Latest news with #UtahStateUniversity
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Health
- Yahoo
Bring Back Communal Kid Discipline
On a trip to Prague a couple of years ago, my family piled into a rapidly filling metro car, and I wound up sitting next to my 6-year-old daughter, while her 4-year-old sister sat directly across from us, on her own. At one point, my youngest pulled a knee up to her chest and rested her foot on the seat. Almost immediately, a woman sitting next to her, who looked to be about 70, reached out and gently touched my daughter's foot, signaling her to put it down. My daughter was surprised, maybe a little embarrassed. But she understood and quickly obeyed. For a split second, I wondered if I ought to feel chastised: Perhaps the woman was judging me for having failed at some basic parental duty. But something about the matter-of-fact, almost automatic way the woman had intervened reassured me that she wasn't thinking much about me at all. She was just going through the motions of an ordinary day on the train, in which reminding a child not to put her foot on the seat was a perfectly natural gesture. Ultimately, I was grateful for the woman's tap on my daughter's foot. But the exchange also felt foreign. In my experience, that sort of instruction, from a random adult to a stranger's child, isn't much of a thing in America (or, for what it's worth, in the United Kingdom, where I currently live). Many people don't seem to think they have the authority to instruct, let alone touch, a kid who isn't theirs. They tend to leave it to the parent to manage a child's behavior—or they may silently fume when the parent doesn't step up. To informally test that assumption, I created a short online survey and ended up interacting with a dozen people from around the United States. Some were parents; some were not. Every single one said that outside certain situations—where they were familiar with a kid's parents, or where a child's safety was in question—they would hesitate before telling someone else's kid what to do, for fear of upsetting the parent. Marty Sullivan, a technology consultant based in Tennessee, gave a representative answer: 'Generally I'd prefer to avoid risking escalation.' These responses struck me as a bit of a shame, because the exchange between my daughter and the woman in Prague seemed to reflect something altogether good. And I know I can't be alone in that thought: Both historical precedent and cultural norms in other parts of the world reinforce the idea that a stranger's meddling in the disciplining of children can have significant merits. The highly individualistic approach to managing kids' behavior in public is particularly American—and a historical anomaly. David Lancy, an anthropologist and a professor emeritus at Utah State University, wrote to me that for the majority of human existence, it was unquestionable that ''the whole village' participates' in child-rearing. 'Siblings, peers, aunts, grandmas,' he told me, 'all have distinct roles, including 'correcting.'' When I asked Steven Mintz, a historian of families and childhood at the University of Texas at Austin, whether child-rearing in the United States, specifically, had ever involved a more collective approach, he seemed almost tickled: 'Did it ever!' he wrote back. He recalled that during his own childhood, in the 1950s, he was 'constantly corrected' by people other than his parents for his poor posture, hygiene, grooming, and language. Child-rearing into the first half of the 20th century was, he noted, 'far more of a communal and public endeavor'—an approach that entailed a fair amount of what would, by contemporary standards, probably be considered intrusion. 'Neighbors, teachers, shopkeepers, and even strangers on the street,' Mintz wrote, 'felt empowered, and often morally obligated, to correct a child's misbehavior, scold a lack of manners, break up a fight, or escort a wandering child back home.' Today, this sort of 'village style' oversight remains a norm in some pockets of the United States. Michelle Peters, a project manager in El Paso, Texas, whose family has roots in Mexico, told me that she has seen communities in both the U.S. and Mexico take a more collective approach to child-rearing. 'It is more common and more acceptable for adults to correct children who are not their own,' she said, and people feel 'a greater sense of social intimacy and immediacy,' which extends to caregiving in public settings. Yet in much of the United States, Mintz told me, the collective has given way to a 'privatized and protected model of parenting.' [Read: The isolation of intensive parenting] As in other aspects of parenthood, that closed-off approach gives parents more control but also puts them under more pressure. If you're the sole arbiter of your child's public behavior, you have to keep a pretty close eye on your kid at all times. That sense of responsibility can also produce anxiety: Rather than just parenting as I see fit, I often find myself guessing—and second-guessing—whether my kids are bothering people or violating some unspoken rule. (Is my daughter standing way too close to that guy? Does that shopkeeper mind that my kid is flipping through their magazines?) Amy Banta, a mom of three in Salt Lake City, told me that this is one reason she really appreciates it when other people step in to correct her kids. 'I cannot anticipate your every boundary that my child might possibly cross,' she said. 'You're gonna have to help me out.' If the goal is to steadily acquaint children with the conventions of polite society, it isn't clear that filtering all guidance through parents is the most effective approach. For one thing, kids are smart. A child who knows that his parent or other caregiver is the only one who will ever correct him might reasonably conclude that he can get up to no good whenever that adult turns away. What's more, I have found that a stranger's gentle intervention—as opposed to my nagging—can be a more effective means of conveying to my kids that the people around them are real people, with their own needs, whose space and comfort one ought to respect. Another adult's nudging can function as a kind of 'social proof,' as Banta put it—a reinforcement of the lessons a parent is trying to impart. [Read: A grand experiment in parenthood and friendship] Banta told me about a time when she took her then-5-year-old to a community-theater performance and he struggled to sit still. 'I kept telling him that he couldn't wiggle in his seat, because he was shaking the whole row,' Banta recalled, but 'he didn't want to listen to me, because he was having so much fun bouncing.' At intermission, another woman in the row asked Banta's son to stop shaking the seats so much. 'I looked at my son and said, 'See? It's not just me,'' Banta told me. He was far more mindful of his movements during the second act, periodically checking to see if he was bothering the woman down the row—who gave him a big thumbs-up after the show ended. The collective approach to correcting kids' behavior can have its drawbacks, of course. Plenty of people have truly unreasonable expectations about the way kids should act in public. Miranda Rake, a writer and mother of two in Oregon, told me that she thinks tolerance for ordinary kid behavior in much of America is too low. Even in Portland, which she considers quite laid back, she 'gets the stink eye' in many places and feels like she's 'on eggshells in a lot of coffee shops and certainly restaurants,' she said. 'There just isn't a culture of community around kids here.' In her view, that complicates the question of whether interventions from nonparents would make the environment more or less family friendly. Rake's concern is not entirely unfounded. In the United States, collective supervision of children has typically coincided with community norms that 'could be rigid or exclusionary,' Mintz told me, 'and the authority of adults could at times be authoritarian or abusive.' Meanwhile, in many modern societies outside America, tolerance for childlike unruliness is part and parcel of the more communal approach to raising kids. (That was also the norm for most of our evolutionary past, Sarah B. Hrdy, an anthropologist who has extensively studied child-rearing dynamics in traditional hunter-gatherer societies, told me. Where instruction does occur in such cultures, it tends to involve subtle, often nonverbal guidance—of the sort I encountered in Prague—rather than scolding or censure.) [Read: Is it wrong to tell kids to apologize?] The challenge of balancing tolerance and discipline aside, both Hrdy and Mintz observed that in many ways, American society is simply not set up for a thriving culture of community oversight. Where such a culture once existed, it was propped up by various forms of social infrastructure—the kind that has been steadily hollowed out over the past several decades, Mintz told me. American neighborhoods used to be more tightly knit. A lower proportion of mothers were employed outside the home, which meant that neighborhoods were filled with adults during the day who could keep an eye on one another's children. A strongly ingrained cultural respect for adult authority meant that 'few questioned a neighbor's right to reprimand a child for rudeness or risk-taking behavior,' Mintz said, and the potential personal risks (legal or otherwise) of disciplining a child not your own were fewer: 'Adults could discipline, correct, or even physically intervene without fear of being sued, shamed, or filmed.' In an era when fewer people know or interact with their neighbors, and social trust has waned, the thought of reviving collective child-rearing norms may seem a little far-fetched. And yet, the Americans I spoke with seemed, on the whole, largely open to being a bit more direct with other people's kids—if only they could have assurance that such involvement would be welcome. I'll come out and say it: I would certainly welcome it. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
2 days ago
- General
- Atlantic
Go Ahead, Scold My Kid
On a trip to Prague a couple of years ago, my family piled into a rapidly filling metro car, and I wound up sitting next to my 6-year-old daughter, while her 4-year-old sister sat directly across from us, on her own. At one point, my youngest pulled a knee up to her chest and rested her foot on the seat. Almost immediately, a woman sitting next to her, who looked to be about 70, reached out and gently touched my daughter's foot, signaling her to put it down. My daughter was surprised, maybe a little embarrassed. But she understood and quickly obeyed. For a split second, I wondered if I ought to feel chastised: Perhaps the woman was judging me for having failed at some basic parental duty. But something about the matter-of-fact, almost automatic way the woman had intervened reassured me that she wasn't thinking much about me at all. She was just going through the motions of an ordinary day on the train, in which reminding a child not to put her foot on the seat was a perfectly natural gesture. Ultimately, I was grateful for the woman's tap on my daughter's foot. But the exchange also felt foreign. In my experience, that sort of instruction, from a random adult to a stranger's child, isn't much of a thing in America (or, for what it's worth, in the United Kingdom, where I currently live). Many people don't seem to think they have the authority to instruct, let alone touch, a kid who isn't theirs. They tend to leave it to the parent to manage a child's behavior—or they may silently fume when the parent doesn't step up. To informally test that assumption, I created a short online survey and ended up interacting with a dozen people from around the United States. Some were parents; some were not. Every single one said that outside certain situations—where they were familiar with a kid's parents, or where a child's safety was in question—they would hesitate before telling someone else's kid what to do, for fear of upsetting the parent. Marty Sullivan, a technology consultant based in Tennessee, gave a representative answer: 'Generally I'd prefer to avoid risking escalation.' These responses struck me as a bit of a shame, because the exchange between my daughter and the woman in Prague seemed to reflect something altogether good. And I know I can't be alone in that thought: Both historical precedent and cultural norms in other parts of the world reinforce the idea that a stranger's meddling in the disciplining of children can have significant merits. The highly individualistic approach to managing kids' behavior in public is particularly American—and a historical anomaly. David Lancy, an anthropologist and a professor emeritus at Utah State University, wrote to me that for the majority of human existence, it was unquestionable that ''the whole village' participates' in child-rearing. 'Siblings, peers, aunts, grandmas,' he told me, 'all have distinct roles, including 'correcting.'' When I asked Steven Mintz, a historian of families and childhood at the University of Texas at Austin, whether child-rearing in the United States, specifically, had ever involved a more collective approach, he seemed almost tickled: 'Did it ever!' he wrote back. He recalled that during his own childhood, in the 1950s, he was 'constantly corrected' by people other than his parents for his poor posture, hygiene, grooming, and language. Child-rearing into the first half of the 20th century was, he noted, 'far more of a communal and public endeavor'—an approach that entailed a fair amount of what would, by contemporary standards, probably be considered intrusion. 'Neighbors, teachers, shopkeepers, and even strangers on the street,' Mintz wrote, 'felt empowered, and often morally obligated, to correct a child's misbehavior, scold a lack of manners, break up a fight, or escort a wandering child back home.' Today, this sort of 'village style' oversight remains a norm in some pockets of the United States. Michelle Peters, a project manager in El Paso, Texas, whose family has roots in Mexico, told me that she has seen communities in both the U.S. and Mexico take a more collective approach to child-rearing. 'It is more common and more acceptable for adults to correct children who are not their own,' she said, and people feel 'a greater sense of social intimacy and immediacy,' which extends to caregiving in public settings. Yet in much of the United States, Mintz told me, the collective has given way to a 'privatized and protected model of parenting.' As in other aspects of parenthood, that closed-off approach gives parents more control but also puts them under more pressure. If you're the sole arbiter of your child's public behavior, you have to keep a pretty close eye on your kid at all times. That sense of responsibility can also produce anxiety: Rather than just parenting as I see fit, I often find myself guessing—and second-guessing—whether my kids are bothering people or violating some unspoken rule. (Is my daughter standing way too close to that guy? Does that shopkeeper mind that my kid is flipping through their magazines?) Amy Banta, a mom of three in Salt Lake City, told me that this is one reason she really appreciates it when other people step in to correct her kids. 'I cannot anticipate your every boundary that my child might possibly cross,' she said. 'You're gonna have to help me out.' If the goal is to steadily acquaint children with the conventions of polite society, it isn't clear that filtering all guidance through parents is the most effective approach. For one thing, kids are smart. A child who knows that his parent or other caregiver is the only one who will ever correct him might reasonably conclude that he can get up to no good whenever that adult turns away. What's more, I have found that a stranger's gentle intervention—as opposed to my nagging—can be a more effective means of conveying to my kids that the people around them are real people, with their own needs, whose space and comfort one ought to respect. Another adult's nudging can function as a kind of 'social proof,' as Banta put it—a reinforcement of the lessons a parent is trying to impart. Banta told me about a time when she took her then-5-year-old to a community-theater performance and he struggled to sit still. 'I kept telling him that he couldn't wiggle in his seat, because he was shaking the whole row,' Banta recalled, but 'he didn't want to listen to me, because he was having so much fun bouncing.' At intermission, another woman in the row asked Banta's son to stop shaking the seats so much. 'I looked at my son and said, 'See? It's not just me,'' Banta told me. He was far more mindful of his movements during the second act, periodically checking to see if he was bothering the woman down the row—who gave him a big thumbs-up after the show ended. The collective approach to correcting kids' behavior can have its drawbacks, of course. Plenty of people have truly unreasonable expectations about the way kids should act in public. Miranda Rake, a writer and mother of two in Oregon, told me that she thinks tolerance for ordinary kid behavior in much of America is too low. Even in Portland, which she considers quite laid back, she 'gets the stink eye' in many places and feels like she's 'on eggshells in a lot of coffee shops and certainly restaurants,' she said. 'There just isn't a culture of community around kids here.' In her view, that complicates the question of whether interventions from nonparents would make the environment more or less family friendly. Rake's concern is not entirely unfounded. In the United States, collective supervision of children has typically coincided with community norms that 'could be rigid or exclusionary,' Mintz told me, 'and the authority of adults could at times be authoritarian or abusive.' Meanwhile, in many modern societies outside America, tolerance for childlike unruliness is part and parcel of the more communal approach to raising kids. (That was also the norm for most of our evolutionary past, Sarah B. Hrdy, an anthropologist who has extensively studied child-rearing dynamics in traditional hunter-gatherer societies, told me. Where instruction does occur in such cultures, it tends to involve subtle, often nonverbal guidance—of the sort I encountered in Prague—rather than scolding or censure.) The challenge of balancing tolerance and discipline aside, both Hrdy and Mintz observed that in many ways, American society is simply not set up for a thriving culture of community oversight. Where such a culture once existed, it was propped up by various forms of social infrastructure—the kind that has been steadily hollowed out over the past several decades, Mintz told me. American neighborhoods used to be more tightly knit. A lower proportion of mothers were employed outside the home, which meant that neighborhoods were filled with adults during the day who could keep an eye on one another's children. A strongly ingrained cultural respect for adult authority meant that 'few questioned a neighbor's right to reprimand a child for rudeness or risk-taking behavior,' Mintz said, and the potential personal risks (legal or otherwise) of disciplining a child not your own were fewer: 'Adults could discipline, correct, or even physically intervene without fear of being sued, shamed, or filmed.' In an era when fewer people know or interact with their neighbors, and social trust has waned, the thought of reviving collective child-rearing norms may seem a little far-fetched. And yet, the Americans I spoke with seemed, on the whole, largely open to being a bit more direct with other people's kids—if only they could have assurance that such involvement would be welcome. I'll come out and say it: I would certainly welcome it.
Yahoo
10-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Lagoon encourages students in science with Physics Day at the park
FARMINGTON — High school and middle school students from across the state arrived at Lagoon Friday to learn more about physics. To prepare for the trip, each student works on some type of project in class and presents it fair-style at the amusement park. Physics Day has been going on for over 35 years, and more students participate each year. What began as a way to get students involved in science, physics and technology has evolved to become a favorite student and faculty activity. 'It's not a hard sell,' Utah State University physics department representative JR Dennison laughed. 'The students come up with their projects all by themselves. … A lot of them spend weeks working doing this. They learn a whole heck of a lot.' Multiple events happen throughout the day, including the ride presentation. Each student team was tasked with making a mockup of a potential Lagoon ride. The tricky part came in figuring out the science of how the ride would work in reality. Students spent weeks working on dioramas — painting, decorating, thinking of themes and most of all, figuring out the logistics of how it could work. George De St. Jeor and Matea Peterson from West Point Junior High School created a ride inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's 'Starry Night' painting. The girls spent hours researching and creating their final project. 'We both really love art and so we wanted to do a story-themed ride,' De St. Jeor said. 'We had to make sure that it had enough inertia and friction to work in the real world.' Peterson joked, 'It was very hard, and it is only made out of paper. I'm sure in real life it would be even worse.' The kids also had the unique opportunity to build a robot and participate in a robot sumo wrestling competition. Students built, programmed, and ran the robots to find the champion. 'A guy named Jeff, who works at the Air Force, came and helped us. From experience, we learned how to make this,' said one bot-fighting student, Emmyr Suarez. 'We can knock down other robots.' One of the main events allowed students to take an egg-drop device on the sky-ride and drop it from the highest point on the ride. Students went one after another, dropping eggs as they rode along the track. Other students helped gather the machines on the ground to determine whose egg survived. In addition to the young students, professionals in the field and college students presented their work with interactive presentations and demonstrations. Ethan Wayland, a current USU student, showcased his team's work on making satellites. 'The last satellite we made was only 10 centimeters, which is really small,' Wayland said. 'I love coming to these kinds of events and talking to kids. Especially with a range of ages, it is fun talking to elementary and high school kids. A lot of them are interested in space, so it's cool to talk with them and connect about it.' The day at the park aims to promote careers in STEM and encourages students to engage in hands-on learning. 'The critical thinking of physics is learning to look at something and think your way through it,' Dennison said. 'It's absolutely essential in every direction you can take in life.'
Yahoo
06-05-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Researcher receives $54,000 grant to combat dangerous diseases: 'We need to know which species we're dealing with'
Yahoo is using AI to generate takeaways from this article. This means the info may not always match what's in the article. Reporting mistakes helps us improve the experience. Yahoo is using AI to generate takeaways from this article. This means the info may not always match what's in the article. Reporting mistakes helps us improve the experience. Yahoo is using AI to generate takeaways from this article. This means the info may not always match what's in the article. Reporting mistakes helps us improve the experience. Generate Key Takeaways One Utah State University researcher was recently awarded a $54,000 grant from the American Mosquito Control Association Research Fund to lead an AI-powered effort that will help better identify disease-carrying mosquitoes. The computer vision-based artificial intelligence technology will help Norah Saarman and her team of ecologists develop new low-cost identification methods for the Culex mosquitoes that carry West Nile virus, according to a news release from the university. While most people who contract West Nile virus are symptomless, about 1 in 5 develops a fever with other symptoms such as headache, body aches, joint pains, vomiting, diarrhea, or rash, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. About 1 in 150 people will develop serious symptoms such as inflammation in the brain or meningitis, an inflammation of the membranes that surround the brain and spinal cord. While Utah isn't known as a hotspot for mosquitoes compared to other regions of the country, a number of mosquito species are spreading their ranges thanks to the warming of our planet. For instance, Culex quinquefasciatus, one West Nile virus vector species, has made its way into the Salt Lake City area over the last few years, according to USU. And one recent study found that several mosquito species populations are set to expand their ranges in North and South America in the coming years, thanks to rising temperatures. According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, higher temperatures also increase the risk of human exposure to the disease, as they can accelerate mosquito development, biting rates, and the incubation of the disease within a mosquito. There has already been a rise in cases of many mosquito-borne diseases in recent years. For instance, the World Mosquito Program called 2024 the "worst year for dengue cases on record." As we deal with such increased risks of mosquito-borne disease, scientists and communities are fighting back with solutions. For instance, officials in one Florida county are using X-rays to kill invasive mosquitoes. And a $70 million pilot program that tested one malaria vaccine in Africa helped reduce deaths among young children by 13% over a period of four years. As for Saarman's work, she and her team are looking to help prevent vector-borne disease in the safest, most cost-effective and environmentally friendly ways. "Doing that means we need to know which species we're dealing with and the pathogens they're infected with as soon as possible," Saarman said. "The power of AI will help us achieve this." Join our free newsletter for good news and useful tips, and don't miss this cool list of easy ways to help yourself while helping the planet.
Yahoo
26-04-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
Moving rails in Salt Lake underground is costly. Will new benefits report change the debate?
The projected cost of an ambitious grassroots plan to move the railroad west of downtown Salt Lake City underground has loomed over most of the discussions regarding the project. Leaders of the resident-led project, and local and state allies they've met along the way, say they believe a new economic benefits report will change the conversation. The Rio Grande Plan, which could cost $3 billion to $5 billion or more to construct, has the potential to generate $12.3 billion in economic impacts, according to the Rio Grande Plan Economic Benefit Analysis released on Wednesday by researchers at the Jon M. Huntsman School of Business Analytics Solution Center. If the land currently covered by rails is redeveloped as proponents hope, it could spur billions in annual commercial output. 'We think that this is going to be one of the most impactful and meaningful projects in Salt Lake City,' said Pedram Jahangiry, an assistant professor of data analytics and information systems at the center. The Rio Grande Plan calls for the existing railroad corridor to be moved underground through a train box, from 400 North to 1300 South near downtown Salt Lake City. Advocates say doing so will improve safety and east-west connectivity because it removes interactions with trains. It could also open up about 75 acres of land for future redevelopment. All of these potentials have helped the plan receive support from Salt Lake City and Salt Lake County in recent years. The study used IMPLAN economic modeling to explore direct and indirect effects within various economic sectors tied to the plan, both during construction and afterward. Researchers considered all the short-term impacts during construction, such as businesses buying materials or workers paying rent with wages. This is spread out over the estimated four to six years it could take to build the underground line, said Curtis Bishop, a graduate student in financial economics at Utah State University and one of the study's authors. About 30% of the potentially redeveloped land would likely go toward transportation and other easements on the land, while half of it would go toward new housing and commercial space, per a previous Salt Lake City report. Potential land-use allocations were blended in with existing Census Bureau data and other datasets to generate some of the project's long-term economic values, he added. The project has the potential to create about 51,800 jobs, many of which would come from construction. It could also produce $376 million in new state or local tax revenue. The new development could generate nearly $3.2 billion in annual commercial output and support about 13,600 jobs, per the report. New household income from the more than 2,500 possible new housing units and new visitor spending factor into the numbers, Curtis explained. Those findings added one reason to back the plan for those who have already become supporters. Salt Lake County Councilwoman Lauri Stringham said it provides new numbers for long-term planning discussions. 'We oftentimes take a short-term, myopic view — put a dime in front of our view and say we can't afford it,' she said. 'But, really, can we not afford to take a look and miss the dollar out there with the dime out in front of our face?' While supporters of the plan championed the report in a briefing with reporters on Wednesday, the sense of who wasn't in the room was also noticeable. The project has not received endorsements from top state leaders, state transportation officials or Union Pacific. Rio Grande Plan organizers presented their vision to a legislative interim transportation committee last year, but it was met with mixed reviews. Some signaled concerns over cost, as well as impacts to rail service and the potential that it could spill out into roadways. Some questioned why the state was focusing on Salt Lake City development again after a pair of stadium bills passed earlier that year. 'There is a whole vast part of our state that is not getting the same love and attention,' said Rep. Candice Pierucci, R-Herriman, at the time, pointing to transit holdups in southwest Salt Lake County and overall investments in rural Utah. 'It's hard to think that we need to bump this up to the top of the list.' Some members said it wouldn't hurt to study the idea further. Rep. Raymond Ward, R-Bountiful, also attended Wednesday's event to lend his support, arguing that it could help improve growing transportation challenges as downtown grows and becomes more dense, representing how some legislators have been won over. Meanwhile, Union Pacific, Utah Transit Authority, and other railroad users have met with Salt Lake City officials, which led to the proposed train box, but rail leaders have yet to support it. That must be figured out for the plan to work, said Salt Lake City Councilman Alejandro Puy, who has met with Union Pacific over other railroad issues. 'Ultimately, even if (the city and county is) unified in the need for this, we still need the other pieces to fall into place, which is the state and Union Pacific,' he said. 'Those are the places where the conversations should go next.' Federal support is another major question mark. However, Rio Grande Plan supporters remain optimistic after U.S. Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy said he wanted to invest in 'great train transit projects,' including ones with promising projections, during his visit to Salt Lake City earlier this month. Supporters see the new study as a potential tool in their effort to carry out the project. It gives them more information to present the economic value of the plan, which they hope can tip the scales in favor of those on the fence. It's an arduous task, but they also believe they could finalize everything before the 2034 Winter Olympics—if everything comes together soon. Frederick Jenny, one of the leaders of the Rio Grande Plan, said the group has already reached out to state leaders about more meetings to discuss the new numbers and how to make their bold plan a reality. 'We're hoping to — with these numbers — go back and say, 'We have the other half of the equation,'' he said. 'A year ago, we only had the cost. Now we have the impact.'
