I expected the hardest part of explaining why a forest was dying would be diagnosing the problem. Instead, I faced a challenge my training hadn’t prepared me for. It happened during a field excursion in Denmark as part of my master’s program, where my cohort of forestry students and I visited a small, family-owned forest.

Denmark has seen a steady increase in forest cover since the Danish Forest Act of 1805, rising from roughly 2% to 15% over the past two centuries. Many landowners—like the ones we visited—are incentivized to convert agricultural land into forests for timber harvesting, often planting North American conifer species in high global demand. At the time, I didn’t fully grasp how valuable this historical, social, and economic context would be.

We stood among uniform rows of declining, exotic trees as our professor addressed the landowners—a father and son—and asked our group a question that, in hindsight, carried far greater weight than intended: “Can you explain why their forest is not thriving?”

Our classes had equipped us with silvicultural theory and ecological knowledge. It seemed obvious to us that the forest, recently planted on former agricultural land using nonnative species, had become heavily infested with Heterobasidion root rot. This would render the site severely compromised for at least the first generation of trees. Unbeknownst to the landowners, their forest had become unhealthy and would not yield profits within their lifetimes. The science was clear to us students. What wasn’t clear was how to convey and contextualize it to the people standing before us—those who would bear the consequences.

Within minutes, the atmosphere shifted. What was meant to be an engaging, cooperative discussion between landowners and scholars turned tense and uncomfortable. Some of us quietly blamed the owners for management choices that were irreparably harmful—not just for them, but for the environment. Others sympathized with the owners, who had simply followed generous government subsidies. As the conversation deteriorated, I felt torn between understanding both sides. Yet no one asked the most important question: What did the landowners need from us?

I hoped for a follow-up discussion or formal lecture to prepare us for similar situations in the future. Instead, my peers and I were left with unanswered questions about what we had learned and how we could support both forests and forest owners moving forward. Unfortunately, that dialogue never happened.

A Persistent Divide Between Science and Society

This experience isn’t unique to one educational excursion.