New Jersey on Fire: A Reflection on Climate Change and Our Uncertain Future
As unprecedented wildfires ravage New Jersey, we confront the stark realities of a warming world and the challenges ahead
I went to bed last night worried about all the fires burning around me. My beloved NJ Highlands are on fire, and to the north, a major blaze is raging. My last check on the NJ Forest Service’s Facebook page showed the fire was only 10% contained, and over 3,000 acres had burned.
This fire, dubbed the Jennings Creek Fire, is tearing through one of the most beautiful areas in the NJ Highlands. It’s a major one for us, but it’s not the only fire in the Garden State. There’s another smaller one just over in the next town.
More fires are burning across New Jersey, even in areas I never expected. In my 54 years, I’ve never seen so many wildfires breaking out here. It doesn’t take a scientist to see that this isn’t normal for New Jersey.
Yes, droughts are a natural part of the environment, but the scale and frequency we’re witnessing are alarming. Climate science has long warned us that droughts and extreme rainfall will only get more intense, and that they’ll hit places we once thought were safe.
Until last night, it hadn’t rained here since September 28, 2024 — the longest without rainfall ever recorded in New Jersey. I fear what next year will bring.
My partner slipped into bed last night and told me it was raining. The weather reports had forecast a slight chance, with about 0.1” expected. I checked our neighbor’s online rain gauge — it was right; we got 0.12” of rain.
This tenth of an inch was a welcome relief, but it’s far from enough. We need more than a sprinkle; we need a long, soaking rain to replenish our reservoirs. Water levels across the region are dropping fast, and we need full capacity heading into winter, or next year’s growing season will be in jeopardy.
I can’t help but draw comparisons to the Southwest. This past October, my partner and I visited New Mexico and Colorado. We explored Mesa Verde, Bandelier, and Chaco Canyon, delving into the ancient settlements of Indigenous people.
It was an amazing trip, and I learned so much more than I did when I lived in New Mexico. For one, these ancient sites aren’t considered “abandoned” by Indigenous people; rather, they simply moved on from those homes in search of new resources.
Ever curious, I asked, “What prompted them to move?” Every answer was the same: they moved because they ran out of resources like food and water. Researchers believe it was a drought that drove their migrations.
With the new presidential administration poised to undo the climate protections put in place by the Biden-Harris administration, it doesn’t take a scientist to realize that our shortsightedness — or perhaps our selfishness — may doom our future.
I had hoped that we could turn things around, but based on my current outlook, we might be better off preparing ourselves and our children for a more challenging climate. I’ve written about this before: as governments strain under the pressure of mass migration, hostility toward immigrants will likely only intensify.
Our world will begin to destabilize, and this will accelerate. We’re entering a time where thriving may no longer be an option; survival will take center stage in our daily lives. This isn’t a “doom and gloom” post — it’s reality.
We can’t keep our heads in the sand and hope this is all just a bad dream. We need to face the harsh truth: our light dims as it’s shrouded by wildfires of our own making.
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