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Under the dome: Why two longtime Boulder residents keep coming back to Fiske Planetarium

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 30 Mar 2026 23:49:30 +0000

Under the dome: Why two longtime Boulder residents keep coming back to Fiske Planetarium Rachel Sauer Mon, 03/30/2026 - 17:49

Bradley Worrell

Although Drew Simon and Ron Marks did not attend CU Boulder, they have a deep appreciation for the university—and for Fiske in particular

When Drew Simon and Ron Marks walk out of Fiske Planetarium after a show, they intuitively know what’s coming next. It’s not applause or conversation or even a specific memory of a particular song or image.

It’s a feeling.

As the two longtime friends step back into the Boulder night, eyes adjusting, ears recalibrating, both of them are grinning from ear to ear. That part never changes.

“Every time we went,” Simon says, “we knew we’d walk out smiling.”

Longtime friends and Boulder residents Ron Marks (left) and Drew Simon are avid fans of the Fiske Planetarium, having attended dozens of shows over the past five years. They’ve seen some shows multiple times.

That quiet certainty—more than any single performance—is what has kept Simon and Marks returning to Fiske for years. Not because they planned to. Not because either of them studied astronomy or worked in the arts or even attended the University of Colorado Boulder.

And not because they expected to find something transformative inside the planetarium they had driven past many times. Instead, it began with curiosity and a misunderstanding.

Deep roots in the community

Marks, 80, and Simon, 71, have been friends for more than two decades, both with deep roots in the Boulder community stretching back at least four decades. Introduced to each other through a mutual friend—Marks’ housemate—they bonded over shared interests, which include hiking, live music, art and cultural events.

“There was a time when we were probably hippies, or hippie‑adjacent,” Simon says with a laugh. Over that time, CU Boulder has been a constant presence in their life—even though neither man attended the university.

Marks has been retired for several years from a career as an electric engineer for Lefthand Design in Niwot. Simon recently retired from his job as a principal at BSW Wealth Partners in Boulder. Like many longtime Boulder residents, Simon’s relationship with the university grew organically, through connections to the Leeds School of Business and the Conference on World Affairs. Also, his oldest son attended CU Boulder, further weaving the university into his family’s life.

Yet none of that connected either man directly to the Fiske Planetarium. Neither of them had a lifelong fascination with celestial mechanics or immersive films projected on a dome ceiling. Their first visit came the way meaningful discoveries do: by accident.

“As for Fiske specifically, we didn’t have some grand plan. It was probably curiosity,” Simon says, reflecting back. “We may have seen a flyer for the planetarium or something in Boulder Weekly back when that still existed. Or we may have simply asked, ‘What’s going on at the planetarium?’”

Whatever the case, Simon and Marks decided to check it out.

All the pretty lights

Their first show at Fiske remains memorable largely because of how unprepared they were for it. The show listing read “Pretty Lights”—and Simon assumed that meant exactly what it sounded like: a show featuring visually pleasing lights. He had never heard of the musical act called Pretty Lights and didn’t realize it was the stage name of the performer.

“That probably shows how naïve we were at the beginning,” Simon says with a laugh. That misunderstanding says something about where Simon and Marks were at the time. Not insiders. Not trend hunters. Just two curious locals trying something unknown to them.

They saw that first show more than five years ago—and since that time the two men have made up for lost time by seeing as many shows as possible. Still, an exact count is difficult to quantify, Simon says, because the experience resists counting. Some nights, they attend two shows, back to back. At dome film festivals hosted by Fiske, the two men might watch eight or more short films in a day. So, does that count as one event—or eight?

Simon says he’s never kept track “because it never occurred to me that one day someone would ask.” He estimates today that it could range anywhere between 30 and 60 shows.

What he remembers clearly is that—especially in the early years—he and Marks went a lot. They were enthralled.

So many shows to choose from

Marks says the variety of the programming offered by Fiske is a big part of the draw.

“We’ve done all of them,” Simon agrees. “We’ve attended traditional planetarium shows focused on astronomy—black holes, galaxies and large-scale maps of the universe. We’ve done laser shows and we’ve attended a lot of Liquid Sky performances.

“Early laser shows were sometimes underwhelming,” he confesses, “but the technology and the people running it have improved dramatically. Today, I wouldn’t dismiss a laser-only show the way I might have several years ago.”

“We’ve done all of them. We’ve attended traditional planetarium shows focused on astronomy—black holes, galaxies and large-scale maps of the universe. We’ve done laser shows and we’ve attended a lot of Liquid Sky performances," says Drew Simon. (Photo: Fiske Planetarium)

For Simon and Marks, Liquid Sky performances—the hybrid music-and-visual experiences—have remained their favorite over the years. Simon says that’s because these shows are not canned visuals synced to a soundtrack but instead are created in real time by artists operating sophisticated software during the performance.

Watching the artists (who refer to themselves as “navigators) felt like watching someone paint while the painting formed—”except the brush was digital and the canvas was the dome itself,” Simon says.

Over time, Marks and Simon became familiar faces at Fiske events. After shows, they stayed behind to talk with the navigators, who would ask what they liked about the performance and what might make the event even better. Did a sequence move too fast? Did a visual linger too long? Was there enough variety?

In an informal way, Marks and Simon became in-house critics, always with a focus on helping the experience become better. That sense of exchange and mutual engagement with the navigators deepened their connection to Fiske.

Music was the thread that tied many of these performances together. Simon and Marks say they’ve seen many Fiske shows more than once.

“We’ve seen a lot of Grateful Dead shows—probably more than any other artist. Pink Floyd would be second,” Simon says. “Some of that has to do with our musical preferences, and some of it has to do with relationships with navigators, who would tell us, ‘I’m navigating this show tonight—you should come.’”

“Each performance—even with the same music—felt different,” Marks adds. “The visuals changed. The pacing changed. The interpretation changed, so it was never the same twice.”

A place of musical discovery

Fiske also became a place of musical discovery. Simon says he and Marks had never heard of Tame Impala before attending a Liquid Sky show featuring the band’s music. Since then, they’ve seen that program at least three times.

The planetarium didn’t just reinforce existing preferences—it expanded them, Simon says.

At one point, Simon’s involvement with Fiske crossed a small but meaningful threshold. During conversations with one of the navigators years back, he mentioned that the program could benefit from different music. One idea that emerged from that discussion was a Jimi Hendrix show—and the navigator asked Simon if he’d curate the music. He agreed.

Simon says selecting the tracks, shaping the flow and keeping the program within the typical Liquid Sky timeframe gave him a new appreciation for the craft behind the scenes. The Hendrix show doesn’t run often, but Simon says he considers it a personal footnote in Liquid Sky history.

Film under the dome

If Liquid Sky showed Simon what live‑generated visuals could be, a single dome film revealed what else was possible. That moment came for Simon when Fiske hosted Samsara, a fully produced film by the visual artist Android Jones. Unlike the performances Simon had seen before, Samsara was created specifically for dome presentation. Although the film was only about 35 minutes long, the experience was, in Simon’s words, like going from black‑and‑white TV to color. It completely reframed his understanding of the medium.

“At its heart, Fiske isn’t just about astronomy or music—it’s an immersive experience. It’s an art form that’s still finding its full expression.”

The two men have seen Samsara at least three times. While it was more expensive compared to standard Fiske programming, Simon says he never questioned whether it was worth it.

The film demonstrated that the dome wasn’t just a venue for live experimentation; it was also a legitimate canvas for fully realized cinematic works. That realization carried forward into other film experiences, including Mesmerica and Beautifica by James Hood and collaborators, both of which Simon and Marks saw multiple times.

Then there was Dome Fest West, a judged film festival dedicated entirely to dome films. Fiske hosted it for multiple years, and Simon and Marks attended at least two full festivals, spending entire weekends immersed in the medium. Some films were short and abstract, others narrative or technically focused. There were panel discussions, awards and artists present. For Simon, it was one of the best experiences money could buy.

Fiske audience also evolves over time

Meanwhile, the audience has changed over time.

“When we first started going, there might be 10 people in the entire theater. And sometimes, we were the only ones there,” Simon says. “Now, shows sell out.”

Also, audiences now often applaud between songs—something Simon says would have felt out of place in a traditional planetarium setting.

The environment remains distinctive: everyone seated, the room dark and quiet, eyes turned upward. Simon says he always appreciated when navigators asked people not to use their phones, knowing how disruptive even a small phone screen can be in that darkness. While that messaging has become less consistent, Simon says he finds that audiences are generally respectful and engaged.

So why keep coming back?

Part of the answer is simple: Simon and Marks say they love the planetarium as a resource. Living in a university town is often talked about in abstract terms, but Simon says Fiske represents a tangible way to engage with CU Boulder. Simon and Marks also regularly attend performances through the CU School of Music, and Simon says Fiske feels like a natural extension of that cultural life.

Another part is commitment. Marks and Simon became Fiske members because they wanted to support the planetarium. Membership made them feel connected, not just as consumers of entertainment but as participants in a community invested in what Fiske could become.

And finally, there is fascination.

“At its heart, Fiske isn’t just about astronomy or music—it’s an immersive experience,” Simon says. “It’s an art form that’s still finding its full expression.”

Each visit to Fiske carries the quiet promise that something new will unfold overhead.

“The people at Fiske are wonderful and the programming is thoughtful. And every time we go, we leave smiling,” Simon says. “It’s not hard to say, ‘Let’s go to a planetarium show tonight,’ because we know it will be a meaningful experience.”

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Although Drew Simon and Ron Marks did not attend CU Boulder, they have a deep appreciation for the university—and for Fiske in particular.

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Study probes the ‘new normal’ for older adults, post-COVID

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 16 Mar 2026 14:30:42 +0000

Study probes the ‘new normal’ for older adults, post-COVID Rachel Sauer Mon, 03/16/2026 - 08:30

Bradley Worrell

Researchers from CU Boulder find that the pandemic reshaped how people age 55 and older interact with their communities while highlighting the importance of ‘social infrastructure’

The COVID-19 pandemic reshaped how people interact with their communities, but its effects on older Americans have been especially complex—altering daily routines, social connections and how people move through their communities even years later.

Those changes are at the center of a five‑year longitudinal study led by researchers at the University of Colorado Boulder and the University of Michigan. Hayes Hart‑Thompson (they/them), a graduate student and researcher in the CU Boulder Department of Geography, helped analyze how older adults adapted their lives during and after the pandemic.

In a recent paper, “A New Normal. Not Bad, Just Different,” Hart-Thompson and study co-authors provided a long-term view of how disruption turns into adaption, based upon survey responses from the same study participants since early 2020, all of whom are 55 or older.

Hayes Hart-Thompson is a graduate student in the CU Boulder Department of Geography whose recently published research helped analyze how older adults adapted their lives during and after the COVID-19 pandemic.

“What really stood out,” Hart‑Thompson explains, “was that people weren’t just responding to COVID itself. They were responding to the after‑effects—how the world had changed and how their routines had to change with it.”

Following routines over time

The study began in the early months of the pandemic, when participants were surveyed every month. As the crisis continued, Hart-Thompson says the research shifted to annual surveys, allowing researchers to track how people’s habits, perceptions and social lives evolved. The research focuses primarily on data from the fourth year of the study, although the research team has since received a fifth year of responses.

That fifth year added a reflective dimension, says Hart-Thompson. Participants were asked to look back over the previous five years and consider what they had learned, what they wished they had done differently and how their relationships with their neighborhoods and communities had changed. Hart‑Thompson says many people used that opportunity to rethink whom they spend time with, how they engage socially and what they value most.

“It gave us insight not just into what people are doing now,” they say, “but how they understand those changes in hindsight.”

What is social infrastructure?

A key concept in the research is “social infrastructure”—a term that Hart-Thompson says goes beyond physical buildings to describe the places that support social interaction and community life.

“A library is a great example,” they say. “It’s a physical space but it also supports relationships, routines and access to resources. The same can be true for community centers, parks or even coffee shops. They’re physical spaces where relationships happen and routines take shape.”

The idea overlaps with what geographers and sociologists often call “third places”—spaces that are neither home (first place) nor work (second place) and that support community, connection and informal care. Third places captures both public and private spaces and reflects the full range of places people mentioned when describing how their routines changed during the pandemic.

Faith‑based organizations, in particular, played an important role for many participants, Hart-Thompson says.

“Especially with this older population we surveyed, churches provide consistent, low-cost—or no-cost—opportunities to see the same people regularly, which is incredibly important for maintaining social routines,” they say. “When concerns about disease spread or mobility made returning difficult, that loss was significant—even if services moved online.”

Aging: not a one-size-fits-all experience

The study focused on adults 55 and older, but Hart-Thompson says the researchers found that age alone did not determine how people experienced the pandemic. Instead, perception mattered just as much as chronology.

“How people felt about their age really shaped how they talked about their lives,” Hart‑Thompson explains. “Someone who felt old at 60 described their experiences very differently from someone who felt young at 80.”

Retirement status also made a major difference. Hart-Thompson explains that participants who were still working navigated different social environments than those who were retired. Health, mobility and daily obligations also influenced how much choice people felt they had in shaping their routines, they add.

Rather than finding a clear age‑based trend, Hart-Thompson says the researchers saw a mix of social and structural factors shaping each person’s experience.

Health, mobility and daily obligations also influenced how much choice people felt they had in shaping their routines during and following the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, says CU Boulder researcher Hayes Hart-Thompson.

Not all changes were negative

“COVID-19 reduced in‑person social interaction for many older adults—but the impact was not uniformly harmful,” Hart-Thompson says. In fact, some participants described positive or neutral changes, particularly when technology expanded access.

For individuals with limited mobility, tools like Zoom opened doors that hadn’t existed before. Others found new routines they enjoyed, such as online exercise classes or increased time for solitude.

“At the same time,” Hart‑Thompson says, “there was a lot of avoidance—people staying away from spaces because of health fears or political tensions. It really depended on the activity and the individual.”

In many cases, they say, declining health or aging‑related challenges were already influencing routines even before the pandemic. “COVID-19 just intensified those trends and brought them into sharper focus,” Hart-Thompson adds.

A specific, but meaningful, sample

The study’s participants were predominantly white, female and college educated, with many living in the Midwest. While the sample included both rural and urban residents across the United States, study participants are not representative of the population as a whole, Hart-Thompson acknowledges.

They emphasize that the research team is mindful of those limitations. Rather than treating the data as universally generalizable, the focus is on what this specific group can tell researchers, particularly as an important group of voters. That’s because, in the fifth year of the study, researchers added questions about democracy and political perceptions to explore that dimension more directly.

“There’s also a real issue of privilege in survey research,” Hart‑Thompson says. “Who has the unpaid time to respond year after year? That shapes who shows up in the data.”

Politics, isolation and policy lessons

One unexpected finding was the degree to which the study retained participants from across the political spectrum, Hart-Thompson says. Despite the politicization of COVID-19 and growing mistrust in institutions, respondents with very different views continued to participate in the research, they add

That diversity complicated the narrative. Participants disagreed sharply on whether COVID-19 was a serious health threat, but those disagreements didn’t erase shared concerns about isolation and access.

Hart‑Thompson sees a clear lesson for policymakers: Adaptability matters more than uniformity.

“There’s never going to be a one‑size‑fits‑all solution,” they say. “But universal access to social spaces—both physical and digital—is crucial. Isolation is harmful regardless of political ideology.”

Hybrid events, online access and inclusive design can help ensure people aren’t left behind during future crises—particularly those who are older or immunocompromised, Hart-Thompson adds.

Living in a new normal

Perhaps the clearest conclusion from the research is that most older adults have not returned to their pre‑pandemic routines—and many don’t expect to, Hart-Thompson says.

“There’s never going to be a one‑size‑fits‑all solution. But universal access to social spaces—both physical and digital—is crucial. Isolation is harmful regardless of political ideology.”

They say participants frequently described living in a “new normal.” Some realized they value solitude more than they once thought. Others became more intentional about spending time with close friends and family. Even when routines resembled the past, people understood that the world had changed.

“There wasn’t this expectation that things would go back to exactly how they were,” Hart‑Thompson says. “Adaptation is the reality.”

That perspective, they believe, challenges the idea that recovery means returning to a previous state. Instead, it highlights how people reshape their lives in response to long‑term change—especially later in life.

Offering support in crisis . . . and in everyday life

As the research team begins analyzing five full years of data, Hart‑Thompson is particularly interested in how overlapping crises—also known as “polycrises”—shape everyday life. That’s because COVID-19 did not happen in isolation—and neither do its effects, they add.

Across all of it, one theme remains constant: the importance of adaptable, accessible social infrastructure.

“If we center access and adaptability,” Hart‑Thompson says, “we’re better equipped to support people—not just in crises, but in everyday life.”

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Researchers from CU Boulder find that the pandemic reshaped how people age 55 and older interact with their communities while highlighting the importance of ‘social infrastructure.'

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Don’t just explain the science, dance it

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 16:14:04 +0000

Don’t just explain the science, dance it Rachel Sauer Thu, 03/12/2026 - 10:14

Rachel Sauer

Asia Kaiser, a bee researcher and ecology and evolutionary biology PhD candidate, is named social sciences category winner in the international Dance Your PhD contest sponsored by the journal Science

There’s a lot going on with bees right now. Because it was an unseasonably warm winter, queens may be emerging from hibernation and beginning to lay the eggs of their first broods. And since queens can choose the sex of their offspring, they are now or soon will be producing daughters.

It’s fascinating information about one of the planet’s most complex and charismatic insects, but how to convey it in dance?

PhD candidate Asia Kaiser (in a scene from her Dance Your PhD entry), studies how human land use affects different insect groups and, consequently, the ecosystem services they provide in coupled human-natural systems.

Start with a shimmy—reminiscent, perhaps, of the movement of bees’ wings or the vibration of their flight muscles. Then weave undulating patterns with fellow dancers, gliding and twirling in a choreography of bees in motion. And bring it home with a question about what happens when we remove native flowers from urban environments or destroy bee habitat to build roads or houses (answer: nothing good).

In short, dance your PhD. So, that’s what Asia Kaiser did.

Kaiser, a PhD candidate in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology (EBIO) and researcher in the Resasco Lab, this week was announced the social sciences category winner in the international Dance Your PhD contest sponsored by the journal Science and the American Association for the Advancement of Science.

Now in its 18th year, Dance Your PhD seeks, through a spirit of fun and of marrying art and science, to address a scenario that scientists commonly experience: “The party is just getting started when the dreaded question comes: ‘So, what’s your PhD research about?’ You launch into the explanation, trying to judge the level of interest as you go deeper. It takes about a minute before someone changes the subject,” contest organizers explain.

“At times like this, don’t you wish you lived in a world where you could just ask people to pull out their phones to watch an online video explaining your PhD research through interpretive dance?”

“I was a dancer all through college, so I have a background in belly dance and Latin dance,” Kaiser explains. “And I like to make music, so I thought this could be a really fun way to explain my research.”

Learning to dance

And what is that research? Bees. Specifically, how human land use affects different insect groups and, consequently, the ecosystem services they provide in coupled human-natural systems. Her research aims to improve the resilience of urban agroecosystems, increase equitable access to fresh produce and promote environmental justice in cities.

As for the dancing, Kaiser had wanted to take dance lessons while growing up in Philadelphia, but there wasn’t room in the budget for them. So, after graduating high school she took a gap year in Brazil to do service work and finally began learning dance. She started with belly dance, then branched into samba and other Latin styles.

When she began her ecology and evolutionary biology undergraduate studies at Princeton University, “I thought, ‘I’m going to invest in my secondary dream,’” Kaiser recalls, which meant stepping away from the books sometimes to immerse herself in the vibrant dance scene in Princeton and the broader New York City and Philadelphia area.

She also is a cellist, so when she came to CU Boulder to pursue her PhD she began making music with other people in her department.

When she heard about Dance Your PhD, it dovetailed with so many of the things she loves: dance and music and science. However, the deadline to submit entry videos was Feb. 20, and she decided to enter the contest a mere two weeks before then.

She started with the music, composing a piece to score the story in her mind: “I wanted to tell a story of bees emerging in early spring in your backyard and what they’re up to. People know a lot about honeybees, but not other bee species, so I wanted to highlight how important they are to urban ecosystems.”

Kaiser put out a call for dancers and fortunately, the response from her fellow PhD students and candidates was abundant and eager. Then she and Ella Henry, a violinist and EBIO PhD student, recorded the music.

Science as art

Because of the quick turnaround, the troupe had time for just two rehearsals before their afternoon of filming in front of the EBIO greenhouses on 30th Street in Boulder. It was an EBIO community collaboration. PhD students Manuela Mejía, Lincoln Taylor, Gladiana Spitz, Kaylee Rosenberger and Ella Henry danced Kaiser’s choreography alongside her. PhD student Luis de Pablo helped with sound engineering and Scott Taylor, EBIO associate professor and director of the Mountain Research Station, was cinematographer. Kaiser’s husband, John Russell, provided voiceover narration for the final video.

And despite the extremely short timeframe, it all came together, Kaiser says. For example, she happened to have a pair of gold Isis wings, a traditional belly dance prop, that Lincoln Taylor wore “to depict the fact that male bees spend their lives flying around,” she says.

The dance, music and costumes united in a science-as-art visualization of her PhD, which she uploaded to YouTube and clicked submit on her Dance Your PhD entry. She was up against scientists from around the world, so learning that she won her category was especially significant.

“Obviously, I love bees,” she says, “and I love to dance and make music, so it was a really cool experience to create this piece with my friends and find a different way to talk about my research.”

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Asia Kaiser, a bee researcher and ecology and evolutionary biology PhD candidate, is named social sciences category winner in the international Dance Your PhD contest sponsored by the journal Science.

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The yellow brick road starts here

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 04 Mar 2026 23:41:11 +0000

The yellow brick road starts here Rachel Sauer Wed, 03/04/2026 - 16:41

Julie Chiron

CU Boulder's clinical psychology training clinics give children, students and adults a diagnosis, a direction and a path forward

The letter arrived years after their consultation.

A former client of the University of Colorado Boulder’s Attention, Behavior and Learning Evaluation (ABLE) Clinic was doing some spring cleaning and found the assessment he had received from the clinic as a teenager. Enclosed with the test results that diagnosed his dyslexia was a small note of encouragement.

His discovery prompted him to write to the clinic with an update. He was graduating from college, and the note gave him fresh encouragement for the new set of challenges ahead.

Nomita Chhabildas (left), director of the Attention, Behavior, and Learning Clinic; Tina Pittman Wagers (center), director of the Raimy Clinic; and Renée Martin-Willett (right), assistant research professor and acting director of the Psychological Assessment & Testing Hub (CU PATH).

“Words are powerful to me. They have always been both vexing and lovely,” he wrote. “When coupled with the right moment, words can carry a meaning that is both motivating and moving. Today it was your words, written almost five years ago, that affected me in just such a way.”

For Nomita Chhabildas, who has directed the ABLE Clinic for more than two decades, the former client’s letter captures what the university’s three clinical psychology training clinics are meant to do. They are places where people come to better understand themselves and leave with a path forward.

This year, the clinics are experiencing a moment of renewal.

CU PATH, the department’s adult psychological assessment clinic formerly known as the Brain Behavior Clinic, reopened after an 18-month closure following the retirement of the long-time former director. The Raimy Clinic, which provides affordable mental health treatment for students, staff, faculty and the community, is under new leadership. And the clinic spaces inside Muenzinger Psychology Building have been refreshed with soft colors, warm lighting, art on the walls and inviting furniture in every room. It feels more like a living room than a waiting room.

“It’s a time when our clinics are being rebuilt,” Chhabildas says. “A really exciting time, both for our students and for the community.”

Three clinics, one mission

The Department of Psychology and Neuroscience operates the three training clinics.

The Raimy Clinic provides psychotherapy for adults, couples and, less frequently, children. CU PATH offers comprehensive adult psychological assessments for conditions including ADHD, learning disabilities and cognitive changes following concussion or traumatic brain injury. The ABLE Clinic focuses on children and adolescents, with deep expertise in learning differences, ADHD and autism spectrum disorder, now estimated by the CDC to affect 1 in 31 children.

All three clinics serve CU Boulder students, faculty and staff, as well as community members across the Front Range.

And all three share what Reneé Martin-Willet, assistant research professor and director of CU PATH, describes as a dual mission. They train the next generation of clinical psychologists while delivering evidence-based care to the community.

“We’re one of the top-ranked clinical psychology programs in the country,” Martin-Willet says. “We have fantastic student clinicians, and everything we do is based on the best, newest science.”

Like a teaching hospital or dental school, the clinicians are doctoral trainees working under close supervision. The model keeps standards high while expanding access. CU PATH charges about $2,100 for a comprehensive assessment, significantly less than the typical private-practice rate. The ABLE Clinic keeps fees similarly low and offers scholarships for families who otherwise cannot afford testing.

That affordability is not incidental. Research conducted by the ABLE Clinic found that children from the lowest-income families are evaluated for learning disorders at roughly half the rate of their higher-income peers.

Undergraduate student Cece Di Bella (left) and clinical psychology graduate student Mateo Chavez chat in one of the Raimy Center's welcoming spaces.

“We could have increased our fees,” Chhabildas says. “We could have stopped seeing families on scholarships. But we have not done that because we feel like we’re here for the community.”

Bringing research into the room

What distinguishes the clinics, faculty members say, is how closely training is tied to research.

“Our students and faculty are working with world-class clinical researchers who are developing and testing the very evidenced-based treatments we provide,” says Raimy Clinic Director Tina Pittman Wagers.

Pittman Wagers stepped into the Raimy Clinic director role seven months ago after 25 years on the faculty. She’s currently supervising doctoral students in behavioral activation, a gold standard treatment for depression developed in part by Sona Dimidjian, faculty member and director of CU Boulder’s Crown Institute.

“When clients come to the clinic,” Pittman Wagers says, “they benefit from treatments that have been rigorously tested and are being taught by some of the same people who helped develop them.”

Martin-Willet traces a similar arc in her own career. As a doctoral student at CU, she trained under anxiety researcher Joanna Arch while working on one of Arch’s clinical trials. Later, during her residency at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, the Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) approaches she had learned proved essential for patients with brain injuries, amputations and cancer.

“That’s a very direct line,” she says, “from research at CU, to training in the clinic, to application with patients elsewhere, to better care in real-world settings.”

More than a label

Since opening in 2004, the ABLE Clinic has served more than 1,000 children and trained more than 80 doctoral students. Family feedback surveys consistently rate the experience highly. Last year’s average score was 3.86 out of 4.

But Chhabildas is quick to point out that the most important outcome is not the number.

A child assessed for dyslexia, for example, does not leave with a label alone. Families receive detailed recommendations for school accommodations, learning programs, tutoring approaches and strategies tailored to that child’s specific situation and needs. Equally important, the clinicians work to identify strengths such as verbal reasoning, spatial creativity, artistic abilities and social skills that can be cultivated alongside challenges.

One parent wrote to the clinic, “Since J has had her diagnosis from you, she feels empowered in a way she never has. You gave us a yellow brick road to follow.”

That sense of direction, faculty members say, is the real measure of success. For the young man writing from across five years of distance, it was the encouragement, twice over, that arrived exactly when he needed it. For J, it was the direction her family needed to support their child. In this moment of renewal for the clinics, with refreshed spaces, reopened doors and a commitment to keeping care within reach for every family, they remain steadfastly oriented toward helping people better understand themselves and leave with a path forward.

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CU Boulder's clinical psychology training clinics give children, students and adults a diagnosis, a direction and a path forward.

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Top photo: CU Boulder's Raimy Center provides items to support children, teens and adults in the therapy process.

Students blend suds and science at Earth on Tap

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 03 Mar 2026 23:17:41 +0000

Students blend suds and science at Earth on Tap Rachel Sauer Tue, 03/03/2026 - 16:17

Rachel Sauer

The March 9 event at Rayback Collective in Boulder, open to all, invites scientists and non-scientists to gather for discussions of climate research

It started, as good things often do, with CAKE. In this case, that’s the Climate Action Knowledge Exchange, a group formed by University of Colorado Boulder atmospheric and oceanic sciences (ATOC) graduate students Max Elling, Dora Shlosberg and Josh Gooch. They noticed, the further they progressed in their studies, that there are “a lot of different people working in climate, but not necessarily working together,” explains Shlosberg, a PhD student.

If you go

What: Earth on Tap

When: 5:45-7:30 p.m. Monday, March 9

Where: Rayback Collective, 2775 Valmont Road in Boulder

Who: All are invited

Learn more

So, they formed an interdisciplinary outreach group, CAKE, to break down silos and build partnerships between scholars, industry professionals and community members. From there, CAKE began collaborating with ATOC’s existing Outreach Committee, a group dedicated to educating the public on Earth science through engaging and interactive learning. Outreach teaches children through their SEEDS program, bringing live demonstrations on Earth-system science to local elementary schools.

Then, last semester, they began discussing what more they could be doing to involve adults in science, particularly those who aren’t professional scientists but are science curious.

Earth on Tap organizers express that there has been a lot of misinformation spread about science, and there is sometimes an element of mystery among the public as to what it is local scientists do. Earth on Tap aims to break down these barriers and connect people of all backgrounds to the science being done in their own backyard.

The key is to make it fun, says ATOC PhD student Maggie Scholer. But how?

The answer: Beer.

Not to make the science go down easier, but as a tool to bring science out of the lab and field research sites and into spaces where all are welcome, where community grows, where learning can happen with a chocolate stout and a shared plate of sliders. So, that’s how Earth on Tap came to be.

An event at which all ages are welcome—though you’ll have to show ID if you want that beer—Earth on Tap features climate scientists discussing their research with a focus on how it applies to and affects the broader community.

The second Earth on Tap will be from 5:45-7:30 p.m. Monday, March 9, at the Rayback Collective in Boulder. Nels Bjarke, a hydrologist with Western Water Assessment and CU Boulder PhD alumnus, and McKenzie Larson, an ATOC PhD student and researcher in the Synoptic Meteorology Research Group, will discuss the impacts of low seasonal snowfall and the development of downslope windstorms.

Telling science stories

Monday’s Earth on Tap topic is especially timely, Josh Gooch says, because he and his ATOC colleagues frequently discuss how “to communicate how abnormal this winter has been and contextualize it to the future. Each week we have a weather discussion that one of our professors leads, and we get these branching discussions of, ‘If we make up the precipitation deficit in the future, what does that mean in terms of more fuel for wildfires?’ So, one of our goals (with Earth on Tap) is to set the context of what current weather events that are occurring on the Front Range may lead to in future seasons. That’s a concern that a lot of people share.”

Max Elling, an ATOC PhD student and researcher in the Oceans and Climate Lab, notes that the Boulder area is interesting because of its large population of scientists as well as its population of non-scientists, who are nevertheless involved in Earth science, yet there still can be a disconnect between the research that’s happening in this area and what community members know about it.

“With Earth on Tap, we’re learning more about what people are curious about,” Elling says, adding that he and his colleagues are learning to better understand their audiences and tailor their outreach style accordingly.

“We have an inherent language that we use as scientists, certain acronyms, and we’re taught to present at conferences where everyone is aware of this language,” Gooch says. “We need to be more aware of situations where an audience member might not be as familiar because they don’t interface with these things every day.”

Jonah Shaw, a post-doctoral associate at the Cooperative Institute for Research in Environmental Sciences (CIRES) who spoke at the inaugural Earth on Tap in January, adds that all of his communication training in graduate school was in a conference environment, which doesn’t necessarily translate to climate discussions over beers at the Rayback.

“Something that I think is really important when you’re communicating within a scientific field is a story, but it becomes even more important when you’re communicating with the general public,” Shaw says. “It’s meeting people where they are, so for me, instead of talking about what I do on a day-to-day basis, I talked about a satellite mission I worked on, the story of that mission. I was talking about the narrative aspects and connecting with people’s experiences, and I was incredibly excited to see how well attended it was by non-scientists. Everyone is in their own realm and able to connect (with the science) in their own way.”

Scholer says that Earth on Tap organizers learn from event to event how to better involve audience members in the presentation, including trivia questions with prizes and QR codes that people can scan to submit questions if they’re not inclined to raise their hand. Ideally, she adds, people will come to Earth on Tap and have a great time and be more inclined to take climate action when opportunities arise.

“I think, especially in atmospheric science, ideally the outcome of what we do in the field is actionable for policy makers,” says ATOC PhD student Lucas Howard. “I think having the public more informed about not just the science in terms of outcomes, in terms of uncertainty, but the process of what goes into generating the science, can only have good downstream effects.”

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The March 9 event at Rayback Collective in Boulder, open to all, invites scientists and non-scientists to gather for discussions of climate research.

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CU Boulder philosopher building a bridge to Africa

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 09 Dec 2025 22:11:46 +0000

CU Boulder philosopher building a bridge to Africa Rachel Sauer Tue, 12/09/2025 - 15:11

Cody DeBos

Associate Professor Ajume Wingo was recently appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University, a recognition of his decades of scholarship

For a young Ajume Wingo growing up in Nso, a northwestern region of Cameroon, philosophy wasn’t a topic relegated to ancient Stoics or the halls of academia.

“Philosophy was not an abstract pursuit. It was a living practice woven in everyday life,” says Wingo, an associate professor of philosophy at the University of Colorado Boulder. “As a child I was surrounded by elders who transmitted their wisdom to me through storytelling, through rituals, through symbols, through ceremonies. That had deep philosophic meaning.”

That early foundation shaped not just how Wingo views philosophy today, but also how he practices it. He values using lived experience as a starting point and working toward the abstract, rather than the other way around.

Ajume Wingo, a CU Boulder associate professor of philosophy, was recently appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University.

“I start from life, and then I go up. That’s the way I think about philosophy as a living practice. As life,” he explains.

Looking beyond our circles

Recently, Wingo’s philosophical journey has taken a major step forward.

In October, he was appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University in South Africa. The role recognizes his decades of scholarship and offers a new platform for expanding international research collaborations between African and Western thinkers.

“At a personal level, it’s a recognition many years in the making. It gives me the opportunity to work collaboratively at the international level, to act like a bridge between Western philosophy and African philosophy,” Wingo says.

His appointment is the result of a personal connection with Nelson Mandela University that has grown over many years. Wingo had previously delivered lectures across South Africa, but his keynote speech in April 2024 at Nelson Mandela University titled “In the Shade of Power” sparked something more.

“Many of the students from the university came up to me after. They wanted to exchange numbers and work with me and all that,” Wingo recalls.

During that same visit, he also participated in many broader conversations around ethics and justice in business alongside thinkers and industry leaders from across Africa.

Wingo’s research draws on both his formal training and his cultural roots in Cameroon. That dual grounding allows him to explore concepts through multiple lenses, he says, from Western theories of justice to African communal models of governance.

“Philosophy reflects the lived experience of the people that philosophers are dealing with,” he says. “And that already gives us some kind of differentiation.”

For Wingo and the kind of political philosophy he practices, Nelson Mandela University is a natural home.

“The Nelson Mandela University is named after Nelson Mandela, who was a victim of apartheid and who came out with a lot of compassion and reconciliation,” he says.

Take the concept of freedom.

In Western political philosophy, Wingo says, freedom is often defined as the absence of interference or constraint. But he says that idea doesn’t translate well into many African contexts.

“The African perspective on freedom is the presence of the right kind of associations. The presence of the community, of belonging. The more you belong, the more you are associated with people, the more freedom you have,” Wingo explains.

He says this contrast extends to views on politics, citizenship and even the role of blood and kinship in shaping identity. Where Western models may emphasize choice, contract and individual rights, African perspectives tend to view community as organic and identity as inherited.

“Politics from the African perspective has always been about … these bounded people in this place with a story, real or imagined, deciding for themselves how they should live,” Wingo says.

By bringing these frameworks into the conversation, he hopes to “humanize” politics and offer new ways of asking questions that might help us understand global and regional challenges. However, he warns that conversation can only happen when philosophers are willing to look outward.

“Philosophy itself is a kind of death when it is inward looking,” Wingo says. “Some of the time I worry that philosophy is becoming like a ghetto … a bunch of people sitting around talking among themselves about themselves.”

“You miss a lot when you’re inward looking, when you keep asking the same thing over and over again. And you gain a lot when you open up to the rest of the world.”

He believes true philosophical vitality comes when thinkers “communicate across the mighty mountains and across the vast oceans,” adding, “That’s philosophy at its best.”

Becoming a bridge

For now, Wingo hopes his appointment at Nelson Mandela University can serve as a bridge, both for his own work and for the CU Boulder community. He’s already planning faculty and student exchanges between the two institutions as well as an international symposium and conferences in both Colorado and South Africa.

“Even just the idea of me being there is exciting. Many people will learn about CU Boulder because of me and will get to hear a new perspective on philosophy,” he says.

That kind of cross-cultural exchange is good for the discipline, helping to shape the ideas born of those who practice it.

“To learn about your culture, you should make it foreign to you by learning about the cultures of other people,” Wingo says, paraphrasing Aristotle. “And in that way, you learn about your culture, not just the cultures of other people.”

In a world facing increasingly global challenges, Wingo believes that philosophers must rise to the moment. He says asking bold questions, ones that defy norms and societal comforts, is the only way we can overcome today’s biggest obstacles.

“You miss a lot when you’re inward looking, when you keep asking the same thing over and over again,” he says, “And you gain a lot when you open up to the rest of the world.”

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Associate Professor Ajume Wingo was recently appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University, a recognition of his decades of scholarship.

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Top photo: Hu Chen/Unsplash

Sanctuary brims with happy tales (and tails)

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 02 Dec 2025 14:30:00 +0000

Sanctuary brims with happy tales (and tails) Rachel Sauer Tue, 12/02/2025 - 07:30

Clint Talbott

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary, founded and run by CU Boulder alumna Jess Osborne and her husband, CU Boulder Professor Myles Osborne, gives unwanted or neglected animals a safe, comfortable forever home

Why did this chicken cross the road? No one knew. And this was no joke.

Late last month, the chicken was strutting on Magnolia Road in the mountains near Nederland—a place inhabited by coyotes, fox and other canines. Three passersby stopped to help, and, together, they captured the bird by wrapping it in a shirt, whereupon one good Samaritan drove the bird to Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary.

Friends of the sanctuary posted the news to the local Facebook group, called Nedheads, hoping to find the chicken’s owner. No one claimed the bird.

Myles (left) and Jess Osborn founded Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary to rescue "unwanted and discarded animals and provide them with high-quality food and medical care to live out their natural lives.” (Photos: Clint Talbott)

It’s possible that the chicken wandered away from its home, through the forest, to this road. It’s also possible that the bird, which appears to be a rooster, was dumped on the side of the road because it won’t produce eggs. (Discarding roosters is common.)

Jess and Myles Osborne, who founded the sanctuary, have adopted the rooster and named it Chamonix, after the resort town in France. Like his namesake, Chamonix is striking, but why name a bird after a town? Thereby hangs a tale.

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit launched in 2021 by Jess, who graduated in 2005 from the University of Colorado Boulder with degrees in communication and fine arts, and Myles, CU Boulder associate professor of history.

The sanctuary, just south of Magnolia Road west of Boulder, aims to rescue “unwanted and discarded animals and provide them with high-quality food and medical care to live out their natural lives.”

On the sanctuary’s 23-acre parcel, more than two-dozen animals—horses, pigs, goats, ducks, dogs, plus a cat, yak, donkey, turkey and, now, chicken—enjoy lives they otherwise would not have had.

And an oink-oink here…

Consider the pigs, named Bolton and Berlin, which a friend of the Osbornes noticed wandering on another roadside near Nederland. The pigs had broken out of their home because they were starving and didn’t have water, and their owner gave the OK to take the pigs. Bolton and Berlin now sleep, snort and snuffle, in the sanctuary’s loving embrace.

Each animal has a backstory.

Wilbur, a dog named for Wilbur, 91��Ѽ, came to the sanctuary after his foster family refused to put him down, against the advice of three veterinarians, to join his biological brother, Ziggy, named after Zagazig, Egypt.

Chamonix the (suspected) rooster came to Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary in October after being found strutting alone on Magnolia Road near Nederland; attempts to find an owner were unsuccessful.

The brothers were both born with the same neurological disorder. Wilbur also has a dog version of Wilson’s disease, which makes him retain excessive amounts of copper. He takes medicine to remove copper from his blood.

Wilbur was in a wheelchair but now can walk, though unsteadily. Ziggy suffers from spells resembling seizures that prevented him from walking or standing at least 30 times a day. He often had to be carried.

Wilbur and Ziggy are clearly happy, though, and Jess dubs them the “wiggle brothers.”

Talkeetna (Alaska), a yak usually called “Tallie,” was born prematurely and was unlikely to survive. She was donated to the sanctuary, which took her to Colorado State University and gave her a shot at survival. These days, Tallie is hale and hearty and hangs around with the goats. She seems to enjoy gently headbutting people who walk by.

London and Brooklyn are mini horses who had been awfully neglected. Both had severely overgrown hooves when they were rescued from a kill pen at auction. Brooklyn had suffered some kind of trauma when she was younger, and her left eye has been removed once at Tails to give her the same standard of care as humans and dogs.

Both mini horses love being taken for walks and chomping as much roadside grass as possible in the broad meadow that sits under a stunning vista featuring James Peak, South and North Arapahoe Peaks.

A herd of elk often gathers nearby, drawing curious glances from many of the animals, perhaps none more than Rio, a 2,000-pound draft horse whose head is higher than the eaves of the sanctuary.

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary provides a loving home and high-quality care to animals in need and creates a welcoming place for humans to experience the love, joy and healing of connecting with animals.

When Tails adopted her from a rescue in Montana, Rio had a crooked foot and still needed extensive veterinary care to make sure she was comfortable and could walk comfortably. Now, she’s playful and mischievous, sometimes inadvertently crushing pieces of the aluminum fencing around the horses’ area.

Animals soothe the human psyche

Jess Osborne has always loved animals. As a kid in Gunbarrel, she collected the critters her mother could afford (and their home could accommodate): frogs, geckos, chickens and dogs.

Animals helped her feel better, much better. She has grappled with ADHD and anxiety since childhood. As she speaks, her focus can drift into several sometimes-related topics.

Jess Osborne with Tallie the yak (left) and Wilbur the dog.

But focusing on animals is no problem. “Even though I can’t remember history or make it through any of Myles’ books without falling asleep, when it comes to medicines and animal care and stuff like that, I go down the hyper-focusing tunnel,” she told The Colorado Sun.

And the animals helped other people, too, Jess noticed. Nine years ago, when she was working at a nursing and memory-care facility in Boulder, Jess brought her dogs Dublin and Brisbane. The residents loved the dogs.

After adopting Brisbane and Dublin, who died in 2023, Jess and Myles adopted a bunny and, later, the mini horses.

This was the seed of an idea: Elderly people often can’t care for (or aren’t allowed to have) pets. Unwanted and abused animals need forever homes where they can live their best lives. And rescued animals can bring comfort and joy to people who—for many reasons—don’t have animals in their lives.

This was true for Jess’ grandmother, whom Jess and Myles took care of and who died in 2021. It was also true for a neighbor’s boy, who was on the autism spectrum.

He rode and brushed the horses to build core strength and fine motor skills. Occupational and physical therapists have shown that movement and interaction with horses can improve physical, cognitive and emotional well-being in people with varying conditions.

In the career world, Jess had not found her place, but launching an animal sanctuary was her calling. She and Myles bought the sanctuary’s current home, which is large enough to allow the sanctuary to help more animals and humans. There, they have room for large horses and the rest of the menagerie.

But what to call the sanctuary? Happy Tails wasn’t quite right. Given Myles’ extensive travel and his English background, Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary seemed to fit, even though the place is not Dickensian.

The name reflects the fact that both Jess and Myles love to read and travel.

Of course, the place, which had been a regular home with a two-car garage and a large deck, had to be converted to serve its primary residents, the animals. The garage was turned into a barn, and an additional shelter for the goats was built adjacent to the newly fashioned barn.

Myles Osborne with several of the eight goats, who often lounge on the sunny deck and fall asleep, snoring.

A sunny enclosure next to the deck serves as a warm spot for the pigs and sometimes the eight goats, who often lounge on the sunny deck and fall asleep, snoring.

Below the deck, the chicken, Chamonix, the newest feathered child, and ducks (Louise, Abe and Albie, after Lake Louise and Lake Abraham, Canada, and Lake Albert, Uganda) have their own petite house called the Duck Tails Saloon, which resembles an Old West bar, next to a small fenced area.

Jess, Myles and sanctuary volunteers build and mend fences, string electric fencing (which keeps big horses in and bears out), fashion goat playgrounds, and spend their days raking muck, preparing special food for two-dozen different palates and attending to the animals’ medical needs.

Being as bold as your dreams

It’s a lot of work and, no doubt, a fair amount of stress. As he talks about this, however, Myles’ demeanor remains steady and calm, just as it does when he discusses the history of colonialism in Africa, the necessary steps to refashion a horse fence or his attempted climb of Mount Everest, which he abandoned in the “death zone” to save a man’s life.

Myles suggests that the decision to start a sanctuary was a no-brainer:

“If you have a dream and something that you are excited about, you have to lean into it. And if you are in your early 40s and financially secure, if you're not gonna do it, then when are you gonna do it?”

He observes: “I do think that generally when people are brave and people lean into things that seem intimidating, it works itself out. … And why not be brave? Why not go for it? And it clearly is Jess’ passion in life. It's what she was put on the earth to do, very clearly. So it wasn't that tough of a decision.

“Now, keeping the numbers reasonable is a bit more of an ongoing conversation,” he adds. There are bills for veterinarians, racks of hay, tons of animal feed, walls of sawdust (for sleeping and padding) and more. The operation is 40% self-funded (down from 70% self-funded last year).

But it’s worth it, they say.

The couple still visit elder-care facilities in which there will be 25 or 30 people in wheelchairs in a circle. “And we just release 2,000 pounds of goats and yak and the dogs. And they all know exactly how to behave, how careful they need to be. And (the animals) will walk around the circle, they will greet everybody, everyone pets them.”

Tallie the yak was born prematurely and given scant odds of survival, but these days she is hale and hearty and hangs around with the goats. She seems to enjoy gently headbutting people who walk by.

Myles also relates a story about a blind woman who came to the sanctuary and walked onto the deck. Goats quickly crowded around her. The woman petted them and marveled aloud that four goats were pressing into her.

Myles told her there were actually six goats. Goats (seeking treats) can become pushy around fully able-bodied people, but they took it easy on this visitor.

“And then we said to her that there has actually been a 500-pound yak who has been two yards away from you for the past 15 minutes, who clearly understands that you have some issue that she's not familiar with and she's holding back and she's waiting.”

The animals, he adds, “understand instinctively when people are old or disabled or young or blind or something, they get it.” And for the woman, the experience was “profound.”

The next horizon

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary has more its leaders hope to do. Chief among them is to build a “proper” barn that has more room for the animals, whose design facilitates feeding, cleaning, visitors’ experiences and volunteers’ work.

While that’s on the horizon, more immediate tasks remain. On a recent evening, Myles and three volunteers worked to rearrange and refashion the fence that keeps the horses from wandering away and separates the minis from the large horses and Murphy, the donkey.

As Myles worked here and there, tools usually in hand, Stanley, the turkey (named for Istanbul), followed Myles around.

Stanley came from a backyard homestead whose owners didn’t have the heart to slaughter him. And no wonder. Jess describes him as “the friendliest turkey on Earth.”

Stanley’s gobble, a cheerful trilling song, often punctuates the background sounds of barks, whinnies, bleats, clucks and snorts. Stanley tends to follow people around the sanctuary.

With Myles in the horse pen, Stanley performed some “turkey dances,” with Myles’ gentle encouragement and praise.

So there they were, human and animal, working and strutting, talking and gobbling. Two tales as one.

Learn more about Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary at this link.

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Wally the Wollemi finds a new home

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 01 Dec 2025 14:30:00 +0000

Wally the Wollemi finds a new home Rachel Sauer Mon, 12/01/2025 - 07:30

Rachel Sauer

CU Boulder alumni Judy and Rod McKeever donate a tree once considered extinct to the EBIO greenhouse, giving students a living example of modern conservation

Wally probably doesn’t know he’s a dinosaur.

He’s just living his best life in a bright spot—but not directly sunny, he doesn’t like that—in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology greenhouse on 30th Street.

This guy! Talk about charisma. People have certain stereotypes and expectations for what he should be, and he defies them. For starters, he’s here and not, after all, extinct.

Yes, Wally the Wollemi is something special—a Cretaceous Period pine tree thought to have gone extinct 2 million years ago, rediscovered in a secluded Australian canyon in 1994 and, with a few steps in between, recently donated to the greenhouse.

. “Where we are right now with climate change, we’re losing plants and animal species and insect diversity at an extremely rapid rate, so as scientists and horticulturists and curators it’s our job to maintain the diversity of the world in collections, and Wally is an important part of that," says Malinda Barberio, EBIO greenhouse manager.

“The Wollemi pine is an interesting story about paleobotany as well as conservation,” explains Malinda Barberio, greenhouse manager. “Where we are right now with climate change, we’re losing plants and animal species and insect diversity at an extremely rapid rate, so as scientists and horticulturists and curators it’s our job to maintain the diversity of the world in collections, and Wally is an important part of that.”

Back from extinction

How Wally came to live in a quiet spot in the 30th Street greenhouse is a story that started in the Cretaceous. Scientists theorized that herbivorous dinosaurs living then dined on Wollemi pines, which belong to a 200-million-year-old plant family and are abundantly represented in the fossil record dating as far back as 91 million years.

Where they weren’t abundantly represented was in the living world. They were theorized to have gone extinct, living only in stone impressions.

However, in 1994, New South Wales (Australia) National Parks ranger David Noble was rappelling in a remote canyon about five hours west of Sydney when he happened upon a stand of pine trees unlike anything he’d seen before. They had fern-like foliage, distinctive bumpy bark and a dense, rounded crown. They towered over other trees in the canyon.

“Typically, you think of pines as Christmas tree-shaped, fairly triangular, so that dense top crown that’s very rounded is a little odd for pines,” Barberio says. “And you typically expect large, fluffy branches, but the Wollemi’s branches are covered in thicker, flat needles that are in two rows parallel to each other along the sides of branches, which is really distinctive.”

Intense scientific investigation followed Noble’s discovery, including comparison to the fossil record, until it was agreed: This was the Wollemi pine—back from extinction.

The ongoing threat of extinction loomed large, though, because there were fewer than 100 trees in that canyon, whose location remains a closely guarded secret. So, in 2006, and in an unusual partnership between the National Geographic Society, the Floragem plant wholesalers, conservationists, botanists and scientists, 10-inch Wollemi pines were offered for sale in National Geographic’s holiday catalog.

Follow Wally and his friends in the greenhouse at @CUBoulderEBIOGreenhouse on Instagram.

“You are now the owner of a tree that is a survivor from the age of the dinosaurs, a miraculous time traveler and one of the greatest living fossils discovered in the twentieth century,” began the catalog description of the 10-inch saplings selling for $99.95.

That’s what caught Judy McKeever’s attention.

A tree named Wally

“My husband (Rod) does bonsai and loves his bonsai garden, so when I saw the advertisement for National Geographic selling these trees, and it was a love story about finding a dinosaur in an Australian canyon, I thought it would be the perfect addition to his collection,” recalls McKeever (A&S’76). “But he never got bonsaied or really trimmed at all, and just kind of grew out of control.”

The couple named him Wally because it sounds like Wollemi, and he lived in a sheltered, south-facing spot on their Boulder deck in the summer and under a grow light in their basement in the winter. Between seasons, they toted him up and down the stairs—and every year he was bigger.

CU Boulder alumni Judy and Rod McKeever donated Wally the Wollemi pine tree to the EBIO greenhouse in October.

“We didn’t really do anything special, just treated him like every other plant we have,” McKeever says. “He lived a sheltered little life, occasionally got fertilized, and he was very happy. We just let him do whatever he wanted to do; he’s an Australian free spirit.

“We just loved Wally, but he grew a few inches every year and with the soil and pot, he just got to be too heavy to take down to the basement every winter.”

In early autumn, McKeever began looking for places that might be interested in adopting Wally and found the EBIO greenhouse. There was an element of homecoming since both Judy and Rod are 1976 CU Boulder graduates (Rod in chemical engineering); Wally would be staying in the family.

“We are very happy to bring Wally into our collection,” Barberio says. “For the university to have a Wollemi pine is a really special privilege. It allows students to have an example of conservation efforts that are modern and recent in history and shows them that they have the opportunity to participate in these efforts as well.”

Plus, she adds, Wally is a great opportunity for public outreach: People can schedule time to visit him in the greenhouse and see science, conservation and worldwide partnerships at work. And students in future paleobotany classes will be able to see just how close scientists and artists got in visually rendering the Wollemi pine from fossil evidence.

“It’s surprisingly accurate how well they were able to reproduce (Wollemi pines) in theory,” Barberio says. “We have all of these animals and plants that are extinct, and having this living example is a really cool way to show how close we got it.”

A part in plant diversity

As for the care and feeding of Wally, who actually isn’t only male since pines produce both male and female cones, he likes acidic soil and bright but not direct light, given that he’s prone to sunburn. He likes regular watering and doesn’t like his soil to completely dry out, but he also dislikes “wet feet,” or for the bottom layer of soil to be damp.

Because his very few wild relatives live in a protected canyon, it may be implied that Wollemi pines prefer protection from rapid temperature changes, Barberio says, adding that so far, he’s shown no signs of producing cones.

“We would love to have Wally produce cones in the future,” she says, “and of course we would try to plant and grow them.”

Until that time, Wally the Wollemi pine will be a signature plant in the greenhouse collection and an example, Barberio says, “that we can play a part in maintaining the diversity of the plant world.”

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CU Boulder alumni Judy and Rod McKeever donate a tree once considered extinct to the EBIO greenhouse, giving students a living example of modern conservation.

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Alliance relaunch highlights the geography of learning

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 12 Nov 2025 01:31:02 +0000

Alliance relaunch highlights the geography of learning Rachel Sauer Tue, 11/11/2025 - 18:31

Supporting the relaunch of the Colorado Geographic Alliance, CU Boulder Department of Geography aims to emphasize the interdisciplinarity of geography

The University of Colorado Boulder Department of Geography is supporting the statewide relaunch of the Colorado Geographic Alliance (COGA), an initiative that promotes geography education at all levels.

The department is hosting a public relaunch celebration from 5:30-7:30 p.m. Monday, Nov. 17, in room 235 of the University Memorial Center.

If you go:

What: Colorado Geographic Alliance relaunch—free and open to the public, registration requested

When: 5:30-7:30 p.m. Monday, Nov. 17

Where: University Memorial Center room 235

Can't attend in person? Join the Zoom from 6-7 p.m. https://cuboulder.zoom.us/j/93774860010

Learn more

COGA provides K-12, college and university educators with lesson plans, hands-on activities, workshops and professional development and aims to promote and foster geography’s interconnections across environmental sciences, geographic information and data sciences, social sciences and the humanities.

COGA, which is part of a network of 54 geographic alliances across the United States, was founded at CU Boulder in 1986 as a collaboration between CU Boulder, Colorado university partners, the National Geographic Society and Colorado geographers. Colorado is one of the original seven states in the Geography Alliance Network.

The alliance was founded, in part, to provide resources and professional development for elementary and secondary school teachers, address policies related to geography education at the state and local levels and expose the public to activities related to geographic knowledge.

In relaunching COGA, leaders in the Department of Geography note, “We believe the inherent interdisciplinarity of geography provides an essential foundation for tackling the opportunities and challenges facing Colorado by providing students with an integrated set of skills to meet an ever-changing job market.

“This initiative will center Indigenous knowledge, focus on under-resourced schools and communities and highlight the value and experiences of Colorado’s diverse communities. We seek to communicate the importance of geography as both a public resource and a science for the common good of all Coloradans.”

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Supporting the relaunch of the Colorado Geographic Alliance, CU Boulder Department of Geography aims to emphasize the interdisciplinarity of geography.

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Top image: iStock

Players roll the dice on the healing power of collaborative fantasy

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 07 Nov 2025 22:22:42 +0000

Players roll the dice on the healing power of collaborative fantasy Rachel Sauer Fri, 11/07/2025 - 15:22

Cody DeBos

At the D&D table, says CU Boulder humanities scholar and gaming podcast host Andrew Gilbert, everyone has a voice

You can often find Andrew Gilbert behind a cardboard dungeon master’s screen, scheming up new ways to derail the carefully laid plans of the other players at his Dungeons & Dragons table. The game has been part of his life for decades, and as D&D gains a larger foothold in the mainstream, it has also become a powerful avenue for friends to connect, laugh and heal.

“It’s such a fascinating way to connect people through story. But it’s a story with limitations and rules,” says Gilbert, a teaching assistant professor of humanities, game studies and media at the University of Colorado Boulder Department of Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts.

In September, Wizards of the Coast studios released Heroes of the Borderlands, the game’s most expansive beginner-friendly box set yet. It arrives with the goal of helping a new generation of players roll their first d20s.

Andrew Gilbert is a CU Boulder teaching assistant professor of humanities, game studies and media in the Department of Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts.

Gilbert and a group of friends have been doing so together since 2018, broadcasting play sessions from their campaigns online via the Goats & Dragons and Helpful Goat Presents podcasts.

“When we created the show, we knew we wanted to play games in a way that centered player experiences and collaborative storytelling,” he says.

The group’s campaign is now approaching the end of a years-long adventure, which has included guests like The Lord of the Rings actor Dominic Monaghan along the way.

The hobby has brought them closer together and created no shortage of memorable moments. But that’s just one facet of Gilbert’s connection to Dungeons & Dragons.

After years of rolling dice and telling stories, he’s come to see the game as something far bigger than fantasy. But why does D&D, a game first published in the 1970s, still captivate us today? How can a tabletop game rooted in imagination compete with video games, AI content, and near-constant digital simulation?

Gilbert has a few ideas.

Still captivating after 50 years

At its heart, D&D is a storytelling engine. Unlike books or movies with fixed narratives, tabletop roleplaying games ask players to improvise solutions, make moral decisions, and stay in character. Players sit around a table (or communicate virtually) and collaborate to tell a story where no one knows how it will end.

“It’s a fascinating form of media where, to a certain extent, the audience are the creators of the media at the same time,” he says. “There’s something wild and magical and fun about giving up control of a story to the group and to chance itself with die rolls.”

Gilbert first encountered D&D through a cousin who taught him to play when he was just 7 years old.

“I was hooked right away,” he recalls.

Years later, as both a scholar of games and a long-time player, Gilbert is fascinated by the emotional and social experiences D&D fosters. No longer seen as just an escapist fantasy game, D&D has become a catalyst for community building.

“There are social and emotional dynamics happening in every game,” he says.

That community is what makes Dungeons & Dragons so special, says CU Boulder scholar Andrew Gilbert; whether players are battling monsters in an imagined fantasy world or conquering their own internal demons, the table becomes a shared space where anything can happen. (Illustration: Wizards of the Coast)

At the same time, D&D is incredibly accessible for newcomers. Today, with an updated rule set and a plethora of digital tools to simplify the experience, that’s truer than ever, Gilbert says.

“Literally, you can know nothing about Dungeons & Dragons, and I can teach you how to play by just doing it. All you have to do is tell me what your character wants to do, and then someone who knows the rules can say, ‘Great, roll this dice, add this number to it.’ You really don’t even need to know the rules before you start playing,” he says.

He believes that’s a big reason why the game has endured for half a century and is still growing.

“A lot of us were worried the growth we saw in 2015 and 2016 was a fad that would sort of fade. But then we got the pandemic, and a lot of people started playing as a way to connect with friends when there was nothing to do but play games at home. And, of course, you have a ton of content creators making content about the game professionally,” he says.

“It’s just a perfect storm of factors that have shot the popularity of D&D through the roof.”

Healing through character

Sometimes, though, the game is about more than enjoyment or even storytelling. For many, D&D and games like it have become tools for healing from past traumas or building crucial social skills in a safe environment, Gilbert says.

“There are so many stories about people using the game to work through trauma, including some really cool research about games and PTSD specifically. You can just not be you for a little bit,” he says. “I’m not always a proponent of pure escapism, but it releases a tension. Whether you’re remembering your character doing something or remembering something that actually happened, your brain goes through the exact same process.”

He adds, “With D&D, you can create all these beneficial, healthy memories of not being the victim of some trauma but the one who solves the problem.”

"There’s so much good. The act of collaboration, of creation, of working through issues in the game. It’s something we talk about in my class a lot. These things are hard to navigate, but it’s incredibly helpful to learn how to navigate them."

Gilbert also acknowledges how roleplaying games like Dungeons & Dragons can be deeply meaningful to people who don’t always find social interaction intuitive.

“The idea of how to just construct scenes and conversations is really, really helpful for individuals on the autism spectrum,” he says.

Part of that comes from the game’s structure. Unlike everyday conversation, which can be unpredictable and overwhelming, D&D provides a clear set of rules and roles.

“There’s an element of learning how to pass the microphone, which on a very basic level is just good practice for conversation,” Gilbert says.

Indeed, research suggests that D&D and similar games can be used therapeutically to build communication skills, reduce stress, and foster a sense of community among people who may struggle to connect.

That community, Gilbert says, is what makes the game so special. Whether players are battling monsters in an imagined fantasy world or conquering their own internal demons, the table becomes a shared space where anything can happen.

“There’s so much good. The act of collaboration, of creation, of working through issues in the game. It’s something we talk about in my class a lot. These things are hard to navigate, but it’s incredibly helpful to learn how to navigate them,” he says.

As new players crack open Heroes of the Borderlands or learn the game from a friend, they become part of a decades-long tradition that values creativity and connection in a world that is too often devoid of these qualities, Gilbert says, adding, “We keep finding new amazing things about this game, and it’s only getting better. The possibilities are just limitless.”

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At the D&D table, says CU Boulder humanities scholar and gaming podcast host Andrew Gilbert, everyone has a voice.

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