Note that if you purchase something via one of our links, including Amazon, we may earn a small commission.
Available on Apple Podcasts and Spotify Podcasts.
Imagine if out of the tragedies of these huge fires came insight and opportunity to rethink how we live more in balance with the world and reshape policies that would actually allow us to protect and preserve the natural lands on which we live in a more holistic way…
California’s fire seasons are getting longer, hotter, and more destructive, but what if the problem isn’t “nature gone wild,” but human decisions that turned a fire-adapted landscape into a tinderbox? In this episode of Imagine If Janet and Victoria sit down with anthropologist and former Los Padres Hotshot Jordan Thomas, author of When It All Burns: Fighting Fire in a Transformed World, to explore how we got here and what a better relationship with fire could look like.
Drawing on his frontline experience fighting megafires and his research into the history of colonization, logging, and Indigenous fire stewardship, Jordan challenges the idea that wildfires are “natural disasters.” Instead, he shows how specific policies and economic choices have primed forests to burn and how communities can reclaim “good fire” as a tool for resilience.
For Victoria, the conversation is deeply personal. She shares her own story of surviving the 2017 Thomas Fire and Montecito debris flow, and how disaster unexpectedly deepened her sense of community. Together, she, Janet, and Jordan talk about grief, courage, and the kind of clear-eyed hope that comes from taking action, not looking away.
In This Episode, You’ll Hear:
- Why California’s fires feel so different now
- How colonization and logging rewired fire-adapted landscapes
- The hidden costs of clear-cutting and fire suppression
- Life on an elite hotshot crew
- Grief, place, and the long tail of fire disasters
- Hope vs. naïve optimism vs. despair
- “People as technology” for solving the wildfire crisis
- Practical pathways to better fire
About Jordan Thomas
Jordan Thomas is an anthropologist and former member of California’s elite Los Padres Hotshots, one of the U.S. Forest Service’s top wildland firefighting crews. His 2025 book, When It All Burns: Fighting Fire in a Transformed World (available on Amazon and Bookshop), was longlisted for the National Book Award for Nonfiction and blends frontline storytelling with a sharp analysis of how colonization, industrial forestry, and climate change created today’s megafires. His writing has appeared in outlets including The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, and The Drift.
Want To Go Deeper?
- When It All Burns: Fighting Fire in a Transformed World by Jordan Thomas (available on Amazon or Bookshop)
- Jordan’s work and upcoming events: search for “When It All Burns Jordan Thomas” or visit his author site.
- Learn about prescribed burn associations and Indigenous-led fire stewardship in your region through local conservation groups, tribal nations, or state forestry agencies.
Meet the Hosts
- Janet Kraus: I’m Janet, a serial start-up founder and CEO, a twin-girl mom, and wife to a fun and funny guy. I am on a mission to build healthier thinking in young people, stop toxic division, spotlight hopeful climate action, and advocate for safe AI.
- Cleo Carney: I am Cleo, a student at Harvard University, and I strongly believe that conversations, businesses and the private markets can create profound change. I also love to cook nourishing food, work out in nature, and find sustainable swaps for everyday items and habits.
- Victoria Riskin: I am Victoria. I’m always looking for the best life has to offer despite a turbulent world. I find comfort in the environment and joy in friendships. We have a great team of all ages at Bluedot who inspire me every day as we work together to build community.
- Ally Giebutowski: I’m Ally, a freshman at Lafayette College. I believe that a sustainable life is a happier life and that human connection is at the heart of it all. Every day, I try to weave greener, more intentional living into every part of my life, whether that’s in the college classroom, in the kitchen, or through meaningful conversations with others.
Transcript
Hosts: Victoria Riskin, Janet Kraus
Guest: Jordan Thomas
Jordan Thomas: This problem won’t be solved by the state burning 1 million acres in California, but by 1 million people burning one acre and shifting the use of fire to a responsibility, not something that you have to justify. What that means, of course, is complicated, but in a region that needs certain kinds of fire as much as California does, it’s a really important shift in perspective and practice and a different relationship to your community and your ecosystems.
Victoria Riskin: Hello everyone. Welcome back to the Bluedot Living Podcast, where we imagine if people were actually making progress on climate change, because they actually are. Every episode, we talk to great people in the trenches doing the big and small things to make a difference. So who do we have today? Janet, can you bring someone to the table?
Janet Kraus: I would love to. I want us to start by imagining if, out of the tragedies which are these huge fires we’re now experiencing, came insight and opportunity to rethink how we live more in balance with the world and reshape policies that would allow us to actually protect and preserve the natural lands on which we live in a more holistic way. I’m excited because the person I’d like to tell you about is a guy by the name of Jordan Thomas, and he is incredibly cool. He’s not someone you meet every day. He is both a scholar and a fighter.
Not a lover and a fighter, but a scholar and a fighter. He is an anthropologist who studies how humans relate to fire, and he’s also, at the same time, a former member of one of California’s elite wildfire crews called the Los Padres Hotshots. He is the guy who actually fought in the kind of blazes most of us only see on the news.
He has written a new book called When It All Burns, and it reflects on the duality of how he thinks about the world as both a scholar and a firefighter. It’s part memoir, part cultural critique, and it is also a wild ride through the six-month fire season: the exhaustion, the teamwork, and the fear. Through this book, he zooms out at the larger systems of how the “war on fire” is becoming a war on nature itself, how profits are part of this equation, and how Indigenous people have better ideas about how to manage fire. He’s asking us to rethink what it means to live in balance. What I love about this upcoming interview is that I think we could go in many directions that give all of us a vantage point. It’s about climate, capitalism, human resilience, and also about the psychology of courage. So, that’s our tee-up for our debate of who’s best to interview Jordan. Any takers?
Victoria Riskin: So guys, I went through the Santa Barbara fires in 2017, and I can tell you it’s a horrific thing to see big flames heading to your home and the aftermath. At that time, that fire was the biggest in California history. By the end of the year, it was just one of three mega-fires.
When I heard about Jordan Thomas and his courageous work — because after a fire like that, everybody in the community reveres the firefighters. They have saved people’s homes; they put their lives on the line. There are just not enough ways of saying thank you. But Jordan is so much more interesting in a sense because he really knows how it should be done. He understands the science of it, and he understands the cultural challenges of it. I think he’s going to have a great interview. I don't know that I should be the one to interview him. I certainly think Janet should. I’m voting for Janet.
Janet Kraus: Oh!
Cleo Carney: I think Vicki, definitely, for me, just because Vicki has the firsthand experience. I’ve never been afraid my house could burn down. Vicki has experience with that and friends who have probably lost their houses as well. I think the second person is interesting. I have had some experience with wildfires because I’m Canadian, and we have really bad wildfires. I was right by the fires when the air was occurring. Our spirit day was canceled because you couldn’t go outside because of smoke, which is terrifying. But that being said, I don't have a particular angle there as well.
Ally Giebutowski: Here’s what I think; here’s my two cents. I think it would be very interesting to have someone from both the East Coast and the West Coast. I think, Mom, you had a really great narrative, idea, and perspective when you pitched us this. And then Vicki, I think, is great.
Victoria Riskin: All right. Are you ready to vote?
Ally Giebutowski: I think so.
Victoria Riskin: Okay. So here’s what I have to say. 1, 2, 3. Hold up your votes!
Ally Giebutowski: There we go. And I have you guys in a little fire. This is a little…
Janet Kraus: Wait. Is mine showing? I can’t see.
Ally Giebutowski: Yep.
Victoria Riskin: All right, it looks like it’s Vicki and Janet.
Janet Kraus: Vicki and Janet. This is an unexpected connection. I like it!
Ally Giebutowski: I can’t wait. Tell us all about it.
Victoria Riskin: All right, we’re going to interview him and we’ll see you all on the other side.
The Interview
Janet Kraus: Jordan, we are here today to speak to you as we imagine if we, as humans on this planet, could actually make the changes needed to divert the path that we’re on, which is fast becoming an existential threat to hundreds of thousands of people when it comes to fire. We are lucky to have you, Jordan, here to talk to us about this topic.
Jordan Thomas: Yeah, thanks for having me on.
Janet Kraus: I just want to say that your voice at regular speed is… I’ve listened to your book at 1.75 speed. I got used to you, so when you came on, I was like, “Oh, he’s so mellow.” I’m hearing you talk like this and telling me all about how fire works.
Jordan Thomas: Wow, that’s so funny.
Janet Kraus: It's because I wanted to digest your whole book as fast as I could. It was so good.
Victoria Riskin: We have now become Jordan Thomas fans and we want to be part of your fan club, but we don't want to be Hotshots. We’ve determined that very few people are qualified to do what you have done.
Jordan Thomas: Vicki, was it you? Who was it at Martha’s Vineyard when I was speaking there?
Victoria Riskin: Was it me? Yes! And you were great. I was chasing you afterward because I had some questions I wanted to ask you. You kindly let me follow you, but your book was sold out. Did you know that? I couldn’t even get a copy there, so I had to get my own later. That’s how popular you were.
Jordan Thomas: Well, thanks for doing what you do. It’s an honor to be here with you.
Janet Kraus: We’ve given our listeners a little bit of background on you, but we always like you to take a moment and describe yourself.
Jordan Thomas: I’m a cultural anthropologist and I focus on climate change and the different cultural and social factors that drive it, but also how people navigate it. For the past eight years or so, I’ve been looking at wildfires as a literal example of how people navigate climate change. I found myself working as a wildland firefighter for several years and learning how to navigate these situations myself. So that’s who I am, and I'm looking forward to talking today.
Janet Kraus: Wow. If anyone knows how to navigate the challenges of climate, that person would be you. Your recently authored book, When It All Burns — first of all, congratulations on being a finalist for the National Book Award. You also were a member of the Los Padres Hotshots, fighting some of the most incredible Western infernos. Even as we get started here, I want to take a moment and thank you and everyone you’ve worked with, women and men, for risking your lives to save others. We appreciate it.
Jordan Thomas: I think it’s worth mentioning that they’re out there right now, still fighting fires. It’s good keeping that in mind as we talk about these things.
Janet Kraus: Yes. Thank you for that.
Victoria Riskin: I wanted to share with you, Jordan, and with the listeners, why this is particularly personal to me. I grew up in the Pacific Palisades. The high school that I went to was half-burned in the big fire there, and many of my friends lost their homes. That dovetails with my own experience having lived for 20 years in Santa Barbara. I went through the Thomas Fire in 2017 and saw the extraordinary work of the firefighters trying to keep those homes safe above the hills in Santa Barbara. Then it was followed by the torrential rain that brought the mountain down once it was denuded from the fire. Those mudslides took away my house and the homes and lives of friends. I was instantly uprooted and humbled by the power of nature.
I just know how important this whole conversation is. It feels personal to me. I do have one question I wanted to start with. When the news was talking about that particular fire in 2017, they said it was the biggest fire in California history. That was in December. By the end of the next year, there were two more huge fires in Northern California that were the “biggest” fires in California history. In other words, the impact seemed to escalate. Is it true that fires are increasing in frequency and intensity? What’s your take on the big picture?
Jordan Thomas: That’s a good question. I just want to start by saying thanks for sharing that, Vicki. It’s always good to keep in mind and root yourself in the fact that these fires really are very personal for a lot of people. These things are deeply traumatic. I have a particular experience I can bring to the table based on my research and lived experience, but I don't want it to come off as a hierarchy of knowledge that I'm passing down. So many people in California have these experiences, and they’re all legitimate based on what they lived through.
Victoria Riskin: Thank you.
Jordan Thomas: I don't even know if the Thomas Fire is in the top 10 largest fires now. That’s really interesting to me. The first time I came to Santa Barbara was actually a couple of weeks after the floods. I went hiking through the hills there and remembered being so struck by the entirety of the situation, by how shaken the community was, how black the mountains were, and how devastated the landscape was. It got swept away so quickly by fires in the following seasons to the point where the Thomas Fire might not even be on people’s minds now, even though it was once the largest and deadliest fire in California.
Victoria Riskin: Yeah. We lost 21 people in the mudslides, including my cousins. So I share that, too. Thank you for understanding. You see these fires on television and they look dramatic, but they’re very personal.
Jordan Thomas: In so many ways as well. I think the statistics we use, like the amount of homes lost, the acres burned, or even the number of people who die directly from the fire, can sometimes divert attention from all of the non-statistical ways these fires change people's lives. How do you articulate it when maybe your home doesn’t burn, but your library did? Or your bakery? Or all your neighbors are gone, or the school is gone, or venture capitalists have bought up all the property because people left? It’s this shift of place that is really hard to articulate. I think that’s something people in California bond over in a way that’s hard to share with others, this deeper sense of loss.
Victoria Riskin: That’s why I was chasing after you at the book festival! I felt I had something in common with you, oddly. But would you agree these fires are increasing in frequency? It seems obvious, but…
Jordan Thomas: They’re shifting rapidly. And not just shifting, but being shifted by changes in the climate and the political decisions that are causing climate change. I was a wildland firefighter during what was, at the time, the worst fire season in California’s history. There were people in the crew who thought that was normal because they were in their early 20s and that’s all they had lived through. But the older people in the crew told us that back when they started, you might see one “mega-fire” in your entire career. Now they’re happening every year. Trying to figure out where they come from, what’s changed, and what people can do about it has been the focus of my work for a number of years.
Janet Kraus: Your book does that so beautifully. You take us through the decisions made over time that have led us here. Everything about where we are is literally our fault. We did this to ourselves, and it’s pretty dumb. Now we’re in a bad place. People don't like to be told that their decisions are the problem, but if we can acknowledge it, there is a chance to move forward. Could you help us understand what has come together to put us in this pickle?
Jordan Thomas: Well, that’s a very big question. One of the things I try to be specific about in the book is that I try not to frame it as “humanity's collective fault,” but rather specific people in specific forms of politics making specific decisions. If humanity itself caused this problem, then we’re kind of screwed because it’s hard to change human nature. But I think it’s a lot easier to change society or politics.
I lay the foundation by talking about California’s fire ecology. California is one of the most fire-evolved regions on Earth. Plants here need fire to reproduce; seeds only germinate when they sense smoke. For a lot of California’s ecosystems, fire is to plants what water is to plants in other ecosystems. If you take fire away, those ecosystems get sick.
I try to thread together the fact that it’s both climate change and forest management. Climate change is acting on conditions that have been messed up through time. Climate change is like a match, and the way we’ve disrupted landscapes, allowing kindling to build up, is the result of past fire policy.
Victoria Riskin: You go into the history of Indigenous communities and how they handled fire, and then how that came to an end when the colonizers decided to stop all of that. You write about that quite beautifully.
Jordan Thomas: Yeah. There are many different kinds of fire, just like there are different kinds of precipitation. Indigenous people recognized this and were the main sources of fire across California for approximately 10,000 years. Before European colonization, records suggest around 6 to 10 million acres of California burned every single year.
Janet Kraus: Wow.
Jordan Thomas: For perspective, in 2020, 4 million acres burned, and that was considered the most that had ever burned in modern history. But back then, more than that burned every single year.
Janet Kraus: And that was done by multiple different Indigenous groups across California at different times?
Jordan Thomas: Precisely. Every Indigenous group would burn in particular ways, which created different kinds of fire and facilitated biological diversity. Even moving from the coast of Santa Barbara to the mountaintop, you might have five different kinds of fire. You might have one for the coastal sage, one for the oak ecosystems, one for the chaparrals, and one for the montane forests. These all come with different frequencies, intensities, and seasons. This produced the conditions for food, plants for basketry, and habitats for game animals. Plants were the fundamental part of the economy, and fire was a fundamental part of plants. So, the very first thing European colonizers did was criminalize fire.
Janet Kraus: Fire was like water, and they criminalized it. That seems like a bad idea.
Jordan Thomas: Well, it depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. If you care about the health of ecosystems or preventing large wildfires, then yes, it’s a bad idea. But if your goal is to subjugate Indigenous people and transform California into a system that produces profitable commodities, then taking fire away is a very “good” idea. That’s what the Spanish first did, and later, the American government did the same. It wasn’t a silly accident; it had a very political purpose embedded in the power dynamics of the time.
Janet Kraus: I bet if we were to go back and imagine that through a different lens, we could find a way to monetize and commoditize without giving up fire. California is living through that experiment right now as the state tries to bring fire back alongside our current economic system.
Victoria Riskin: So much to think about there.
Janet Kraus: You mentioned the second phase is commoditization, which is where logging comes in. Is that the next step?
Jordan Thomas: Logging is a great example. Indigenous livelihoods were criminalized, allowing landscapes to be privatized and clear-cut. Teddy Roosevelt called it “skinning the landscape.” When I was a firefighter, I would look at these huge panoramas of green and think of it as “wilderness.” But as I learned more, I realized these aren't wildernesses, they are plantations. What I was seeing was more reflective of market values than ecological patterns. Whatever trees were fetching the highest price at the time were what got planted.
This really matters because it would be hard to create a more flammable environment by design. Ecological diversity breaks up wildfires; a fire might run through trees, hit a meadow, and drop to the ground. But when you have only one type of tree species planted close together, the fire gets in the canopy and just runs. These forests are also far more vulnerable to climate change.
Victoria Riskin: In what way, apart from fire?
Jordan Thomas: Everything climate change does makes them more explosive. They are less resilient to droughts because the trees are too close together and competing for water. They are also less resilient to pests like bark beetles. Pests used to be moderated by deep winter freezes, but now that it's warmer, their populations are expanding exponentially. So, you have a lot of dead trees in these forests, making them even more flammable.
Janet Kraus: As you’re talking, I’m realizing that when I hike, I sometimes think, “This looks like a bunch of matches.” They are all lined up like toy soldiers. I’ve noticed the diversity in the Amazon versus forests here. In a healthy ecosystem, the fire wouldn't get very far.
Jordan Thomas: Biologically diverse forests are just far more resilient in general. No ecosystem is completely safe if we don't get a handle on climate change, but diversity helps.
Victoria Riskin: Are there places where repair is happening? What do we do?
Jordan Thomas: That gets into what you both were talking about with hope. I’m curious, what is your orientation to hope in relation to fires? The experience of fire is often apocalyptic, but an apocalypse implies no hope of an ending. But there is always something after.
Victoria Riskin: The closest we’ve come in Bluedot Living is talking about biochar as a way of re-carbonizing the soil. There’s been some controlled burning on Martha’s Vineyard, but these seem small compared to the big forests. It makes me think of Rebecca Solnit’s book Hope in the Dark. She distinguishes between false hope (naive optimism) and gratuitous despair.
Jordan Thomas: She pairs those as two sides of the same coin: paralysis. It’s a bit of a privilege to have either, because it means you don't have to do anything. During my research, I found it uplifting to talk to communities devastated by fire. Their hope was always tied to what they were doing and how they envisioned their future relationship to fire.
Victoria Riskin: In Santa Barbara, there was a group called the Bucket Brigade. People came from all over to dig through the mud to find personal effects and return them to owners. Years later, they are still together. It’s the weirdest thing to go through a trauma and suddenly feel closer to your neighbors and have a sense of purpose. I wouldn't recommend it as a methodology for finding compassion, but I saw it in so many places.
Jordan Thomas: That is part of relationships, though. To the extent that the fire melds these relationships, it can be a way for people to sort through their differences.
Victoria Riskin: I want to dovetail that with your Hotshot team. You lived through a lot together and had to work with synchronicity. What made you want to do that? Did you know what you were getting into?
Jordan Thomas: That’s a difficult question. People often fall back on quick answers like “duty” or “adrenaline,” and it is all of that. But for me, it was a sense of wonder. I started because I needed a job when I moved to California, and it seemed like an interesting way to pay bills between academic positions. But it was like opening a door and seeing Narnia. It was a whole world of fire and community. When I had the opportunity to join the Hotshots, the most knowledgeable people in the world about this “new” kind of fire, it was hard to say no.
Janet Kraus: It’s like signing up for military service in World War III, the climate war.
Jordan Thomas: It attracts a diverse group. You have first-generation immigrants and people who stay for the community. In a world where people feel alienated, being part of a tight-knit family who drives you crazy but has your back is a valuable thing.
Victoria Riskin: I would love for you to read a little bit from your book. It’s the moment where you are a sawyer, and there is a transition.
Jordan Thomas: [reading from When It All Burns]
“The Hotshots and I were high on a granite mountain. I felt like we were fighting for our lives. Several miles to the north, the head of the fire loomed like a thundercloud. We had found the flank of the Sugar Fire where the flames lapped low to the ground, but they were climbing higher. As the sun sapped humidity from the air and moisture from the brush, we hoped our line would prevent this edge of the fire from spilling over the ridge and taking off.
Marlon, face striped with dirt and sweat, stood on a boulder above our crew, issuing commands to Chinook helicopters that dropped water on the flames. The helicopters kept the flames low so we could get close. Axel was higher up on a mountain summit monitoring the weather. I wielded a chainsaw, expanding the swath carved by Shear. Shear moved gracefully, slicing and slashing with stamina that never seemed to wane. Now Edgar was encouraging us to work even faster than usual because we were in danger.
Hotshots are trained to always keep one foot in ‘the black,' staying on the edge of the area that has already burned so as to be able to escape into it if the fire flares up. But on the slope, we were surrounded by brush with fire below us. Fire burns quickest uphill, heating the vegetation above, so it was only a matter of time before the vegetation dried out. The wind picked up and the flames roared to life.
I stuck close to Shear, trying to find a rhythm. After two hours of hacking, however, my muscles began to cramp. I was too focused on coffee this morning; I didn't sharpen the chain. It was still dull from last night. Then my saw sputtered and died. On the fire line, problems cascade. A dull chain heats the bar, burns the oil, and blows out the spark plugs. When one saw fails, everyone else is forced to cut more, slowing down the crew, and when the crew slows down, everyone is at a higher risk of death.
I pulled the ignition cord; the engine purred. I cut a few more bushes. It died again. I pulled the cord a dozen times, cursing and sweating. My forearms seized up. I lost control of my hands. The stress built as the gap grew between me and the other sawyers. Red had caught up to me and was standing behind me waiting. The rest of the team was behind him. We were above the fire and I was slowing the crew. This was how Hotshots died.
After what seemed like an eternity, I emerged alone onto a slope where a rockslide had wiped out the vegetation. Edgar was waiting, arms folded. He marched over and held out his hand. ‘Don't take this personally, Thomas,' he said. No one met my eye except Edgar. I knew what was coming. ‘I need to look out for the safety of the crew,' Edgar said so quietly that only I could hear. I held out my chainsaw. Edgar took it from me. His gaze settled on Drago, who stood the tallest. Drago winked at me. I gave Drago my chainsaw repair kit. He gave me the fuel canisters he carried. From then on, I would be Shearer’s ‘puller.' Everyone fired up the chainsaws and we got back to work.”
Victoria Riskin: You became a “puller” and realized how much harder that is. Could you describe that job?
Jordan Thomas: I thought being a sawyer was the hardest because you’re mountaineering with a chainsaw. But sawyers have a partner, a puller who takes the brush they cut and throws it away from the fire. It’s like being in a wrestling match on a steep slope for hours, but you're wrestling brush. You have to stay focused because if you throw a smoldering branch on the wrong side of the line, you’ll start a fire behind you and trap the crew. You actually touch the brush to your neck to see if it’s hot. You’re so exhausted and your body is so decimated by the 110-degree heat that you hardly register a burning stick against your skin.
Janet Kraus: And the thought of not taking it personally … that's hard. People get upset about things much smaller than that.
Victoria Riskin: We always like to ask at the end: Imagine if. Imagine if things were different. Whatever comes to mind.
Jordan Thomas: Imagine if we viewed people as a technology worth investing in to solve the wildfire crisis. We just talked about how skilled firefighters are, yet it’s one of the hardest jobs to staff now. Staffing is at record lows because employees have been cut, or they don't have healthcare in the off-season. Imagine if we paid them what they deserved. Imagine if we invested in the communities capable of returning “good fire” to the landscapes. Hotshots, after they are too old to fight, are incredibly skilled at using fire. We could pay them to return fire to landscapes.
Imagine if we allowed for public funds to go into places historically damaged by these systems to create economies around fire. Imagine how much money that would save us in the long run by not having to suppress massive fires, and how many lives that would improve.
Janet Kraus: You crushed that question! That was both hope and strategy. So, for the regular person, not the policymaker, what do they do to help advance that?
Jordan Thomas: Learn about the historical role of fire in your local ecosystem. Look up your local Prescribed Burn Association and get involved. There is a Central Coast Prescribed Burn Association and one starting in Los Angeles. It’s about people coming together and asking, “What do we want from our landscapes?” Dr. Quinn Davidson has a great perspective: this problem won’t be solved by the state burning 1 million acres, but by 1 million people burning one acre. It’s a shift from fire as a threat to fire as a responsibility.
Vicki Riskin: This has been a fantastic conversation. I hope everyone reads your book. It's beautifully written, dramatic, and inspirational. Thank you for joining us.
