Tom Williams/CQ Roll Call/AP

A shopper scans coupons in a grocery store in Washington, May 23, 2024.

The American economy reads a little like a Dickens novel these days – and for Joe Biden, it’s in desperate need of a plot twist.

For more than a year, the narrative has been stuck between “best of times” data and “worst of times” sentiment. Unemployment has been incredibly low and consumer spending abnormally resilient. But consumers have proved dour, unwilling to give President Biden much credit because of the sting of recent high inflation and continuing sky-high housing costs.

Now, the United States is poised – maybe – to turn the page on such uncertainty. The economy is slowing. Inflation looks like it’s falling again. On Friday, the Labor Department reported that the unemployment rate rose to 4.1%, the highest rate since 2021.

All this could help convince the Federal Reserve to cut interest rates in coming months, making business loans and home mortgages cheaper and bolstering Mr. Biden’s narrative that the economy is getting back to normal.

“I think people are just uncertain and that’s why we got to be steady, stay the course and continue to produce this incredible job” expansion, President Biden said in an interview with Yahoo Finance in May. 

But the economy has proved fickle before. After falling dramatically last year, inflation hit a stubborn plateau at the beginning of this year, killing hopes of rapid cuts in interest rates. On the other side, a growing number of economists are warning that the slowdown, far from normalization, is in fact signaling the threat of a deep recession.

How voters will interpret all this come November is complicated – and could get more complicated if Mr. Biden drops out of the presidential race. Much depends on how the eventual Democratic nominee – whoever that is – frames recent trends and what promises they make.

For at least the last half-century, the state of the economy has been a good predictor of presidential elections. When the sum of the inflation and unemployment rates – what’s known as the misery index – is high, incumbents lose. (Ronald Reagan is the exception, winning reelection in 1984 despite a misery index in the double digits.) When the misery index is in the single digits, they win. (Donald Trump is the exception.)

Mr. Biden’s numbers look pretty good so far. Combining the June unemployment rate and the latest consumer price index from May, his misery index stands at 7.4, which would be the lowest of any presidential incumbent in 50 years if it holds (see chart).  

SOURCE:

U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, National Bureau of Economic Research

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Jacob Turcotte/Staff

But “people don’t remember so much what you do as how you make them feel,” says Brett House, professor of economics at Columbia Business School, noting that this can have a cumulative effect over time. After the major pandemic disruptions to the economy, “People’s feelings are taking into account the real stretch that’s been imposed on their budgets over the last few years.”

Inflation high on voters’ minds 

Inflation is Mr. Biden’s economic bugaboo. Young or old. Rich or poor. The topic is on everyone’s lips, even here in liberal Boston. 

“I don’t like it the way it is,” says Norman Bassett, a custodian at Faneuil Hall Marketplace, where tourists gather to shop and eat in historic buildings linked to the American Revolution. “There’s too much inflation,” a worry for him as he nears retirement. 

“I could go and get a coffee at Starbucks for, like, $4; now, it’s like six bucks,” complains Alex Kickham, who’s working at the Faneuil Hall information desk and will start college soon. “Gas prices have gone up immensely as well.”

Never mind that inflation, which soared above 9% two years ago, has fallen by nearly two-thirds. And excluding volatile food and energy prices, what’s known as core inflation is even lower. Last week’s report on personal consumption expenditures showed that in May, they rose at an annual rate of 2.6%, their slowest pace in more than three years. The most recent readings “do suggest that we are getting back on a disinflationary path,” Federal Reserve Chairman Jerome Powell said Tuesday. 

But while prices are not climbing as fast, they’re still much higher than when President Biden took office. Another reason for voter skepticism: Housing costs continue to soar.

“I’m scared to move, actually, because the rent went up drastically,” says Jamarkia Taylor, a fourth-year premed college student working a retail cart in Boston’s Quincy Market. “Inflation is insane right now.”

In a survey in May, Pew Research found that inflation topped the list of voter concerns, with 62% calling it a very big problem (including nearly half of all Democrats). 

Mike Blake/Reuters

Construction workers build a large office complex in the biotech sector of San Diego, July 2, 2024.

While workers have been hit with higher prices, the remarkably strong job market has helped to compensate. For more than a year now, wage gains have outpaced the rise in prices. That’s been especially true for workers at the bottom of the pay scale and highly paid workers with skills in great demand right now.

The U.S. is much better off than it was four years ago because there are more job opportunities, says Hector Chincilla, a pub worker in downtown Boston who moved here from Honduras six years ago. Even though his rent has soared by nearly a third in that time, he says, “If you want to improve your life, you can study more English and you can get a better job and more pay.”

“I’m pretty optimistic,” says Nigel Daley, a Silicon Valley resident and co-founder of Vantage Discovery, an online shopping service powered by artificial intelligence. “I feel like there’s a dissonance between what I read and what I see.”

“Wages have done pretty well. It looks like a pretty rosy scenario,” says David Blanchflower, economics professor at Dartmouth College. “What’s interesting, actually, is that Biden in the polling numbers doesn’t appear to be getting a great benefit.”

Caitlin Babcock contributed reporting from Washington.

When the Bush Creek East wildfire roared like an engine over the hillside at the edge of his property last August, Karl Bischoff organized three dozen neighbors to fight off the blaze. 

They saved his house and farm. But more than 170 buildings burned. The blaze was one of thousands that engulfed an area larger than Greece and marked the worst wildfire season in Canadian history.

This year, Mr. Bischoff is taking no chances.

The lumberjack unscrews the lock to a new trailer parked on his land. It holds water tanks, hoses, axes, and two-way radios worth $10,000 (Canadian; U.S.$7,300). He has formed a volunteer brigade that this spring earned provincial certifications to suppress fires. They call themselves the North Shuswap Community Association Volunteer Rapid Response Firefighters. They’ve chosen a theme song, too: Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.”

“We were burned badly; it’s not going to happen again,” he says.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Karl Bischoff wears a baseball cap with an "N. Shuswap strong" logo on it, in Celista, British Columbia, April 23. The phrase "Shuswap strong" has been a rallying cry and symbol of resilience in the months since the fire.

Many Americans know about Canada’s 2023 wildfire season because smoke choked their neighborhoods. Here, along the northern shore of Shuswap Lake, ground zero for one of the summer’s worst fires, residents say they tried to play a part in containment but instead clashed with officials. As peak wildfire season looms, many say they’ve lost faith in the government’s ability to keep the community safe and are searching for ways to rebuild trust. That trust will be crucial, here and beyond, as the risk of wildfires grows around the globe. 

Kira Hoffman, a fire ecologist at the University of British Columbia and former wildland firefighter, says that locals need to be empowered to meet the challenges. “I think people are really realizing that we need to do something different,” she says. “There is trauma [from last year’s season], but that trauma is going to be a cycle of trauma if we don’t start empowering people to change or be responsible for that movement forward.” 

After last year’s devastation, British Columbia put together a task force that issued 31 recommendations this spring. They included more firefighter recruitment, better technology and equipment, and more support for homeowners protecting their properties from fire. One of the pillars in the final report: more local involvement “based on a foundation of communication, co-operation, and trust.”

But that foundation is a shaky one for many residents of North Shuswap. Locals say evacuation orders came too late last August, as two fires merged into a single massive one. They also complain that after firefighters left the area, police arrived to enforce an evacuation order by blocking access, which hindered residents’ effort to continue to fight the flames.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Dean Acton (right) and his son Mark have purchased trucks outfitted with water tanks to battle wildfire, in Scotch Creek, British Columbia, April 23. The Actons avoided evacuation orders to fight fire last year and at the time were called out by the province, but have since received formal training.

Employees from Captain’s Village Marina in Scotch Creek, on Shuswap Lake, made national headlines during the Bush Creek East fire for defying the provincial evacuation order, instead staying to fight the fire with about a dozen locals. “You’re making a highly dangerous situation even more dangerous for everyone involved,” Bowinn Ma, British Columbia’s minister of emergency management, warned at the time.

But locals are convinced the community would have faced far more damage had they left. “The No. 1 lesson we learned from this: Government is not there to look out for you,” says marina owner Dean Acton. He has invested approximately $100,000 in new firefighting gear like a dump truck, 5,000-gallon water tanks, and hoses.

“They treated us all like criminals,” adds Jim Cooperman, a local historian who has been investigating the fire on his blog and organizing community events to demand accountability and better mitigation plans moving forward.

His group’s list of grievances against the local and provincial governments is long. Its main goal is to investigate a back burn – or planned fire to contain wildfires – that had been burning for weeks in hills above the town. The group says that the planned ignition caused the destruction after it swept downhill during a windstorm. (The British Columbia Forest Practices Board is reviewing the back burn, and the province’s Ministry of Forests says it welcomes the review.)

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Environmental activist Jim Cooperman stands outside his home in Lee Creek, British Columbia, April 23. His home was saved because of the fire-smart actions he took – installing a metal roof and metal siding, and proactively logging trees near the home.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Jim Cooperman’s home stands just below an area devastated by the 2023 wildfire, in Lee Creek, British Columbia, April 23, 2024. The fire came within 50 feet of his house.

Mr. Cooperman’s group is also pushing for reforms within the province’s Wildfire Service, including a better process for hiring locals like Mr. Bischoff. “They really have to up their ante on how they approach firefighting,” Mr. Cooperman says.

Last year’s fires destroyed twice the amount of land burned during the previous record year of 1989. At least six firefighters died. And while Mike Flannigan, who studies the intersection between fire and climate, says last year was an extreme outlier, challenges are mounting this year amid drought and a record low snowpack.

That is going to mean more communities on the front lines. “We see more and more fire in the interface between the forest and the community,” says Dr. Flannigan, a fire expert at Thompson Rivers University in Kamloops, where the government is building a first-of-its-kind fire center, among other measures recommended by the task force. Empowering the people in that interface is key to fire management efforts, Dr. Flannigan says.

One town, Fort Nelson, was evacuated during a May fire. Meteorologists say they expect a hotter than usual summer. 

In June, federal and provincial forest ministers endorsed a prevention strategy that aims to have communities in high-risk zones develop wildland fire and prevention plans by 2030.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Burned trees, April 23, are a reminder of the 2023 wildfire that raged through Scotch Creek, British Columbia. Many area residents are unhappy with how the British Columbia Wildfire Service handled the fires. Local communities are preparing for the reality of wildfire in their lives – many choosing to fight themselves and not evacuate.

The British Columbia Ministry of Forests plans to advance work “with trained and experienced individuals,” it said in an emailed statement in May. But “this isn’t a volunteer program – people are hired on. It’s dangerous, difficult work, and it needs to be coordinated to keep everyone safe.”      

Dr. Hoffman applauds more support for Indigenous cultural burning to prevent bigger fires, for example, which even five years ago went unrecognized.

The Bush Creek East fire was one of 2,245 blazes that burned through British Columbia last year. Resources are stretched and wind patterns fickle, says Paul Gamble, local fire chief who fought the blaze from First Nation land. He understands some people are angry. “Their houses burned down. It’s natural,” he says. “But not one person was hurt or killed here.”

That’s the main message at a healing ceremony in the Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw First Nation on a recent day that welcomed the community home to rebuilt houses. Kukpi7 (Chief) James Tomma, who lost his home and almost his life, says it is wrong to blame the British Columbia Wildfire Service. “There is no magic bullet to fighting these fires. [The service is] at the mercy of what resources they get to battle these fires,” he says. “We have considerable faith in their skills and expertise.”

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Kukpi7 (Chief) James Tomma escaped the wildfire last year with his wife, Jay; his cat, Smudge; and just the clothes on his back. Members of the Skwlāx te Secwepemcúl̓ecw First Nation lost 34 homes, a municipal office, a cemetery, and businesses in the Bush Creek East wildfire.

Jenn Breckenridge, whose house burned down in the fire, wishes she felt the same level of trust. But she lost her home when evacuation orders last summer came just hours before fire overtook the community. “They told us not to panic, everything looks fine, but we were looking at the mountain and pointing and saying, ‘It doesn’t look fine,’” she says. 

And as she starts to rebuild her home, she welcomes efforts like that of Mr. Cooperman to demand reform, and her neighbor, Mr. Bischoff, to organize a volunteer force.

Karen Norris/Staff

The province, Mr. Bischoff says, is too bureaucratic and has moved too far away from the old-school ways of “fire bosses,” who organized locals to fight fire when he was growing up here. “They think helicopters and computers are going to put this fire out,” he says. “It helps dramatically. But at the end, you still need boots on the ground.”

Despite the message in their Tom Petty theme song, however, he says his group will “back down” if provincial firefighters arrive on the scene and ask them to leave. “All we’re asking is for them to work with us. We’re not here to fight them. We’re here to fight the fire.”

Czarek Sokolowski/AP

Participants in a summer volunteer program in Poland's army engage in basic training in Nowogród, Poland, June 20, 2024. Nations along NATO’s eastern flank facing Russia are strengthening their defenses.

In the United States, President Joe Biden’s political allies have spent the past week trying to calm Democratic Party anxiety over his stumbling debate performance against Donald Trump.

But another set of allies was equally shaken: America’s key overseas partners in its efforts to contain China’s expanding ambitions and to push back against Russia’s invasion and occupation of Ukraine.

For months now, concern has been growing among European member states of NATO and major allies in the Asia-Pacific region like Australia, South Korea, and Japan, over the prospect of a second Trump administration.

But in the wake of Mr. Biden’s debate ordeal, the concern has edged closer to alarm.

It is being fueled by a growing expectation that if Mr. Trump wins in November, they can no longer reliably assume that the world’s wealthiest and most powerful democracy will remain interested, involved, and invested in checking the reach of powerful autocracies.

And they’re worried that U.S. domestic political constraints mean that even if Mr. Biden wins, Washington may not be able to show anything near the interest, involvement, and investment that have shaped world politics ever since World War II.

The allies’ debate anxiety was especially evident regarding future U.S. backing for Ukraine.

Louisa Gouliamaki/Reuters

Attendees at a summit of the G7 leading industrialized nations pose for a photo at the Borgo Egnazia resort, in Savelletri, Italy, June 14, 2024. In an example of how the U.S. and its allies are trying to "Trump-proof" key security relationships, the G7 agreed to pay the interest on a $50 billion loan it will take out on Ukraine’s behalf.

Mr. Trump used the debate to reiterate his opposition to the scale of support the Biden administration has given Kyiv, and insisted that if he won the election, he’d secure a peace agreement even before taking office.

He said Russian President Vladimir Putin’s terms for a settlement were unacceptable. But his past acceptance of Russian claims on Ukraine left European leaders assuming that, at a minimum, he would recognize Russia’s control of the land it has seized by force.

While allied leaders avoided public comment on the debate, other prominent European politicians were far less reticent, with some taking the extraordinary step of calling on the Democratic Party to choose a new election standard-bearer.

Former Italian Prime Minister Matteo Renzi summed up the mood. “Joe Biden can’t do it,” he posted on X. “Changing horses is a duty for everyone.”

Poland’s foreign minister, Radosław Sikorski, reached back into history. Noting that a failure to “grasp the importance of succession” had begun the decline of the Roman Empire, he added that “it’s important to manage one’s ride into the sunset.”

The chair of the German parliament’s defense committee was blunter. “The fact that a man like Trump could become president again because the Democrats are unable to put up a strong candidate against him would be a historic tragedy that the whole world would feel,” said Marie-Agnes Strack-Zimmermann, whose Free Democratic Party is a member of the country’s ruling coalition.

A longtime former chair of the German parliament’s foreign affairs committee also homed in on the international implications. “This night will not be forgotten,” Norbert Röttgen said. “The Democrats have to rethink their choices now. And Germany must prepare at full speed for an uncertain future.

“If we don’t take responsibility for European security now, no one will.”

That, of course, is exactly what Mr. Trump has been demanding of U.S. allies in Europe for a long time.

It may be that Europe’s growing investment in defense over the past few years would dissuade a reelected President Trump from withdrawing from U.S. alliances altogether, as he suggested he might in his first term.

It may also be that the prospect of his possible return was one of the reasons behind the higher European defense spending.

Yet the main catalysts have been Russia and China, and the real sense of threat that their democratic neighbors feel in the light of the Ukraine invasion and China’s expanding military presence in the South China Sea.

Stefan Rousseau/Press Association/AP/File

Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, U.S. President Joe Biden, and British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak pose during a meeting at Naval Base Point Loma in San Diego, March 13, 2023. They met to discuss the procurement of nuclear-powered submarines under a trilateral security pact.

President Biden and U.S. allies have made efforts to “Trump-proof” more robust security relationships.

In Asia-Pacific, Mr. Biden has put together a three-way partnership with Australia and Britain to provide nuclear submarines for the Australians. He has beefed up the Quadrilateral Security Dialogue among the U.S., Australia, India, and Japan.

And at Camp David last summer, he put America’s arms around an historic rapprochement between the leaders of South Korea and Japan – pointedly including tripartite consultation mechanisms intended to outlast his time in the White House.

A similar effort has been underway with Ukraine. The most recent example: At its summit last month, the G7 leading industrialized nations agreed to pay the interest on a $50 billion loan it will take out on Ukraine’s behalf.

Still, the allies recognize there are stark limits, at least in the short term, to how effectively they can compensate for any major reduction in America’s international presence and commitment.

They are also worried that the retreat is already underway, at least on Ukraine; President Biden struggled for months last year to win congressional approval for America’s most recent aid package.

One leading Japanese foreign policy expert, former diplomat Kunihiko Miyake, lamented after the debate that Mr. Biden “might have imploded,” suggesting that Mr. Trump could have a clear run at the White House.

“Unlike eight years ago,” he said, “we are much more prepared, as are other European and Asian allies.”

But he added a caveat. “Still, Mr. Trump is unpredictable.”

For months, Roji Pun has been regularly visiting the Russian Embassy in Kathmandu, Nepal. 

Each time she knocks at the gate of the high-walled compound, her 21-month-old son in tow, and asks the same desperate question: Where is my husband?

Bhuwan Pun’s family hasn’t heard from him since he joined the Russian army as a “helper” last September. He is one of thousands of Nepali men who have been lured north by a lucrative package that Moscow announced last year for foreign recruits.

Russia’s aggressive push to attract foreign fighters has given rise to scams and trafficking operations throughout the Global South, including in India and Cuba. Often, recruits are promised support jobs as army helpers, cooks, or cleaners, and are required to pay expensive travel and immigration fees, before being sent to the front lines of the Russia-Ukraine war. 

In Nepal, they have left broken families and painful mysteries in their wake. While the government has banned Russian recruitment in Nepal, which has slowed the outflow of mercenaries, local politician and activist Kritu Bhandari believes leaders are not doing enough “to rescue our brothers.” 

“It is the responsibility of the government to protect the lives of its citizens. Our government is not fulfilling its responsibilities,” says Ms. Bhandari, a leading advocate for families of Nepali fighters. “They have left hundreds of men to die out there in that brutal war.” 

In the meantime, she and other campaigners are urging Russian authorities to allow Nepali fighters to return home “on a humanitarian basis.” 

Russia’s war needs

Russia’s war in Ukraine has been taxing. Various intelligence agencies estimate that the Kremlin suffered an average of more than 1,000 casualties a day in May, the highest casualty rate since the war began. Early reports suggest that June was equally catastrophic.

To maintain its offensives – and preserve the government’s popularity – Moscow has mobilized incarcerated people, utilized foreign mercenary groups, recruited troops from former Soviet republics, and launched a global recruitment drive that has sent thousands of troops from low-income nations to the front lines.

Courtesy of Bhuwan Pun’s family

The family of Bhuwan Pun, a Nepali man, hasn't heard from him since he joined the Russian army as a “helper” in September 2023.

Nepal is among the poorest countries in the world, with an unemployment rate of 11.1% and more than 15% of its people living below the poverty line, according to World Bank data. 

Lack of economic opportunity forces 1,700 Nepalis to leave the landlocked Himalayan nation every day. According to the 2021 census, nearly 2.1 million Nepalis live outside Nepal, 7.4% of the total population, the majority of whom work in informal sectors. The Russia-Ukraine war has become a new attraction.

There are no precise figures for Nepalis fighting in Ukraine. A prisoner of war recently told Ukrainian authorities that he saw some 200 Nepalis during his brief spell in the Russian military, and guessed that 3,000 to 4,000 had joined up. Other reports suggest that as many as 15,000 Nepali men have been drafted into the Russian war effort.

Campaigners for families of missing recruits say they have details of more than 600 Nepali nationals who have joined the Russian army, including some who have managed to return home. 

A survivor’s tale

Among the escapees is I. Sunar, who is trying to rebuild his life in Nepal and asked that his full name not be printed in order to preserve his privacy. 

Mr. Sunar was working as a police officer when he met a recruitment agent in Kathmandu. The agent said he would be helping military personnel in urban areas, away from any active war zone, and the job paid nine times more than his $225-a-month salary in Nepal. 

“I thought it would change my life for the better,” says Mr. Sunar, hands shaking as he walks through a busy Kathmandu market.

Mr. Sunar had to pay the agent roughly $2,600 to arrange his travel and bribe a Nepali immigration officer (who authorities say has since been suspended). His experience aligns closely with other survivors’ reports, and the senior superintendent of police in Kathmandu, who has been investigating the case, confirmed the details in this story.

Mr. Sunar landed in Moscow on Sept. 20 along with half a dozen other Nepali men. To their surprise, they were swept off to a military training facility where they spent two weeks in boot camp before being sent to the front lines.

“On the front lines, it was very cold, and there was no proper management of food and water,” Mr. Sunar recalls. “Every day someone among us would get killed, and no one was recovering their bodies or recording their deaths.”

It was in December, after barely escaping a drone strike that killed eight Nepalis serving alongside him, that Mr. Sunar decided to flee. 

“I did not want to die without making any efforts to save my life,” he says.

Often, the same trafficking networks that are involved in bringing fighters to Russia also help getting deserters out. But Mr. Sunar credits his escape to good fortune and determination. After he deserted his post, he says it took five days of walking, hitchhiking, and swimming across rivers to reach Moscow. 

“I cannot describe the happiness I felt on reaching the Nepal Embassy,” he says. “God saved me.” 

Courtesy of Kritu Bhandari

Activist Kritu Bhandari (second from right), along with other activists during a hunger strike in Kathmandu, is demanding the return of Nepalis trapped in Russia, May 5, 2024.

Families seek closure

During one of the few calls Mr. Pun had with his wife, he mentioned that he was being sent on a similar weekslong military training course. 

That would have been a shock to Mr. Pun, who had been making $112 a month as a teacher when a relative told him about the  “helper” job in Russia. A monthly salary of $2,000 and the prospect of obtaining a Russian passport after a year felt like a dream for the Pun family. He was never told anything about serving in a combat unit.

“After that, there was no call from him,” says Ms. Pun. Despite repeated attempts to reach her husband, she heard nothing from Russia until her phone buzzed the evening of Feb. 12. 

On the line was a man who identified himself as a friend of her husband's, also working in the Russian army, who told her that her husband had been killed. 

Devastated and confused, Ms. Pun left her in-laws’ house in Pokhara, Nepal, moving to the capital, where she hoped the Russian Embassy would be able to offer more information. But whenever she visits, the guards turn her away. 

She can’t bring herself to tell her in-laws about the February phone call without official confirmation or proof that her husband is dead.

“I am still in disbelief,” she says, tears streaking her face. “If he has been killed, the Russian government should send us his dead body.”

Nepal’s foreign ministry has urged Russia to repatriate the bodies of its citizens killed in the war, and the government has banned citizens from traveling to Russia or Ukraine for work. 

But Ms. Bhandari, the campaigner, wants more.

Her group has organized protests, marches, and hunger strikes demanding the rescue of Nepali citizens serving in Russia. “But instead of taking any concrete action, the government is harassing us,” she says, referring to an April sit-in where she and several other activists were detained by police. 

Demonstrators say they want Nepali officials to leverage their connections with more influential countries – such as China and India – to pressure Russia to expedite the return of Nepali citizens and bodies. Other demands include compensation for victims’ families, treatment of those wounded in the war, and information on fighters who have gone missing. 

“No matter what happens, I will not abandon these families,” Ms. Bhandari says. “We will keep raising our voice until our men are brought back.”

When international researchers recently discovered that a population of hummingbirds in South America was actually two distinct species – a finding made after much trekking and tracking and genome sequencing – they called on Jillian Ditner to help explain their work.

Ms. Ditner is a bird illustrator at Cornell University’s Lab of Ornithology. And in her rendering, she could highlight the distinctions between Patagona gigas, the southern giant hummingbird, and Patagona sp. nov., the new northern giant hummingbird. 

“Can you see the difference?” she asks, pointing to an image of two birds, belly side up.  

The birds look nearly the same. But look closely, and the plumage on the right has a bit more reddish-brown saturation. There is more distinct coloration around the northern’s neck; a beak that extends just a bit longer.  

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Two illustrations of hummingbirds by an artist in the Bartels Science Illustration Program at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology allowed ornithologists to discover subtle differences in the birds and a new species.

This is one of the skills of the bird illustrator. More so than a photographer, Ms. Ditner explains, these artists can accentuate and highlight differences in species. They can exaggerate just a bit the ideal features that help reveal an animal’s distinct parts; play with that boundary between reality and understanding. 

“Photographs are always going to be limited,” she says. “With scientific illustrations – you can take endless angles of a photograph and put them in one picture … there’s the ability to condense a lot of detail into one visual.” 

Ms. Ditner runs Cornell’s unique Bartels Science Illustration Program, a year-long fellowship for bird artists that has seen skyrocketing popularity since its founding two decades ago. (This year, Ms. Ditner received 215 applications for the solo spot; that’s up from a few dozen, she says, when she started in her position six years ago.) 

The Bartels program is part of Cornell’s Lab of Ornithology, which many birders in the area just call “the Lab.”

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Jillian Ditner, illustrator and coordinator of the Bartels Science Illustration Program, sits in her office at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, June 7, 2024, in Ithaca, New York.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

A poster of hummingbirds by Jillian Ditner, coordinator of the Bartels Science Illustration Program at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, June 7, 2024, in Ithaca, New York.

In many ways, the Lab is a high-tech place. Researchers use machine learning and weather data to predict complex migration patterns; they have developed virtual learning tools that have digitized a world of ornithological data. The Lab’s newly renovated visitor’s center will have interactive exhibits that allow humans to manipulate screens to see what birds see – a literal “bird’s-eye view” on the world.

Outside, researchers keep a live camera on a busy bird feeder, which is streamed online, with sound, across the world. Researchers here have also developed an app called Merlin, which works kind of like a Shazam for birds. (Record the bird songs in your backyard, and the app will tell you which species is singing.) 

Amid all of this technology, the Bartels program reflects another goal, one that its participants say is equally important for the understanding of our natural world.  

At a time when a global library of digital images lives in one’s pocket, when attention is fought over and commoditized, there is something precious about the act of deep observation and the hand-drawn beauty that science illustration requires.  

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

An illustration of the greater roadrunner by Vera Ting, one of the artists in the Bartels Science Illustration program, at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, June 7, 2024 in Ithaca, New York. The print of gouache and acrylic ink, 2023, was featured on the 2024 Cornell Lab membership tote bag.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

An illustration of gilded and northern flickers, watercolor on board, by Louis Agassiz Fuertes, 1874-1927, is on display at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, June 7, 2024, in Ithaca, New York. Fuertes was a famous ornithologist and artist, who taught courses at Cornell. He is known for his highly accurate style in the category of traditional realism.

The bird artists at the Lab are specialists in that larger field of science illustration, a profession that includes everything from botanical sketches and renderings of the solar system to medical drawings and wildlife art. 

Despite advances in both photography and artificial intelligence, the scientific illustration field is growing, say those who work in the field. According to The Franklin Institute, Philadelphia’s renowned natural history museum, new technology has only increased the need for science illustrators, who can help bring either nanoparticles or galaxies to a comprehensible scale; a handful of colleges have science illustration programs.

Art will “draw people in”

Charlotte Holden, an artist and longtime bird lover, was one of the Bartels Illustrators in 2002. During her time in the program, Ms. Holden worked with researchers, studied bird anatomy, and honed her realism style by combining bird images with illustrations of their native flora. Like many who go through the program, her work appeared in Cornell’s Living Bird magazine, on posters, and on other materials.

Courtesy of Charlotte Holden

Charlotte Holden works on a watercolor of eastern bluebirds with Washington hawthorn. This watercolor piece was done for the 2022 Cornell Lab of Ornithology holiday card.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Tote bags, mugs, and other items made from work by artists from the Bartels Science Illustration Program, at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

“You need people to pick up an article or to pick up a magazine and read about what’s happening in the world,” she says. “Artwork is the way to grab people’s attention. That’s what I try to do – to use artwork to keep people’s interest in different topics.” 

Although Ms. Holden has been watching birds ever since she was a child outside of New York City, it was only by drawing, she says, that she began to recognize details like a bird’s different feather groups, or unique colors. 

It’s like life, she says. It’s hard to see the details when everything is in motion.  

Ornithological art slows us down. It has a long history that blurs science and art and wonder; a moment to pause and appreciate the world around us. 

“All I can say is birds are beautiful,” says Ms. Ditner. “They have such a diversity of plumage, such a diversity of behavior. There are some that eat flowers, some that eat mice. They’re basically gems – gems of the sky.”

Bird artists must understand the anatomy of their subjects – their habitats, movements, colors; how millions of years of evolution have brought an individual to be just this way, with just this pattern. 

Courtesy of Maria Amorette Klos

Maria Amorette Klos works on an ornithology illustration as part of the Bartels Science Illustration Program at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology in Ithaca, New York, in 2023.

Courtesy of Maria Amorette Klos

A watercolor and gouache painting by Maria Amorette Klos. On the left, a varied thrush is accompanied by a western tiger swallowtail butterfly, resting together on the mossy forest floor where these birds forage and breed. On the right, a wood thrush is perched on the branch of a spicebush while a spicebush swallowtail flies overhead.

But these illustrators also need to connect with other humans. When the Lab releases, say, a new mug to send to supporters, the images are drawn by hand – a connection between artist and animal, human to human.

“Art in itself is just very inspiring,” says Maria Klos, a 2023 Bartells Illustrator who now lives in California. “It seems to always draw people in.”  

One of Ms. Klos’ projects during her time in the program was to draw a pair of life-size American condor wings, which are now attached to one of the Lab’s exterior walls.  

Visitors can put their arms up against the image to see how their own “wingspans” measure up; one more moment of art, bird, and human together.  

Both Ms. Klos and Ms. Holden have continued their jobs as professional illustrators; both recently put on shows of their art and both say they are inspired to continue drawing nature professionally. The Bartels program has opened doors to new professional contracts, they say, but also a new way of seeing the world.

“It fosters a deeper connection to nature … when you just sit with it and observe it,” Ms. Klos says. “You see things that you might have been overlooking for a long time, or might never have noticed if you didn’t sit down with it and draw it.”

AP

Diana Ross performs at Michigan Central Station June 6.

Last month, Detroit marked the reopening of a long-abandoned but iconic building, Michigan Central Station. It did so with a concert that featured famous artists of the Motor City: Diana Ross, Eminem, Big Sean, Jack White, and the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. The event served as a reminder that the city, once known for its creative contributions to American culture, is becoming set to do something great again.

For decades before it closed as a train depot in 1988, Michigan Central was the hub for nearly 4,000 passengers a day shuttling in and out of Detroit. Built in the beaux arts style of architecture, the 18-story structure was and still is visible for miles. After its closure, a cloud of decrepitness took over with broken windows, withered columns, and prominent graffiti. The site once hosted drug dens and other illicit activity. It was a symbol of the city’s decline and bankruptcy in 2013.

Ford Motor Co. bought the building in 2018 after the city considered demolishing it. Six years later, new limestone shines brightly out front. Inside, the Grand Hall is just that: grand. This is transformation on a level that matches the vibe and energy that Detroit is experiencing. The 30-acre site is being used to attract a mix of businesses focused on new technologies. Public parks and outdoor plazas now surround the building. The area’s revival is an opportunity for Detroit’s oldest existing neighborhood, Corktown, to thrive.

In 2023, Detroit saw its first population increase in 66 years. Big-money investments are luring companies and condo buyers into downtown. This isn’t to say the city is perfect. The poverty rate is still above 30%. Unemployment is over 7%. Yet with innovation and more job creation, those numbers can fall.

There is hope for a city that is creating the future by looking to the best of its past. That is why 20,000 people came out to hear their hometown heroes perform on June 6. The lesson: What is broken can be fixed, with abundant blessings.