When my mother moved into nursing care many years ago, I became the custodian of our family history: dozens of large envelopes, bulging albums, and even a small “horse-hair” trunk. They contained handwritten deeds, certificates, wills, and other memorabilia from the late 1700s to the 1940s. In this unorganized jumble of births, deaths, news stories, old photos, and family trees, I found an amazing woman—Helen Cowles Whitehead, my grandmother. 

Born in New York City in 1880 and educated there in physical education and social work, my grandmother moved to Norfolk, Virginia, as the bride of a physician in 1909, and got involved in her community. Today, we would call her an activist. By the time she died in 1948, a few years before I   was born, she had helped improve public welfare programs throughout the city and, in 1913, established Norfolk’s public playground program in five city parks. As a longtime advocate for rivers, parks, and other natural areas, I like to think that my DNA mix may contain some of her genes.

Beloved Green Spaces

Georgians love parks. Whether located in cities or remote areas, they are places where people can go for physical and mental well-being: a way to manage stress in an increasingly stressful world. In 1634, the oldest public park in America was created as the Boston Common. Two and a half centuries later, the first national park was established as Yellowstone National Park (1872), and the first state park, in 1885, at Niagara Falls State Park in New York. (The preservation of California’s Yosemite Valley in 1864 by President Abraham Lincoln was an early example of land being set aside for public use, instead of homesteads.)

Early in the twentieth century, social reform advocates initiated the playground movement in parks to promote health and happiness, public safety on crowded streets, and reduce crime. The first municipal playground was installed in New York City. Child and family welfare advocates, including my grandmother, saw the immense benefits offered by this innovative, largely government-funded concept. People of all income levels and abilities could find community, new skills, and solace in nature. Public parks became a firmly established government responsibility nationwide. 

Public green spaces are also essential to democracy. They function as social “infrastructure,” providing shared, accessible places in nature that can foster a sense of community. The question of whether public parks should be free or require an entrance fee involves balancing social equity (fairness to all) and public health benefits against the need for maintenance funding.

Today, most of us are living with high levels of uncertainty in our personal lives and in our country. Affordability is a serious concern. A recent poll found that a majority of Americans say they’re spending more on groceries and utility bills than a year ago. At such a time—with a budget and reserve surplus of more than $14 billion—why did the state of Georgia decide to double the cost for its citizens to find exercise and some respite in a public park?  

Entrance Fees

Georgia has nearly 50 state parks and 15 historic sites that attract millions of visitors every year. Maintenance of these sites costs about $109 million annually—half of which is offset by various user fees, including $5 for a daily parking pass, or $50 for an annual pass. The remainder is supported by state and some federal appropriations. At least four southern states do not charge any fee for visitors to their public parks.

It’s no surprise that park maintenance and repair costs are rising—just like everything else. The Georgia Board of Natural Resources (Board), which oversees state park management, commissioned a performance audit that recently recommended dozens of ways in which Georgia’s parks can generate additional revenue from their millions of annual visitors. 

Unanimously, the Board voted in favor of one recommendation: to increase parking pass fees. Daily passes will be doubled to $10 and annual passes increased to $70 beginning in January. A variety of other services, from golf fees to cottage and campsite rentals, were also suggested as possible revenue generators; the state says it has “no timetable” for implementing those increases now. 

Tone-Deaf and Callous

It’s true that people often value an opportunity more if they pay some amount for it. That said, I believe it’s completely tone-deaf and downright callous for the Board of wealthy political appointees to make it more expensive for families—and veterans and senior citizens—to enjoy Georgia’s public parks, especially as personal and family expenses are dramatically increasing. 

The auditors found that the $10 daily pass could increase annual revenue by $3.7 million and that, hypothetically, $15.8 million might be raised if 10 percent of Georgia’s registered vehicles paid for the discounted park pass. 

At the hearing before the Board vote, Mark Woodall, legislative chair for the Sierra Club Georgia Chapter, summarized the concerns of those opposed to the fee increase: “The state parks of Georgia should be for all the people of Georgia, regardless of income. With over $14 billion in reserve, it would be outrageous for the state parks to increase fees. In these difficult times, we ought to be encouraging people to get outdoors, not making it harder.” 

Members of the Georgia Board of Natural Resources are appointed by the governor. All 19 existing members were appointed by Republican governors over the past two decades. Not a single one has experience or training as an environmental scientist, engineer, biologist, environmental educator, natural resource manager, or conservationist. The 2026 gubernatorial election will take place in less than a year. Voting matters! 

The post Above the Waterline: Fees double at state parks, despite budget surplus  appeared first on Rough Draft Atlanta.

When I decided to write about the proliferation of data centers in metro Atlanta, Meredith suggested (ironically, as she noted) that I check out ChatGPT—the artificial intelligence (AI) chatbot that you can “talk to,” as though it were another person. It generates “human-like” text and can answer questions about virtually any topic. It can also generate incorrect responses, or “hallucinations.” There are biases in the human-created system as well. Critical thinking is essential. 

With Meredith’s assistance, I opened the ChatGPT App and asked my question. What should I include in a story about data centers: the buildings filled with equipment to process internet traffic, facilitate AI, and store massive amounts of digital data? The answer wasn’t revolutionary, but I received a useful outline in a nanosecond. (Notably, a ChatGPT query consumes about five times more electricity than a simple web search.)

An admission: I am addicted to Googling various subjects on my smartphone. The digital world of the internet is a great improvement over the Ouija boards and Magic 8-Balls of my teenage years in the 1960s—again, as long as critical thinking is employed. Dozens of times each day, I ask my phone random questions that pop into my ADHD-addled brain. Until recently, however, I had not thought about the cost of my queries—in terms of energy, water use, and community impact. 

Like millions of other people, I’ve used the “magic” of the internet, assuming that its infrastructure was located somewhere else. That “somewhere else” is now Georgia, with the explosion of proposed data centers. The environmental impacts, lack of government oversight, and corporate secrecy are alarming.  

Hot Market for Data Centers 

Once the booming epicenter of the South’s railroad network, Atlanta is again a crossroads for huge financial investment and development—this time related to the digital industry. According to an excellent series in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the region is the country’s hottest data center market, “playing host to a digital gold rush by tech giants, real estate speculators, and private equity firms.” There appear to be about 100 existing centers and several dozen proposed locations—primarily in the Atlanta region—but no one knows for sure.

Atlanta’s expansive fiber optic infrastructure offers a solid backbone for data centers, coupled with available land, inexpensive water supplies, and an electric utility (Georgia Power) salivating at the thought of new business. State and local officials are providing hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars as incentives to attract developers, despite the highly speculative nature of the AI boom. 

Business analysts are already comparing the rapacious industry growth to the infamous dot-com bubble of the late 1990s—when a similar speculative frenzy and overvaluation resulted in a plunge in stock values and bankruptcies. They also note that the U.S. economy is being bolstered by the extraordinary boom in AI: a precarious situation. 

At What Cost

The deluge of data centers may place metro Atlanta in the vanguard of the next technological revolution—but at what cost? One large data center can demand as much power and water as a small city. Will the resources allocated to centers preclude future local development? Will electricity and water rates increase for all customers? If water is rationed during droughts, will the centers have priority over other water users? Critically, none of these questions, and many more, have been answered. 

There are few government guardrails. No state office is charged with identifying all the proposed centers. There are no regulations to require tracking of their power and water use. Several state legislators are working on laws to protect communities and the environment, as the AI boom accelerates; however, their efforts have been rebuffed by lobbyists for Big Tech and Big Power.  

Local governments are rezoning sites for industrial use that are hundreds of acres in size—some a thousand acres—with minimal information about data center needs. The speculators promoting these hyperscale projects refuse (or are unable) to divulge details about their electricity and water requirements. Why the secrecy, if these projects are harmless, cash-cow opportunities for communities? 

How will a community cope with the data center projects that inevitably go bust—after land is cleared (and starts to erode); after the power grid expands with more polluting coal and gas plants (and rates increase for all customers); and after permits have been issued for withdrawals from limited water sources?  In metro Atlanta, water supplies are highly vulnerable to droughts. Importantly, a significant amount of the water used to cool most data facilities is consumed through evaporation; it is not returned to its source, thereby depleting downstream flows. 

Data center proposals across metro Atlanta have faced protests and packed local meetings—as residents rightfully fear their “community wealth” will be seized for corporate profits. From the city of Atlanta to small communities in the metro region and statewide, people are demanding answers and successfully securing moratoriums and bans on the centers. 

Minimizing Harm

There is little doubt that more data centers are needed to power digital services. While I’m not planning to stop my daily Google searches, I am thinking more about my personal digital footprint. The question—and it’s a really important one—is whether or not state and local officials are going to take any actions to protect citizens and natural resources from exploitation by the speculative AI industry. 

Data center development must be tracked to understand the cumulative impact of these facilities. Actual water and power use information must be collected. These metrics must be made available to the public. Developers must fund their own installations, rather than relying on taxpayer or ratepayer support. Alternative power and water sources must be considered, e.g. reuse wastewater and rainwater for cooling, efficient “waterless” closed-loop cooling systems, and renewable energy sources.

On Nov.  4, citizens have the opportunity to elect two new members of the Georgia Public Service Commission (psc.ga.gov), which regulates electric utility rates and services, including data centers. Read about the candidates by searching Public Service Commission at RoughDraftAtlanta.news, then vote! 

The post Above the Waterline: ‘Digital gold rush’ threatens air, land, and water appeared first on Rough Draft Atlanta.

As my eyes scanned the scattered piles of gray rocks and boulders at the base of a steep mountain, my ears concentrated on high-pitched “eep” calls coming from inside the talus slope. After much searching, we had found a colony of small, potato-shaped animals that are close relatives of rabbits—industrious and vocal pikas (PIE-kuh). My friend Jeff and I had climbed above the timberline on a wilderness peak in Colorado in July to observe these amazing creatures with big round ears, along with spectacular wildflowers and 360-degree views. 

Talus slopes are created by gravity and rockfall over long geological time scales. These rocky environments provide sheltered spaces that help pikas hide from their predators and survive extreme winter temperatures. Amazingly, pikas do not hibernate. In the summer, they gather and dry grasses and flowers from nearby meadows. Stored in dens within the talus, these “hay piles” of nutrition sustain them through the winter. Pikas are highly adapted to rocky alpine and subalpine areas. In Colorado, this typically means elevations above 11,500 feet. Their mammal neighbors are larger, hibernating marmots. It is not unusual for a resourceful pika to crawl into a marmot den in the winter and snuggle up for warmth. 

Reaching pika habitat is no small feat, especially for someone of a certain age who is accustomed to much lower elevations. Gym time at home and western hiking this year prepared me, somewhat, for my breathless climb to more than 12,000 feet. I was slow, but determined, with ultra-light trekking poles, good shoes, and encouragement from Jeff, a devoted pika whisperer. In the talus pile, several adults raced in and out of rock crevices. A gray-furred juvenile pika stood unmoving, peering at us from a safe distance. At another site, we saw neatly stacked hay piles, drying in the sun.  

I’ll remember this summer day on the mountain forever. I could not stop marveling over the beauty and diversity of plant and animal life that surrounded us under a blue, mackerel-clouded sky: the kaleidoscopic flowers, conifer and aspen forests, mountain peaks, and diminutive pikas. This magnificent place has been protected as a federal wilderness for nearly half a century. I wondered if that protection would remain, as public lands are threatened by government rollbacks. Will pikas still be scurrying around their rocky homes when my grandson’s children venture up western mountains on their own adventures? 

Pikas In Peril 

Pikas are extremely sensitive to heat. Temperatures above 77 degrees Fahrenheit, even for a short period, can be lethal. Because of this vulnerability, they serve as living barometers for the impacts of climate change on mountain ecosystems. As temperatures rise, pikas must move up their mountains to higher, cooler elevations—until they reach the top and nowhere left to go. 

Colorado’s pika population appears to be stable currently, but its future is in doubt. After living in North America for millions of years, pikas could effectively be gone from Rocky Mountain National Park in just a few human generations. Elsewhere in the west—Nevada, Oregon, California, and Utah—researchers have gathered substantial evidence that directly links pika disappearance to heat associated with climate change. 

Wildlife on the Move

Thousands of species set out on heroic journeys every year to follow changing seasons, find warmer weather, and search for food—as they have done for millions of years. The world is always changing, forcing animals, and plants to adapt through evolution, but it takes time: hundreds or even thousands of years. Today, the speed of human-caused climate change is profoundly impacting animal migratory patterns. Even non-migratory species are being forced to shift their habitats, if they can. 

Half of all species on Earth appear to be on the move, migrating northward toward higher latitudes. With rising temperatures from global heating, plants bloom earlier or expand into cooler locations—moving food sources and changing animal migration patterns and breeding cycles. Last year was the warmest year since global records began in 1850; the ten warmest years in the historical record have all occurred in the past decade. Many species, including pikas, face the risk of extinction. 

Birds are particularly good indicators of environmental change. Studies have documented migration ranges that have shifted northward by forty to 200 miles in just the past fifty years. Coastal mangroves, which provide excellent bird habitat, are moving north from Florida into Georgia. Other species significantly affected by fast-warming temperatures include: polar bears, bald eagles, Pacific salmon, monarch butterflies, shorebirds, sea turtles, whales, and amphibians. Climate change is driving a worldwide redistribution of animals and the extinction of those unable to move quickly, or evolve.  

How to Help

Tackling the overarching problem—human-caused greenhouse gas emissions—is the obvious solution to help wildlife outrun Earth’s rapidly changing climate. However, it’s been made much more difficult since the Trump Administration took a sledgehammer to federal climate-related programs. Opportunities to slow global warming exist at the local and state levels in some places. The city of Atlanta is investing in climate resilience projects, but could do much more.  

Communities can help struggling migratory animals by creating wildlife crossings (bridges and underpasses) to allow safe passage across roads. They can also adopt zoning and conservation plans to protect habitats; plant native grasses, trees and shrubs for migratory birds and pollinators; and establish citizen science programs to monitor migrating species, such as Audubon’s Christmas Count, locally through Birds Georgia (birdsgeorgia.org) 

Nonprofit organizations that focus on climate advocacy and wildlife protection need your support as well. They include Sierra Club (sierraclub.org), National Wildlife Federation (nwf.org), Trout Unlimited (tu.org), and The Nature Conservancy (nature.org). I also support Rocky Mountain Wild (rockymountainwild.org). I want my great-grandchildren to experience a glorious summer day on a western mountain, watching hard-working pikas harvest their hay and squeak at strangers. 

The post Above the Waterline: Outrunning climate change in the wild appeared first on Rough Draft Atlanta.

As yet another deadly airstrike bombed a village in the Southeast Asian country of Myanmar in mid-August, a young woman named Noreen sat in her Clarkston, GA apartment and cried. She had grown up in the village and lived there with her family until the military overthrew the country’s democratically elected ruling party in February 2021. Homes and temples were destroyed, and children were killed by the bombing. Noreen has no idea when or how she’ll learn if family members are safe. 

As independent journalists in Myanmar, Noreen and her husband wrote about the military’s brutal killings and atrocities against civilians and ethnic minority groups. She told me that she wanted to “report the truth and give a voice to the hurt people.” The military, in one form or another, has ruled the country much of the time since Myanmar (also known as Burma) gained its independence in 1948 from British colonizers who ruled for more than a century. 

Not long after the coup four years ago, Noreen and her family—her husband, mother, and two young children—fled to a neighboring country. The military had begun its campaign of terror against journalists reporting on human rights abuses. The army was looking for her. 

Last December, with resettlement papers in hand, Noreen’s family finally arrived in Atlanta as refugees. They were some of the lucky ones. The suspension of refugee resettlement by a Trump executive order came only weeks later on Inauguration Day, January 20, 2025. The action left more than 100,000 people stranded, some in airports with tickets in hand. These refugees had been conditionally approved for resettlement through the most rigorous screening of any foreign citizen coming to the United States. 

For decades, refugees have moved to Atlanta for a better life. The UN Refugee Agency says that Georgia “regularly ranks as one of the top ten most welcoming states in America, resettling about 2500-3500 refugees each year.” We are fortunate to have excellent nonprofit organizations, many faith-based, that help families transition to their new lives. However, their ability to provide refugees with educational, medical, and cultural resources is being severely constrained by Trump’s directives and budget cuts. 

Serving Refugee Women

A volunteer with All Saints’ Refugee Ministries suggested that Noreen contact Refugee Women’s Network, when she expressed an interest in hiking. RWN is the only nonprofit in Georgia specifically serving refugee women, as it has for the past 25 years. It helps them become leaders in their homes, businesses, and communities. Through the organization’s popular outdoors and wellness educational programs, the women can build confidence, make friends, develop new skills, and find ways to heal in nature. 

I met Noreen on a warm morning in July, when I joined an RWN hiking group of two dozen women in the Chattahoochee River National Recreation Area. They were from Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Mexico, Burma, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. As we walked along the riverside trail together, Noreen told me her story in a calm, lilting voice. Her pleasure in being outside in nature was obvious. It was unsafe for her to walk anywhere alone in Burma—her preferred name for her country—but she loved walking in her village with her friends. Through RWN, she has found similar comfort in meeting other refugee women: survivors of war, persecution, and violence in their countries. 

Leadership Training

Temple Moore’s friendly smile immediately conveys confidence and warmth. She is tall, athletic, and loves different cultures. After decades of working with refugees and asylum seekers in the United States and other countries, she has found her professional home as the director of RWN’s community health programs. She told me she was privileged to grow up in Atlanta—able to swim, bike, camp, and hike—and wants to share these skills with the refugee women who find their way to RWN.  

Five years ago, Temple created RWN’s first outdoor wellness initiative with classes and group events in safe spaces. The program now serves 120 women annually—providing transportation, gear, interpretation, meals, and childcare: everything they need to participate. As she told me, “Once you take away the barriers, people can find their own healing outdoors. They discover you don’t have to speak the same language to learn new skills, gain confidence, and bond in nature.” 

Earlier this year, I attended a dinner where RWN celebrated the bravery and competence of dozens of new hikers, swimmers, bikers, campers, and kayakers. Based on the high rate of success and participant enthusiasm, RWN plans to expand the program this fall. Temple is excited about promoting physical health, mental well-being, and leadership training for more refugee women and youth, including those with mobility challenges. By leveraging the resources and expertise of local leaders in Georgia’s outdoor industry and environmental groups, she is sure to accomplish her goals. 

During our hike along the Chattahoochee, Temple urged each of us to “take sips of gratitude” from our water bottles and, if comfortable, voice our appreciation for the good things in our lives. It was an inspiring moment. I saw Noreen smiling; in a few weeks, she and I will meet again on a kayaking adventure organized by RWN and Georgia Rivers. While bombs fall and national governmental officials refuse to give safe harbor to other humans fleeing unspeakable atrocities, nonprofits like RWN offer welcoming embraces and safety. 

For more information, visit refugeewomensnetworkinc.org.

The post Above the Waterline: Finding refuge and healing outside appeared first on Rough Draft Atlanta.

Water was a physical constant during the humid, cicada-buzzing summers of my southern childhood. I remember the thrill of running through the chilly arcs of water from yard sprinklers. The clear-blue water in swimming pools. The Gulf waves roaring ashore on our vacation island. And, the streams that converged behind our home, where my sister and I watched scuttling crayfish and fell asleep to the murmuring sound of moving water. 

My privileged, white family could swim in any public pool in Atlanta, join a private club with a pool, or just wade into the ocean from any beach. Born into the segregated South in the early 1950s, I don’t recall ever wondering why there weren’t any Black children swimming with me in those mid-century years. Not noticing was just the way things were. 

Mid-Century Atlanta

A few years after my family moved to Atlanta in the mid-1950s, we joined the private Venetian Pool in Decatur, not a short drive from our home on the outskirts of Buckhead. It was a nice pool that is, today, clear about its anti-discriminatory policies. When I was a child—I recently learned—there was (appallingly) a sign at the pool entrance announcing that membership was restricted by race and religion. 

We also swam at the public pool in Chastain Park, closer to our home. It was a whites-only facility, one of nine in the city at the time; there were three (smaller) Black public pools. On June 12, 1963, when I was twelve years old, Chastain was desegregated along with the other city pools. I don’t have any memories of this momentous occasion—or the hateful scene at Lake Clara Meer in Piedmont Park, when several young Black men entered the lake that had been whites-only for so long. 

Swimming in motel pools was another highlight of my childhood, as my family traveled throughout the South. Since Jim Crow laws mandated racial segregation in public accommodations at the time, other children with pale skin were our only swimming companions. I never noticed this injustice, or so many others. 

The Pool is Closed

An insightful new book, The Pool is Closed, by local author and urban designer Hannah Palmer describes the racial politics and environmental history surrounding public access to natural and man-made waters in Atlanta over the past century. A keen observer, thorough investigator, and wonderful storyteller, Palmer has written a heartfelt memoir of a young mother seeking safe, inexpensive places to take her children swimming. 

The book is also an unflinching examination of the ways that race and class have long kept Black (and other non-white) families from finding the joy, skills, and health benefits that come with this rite of summer. 

Palmer began her search for public pools and local creeks where her young sons could play and learn to swim in 2017. As they swam their way across the city, Palmer recorded what she saw and felt in a journal. Her perspective was as a mother, social historian, urban planner, and clean water champion. She found stories of lost (read: filled in) pools and lakes, shameful injustices at public facilities in some neighborhoods (past and present), and rivers unswimmable due to pollution, urban engineering, and blight. East Point, her hometown on the southside of Atlanta, presents a particularly enlightening case study.

Her research led to a project with Flux Projects called Ghost Pools that included large format graphics with historic photos accompanying a detailed timeline of swimming in Atlanta. The original footprints of the pools Palmer found in East Point were outlined by markers, flags, paint, and diving boards to illustrate exactly where each pool was located. 

Grand Resorts, White Flight 

In the early decades of the 20th century, the centerpieces of Atlanta’s grandest parks were spring-fed swimming lakes, such as Lake Clara Meer and six-acre Lake Abana in Grant Park. Built in resort-style with federal funding, these community recreation spaces gave working families an opportunity to swim together: “democratizing swimming” for middle-class, white Americans. The first and only pool in the city designated for Black residents opened in Washington Park in 1940.

With the signing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, or national origin was outlawed at all facilities open to the public. The city of Atlanta drained Lake Abana to avoid desegregation and turned the land into a parking lot—not the last time for such an action in our city “too busy to hate.”

Throughout the sixties and beyond, white flight to the suburbs moved tax dollars for public amenities to places that remained segregated. Atlanta’s pools fell into disrepair and closed; the private pool industry boomed. Summers in the city were never the same, despite federal anti-poverty programs that funded new pools and playground sprinklers to “cool the unrest” in inner cities. Racist decision-making led to inadequate investment in public pools that were drained across the South. 

New Commitment

In recent years, there has been a growing commitment to restore our rivers and lakes to meet the “swimmable” goal of the federal Clean Water Act. Advocates for clean water are demanding that these waterways be restored for public use. Polluted for decades, the Chattahoochee River downstream of Atlanta is now dramatically cleaner. Local governments and nonprofits are bringing this section of the river back to life for recreation for everyone

Today, there are a dozen outdoor community pools in Atlanta: the same number that existed when the city’s swimming pools were desegregated more than sixty years ago. As Palmer describes in her book, pools in some low-income, minority neighborhoods have not been prioritized and are in disrepair. There also remains the perception—rooted in the history of racism, hygiene concerns, and a decline in public funding—that public pools are not safe. 

There is “a basic human craving for water and community,” says Palmer. As the climate crisis accelerates and temperatures rise, the need for cooling waters will only grow. Optimistically, she believes that bold and creative solutions at the local level are not only vital but achievable.  

Palmer will discuss and sign The Pool Is Closed on Aug. 19 at 6 p.m. at Northside Library. Get more details and register here.

The post Above the Waterline: Swimming in the South appeared first on Rough Draft Atlanta.