Amplify Utah supports and facilitates dynamic journalistic storytelling to celebrate diverse points of view. By partnering with traditional media, we cultivate an environment that encourages stories be shared widely and made easily accessible for our communities to read, hear, watch and engage.
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"It [is] so important to Utah history that we don’t brush this under the rug."
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Daryl Lindsey’s career in landscaping began as a hobby.
She often helped friends reorganize their lawns and gardens in individualized ways that also benefited the neighborhood’s ecosystem. Then, last summer, Lindsey began flirting with the idea of turning her hobby into a full-time job.
Lindsey’s career had been broadcast journalism and digital marketing until 2022. She first joined the media world outside of college as a digital producer for KUTV 2News. A few years later, Lindsey moved from journalism to marketing, achieving success in the eyes of everyone but herself.
As a marketing and public relations manager for a major Utah ski resort, Lindsey said she eventually reached the pinnacle of “succeeding at things [she] didn’t care about.”
Lindsey’s values did not coincide with the work, she said. Unable to focus, she found herself having more and more trouble meeting deadlines. In one of her TikTok posts, she describes beginning to falter in workplaces that are molded by and operate around capitalist goals.
Depression soon sunk in. After months of therapy, Lindsey was medically diagnosed with ADHD and late-onset adult autism — something, she said, that would change the trajectory of her life.
While the diagnosis was disarming to Lindsey, she said the realizations it brought led to her leaving marketing behind.
“I just hit a wall,” Lindsey said. “I needed to transition to something that was not only aligned with my values, but also my interests.”
Lindsey left her cubicle one day and set out to search for that something. What she found was more personal, and more green.
At home, Daryl had always had a green thumb, and found her penchant for gardening could be useful to others online. In 2022, Lindsey began using TikTok to educate an online audience about water-efficient and sustainable lawn practices. When some of her videos on the platform — yardfarmer.co — went viral, with one currently sitting at over 3.7 million views, she recognized a distinct and widespread need among many other homeowners.
“There’s a gap in the market for landscapers that are native-plant and water-wise focused,” Lindsey said, “especially as our climate anxiety continues to increase along with our awareness of … everything that’s happening with the Great Salt Lake.”
Lindsey’s presence on TikTok led online users to ask her to design their yards. Lindsey said she was more than happy to do so, and upon sharing this work online, her popularity on TikTok exploded further.
“It was a chicken-before-the-egg scenario,” said Lindsey, who began receiving many email inquiries before she had any kind of formal business.
Early this year, Lindsey launched the website for her organization, yardfarmer.co — through which she assists Utah homeowners by creating and planting ecologically sustainable designs for their lawns and gardens that don’t sacrifice beauty.
Sustainable landscape design, Lindsey said, may be more properly termed “regenerative landscaping.” It’s a practice that reduces water use by using drought-tolerant plants that regenerate every year, with little effort from the lawn’s caretaker.
Regenerative landscaping seeks to preserve the natural elements of one’s green space, she said, letting such areas exist as they would without human intervention.
“That’s my favorite part about these designs. I want to sit amongst my flowers, have a cup of coffee and enjoy my afternoon,” Lindsey said. “I don’t necessarily want to be doing manual labor every minute of every day.”
Allowing undergrowth, she continued, also makes for a healthier and more vibrant ecosystem, capable of supporting more native plants, bugs and other creatures. Lindsey said she is especially fond of the family of doves that nest in her fruit tree, above multiple canopies that comprise an ecosystem specifically designed to sustain itself, year after year.
The monarch butterfly, which was declared endangered last year, is one such species that depends on native plants to thrive.
Lindsey also pointed out that monarchs are natural pollinators of milkweed, a native plant in Utah’s western desert ecosystem. Milkweed assists monarch butterflies in their migration across the country, so more of the plant in backyards means more places for the monarchs to pollinate when they pass through Utah – a crucial region in their annual migratory patterns.
Milkweed is also a drought-tolerant plant, as are many plants native to Utah, according to Utah State University’s Center for Water-Efficient Landscaping.
Lindsey lamented that secondary water fees could add costs to homeowners, under recent legislation to start metering outside water. Her solution? Water less by integrating drought-tolerant plants into neighborhood lawns and gardens across the Salt Lake Valley.
“You’re going to save money, especially in the parts of Utah where you’re not hooked up to secondary water or [where] they started metering your secondary water,” she said. “You’re going to reduce your long-term water needs, which is good for the planet and good for your wallet.”
Grass is another area where homeowners can save water.
While most lawns in Utah grow Kentucky bluegrass, Lindsey champions a number of more drought-tolerant strains of turf grass (grass you can walk on and don’t have to wade through). Buffalo grass, for example, is the only turf grass native to the United States, and it thrives in Utah’s landscape, she said.
What’s more, Lindsey’s explanation of seeding a new lawn does not require an overhaul of one’s existing grass. Instead, the homeowner may seed any one of these drought-tolerant strains over their current lawn and wait a few seasons for the new strain to take over.
“We need lawns,” Lindsey said, noting a lawn’s importance to a family or dogs. “But we can make our lawns smarter and more efficient, and drastically reduce the amount of water they require.”
Sarah Anderson is one Salt Lake City homeowner who said she has benefited from Lindsey’s work.
“We were really tired of looking at yellow grass,” said Anderson, who’d been scarcely sprinkling her lawn because of recent suggestions to use less water. “But the quote for professional landscapers to come out and make these transitions was something like 40 grand, and it’s not a very big yard. I thought, ‘We’d never do that.’”
Lindsey visited Anderson’s home in October 2022, and replaced the yellowing lawn with native, drought-tolerant plants, including trees and shrubbery. The entire process took two days, according to Anderson, far less time than the three-week estimate that traditional landscapers gave her.
This was due in part to one of Lindsey’s connections, a group of Utah arborists who dropped off a truckload of wood chips for free.
“[Lindsey] completely planned everything, including what [the lawn] will look like in 10 years,” Anderson said. “She asked me questions, valuing my input, even though in the end I really let her run with it.”
Anderson added that she’s happy to have incorporated sustainable landscaping into her lawn.
“This drought isn’t going anywhere, so I really think it’s time to make a shift,” she said. “It’s absolutely ridiculous to think that we’re literally just pouring water in the ground. … It really feels good, just as a person in the community, to be making this transition.”
Contacted this month, Anderson said the landscaping is “doing great. No grass at all. All the plants have flourished and we are so happy with the decision. It’s very low maintenance and easy to care for.”
Lindsey said she has found the regenerative practice to be a personal yet effective step toward confronting the growing climate crisis and the shrinking Great Salt Lake.
It also has helped significantly with her work life. By aligning her job with her values, Lindsey said she alleviated the negative effects that her diagnoses of ADHD and autism were having on her performance at her old job. In the end, she reported relief and contentment with her new hobby-turned-career.
“The idea of monetizing your hobbies is complicated,” Lindsey said. “You don’t want to take the joy out of all of your hobbies and make your hobbies a job – but at the same time, where I was at with my diagnosis, I was basically learning that my brain wants to focus on what it wants to focus on.”
Allowing oneself to focus on what they’re good at is a tenet that came out of a movement in the field of psychotherapy in the 1990s, called “positive psychology,” which stresses the importance of “interest-driven stimulation” when evaluating a person’s job or place in society.
Lindsey said it may help her that her new job puts her outdoors, alleviating burdens on the earth and instituting lawns that will help with the state’s drought situation.
“I understand that planting some flowers isn’t going to save the world, but it is going to have enough tiny, positive impacts that I can channel all the stress and anxiety I feel for where things are going with the climate … into this work,” Lindsey said. “It’s knowing that you’re helping in even the smallest of ways.”
Kyle Forbush wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. It is published as part of an ongoing collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
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We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text :This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and [Your Media Organization's Name] to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through emerging journalism. Kyle Forbush wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.
The idea of the “starving college student” is ingrained in American culture, but within the past couple years, this stereotype has become reality for more and more students.
Because of that, more students are turning to such resources as SNAP benefits and food pantries, which offer groceries and other essential items at no cost.
“Our communities are only as healthy as the most vulnerable people in our communities,” said Gina Cornia, director of Utahns Against Hunger. “We should want everyone in our communities to be well fed and well nourished.”
Prices for groceries have risen substantially in recent months, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, due largely to inflation, and this has boosted food insecurity. Someone who is experiencing food insecurity cannot consistently access enough food to live a healthy life, anti-hunger groups say.
The direct way to reduce food insecurity is to promote food access. Food pantries are a means of promoting food access on college campuses at the ground floor.
A growing number of students have been using these resources — which are often volunteer-run and donation-based — since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. More college-age adults have reportedly encountered food insecurity, as that group has been most threatened by job loss in the wake of pandemic layoffs, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.
According to Temple University’s Hope Center for College, Community, and Justice’s most recent basic needs insecurity report from fall 2020, 38% of two-year college students and 29% of four-year college students reported low food security within the previous 30 days. This shows a climb among community college students from pre-pandemic studies, which report that 30% of all students have experienced food insecurity at some point during college.
Cornia, said low-income students face an “uphill battle” in balancing the cost of living with the costs of education.
“As a community and as a society, we need to do more to support kids who are going to school to get better jobs, to move their families out of poverty, and to make a better life for themselves,” said Cornia, who has served as the organization’s director for 21 years.
Food insecurity hits different types of students for different reasons, and the types of students that food pantries serve the most can vary between colleges.
“A lot of international students do struggle with food insecurity because visa restrictions prevent them from working,” said Ashton Pelley, director of the Feed U pantry at the University of Utah. “When that happens, money is just coming out of your account with no other source of income for you to pay for tuition.”
Westminster College, a private institution that has higher tuition than most state-run schools, also hosts students who face food insecurity. Kiva Call-Fiet, the basic needs coordinator for Westminster’s Purple Basket program, described a class divide at the school.
“While there’s a smaller ratio of students experiencing food insecurity at private schools, it’s definitely still an issue,” said Call-Fiet, an environmental studies major at Westminster.
While the school offers many scholarship opportunities for students in financial need, that aid typically only covers tuition or room and board, she said.
Diya Shah, coordinator for Salt Lake Community College’s four Bruin Pantries, leads volunteers who serve the school’s students, faculty and staff at four campuses across the valley. Student volunteers work 8 to 10 hours each week in return for tuition reimbursement, which she said has been a successful incentive to prompt students to commit to working at the pantry.
“Any issues we care about in the world – whether it’s the environment, indigenous issues, immigration, racism, queer issues – food is able to explain a lot of these issues,” Shah said. She believes that food access is a baseline problem that can lead to other social disparities.
Since taking the job in May, Shah has turned her focus towards expanding the types of foods offered in the pantries, so the pantries can best serve SLCC’s diverse student body.
“If you have Muslim students coming in, and you have a bunch of ham, it’s not really addressing food insecurity, because the pantry is not being culturally relevant,” Shah said.
Expanding access to food pantries can help close the gap in demand. The Feed U program, Pelley said, gives out about 6,000 pounds of food per month to University of Utah students and faculty. In October, it is estimated that the pantry served around 1,300 people.
To meet the demands, food arrives from the Utah Food Bank, the Edible Campus Gardens at the university and other organizations, Pelley said. Cash donations go to buying food from Costco.
Westminster’s Purple Basket pantry also relies on community mutual-aid donations. Purple Basket has branched out to provide more types of basic needs, including an emergency support fund that can provide money to students within three days.
The pantry, which has ties to the school’s environmental center, is focused now on opening a bulk foods section, to minimize waste, Call-Fiet said. “Sustainability is really important to us, and it’s kind of a campus-wide value that we try to hold on to,” she said.
The Purple Basket also maintains a partnership with Swipe Out Hunger, an organization that focuses on student-led initiatives to end hunger on campuses.
Coordinating these programs is difficult, program managers said.
“We are constantly looking for more,” said Pelley of Feed U. “Going into this year, I had no idea of the demand that I would have to meet. We are always looking for donations, especially consistent sources of donations.”
Institutional funding can offer these resources more security in getting supplies. Shah began operating SLCC’s Bruin Pantries in 2021, when the pantries started getting a budget through the school — when the student leadership office merged with the school’s service office (which runs the pantry).
Shah said most of the budget goes to buy ingredients for specialized diets. She also uses these funds to purchase hygiene products, menstrual products and diapers.
The University of Utah and Westminster College’s food pantry services do not receive funding from their parent institutions, according to Pelley and Call-Fiet. Instead, they rely solely on community donations.
Another problem that pantry coordinators face is visibility, Call-Fiet said. “A lot of people don’t even know that we exist,” she said. “We want to put emphasis on being like, ‘This place is totally free, open to anyone, it’s anonymous, it’s safe.’”
SNAP benefits, which are state-issued funds awarded to low-income households to supplement food expenses, are another vital resource to help students who are facing food insecurity to pay for groceries. Benefits were expanded during the pandemic, making it easier for students to enroll in the state’s food stamps program.
Among the expansions to the program: Students who don’t expect money from their families are now able to get benefits, as are students who are eligible for work study. Visit College SNAP Project, at collegesnapproject.org, for more information.
“We need to destigmatize the pantries and help people understand that food is a human right,” Shah said, “and that food is connected to any issues you might care about.”
Food access has the power to shift student outcomes, activists argue. If a student cannot pay for college and feed themselves at the same time, their well-being and their academic success are at risk.
“That should be the last thing students are worried about: how to feed themselves,” Cornia said. “We manage to pay our football coaches millions and millions and millions of dollars. How could we not also make that same investment in kids to make sure that they have the food they need to be successful in college?”
Jude Macher wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. It is published as part of a new collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
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We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text:
This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through student journalism. Jude Macher wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.
Logan • It’s 7 p.m. on a Tuesday at the Aggie Recreation Center at Utah State University, and more than a dozen men are ending their sessions on the bouldering and climbing walls on the building’s north end.
Those who already know what’s about to happen gradually leave one by one, walking out with a bouncy gait on the plush ground that cushions climbers’ falls. Some of the men linger longer, waiting until the last possible moment.
As 7:30 gets closer, Jessica John prepares herself in the employee area as she glances at a bright pink note with a drawing of a woman climbing.
“Women kick ass,” it reads.
John bounces over to the climbing area. It’s time to start the routine.
“Hey,” she calls out to the men. “Tonight is our Women’s Climb Night. We’re attempting to carve out this space for women and nonbinary folk who don’t have as much space in the sport because it’s a very intimidating male-dominated sport. Tonight is our opportunity to create that community for them and get them a foot in.”
Sometimes, John later said, the men leave without any additional prompting. Other times, she said, “you have to dig at it.”
In spring 2021, Jill Woodhouse started Women’s Climb Night at Utah State. Out of the nearly 45 hours the wall is available to climb, 2½ hours on Tuesday nights became a sanctuary for female climbers. However, the initiative received backlash, and the climbing gym has been hit with multiple anonymously filed Title IX reports.
Title IX, the federal law passed in 1972, prohibits discrimination based on sex in education programs and activities receiving federal assistance. The law is primarily known for its impact on increasing women’s access to sports. But in recent years, some men, feeling as though things have been taken too far, have used the law to fight against spaces reserved for women.
John, who now leads the program, can’t and won’t say “no” to male climbers entering the rock wall on Women’s Climb Night. But that doesn’t mean she won’t take the time to provide some education.
“Even if they still decide to climb,” she said, “they’re going to have this conversation, and they’re going to think about it.”
She comes armed with a brochure that features the mission statement and the “why” behind Women’s Climb Night. There’s another piece of paper with statistics about women and the outdoors. The bottom of the inside left panel features the line “Everyone is welcome,” but that’s not always how female climbers feel during the other 42½ hours the gym is open each week.
The smells of musty mats, cleaner and sweat circulate through the space. Woodhouse breathes deeply. White chalk falls from her fingers and drifts through slanted sunbeams as she slowly shifts her weight and reaches overhead. With a slight grimace, she presses upward. The rough, porous surface of the fake rock presses into her fingers. She reaches the last hold, waits, and then triumphantly falls 10 feet.
Stepping away from the bouldering wall, she’s grinning. Her hands move to her hips as she stares upward at the climb she just completed. She has spent weeks working on that challenge.
A man walks over, “You did that wrong.”
Woodhouse watches as he proceeds to climb the route. Woodhouse is 5 feet tall, and he towers over her, easily reaching the holds.
“It makes you not want to climb, not want to be in the gym, not be in that space,” she said. “It’s why Women’s Climb Night is so important. It’s why I started it. I see lots of encouragement; everyone starts cheering, high-fiving all-round, knowledge sharing, phone numbers being exchanged, and making friends. No judgment. It’s just what can be created through women-only spaces.”
Meredith Aamodt agreed.
Some men can be condescending, domineering and unwelcoming. Nonetheless, the Utah State climbing wall worker said, “We love our male climbers.”
She means that sincerely, she said. It was a male friend who introduced her to climbing in Oklahoma.
John also has fond memories, she said, of the male co-workers who rallied around her when she was 16, introverted, and just getting her start on the wall.
A coworker named Scott “was so encouraging and helpful,” she said. “He helped me find my groove.”
But there’s a caveat.
“I’ve had a dude come over who I wasn’t talking to and tell me, ‘You need to do it like this,’ like how they’re doing,” she said. “It’s incredibly discouraging, especially when it’s advice I didn’t ask for. And it’s not even helpful. It has nothing to do with your technique, so that can be disheartening.”
Kate McDowell knows precisely where the next hold is.
Her foot is drawn to the purple rock like a magnet. She doesn’t look. Her moves are clean and smooth, a testament to her hours on the wall. A quick reach matches a sharp exhale. Her feet are crammed into small shoes with missing rubber, now fixed with a strip of white tape. Every movement, every breath, every shift or readjustment, is practiced time and time again.
It’s meditation.
“It’s almost like tunnel vision, I would say, but not exactly. While you are focusing on the route, you can’t really think about anything else,” McDowell said. “If you think about how high you are or say, ‘Oh, my gosh, this is crazy, I’m going to fall.’ It takes away the power and strength a lot of people don’t realize they have. That fear will prevent people from reaching, or they’ll jump off the wall.”
The power McDowell found through climbing, she said, has bled into other areas of her life. From trying out for the USU rock climbing team to job interviews, she said she has reached higher because of the empowerment she found through climbing.
It’s a gift from the wall she said she hopes other women can enjoy.
Women bustle around, placing their regular shoes in the cubbies beneath the bench outside the rock wall. More women are arriving, and the gym is almost full.
John said that, on nights like this, male climbers who are reluctant to leave the gym will ask a predictable set of questions: “When’s the men’s climb night?” or “If I identify as female, can I still climb?”
Looking earnestly at the women crowded in the space, John shifted her weight and said, “It’s a battle to show them that they’re worth it. Watching girls who come to our women’s nights with rental shoes, find their community, make friends, come back with those friends, and then, a couple of months later, come back with their own shoes. Just being able to watch that progression, even if it only happened for one person, is absolutely worth it to me.”
A loud cheer, mingled with laughter, comes from the direction of the wall.
“I will fight for that as hard as I can, as long as I am here,” John said. “It’s just that I have been there, and I don’t want anyone to have to feel like I did because they don’t, and they shouldn’t, have to. If we can help create that welcoming community, it’s all worth it.”
On a Thursday night, two nights after the evening specifically dedicated to women, there are 12 men in the gym, and one woman. That’s how it is most nights.
John sits at the entrance, watching the climbers. As she does, someone new walks into the space, and John smiles.
Now it’s 12 men and two women.
Hannah Teasdale wrote this story as a student at Utah State University. It is published as part of an ongoing collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
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We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text: This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and [Your Media Organization's Name] to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through emerging journalism. Hannah Teasdale wrote this story as a journalism student at Utah State University. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.
A rainbow flag, posted alongside the words “safe space,” outside an elementary classroom in Logan stirred debate recently between parents and advocates at the city’s school district Board of Education meeting.
During the public comment portion of the Sept. 13 meeting, community members gathered to discuss banning pride flags from elementary schools in the Northern Utah community. No action was taken over the flags at the meeting, and the subject was not on the agenda at the board’s Sept. 27 or Oct. 11 meetings.
Andrea Sinfield, who spoke on behalf of a group of parents from the Hillcrest and Adams area, said the flag on the door of her daughter’s kindergarten classroom raised questions about what she was ready – and not ready – to discuss with her child.
“Seeing the flag in such a prominent place in my five-year-old’s learning area has caused me alarm, because neither I nor my child are ready to explain the complex ideas behind this symbol,” Sinfield said.
Sinfield expressed her concerns by bringing an easel and several pictures her child had drawn, all of which included rainbows. Before her daughter saw the pride flag at school, Sinfield said, she would color rainbows in arches. Now, she said, her daughter’s rainbows are drawn in stripes and include black and brown — colors added to the “Progress Pride Flag,” representing marginalized LGBTQ+ communities of color.
“She is subconsciously repeating what she is seeing, not even knowing what the symbol means,” Sinfield said.
Amy Wiser, a parent from Logan’s Hillcrest and Adams neighborhoods, said she believes schools should be a safe zone for students where their values aren’t challenged. The flag representing LGBTQ+ pride, she said, creates a non-neutral space in the classroom.
“What if I was in a white supremacy group, and I put my white supremacy flag up in the school — how would that make some of the kids feel?” Wiser asked.
Jay Bates Domenech, a senior at Logan High School and president of the Gay Straight Alliance club, spoke early in the meeting, trying to distance the flag from politics. Seeing a pride flag outside a teacher’s classroom, Domenech said, helped them feel safe enough to come out.
“I know it can be seen as a political issue, but my existence is not political,” they said. “I’m here, I’m queer. The simple use of a pride flag is not something that is going to affect anyone negatively.”
Amy Anderson, a Logan High School counselor, expressed a similar view. “The rainbow flag is not a Democrat flag, it’s not an independent flag, it’s not a Republican flag. A rainbow flag is not a political statement,” she said.
In the current political climate, Anderson said, queer students often don’t feel supported. “They don’t feel safe — physically or emotionally — to be able to come to school,” she said. “Our rainbow flag helps an [LGBTQ+] student know who is safe.”
Mary Morgan, a special education teacher at Logan High, said the flag relates more to identity than conflicting values. “If you ban the pride flag, that’s basically taking away someone’s identity and not allowing them some representation,” Morgan said.
After the meeting, Sinfield said she was concerned that she had come across as non-inclusive in her statement. She said she had intended to introduce another neutral program focused on inclusivity, but the time limit for public comment prevented her from doing so.
“I don’t know what it would look like, but coming up with something that’s unique to us to make sure that kids are taught inclusion — because that’s the problem, is that people in this group might feel left out, and I don’t want anyone to feel left out,” Sinfield said.
Shana Longhurst, district director of communications and public relations, said it is likely the board will “take their time” before making any decision regarding pride flags.
“We need to respect both sides of the issue, when it comes to these symbols in classrooms,” Longhurst said. “It takes time to talk to each side of the fence on that one, because there are strong, personal experiences that are relevant and important to each group.”
Jenny Carpenter wrote this story as a journalism student at Utah State University. It is published as part of a new collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
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We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text:
This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through student journalism. Jenny Carpenter wrote this story as a journalism student at Utah State University. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.
