I've spent a lot of my life studying why people change. Not why they should—why they actually do. That question took me through epidemiology at UC Berkeley, behavioral science at Johns Hopkins, HIV/AIDS prevention work in Lesotho, farmer's markets in Baltimore, and most recently, urban health research in Singapore. And eventually, into permaculture—learned the hard way, in real yards, with practitioners who let me fail alongside them.
Somewhere in all that, I realized something uncomfortable: the same science that helps people can just as easily be used to trap them. I've watched the frameworks I studied get turned into attention machines—apps, food systems, entire patterns of being—designed to maximize engagement, erode autonomy, and leave people less capable of organizing their own lives.
And I kept noticing the kids. Growing up without ever touching soil. Unable to name a single plant on their block. A whole generation being raised without the basic ecological intelligence that humans always had—and you can see it in their health, their restlessness, their sense that they can't do anything that matters.
Here's the thing: people aren't stuck because they don't know what to do.
There are a thousand YouTube videos on sheet mulching. They're stuck because they're alone. No neighbor who knows what actually thrives here. No one to swap cuttings with. No one to call when things go wrong.
That's what Pantree is. The coordination layer that's been missing. Local knowledge, neighbors, tools, labor—organized by watershed, not zip code.
If any of that resonates, I'd love to have you as a founding member.
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