If you asked a young Clare Lindahl what she wanted to be when she grew up, the answer almost certainly wouldn’t have been the leader of a major scientific society. “I was never very academic,” she says. “As my mother used to say, ‘Honey, your skills are social.”
Clare started her college career following in her mother’s footsteps of social work within the community. While her direction changed to the environmental field, her mother’s advice and influence continued to impact the way she worked, including becoming the first woman to land the job of CEO of the Soil and Water Conservation Society.
That human touch was exactly what the world’s premier international organization for advancing the science and art of natural resource conservation was looking for.
Just north of 40 years old, Clare is charged with leading the vision and strategy for more than 2,000 practitioners, researchers, administrators, planners, policymakers, technical advisors, teachers, students, farmers and ranchers – whose common goal is to build a more sustainable future.
“To me, leadership in conservation is about building community around solutions,” Clare says. “It starts with listening and uncovering our shared values for natural resources. From there, we co-create solutions that connect us, strengthen relationships, and expand our collective impact—building something lasting for all.”
It’s critical work, because “whether you’re in the desert or a flood zone, we all live on waterfront property,” she says of the nation’s vast and interconnected river basins. “We may value that water for different reasons, but we all need it.”
The river became a friend to me as a child. Now? It’s more of a therapist. I never make a major decision without a visit.
Clare grew up in the Quad Cities area in Moline, Illinois, where she and her parents still convene neighbors for meetings, cleanups, picnics and other events. “My dad bought our house after he got home from Vietnam and he and my mom still live there today,” she says of the East End neighborhood she still considers home. “Volunteering in your community is something my dad modeled to me from the day I was born. He still volunteers at all the places I used to work in the area.”
“Moline is my heart and soul,” says Clare, who grew up sneaking out and building forts along the abandoned industrial waterfront. “The river became a friend to me as a child. Now? It’s more of a therapist. I never make a major decision without a visit.”
It was the river that compelled Clare to enter the world of conservation. Her experiences – and those of her neighbors – still drive this work today.
Located at the confluence of the Mississippi and Rock Rivers, Moline was once an industrial powerhouse. First, farm equipment and other factories were the engine of the city’s economy, using the river’s power to mill wood and grind corn. But over the decades, the East End of Moline has suffered. It has lost business and investment to Chicago and across the river to lower taxes in Iowa.
To make people care about the river, you have to first connect them to it, and help them understand how that water impacts their lives.
“In the East End, we are right on the river, but not everyone has the same access to it. Making these resources accessible, safe and understood by all is how we are going to reach our conservation goals.”
It can also be a complex challenge balancing the demands on our water resources, Clare says.
From producing food and transporting crops, to protecting biodiversity and water quality, “different people have different experiences with the river that need to be honored, embraced and considered as plans are made to change land use or implement natural infrastructure.”
This is where Clare’s “social skills” have come in most handy. “I went to Iowa State for landscape architecture, and I wasn’t very good at it,” she jokes. “But what I loved was this idea of bringing together all of the demands we place on our land and water, and then gathering all the people who care about these demands and finding a lasting solution and plan.”
The organization she leads today was born of the consequences of not balancing these demands.
The Dust Bowl of the 1930s was the devastating result of farmers who did not yet understand the ecology of their newly settled land in the Great Plains.
As they plowed away the deep-rooted native plants and virgin soil that trapped moisture and stunted erosion, they were unprepared for the impact of a historic drought. As a result, millions of acres of farmland blew away in the wind. Along with it went the aspirations of tens of thousands of families. In response, the Soil and Water Conservation Society was formed to study erosion, educate landowners and develop effective conservation practices.
Today, Clare continues to honor the organization’s legacy of responsible stewardship by supporting the creation of evidence-based guidance for conservation stakeholders. This includes federal Farm Bill conservation programs, climate change policy, conservation compliance and research funding.
Through on-the-ground projects, the organization also tests innovative practices to encourage greater adoption of sustainable land and water management. Recent projects have included everything from edge-of-field implementation to working with agricultural retailers to encourage farmer participation in on-farm conservation trials.
At the heart of conservation work is the communities who live there. Clare says it’s important to listen to the people most impacted.
We need to make sure that as we develop solutions, we aren’t doing something to a community, but with it.
“The members of our organization are the conservation professionals helping communities access environmental knowledge and resources, and we continually hear that relationships within the communities they are serving are essential to the work. We need to make sure that as we develop solutions, we aren’t doing something to a community, but with it.”
Clare says the society’s broad membership base is the heart and soul of the work. “There’s a book I love, called ‘Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community.' It’s about how there used to be so many people involved in churches, in bowling leagues, in professional societies. This is where folks got their information. It’s where they learned about democracy. And because they were small, everyone – in one way or another – held a leadership role.”
That’s how she views the society’s members, chapters and events, which serve as a community to learn and share research and innovative ideas.
Chapters not only provide training and professional development, they also take member voices from the field directly to the nation’s capital. “The creation of social capital is what will make this work stick,” she says. “We are building an entire community around conservation goals.”
“If you care about this work, you’ve got to do it scared. I might not be polished, but I’m still here leading. I can show up every day and make a difference.”
One of Clare’s favorite new initiatives is the Emerging Leaders Program, a free, one-year program designed to nurture the next generation of conservation leaders through learning modules, mentorship and hands-on projects.
“In our first year, we had over 100 applicants, and after reading every application we accepted every single one. Not only are they learning about themselves, they are learning how to lead the future of conservation.”
As a young leader herself, it’s a position that Clare continues to find herself in today, even as CEO.
“It’s not like I don’t feel imposter syndrome, and honestly, I’m a little weird,” she jokes. “I’ll be on calls with other women who then meet me in person and say, ‘Wow, you are not who I was expecting!’ It’s the best compliment I could receive, because I want to model that leadership comes in all different forms.”
For other women looking to enter into conservation advocacy, Lindahl offers herself as a reassuring example. “If you care about this work, you’ve got to do it scared. I might not be polished, but I’m still here leading. I can show up every day and make a difference.”
