Cuts at the U.S. Forest Service could lead to unintended consequences, former workers say
Maintaining the country's forests takes an army of Forest Service workers, but recent job cuts have reduced the number of its soldiers, which some say could lead to unintended consequences.
Dalyn Grindle, Jack Corney and Tim Leedy all worked at Wyoming's Shoshone National Forest — the United States' first federally protected national forest, and a park that's always buzzing with activity, even in winter, with people snowmobiling, riding bikes, hiking and rock climbing.
But they were among 17 employees recently fired from the Shoshone National Forest, according to a senior Forest Service official. Grindle, Corney and Leedy each received a letter that said they were being fired for poor job performance, but they don't buy it.
"It's not the real reason," Grindle told CBS News.
"You know, I put my heart and soul under that job and that's just not true," Leedy said.
Every summer, tens of millions of Americans visit the U.S.'s 154 national forests, which span over 193 million acres, but this summer, the campgrounds and trails might look a little different.
"I think there's a lot of unforeseen consequences that the general public doesn't- aren't always aware of," Grindle said.
Corney noted part of his job was picking up trash and clearing trails so people could "access the wilderness. And that's just, that's not going to happen this year."
The local ranger station in Lander, Wyoming, used to be where visitors could go to get information about the forest, such as good places to camp, trails to hike or safety tips. But thanks to to the recent firings, the station won't be open any time soon.
Cutbacks at the Forest Service also come as wildfires nationwide grow fiercer and more frequent.
Grindle , Corney and Leedy were all qualified firefighters, no longer available should a blaze erupt in the forest.
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USA Today
an hour ago
- USA Today
German town offers 2 weeks of free accommodations for new residents. But there's a catch.
German town offers 2 weeks of free accommodations for new residents. But there's a catch. Show Caption Hide Caption Want to move abroad? These are the best countries for remote workers. Here are seven countries with digital nomad visas if you're looking to move abroad. For those who have dreamt of living in Germany but are afraid to take the plunge, now's your chance. A small town in the eastern part of the country is launching a trial relocation program, offering two weeks of free accommodations to eligible applicants. Located near the border of Poland, the quaint town of Eisenhüttenstadt recently announced its "Make plans now – try living in Eisenhüttenstadt" project to encourage skilled or self-employed workers and commuters to relocate there, according to the town's official website. The immigration program is also tied to the town's 75th anniversary. Under the program, selected participants will be given a free furnished apartment and "have the opportunity to experience life, work and community in Eisenhüttenstadt during a 14-day trial stay – free of charge and in the heart of the city," the website states. 'Rose-colored glasses': The stressful reality of being a digital nomad People can experience what daily life is like there and also make connections for potential careers. Companies located in the area will offer internships, job shadowing and interview opportunities. There will also be activities like touring the city and a local factory. At the end, participants will be asked to write a "love letter to Eisenhüttenstadt" that will become feedback for public relations and city marketing. The program will take place from Sept. 6 to 20, and applications open the beginning of July. Currently, only those who are legally permitted to work in the European Union or Germany are allowed to apply as the town states it is not a visa, holiday or study program, according to the website. Applicants also need to have a basic understanding of German. This is just one of several incentivizing relocation programs recently created by small European regions to help revitalize rural areas. Last June, Italy's Tuscany Region offered homes as low as $32,000 for those who were willing to move to a town with less than 5,000 people. On the island of Sardinia, homes were allegedly being offered for as low as €1 (about $1.14) to Americans who sought to leave the U.S. after the last presidential election.
Yahoo
3 hours ago
- Yahoo
Love at first flight: can I find a date at the airport?
When John Nachlinger and Rafael Gavarrete accidentally collided with each other at the airport in Houston, Texas, 'it was like a Hallmark Christmas movie,' Nachlinger, 44, says. He was travelling from New York to a funeral, while 27-year-old Gavarrete was returning home to Honduras – and despite only speaking for a few minutes, they exchanged numbers and kept in touch. Over the next year, they met up around once a month, taking turns to travel between New York and Honduras. In November 2022, they got married, and moved together to Princeton, New Jersey. Air travel has long carried a certain mystique. From the pioneering days of aviation to the glamour of the jet age, it has captivated imaginations with its promise of adventure, freedom and possibility. Perhaps that's why pop culture casts airports as sites of grand romantic gestures. From When Harry Met Sally to Love Actually, they are often backdrops for unexpected meet-cutes and last-dash attempts for lovers to express their feelings. Nachlinger and Gavarrete's story may sound like the plot of a romcom, but data suggests airport entanglements may be a case of art mirroring life. A 2018 survey suggested that, on any given flight, two couples will meet for the first time. And a 2025 survey of 3,000 single Americans by found about a third of travellers reported flirting with a stranger at the airport, while 20% said they would alter their travel plans for someone they had just met. Meanwhile, thousands of TikTok #airportcrush videos document strangers locking eyes across departure lounges. The excitement of travel is very particular. It's a novelty, it's adventure, it's something new Why do we seem to be so open to romance while in transit? Psychologists point to the misattribution of arousal, a phenomenon where heightened emotions – such as stress, excitement and frustration – can be mistaken for attraction. Antonieta Contreras, a New York-based sex and trauma therapist, says: 'The excitement of travel is very particular. It's a novelty, it's adventure, it's something new. Combined with the anxiety of being on time or packing enough, the nervous system is very activated.' This heightened state can make us perceive those around us as more attractive than usual, especially when combined with the physical realities of air travel: being in close proximity with strangers, often from exotic places. There's also something liberating about the perspective air travel offers. Looking down at the world in miniature from an altitude of 35,000ft literally shifts our point of view: fleeting connections may loom larger in our heads, and the possibilities of life feel more numerous. Contreras suggests that conversations struck up in transit also have lower stakes: 'It feels that you can say whatever, and this person has no agenda in criticising or judging you. You may feel 'this person has really seen me' because there were no filters.' The same phenomenon may explain why people report being more likely to cry when viewing a movie in flight than on the ground. YouGov surveys in the UK suggest that most people would prefer to meet a partner in person despite, or perhaps because of, the dominance of dating apps. However, possibly due to the evolution towards phone-first dating culture, some people argue that 'meet-cutes are going extinct'. The social script for making in-person connections is weaker than ever, and many singletons can get stuck in a paradox: frustrated with online dating but too socially cautious or nervous to start conversations in real life. Could air travel be the antidote? Single, and with science on my side, I took a trip to my local airport in Melbourne, Australia, to find out. *** The morning of my experiment, I feel nervous. I rarely go into the world completely sober while actively seeking a romantic connection. I start my journey on the tram and, in the spirit of openness, ignore my phone and observe those around me instead. As if sensing my willingness to engage, a more-than-eligible bachelor strikes up a conversation and asks for my number. This is the first time this has happened to me in broad daylight in many years. Am I already giving off a different energy? Once at the airport, although I'm not travelling anywhere, I begin my experiment at check-in (in Australian airports you don't need a boarding pass to get through security). I can't usually relax until I've cleared security, and it seems others feel the same. Perched on a seat between rows of check-in desks for half an hour, I try to chat with strangers, but don't get past simple niceties with most. I hope for better luck after security. Retail scientists use the term happy hour to describe the time people spend in departure lounges before their flight. Studies show we are more impulsive and open to suggestions airside, a phenomenon that influenced the advent of luxury airport shopping. In the security line, I notice no one is using their phone. Air travel is one of few domains where our phone use is restricted at various points, forcing us to make eye contact with others. I recognise someone from the airport bus, and we share a knowing smile. Are things looking up? As airports go, Melbourne's isn't the most inspiring. Its grey interiors don't inspire connection and, once airside, my approaches feel forced. I settle with 'Where are you off to today?' A group of friends enjoying a pre-flight drink chime in with their tales of travel romances. 'The airport is its own world, closed off to the outside. There's less choice, so someone you may not find that hot outside is hot in here,' says Jackson Gatto, who is in his 20s. There's nothing like being trapped in a glass terminal with hundreds of strangers to lower your standards. Most people who've met someone at the airport believe they wouldn't have made such a connection in a normal setting However, Gatto's view isn't shared by all of his fellow travellers. 'It's not the same when you're travelling for work,' says Sally Hughes, a finance executive and regular flyer, who I meet in a bar typing away on her laptop. 'I just want to get from A to B and catch up on emails. I don't have time for romance.' If love is in the air, Sally's wearing an eye mask and headphones to shut out the small talk. Our experience of airports has changed over time. Flying was once a glamorous and fairly exclusive form of travel. While budget airlines have made it more accessible, they have lowered comfort and service levels, which, along with tighter security rules, have made it less fun and freewheeling. But while baggage allowances may have shrunk, our capacity for emotional connection appears to have remained intact. Dr Steve Taylor, lecturer in psychology at Leeds Beckett University, says that as social rules in airports feel more relaxed, our sense of identity becomes more fluid: 'We become disoriented, but also liberated … It predisposes us to be sociable. That feeling of disorientation you get at airports can be a pleasant experience.' Back in the departures lounge, passengers have been reunited with their phones and appear to be making up for lost screen time. They say comparison is the thief of joy – are phones the thief of connection? A gaggle of cabin crew waiting for their flight offer their thoughts. 'Before mobiles, you used to be able to tell whether people were swapping numbers because they'd ask for a pen,' says one flight attendant. 'Now people are buried in their phones.' Michael Davison, 63, who is retired and lives in France, met his ex-partner in the departures lounge at Istanbul airport in the late 1980s. They immediately hit it off, he says. 'We didn't know whether we'd be sitting together or not, but as fate would have it, we were.' They chatted for the whole four-hour flight home to London, and exchanged numbers in the arrivals hall. A few months later, they met up again, and went on to have two children and a 16-year relationship. Would their conversation have flowed as easily if they had been distracted by phones or in-flight entertainment? 'Perhaps not,' Davison says. As the day goes on, bars fill up and pre-flight drinks begin flowing more freely, making conversation easier. Most of my interactions start from small moments such as being asked: 'Is someone sitting here?' Perhaps the physical proximity in airports lends itself to connection too. In a bar nursing a beer, I find Jordan, 32, on the final leg of his journey from London to Sydney, with two hours to kill in Melbourne. I strike up a conversation and we bond for a while about growing up in London. But he's been awake for nearly 24 hours and I can tell romance isn't on his radar. In a final attempt to find connection, I head towards the gate of a delayed flight, knowing that 30% of people surveyed by think that bonding over frustration is a good way to meet a future partner. Looking at it optimistically, the difference between a long delay at an airport and a speed dating event is that at least at the airport you'll eventually take off, even if a romance doesn't. Now adept at assessing airport interactions, I see three people chatting and get the sense they have just met. 'I noticed the programme Maddy was using on her laptop and asked what she was working on,' says Ben Tynan, 33, who admits he rarely speaks to strangers. So what made him spark up a conversation? It seems the proximity effect is at play: 'I felt safe starting a conversation after I asked to move something next to her and she made a joke.' When the last flights of the day take off, I'm resigned to the fact none of my airport connections will result in lasting romance – apart from my suitor on the tram, perhaps (we are meeting up next week). When Nachlinger met his now husband, he says the connection was instant – normal social protocol seemed to melt away. 'I didn't even realise how old he was, I didn't know his name, nothing,' and yet, 'something told me I needed to get his number.' Throughout the day, I've heard many stories of romance blossoming airside. One common thread is that most people who've met someone at the airport believe they wouldn't have made such a connection in a normal setting: sometimes we just need an excuse to spark up a conversation. Perhaps airports aren't just transit points between locations, but between different versions of ourselves – the everyday self and the one emboldened to take bigger social risks. Maybe by replicating some of the social conditions of air travel in our daily lives – looking up more, using phones less, letting go of our fear of judgment – we'd make more connections landside. Taylor says it is possible: 'When we live according to strict identity and routines, we can feel trapped. At the airport, that weight starts to lift. We can learn from that.'
Yahoo
14 hours ago
- Yahoo
The Post-America Moms Club Helping Families Start Over in Europe
When you buy through links on our articles, Future and its syndication partners may earn a commission. One wrong turn in Mallorca, and Suset Laboy was texting 70 other mothers for help. She was driving her four-year-old twin daughter to school earlier this year when she swerved to avoid a serious crash, but still got rear-ended. She was fine. Her daughter was fine. But her heart was racing, and she had no idea what to do next in a country with rules she didn't fully understand. Back in Brooklyn, where she'd lived for 14 years before moving abroad, she would've known exactly how to handle it. In Spain, she opened WhatsApp. The thread she turned to wasn't just any group chat—it was Mother Euro, a growing community and relocation service founded by two American moms to support women who've left the U.S. behind in search of something better. Part concierge, part lifeline, Mother Euro connects moms with everything from visa lawyers to pediatricians to the best iced coffee in town. The network currently includes 80 members, and while most are based in Spain, the U.K. is their second-largest hub, with plans to expand across other European markets. 'I didn't feel comfortable living in the U.S. anymore,' says Alice Kim, an American citizen and Mother Euro member who moved from California back to her birthplace, Seoul, before settling in Barcelona with her husband and two-year-old son. 'I was worried about the political climate. My friends raising their kids there would talk about gun violence and how the kids would have to prepare for breathing without their chest moving. Our American dream really got shattered.' Kim isn't alone. A growing number of Americans are considering or actively planning to relocate to Europe, driven by concerns over political and social issues, including racial equity and LGBTQ+ rights. Relocation firms have reported increased inquiries, citing political polarization, threats to personal rights, and safety concerns. Applications for British citizenship by Americans have reached record highs. The day after Trump's second election, Google searches for how to leave the U.S. spiked by over 1,500 percent. Even celebrities have made exit plans: Rosie O'Donnell moved to Ireland in March. Ellen DeGeneres reportedly relocated to the U.K. last fall, as did Courtney Love. We're not just a relocation service. We're a village. We want to build each other up. For mothers in particular, the push factors are hard to ignore. The U.S. has the highest maternal mortality rate among developed countries, and since the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in 2022, access to life-saving care can depend on your zip code. Meanwhile, child care costs have soared—averaging $11,582 annually, according to Child Care Aware of America—and in many places, the cost of caring for two children now exceeds the cost of housing. So last fall two American moms, Emily San Jose, 34, and Maggie Gavilán, 32, launched Mother Euro, a membership-based community designed to help women navigate the move abroad and build a life once they're there. Aspiring members pay $1,500 a year for full relocation support, while Resident members who are already living abroad pay $500 annually to join a network of local moms and access the group's resources, meetups, and ongoing assistance. It's part WhatsApp hive mind, part on-the-ground network for everything from kids' weird rashes to the best local cafés to hit with toddlers in tow. It's also where a member can seek advice when, say, she's rear-ended in a new country and not sure how insurance works in Spain. 'We're not just a relocation service. We're a village,' says Gavilán. 'We want to build each other up. A traditional relocation specialist is going to be, you know, the guy that your dad's company set you up with. He's gonna show you, you know, the best moving company. And we have all those things, but we bring in the emotional factor that we know is so important as women and as moms.' In addition to real estate agents and top-notch immigration lawyers, Mother Euro connects members with nutritionists, multilingual therapists, and barre studios. When I mention someone who moved to Spain to access IVF, which is significantly cheaper there than in the U.S., Gavilán jumps in: 'Do we have a partner for IVF? Not yet. But if you need one tomorrow? We'll find them.' Most moms hear about Mother Euro through San Jose, the Madrid-based cofounder better known as @MamaInMadrid. The Oregon native moved to Spain immediately after college, with a plan to stay for a year, make money as an au pair, and travel in her free time. One month later, she met her Spanish husband. They eventually moved back to the Pacific Northwest for five years, but returned to Spain in 2021 to be closer to family. Online, San Jose is poised, mixing aspirational ease with dry humor in near-perfect Castilian Spanish. Take, for example, the blackout in Spain and Portugal in April. In a post about it on Instagram, San Jose tells the camera she was in the gym when it happened—aspirational!—and says, 'I went into flight or fight mode. My husband says that that is a very American reaction, to sort of catastrophize things. Fine with me if that's going to be my reaction in this situation.' Relatable! Among 30-something U.S. expats, San Jose is a bit of a celebrity. Proof: When I told a Spanish acquaintance that I was interviewing American moms in Madrid, she squeed, 'Do you know MamaInMadrid?!' Further proof: Gavilán, Mother Euro's cofounder, DMed San Jose last year when she was considering moving to Madrid, too. She has dual citizenship and wanted to be closer to her family. 'I saw this really pretty blonde girl living in Spain, speaking fluent Spanish, and I was like, maybe she'll be my friend,' she says. They met for drinks the next time Gavilán visited, shut down the bar, and took a few blurry two a.m. selfies. Gavilán got pregnant soon after, and started seriously planning her family's relocation. 'Raising children and even just being a pregnant woman in the States, transparently, felt really scary,' she says. 'So I wanted to give my kids and myself, selfishly—and I can be selfish—a better life.' Of course, moving to Europe isn't always as romantic as it sounds. There are visas to secure, cultural nuances to decode, and costs to consider. (Gavilán estimates relocation costs around $15,000, though it varies widely.) As she navigated her own move, friends and strangers began reaching out for advice. 'I'm telling you, I was on the phone until two a.m. sometimes trying to help moms with finding the right attorney or with the right education consultant because they didn't understand the nuances between the US and EU system and how that would work, which, I didn't either when I was figuring it out,' she says. That's when she realized there was a real need for a service that could guide women through it—not just logistically, but emotionally. 'People want to do this,' she says. 'But they want to feel as though they're in community with somebody doing it, either at the same time, or who has already done it—and also somebody who they want to hang out with.' Raising children and even just being a pregnant woman in the States, transparently, felt really scary. Though most of the Mother Euro action happens online, the group hosted its first IRL event in April: a dinner party in Madrid to celebrate the official launch. Thirty women flew in from Costa Brava, Mallorca, and London.'There were so many badass women there,' says Kim, who traveled from Barcelona to attend. During an icebreaker, members were first instructed to 'step in' if they were born in the U.S. For the second prompt, they were asked to take a step in if they were a business owner. 'I think three-fourths of the room stepped in,' she says. 'After that I was like, I'm going to have to step up my game.' She sat next to Heather, an American mom who's lived in Europe for 17 years, and peppered her with questions about schooling. Heather insisted on local schools over international ones. 'Now I'm leaning local too,' Kim says. 'Because more and more I feel like I don't want my son to go to a U.S. college after living all his adolescence in Europe. It would feel like a back step.' Mother Euro is expensive, on top of all the other costs that go into moving your life somewhere else, and it's not not luxury service. But it's one that 200-plus women are willing to pay; that's how many applicants Gavilán says they've been receiving per month. One aspiring member, who is planning a move to Madrid after her second child is born, says her membership has already been worth it. She explained that it was especially helpful for navigating Spain's Beckham Law, which allows foreign workers to pay significantly less in income tax than Spanish citizens, and far less than they would in the U.S. Still, upending your life to relocate to Europe isn't a panacea, nor is it easy. Moving abroad is a privilege and a struggle—both things can be true. Even the founders are still figuring things out as they go along: Gavilán is currently weighing public versus private hospitals in Madrid for her C-section; Laboy misses the diversity of Brooklyn. But for Laboy, the hardest part has been leaving her sister and parents behind. 'It feels sad, and at the same time, it feels like the right choice for us at this very moment,' she says, tears forming. 'It's very important for me to recognize that this move is a privilege that not everybody has.' 'Still,' she adds, 'living here feels like an exhale.' This community really helps me mentally. Mother Euro affirms something mothers around the world have always known: When women are part of the conversation, everyone wins. '[Our launch dinner party] reminded us that mothers will travel near and far to be seen, supported, and celebrated by their communities,' Gavilán recapped over email after the event. 'Listening to everyone share their stories on why they moved, what they're seeking, and how they're building their lives abroad—it was a powerful affirmation of why we created this space.' It also proves that no matter where you are, whether you're figuring out tax residency or just daycare culture, motherhood still takes a village. Like when Kim's son came home from his Spanish daycare with a goodie bag. 'I was like, 'Wait, was there a birthday party I didn't know about? Am I missing something? Do I need to send a gift?'' So she hit up the Mother Euro chat, where San Jose explained that in Spain, the birthday kid gifts their friends—instead of the other way around. The same goes for adults: if you host the dinner, you pick up the check. 'This community really helps me mentally,' Kim says. She's since made a real-life friend in Barcelona through Mother Euro, and the two are going to an Imagine Dragons concert this summer. 'Making friends when you're older is harder, but within Mother Euro, we all have so many commonalities that it just helps us click. I'm confident that whoever is in it shares the same values.' And after arriving in Spain in February, she hasn't looked back.
