seem to get in the way of meaningful conversation—and more importantly, of finding common cause.
Here’s what I came up with:
1. Narration – What stories shape belief and action
We all tell stories to make sense of the world. Climate advocates talk about climate policy, 1.5 degrees Celsius, tipping points, and carbon footprints. Loggers talk about forest health, family land, and jobs. These aren’t just different stories—they come from different realities. And too often, one group never hears the other’s story.
Shared stories build trust. Without them, we talk past each other—or worse, stop talking altogether.
2. Navigation – How we move through systems of power
To get anything done—especially in policy—you need to know how the system works. That’s navigation.
The laptop set often excels at this. They know how to apply for grants, lobby agencies, and write policy briefs. Boots-on-the-ground folks may not navigate those systems as easily—not because they’re less smart, but because they weren’t invited in and don’t expect to be heard.
When navigation breaks down, decisions get made by a small, self-reinforcing circle of people. That’s not stakeholder alignment. That’s exclusion.
3. Interests – What matters, materially and emotionally
For one person, the key interest might be protecting native salmon. For another, it’s keeping a sawmill running so a town doesn’t die. These are both real and legitimate stakes.
Interests aren’t just financial. They’re emotional. They’re cultural. They’re about identity and place. The problem is, when interests don’t align—or even get acknowledged—conflict gets personal.
4. Measurement – What gets counted, and how
Policy is often built on data. But what data? Measured when, how, by whom?
Take the Forest Practices Board’s proposed rule and its impact on working forests. It’s anchored on a 0.3-degree Celsius temperature limit for streams. But the instruments measuring have an error margin of 0.5 degrees. We’re making policy based on noise.
When people don’t trust the measurement, they won’t trust the standard—or the people setting it.
5. Standards – What we expect, and who decides
Measurements become standards. But who decides what’s acceptable? Should the same rules apply to a suburban stream and a working forest in rural Washington?
Standards express values. If only one side is at the table when those values are defined, the result will never feel fair.
Where do we go from here?
We need better stakeholder alignment. That doesn’t mean agreement. It means making space for both voices—laptop and boots.
If we’re serious about climate policy that actually works, we have to build trust between people who live in cities and those who live off the land. We have to stop treating science and lived experience as mutually exclusive.
Both voices in my head have something to say. Maybe if we listen more, we can find something worth doing—together.
