Flying on Mars — or any other world — is an extraordinary challenge. An autonomous spacecraft, operating millions of miles from pilots or engineers who could intervene on Earth, must be able to navigate unfamiliar and changing environments, avoid obstacles, land on uncertain terrain, and make decisions entirely on its own. Every maneuver depends on careful perception, planning, and control systems that are fault-tolerant, allowing the craft to recover if something goes wrong. A single miscalculation can leave a multi-million dollar spacecraft face-down on the surface, ending the mission before it even begins.

“This problem is in no way solved, in industry or even in research settings,” says Nicholas Roy, the Jerome C. Hunsaker Professor in the MIT Department of Aeronautics and Astronautics (AeroAstro). “You’ve got to bring together a lot of pieces of code, software, and integrate multiple pieces of hardware. Putting those together is not trivial.”

Not trivial, but for students nearing the culmination of their Course 16 undergraduate careers, far from impossible. In class 16.85 Autonomy Capstone (Design and Testing of Autonomous Vehicles), students design, implement, deploy, and test a full software architecture for flying autonomous systems. These systems have wide-ranging applications, from urban air-mobility and reusable launch vehicles to extraterrestrial exploration. With robust autonomous technology, vehicles can operate far from home while engineers watch from mission control centers not too different from the high bay in AeroAstro’s Kresa Center for Autonomous Systems.

Roy and Jonathan How, Ford Professor of Engineering, developed the new course to build on the foundations of class 16.405 (Robotics: Science and Systems), which introduces students to working with complex robotic platforms and autonomous navigation through ground vehicles with pre-built software. 16.85 applies those same principles to flight, with a basic quadrotor drone and an entirely blank slate to build their own navigation systems. The vehicles are then tested on an obstacle course featuring dubious landing pads and uncertain terrain. Students work in large teams (for this first run, two teams of seven — the SLAMdunkers and the Spelunkers) designed to mirror real-world missions where coordination across roles is essential. 

“The vehicles need to be able to differentiate between all these hidden risks that are in the mission and the environment that they’re in and still survive,” says How. “We really want the students to learn how to make a system that they have confidence in.”

Mission: Figure it out, together

“The specific mission we gave them this semester is to imagine that you are an aircraft of some kind, and you’ve got to go and explore the surface of an extraterrestrial body like Mars or the moon,” Roy explains. “You need to use onboard sensors to fly around and explore, build a map, identify interesting objects, and then land safely on what is probably not a flat surface, or not a perfectly horizontal surface.”

A mission of this magnitude is far too complex for any one engineer to tackle alone, but that too poses a challenge for a large team. “The hardest problems these days are coordination problems,” says Andrew Fishberg, a graduate student in the Aerospace Controls Laboratory and one of three teaching assistants (TAs) for the course. “To use the robotics term, a team of this size is something of a heterogeneous swarm. Not everyone has the same skill set, but everyone shows up with something to contribute, and managing that together is a challenge.”

The challenge asks students to apply multiple types of “systems thinking” to the task. Relationships, interdependencies, and feedback loops are critical to their software architecture, and equally important in how students communicate and coordinate with their teammates. “Writing the reports and communicating with a team feels like overhead sometimes, but if you don’t communicate, you have a team of one,” says Fishberg. “We don’t have these ‘solo inventor’ situations where one person figures everything out anymore — it’s hundreds of people building this huge thing.”

The new faces of flight

Students in the class say they are eager to enter the rapidly evolving field, working with unconventional tools and vehicles that go beyond traditional applications.

“We continue to send rovers to extraterrestrial bodies. But there is an increasing interest in deploying unmanned systems to explore Earth,” says Roy. “There’s lots of places on Earth where we want to send robots to go and explore, places where it’s hazardous for humans to go.” That expanding set of applications is exactly what draws students to the field.

“I was really excited for the idea of a new class, especially one that was focused on autonomy, because that’s where I see my career going,” says senior Norah Miller. “This class has given me a really great experience in what it feels like to develop software from zero to a full flying mission.”

The Design and Testing of Autonomous Vehicles course offers a unique perspective for instructors and TAs who have known many of the students throughout their undergraduate careers. As a capstone, it provides an opportunity to see that growth come full circle. “A couple years ago we’re solving differential equations, and now they’re implementing software they wrote on a quadrotor in the high bay,” says How.

After weeks of learning, building, testing, refinement, and finally, flight, the results reflected the goals of the course. “It was exactly what we wanted to see happen,” says Roy. “We gave them a pretty challenging mission. We gave them hardware that should be capable of completing the mission, but not guaranteed. And the students have put in a tremendous amount of effort and have really risen to the challenge.”

A prestigious grant from the W.M. Keck Foundation to Alison E. Ringel, an MIT assistant professor of biology, will support groundbreaking healthy aging research at the Institute.

Ringel, who is also a core member of the Ragon Institute of Mass General Brigham, MIT, and Harvard, will draw on her background in cancer immunology to create a more comprehensive biomedical understanding of the cause and possible treatments for aging-related decline.

“It is such an honor to receive this grant,” Ringel says. “This support will enable us to draw new connections between immunology and aging biology. As the U.S. population grows older, advancing this research is increasingly important, and this line of inquiry is only possible because of the W.M. Keck Foundation.”

Understanding how to extend healthy years of life is a fundamental question of biomedical research with wide-ranging societal implications. Although modern science and medicine have greatly expanded global life expectancy, it remains unclear why everyone ages differently; some maintain physical and cognitive fitness well into old age, while others become debilitatingly frail later in life.

Our immune systems are adaptable, but they do naturally decline as we get older. One critical component of our immune system is CD8+ T cells, which are known to target and destroy cancerous or damaged cells. As we age, our tissues accumulate cells that can no longer divide. These senescent cells are present throughout our lives, but reach seemingly harmful levels as a normal part of aging, causing tissue damage and diminished resilience under stress.

There is now compelling evidence that the immune system plays a more active role in aging than previously thought.

“Decades of research have revealed that T cells can eliminate cancer cells, and studies of how they do so have led directly to the development of cancer immunotherapy,” Ringel says. “Building on these discoveries, we can now ask what roles T cells play in normal aging, where the accumulation of senescent cells, which are remarkably similar to cancer cells in some respects, may cause health problems later in life.”

In animal models, reconstituting elements of a young immune system has been shown to improve age-related decline, potentially due to CD8+ T cells selectively eliminating senescent cells. CD8+ T cells progressively losing the ability to cull senescent cells could explain some age-related pathology.

Ringel aims to build models for the express purpose of tracking and manipulating T cells in the context of aging and to evaluate how T cell behavior changes over a lifespan.

“By defining the protective processes that slow aging when we are young and healthy, and defining how these go awry in older adults, our goal is to generate knowledge that can be applied to extend healthy years of life,” Ringel says. “I’m really excited about where this research can take us.”

The W.M. Keck Foundation was established in 1954 in Los Angeles by William Myron Keck, founder of The Superior Oil Co. One of the nation’s largest philanthropic organizations, the W.M. Keck Foundation supports outstanding science, engineering, and medical research. The foundation also supports undergraduate education and maintains a program within Southern California to support arts and culture, education, health, and community service projects.

Leslie “Les” Perelman, an influential figure in college writing assessment; a champion of writing instruction across all subject matters for over three decades at MIT; and a former MIT associate dean for undergraduate education, died on Nov. 12, 2025, at home in Lexington, Massachusetts. He was 77.

A Los Angeles native, Perelman attended the University of California at Berkeley, joining in its lively activist years, and in 1980 received his PhD in English from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. After stints at the University of Southern California and Tulane University, he returned to Massachusetts — to MIT — in 1987, and stayed for the next 35 years.

Perelman became best known for his dogged critique of autograding systems and writing assessments that didn’t assess actual college writing. The Boston Globe dubbed him “The man who killed the SAT essay.” He told NPR that colleges “spend the first year deprogramming [students] from the five-paragraph essay.” 

His widow, MIT Professor Emerita Elizabeth Garrels, says that while attending a conference, Perelman — who was practically blind without his glasses — arranged to stand at one end of a room in order to “grade” essays held up for him on the other side. “He would call out the grade that each essay would likely receive on standardized scoring,” Garrels says. “And he was consistently right.” Perelman was doing what automatic scorers were: He was, he said in the NPR interview, “mirroring how automated or formulaic grading systems often reward form over substance.” 

Perelman also “ruffled a lot of feathers” in industry, says Garrels, with his 2020 paper documenting his BABEL (“Basic Automatic B.S. Essay Language”) Generator, which output nonsense that commercial autograders nevertheless gave top marks. He saved some of his most systematic criticism for autograders’ defenders in academia, at one point calling out peers at the University of Akron for the methodology in their widely-touted paper claiming autograders performed just as well as human graders. 

At least one service, though, E.T.S., partly welcomed Perelman’s critique by making its autograder available to him for testing. (Others, like Pearson and Vantage Learning, declined.) He discovered he could ace the tests, even when his essay included non-factual gibberish and typographical errors:

Teaching assistants are paid an excessive amount of money. The average teaching assistant makes six times as much money as college presidents. In addition, they often receive a plethora of extra benefits such as private jets, vacations in the south seas, a staring roles in motion pictures. Moreover, in the Dickens novel Great Expectation, Pip makes his fortune by being a teaching assistant. It doesn’t matter what the subject is, since there are three parts to everything you can think of.

MIT career

Within MIT, Perelman’s legacy was his push to embed writing instruction into the whole of MIT’s curriculum, not as standalone expository writing subjects, let alone as merely a writing exam that incoming students could use to pass out of writing subjects altogether. Supported by a $325,000 National Science Foundation grant, he convinced MIT to hire writing instructors who were also subject matter experts, often with STEM PhDs. They were tasked with collaborating with departments to plant writing instruction into both existing curricula and new subjects. That effort eventually became the Writing Across the Curriculum program (today named Writing, Rhetoric, and Professional Communication) with a staff of more than 30 instructors.

Building out the infrastructure wasn’t quick, however. Perelman’s successor, Suzanne Lane ’85, says it took him almost 15 years. It started with proving to others just how uneven writing instruction at MIT actually was. “A whole cohort of students who took a lot of writing classes or got communication instruction in various places would make great progress,” Lane says. “But it was definitely possible to get through all of MIT without doing much writing at all.” 

To bolster his case, Perelman turned to alumni surveys. “The surveys asked how well MIT prepared you for your career,” says Lane. “The technical skills scored really high, but — what is horribly termed, sometimes, as ‘soft skills’ — communication skills, collaboration, etc., these scored really high on importance to career, but really low on how well MIT had prepared them.”

In other words, MIT alumni knew their stuff but were bad at communicating it, at a cost to their careers.

This led Perelman and others to push for a new undergraduate communication requirement. That NSF grant supported a 1997 pilot, designing experiments for courses that would be communication-intensive. It was a huge success. Every department participated. It involved 24 subjects and roughly 300 students. MIT faculty, following “lively” discussion at an April 1999 faculty meeting, approved the proposal of the creation of a report on the communication requirement’s implementation, followed a year later by its formal passage, effective fall 2001.

From that initial pilot of 24, there are now nearly 300 subjects that count toward the requirement, from ​​class 1.013 (Senior Civil and Environmental Engineering Design) to 24.918 (Workshop in Linguistic Research).

Connections beyond MIT

Early in his career, Perelman worked with Vincent DiMarco, a literature scholar at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, to publish “The Middle English Letter of Alexander to Aristotle” (Brill, 1978). With Wang Computers as publisher, he was a technical writer and project leader on the “DOS Release 3.30 User’s Reference Guide.” He edited a book and chapter on writing studies and assessment with New Jersey Institute of Technology professor Norbert Elliot. And in a project he was particularly proud of, he worked with the New South Wales Teachers Federation in 2018 to convince Australia to reject the adoption of an automated essay grading regime. 

“Les was brilliant, with a Talmudic way of asking questions and entering academic debates,” says Nancy Sommers, whose work on undergraduate writing assessment at Harvard University paralleled Perelman’s. “I loved the way his eyes sparkled when he was ready to rip an adversary or a colleague who wasn’t up to his quick mind and vast, encyclopedic knowledge.” 

Openness to rhetorical combat didn’t keep Perelman from being a wonderful friend, Sommers says, saying he once waited for her at the airline gate with a sandwich and a smile after a canceled flight. “That was Les, so gracious, generous, anticipating the needs of friends, always there to offer sustenance and friendship.”

Donations in Perelman’s name can be made to UNICEF’s work supporting children in Ukraine, the Lexington Refugee Assistance Program, Doctors Without Borders, and the Ash Grove Movie Finishing Fund.

Each April in Japan, people participate in a tradition called “hanami,” or cherry-blossom viewing, where they picnic under the blooming trees. The tradition has a second purpose: The presence of people at these gatherings, often by water, helps solidify riverbanks and protect them from spring floods. The celebration has a dual purpose, by addressing, however incrementally, the threat of natural disaster.

The practice of creating things that also protect against disasters can be seen all over Japan, where many new or renovated school buildings have design features unfamiliar to students elsewhere. In Tokyo, one elementary school has a roof swimming pool that stores water and is used to help the building’s toilets flush, plus an additional rainwater catchment tank and exterior stairs leading to a large balcony that wraps around one side of the building.

Why? Well, Japan is prone to natural disasters, such as tsunamis, earthquakes, and flooding. The country’s schools often double as evacuation sites for local residents, and design practices increasingly reflect this. In normal times, the roof pool is where students learn to swim and helps keep the school cool, and the large balcony is used by spectators watching the adjacent school athletics field. In emergencies, water storage is crucial and exterior stairs help people ascend quickly to the gymnasium, built on the second floor — to keep evacuees safer during flooding.

Meanwhile, in one Tokyo district, rooftop solar power is now common. Some schools feature skylights and courtyards to bring in natural light. Again, these architectural features serve dual purposes. Solar power, for one, lowers annual operating costs, and it provides electricity even in case of grid troubles.

These are examples of what MIT scholar Miho Mazereeuw has termed “anticipatory design,” in which structures and spaces are built with dual uses, for daily living and for when crisis strikes.

“The idea is to have these proactive measures in place rather than being reactionary and jumping into action only after something has happened,” says Mazereeuw, an associate professor in MIT’s Department of Architecture and a leading expert on resilient design.

Now Mazereeuw has a new book on the subject, “Design Before Disaster: Japan’s Culture of Preparedness,” published by the University of Virginia Press. Based on many years of research, with extensive illustrations, Mazereeuw examines scores of successful design examples from Japan, both in terms of architectural features and the civic process that created them.

“I’m hoping there can be a culture shift,” Mazereeuw says. “Wherever you can invent design outcomes to help society be more resilient beforehand, it is not at exorbitant cost. You can design for exceptional everyday spaces but embed other infrastructure and flexibility in there, so when there is a flood event or earthquake, those buildings have more capability.”

Bosai and barbecue

Mazereeuw, who is also the head of MIT’s Urban Risk Lab, has been studying disaster preparedness for over 30 years. As part of the Climate Project at MIT, she is also one of the mission directors and has worked with communities around the world on resiliency planning.

Japan has a particularly well-established culture of preparedness, often referred to through the Japanese word “bosai.” Mazereeuw has been studying the country’s practices carefully since the 1990s. In researching the book, she has visited hundreds of sites in the country and talked to many officials, designers, and citizens along the way.

Indeed, Mazereeuw emphasizes, “A major theme in the book is connecting the top-down and bottom-up.” Some good design ideas come from planners and architects. Other have come from community groups and local residents. All these sources are important.

“The Japanese government does invest a lot in disaster research and recovery,” Mazereeuw says. “But I would hate for people in other countries to think this isn’t possible elsewhere. It’s the opposite. There are a lot of examples in here that don’t cost extra, because of careful design through community participation.”

As one example, Mazereeuw devotes a chapter of the book to public parks, which are often primary evacuation spaces for residents in case of emergency. Some have outdoor cooking facilities, which in normal times are used for, say, a weekend barbecue or local community events but are also there in case of emergency. Some parks also have water storage, or restroom facilities designed to expand if needed, and many serve as flood reservoirs, protecting the surrounding neighborhood.

“The barbecue facilities are a great example of dual use, connecting the everyday with disaster preparedness,” Mazereeuw says. “You can bring food into this beautiful park, so you’re used to using this space for cooking already. The idea is that your cognitive map of where you should go is connected to fun things you have done in the past.”

Some of the parks Mazereeuw surveys in the book are tiny pocket parks, which are also filled with useful resilience tools.

“Anticipatory design does not have to be monumental,” Mazereeuw writes in the book.

Negotiating through design

To be sure, some disaster mitigation measures are difficult to enact. In the Naiwan district of Kesennuma, as Mazereeuw outlines in the book, much of the local port area was destroyed in the 2011 tsunami, and the government wanted to build a seawall as part of the reconstruction plan. Some local residents and fishermen were unenthusiastic; a seawall could limit ocean access. Finally, after extended negotiations, designers created a seawall integrated into a new commercial district with cafes and stores, as well as new areas of public water access.

“This project used the power of design to negotiate between prefectural and local regulations, structural integrity and aesthetics, ocean access and safety,” Mazereeuw says.

Ultimately, working to build a coalition in support of resilience measures can help create more interesting and useful designs.

Other scholars have praised “Design Before Disaster.” Daniel P. Aldrich, a professor at Northeastern University, has called the book a “well-researched, clearly written investigation” into Japanese disaster-management practices, adding that any officials or citizens around the world “who seek to keep residents and communities safe from shocks of all kinds will learn something important from this book. It sets a high bar for future scholarship in the field.”

For her part, Mazereeuw emphasizes, “We can learn from the Japanese example, but it’s not a copy-paste thing. The book is so people can understand the essence of it and then create their own disaster preparedness culture and approach. This should be an all-hands process. Emergency management is not about relying on managers. It’s figuring out how we all play a part.”

During a summer internship at MIT Lincoln Laboratory, Ivy Mahncke, an undergraduate student of robotics engineering at Olin College of Engineering, took a hands-on approach to testing algorithms for underwater navigation. She first discovered her love for working with underwater robotics as an intern at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in 2024. Drawn by the chance to tackle new problems and cutting-edge algorithm development, Mahncke began an internship with Lincoln Laboratory's Advanced Undersea Systems and Technology Group in 2025. 

Mahncke spent the summer developing and troubleshooting an algorithm that would help a human diver and robotic vehicle collaboratively navigate underwater. The lack of traditional localization aids — such as the Global Positioning System, or GPS — in an underwater environment posed challenges for navigation that Mahncke and her mentors sought to overcome. Her work in the laboratory culminated in field tests of the algorithm on an operational underwater vehicle. Accompanying group staff to field test sites in the Atlantic Ocean, Charles River, and Lake Superior, Mahncke had the opportunity see her software in action in the real world.

"One of the lead engineers on the project had split off to go do other work. And she said, 'Here's my laptop. Here are the things that you need to do. I trust you to go do them.' And so I got to be out on the water as not just an extra pair of hands, but as one of the lead field testers," Mahncke says. "I really felt that my supervisors saw me as the future generation of engineers, either at Lincoln Lab or just in the broader industry."

Says Madeline Miller, Mahncke's internship supervisor: "Ivy's internship coincided with a rigorous series of field tests at the end of an ambitious program. We figuratively threw her right in the water, and she not only floated, but played an integral part in our program's ability to hit several reach goals."

Lincoln Laboratory's summer research program runs from mid-May to August. Applications are now open. 

Video by Tim Briggs/MIT Lincoln Laboratory | 2 minutes, 59 seconds

It’s not every day that aspiring teenage engineers can see firsthand how planes are built. But a collaboration between nonprofit Engineering Tomorrow, aerospace firm Boeing, and alumni of the MIT Leaders for Global Operations (LGO) program working at Boeing is aiming to turn curiosity about aerospace engineering into possible careers for young students.

Boeing is LGO’s longest-standing industry collaborator, hosting LGO internships, recruiting LGO alumni, and hosting plant treks for future engineers. Engineering Tomorrow, a nonprofit dedicated to inspiring the next generation of engineers, frames the U.S. engineering workforce shortage as an economic and national security issue — and says the shortage isn’t in just engineers with degrees, but also in trained operators and technicians. They also recognize that many kids often start as natural tinkerers, but get scared off by higher-level math.

To bring more kids into the engineering fold, the organization delivers no-cost engineering labs to middle and high school students by collaborating with influential mentors, such as LGO graduates at organizations like Boeing.

“We want to inspire students by exposing them to professional engineers to illustrate the pathways for them to be problem-solvers in society,” explains Alex Dickson, Engineering Tomorrow’s program coordinator. “The demand for engineers has just gone up dramatically. It’s about being competitive on a global scale. We try to illustrate to students that there are many pathways into these careers.”

How MIT LGO makes engineering dreams a reality

Engineering Tomorrow’s collaboration with MIT LGO grew organically, through a robust alumni network. One of the nonprofit’s board members, LGO alumna Kristine Budill SM ’93, recognized a shared interest: the sizable Boeing LGO community wanted concrete ways to connect more directly with communities, and Engineering Tomorrow does just that.

Budill connected the organization with fellow LGO alumnus Cameron Hoffman MBA ’24, SM ’24, a Boeing manufacturing strategy manager who helped translate that shared mission into a real-world opportunity: an on-site Boeing experience that made engineering tangible for high school students.

The result: One lucky high school engineering design class from Mercer Island, Washington, recently got to experience Boeing 737s being built in person. In November 2025, 30 ninth graders at Mercer Island High School traveled to Boeing’s Renton, Washington, facility to learn how planes are constructed and understand what it really takes to have a career building them.

From the outset, the goal was to avoid the typical spectator field trip. Instead, Engineering Tomorrow and Hoffman designed a structured, multi-touch experience that prepared students before they ever set foot in the factory.

First, an Engineering Tomorrow liaison introduced key aerospace concepts and an associated lab challenge to the class via Zoom, then returned in person to guide Mercer students through a hands-on airplane-design lab, helping them translate theory into practice and answer questions about engineering pathways. Students then visited Boeing’s production facility, where they spoke with engineers from multiple disciplines — not just aerospace — and toured the factory floor.

By the time they arrived, students weren’t just impressed by the scale of the operation; they understood what they were seeing, asked informed questions, and left with a sharp sense of the many routes into engineering and manufacturing careers, Dickson says.

“Cameron set up an incredible on-site experience for the students that really made real-world engineering a more tangible experience for them,” Dickson says. “Many people think Boeing is just about aerospace engineering, because Boeing is an aerospace company. But they got to hear from mechanical engineers, electrical engineers, and workers with all sorts of backgrounds who made it clear that there’s no one set pathway into engineering or manufacturing.”

Then came the best part: Students got a VIP tour of the production facility, led by Boeing staff.

A snack and a tour

“It’s awe-inspiring: Dozens of unfinished airplanes are under one site, and you see all of the real-world production engineering that goes into something that oftentimes we take for granted when we step onto an airplane,” Dickson says.

When the big day arrived, students also met with engineering teams to learn about the history of the plant, complete with fun facts geared to high schoolers. (Did you know that a 737 takes off or lands every two seconds?) They learned about different career pathways, from design to production. It was easy to envision themselves working there, Hoffman says.

“Boeing is a company that a lot of folks work at for their entire career and take a lot of pride in the work that they do. We showed them: What does that look like? Do you want to be an engineer for your entire career? Do you want to be a people leader in the facility? Do you want to be a technical expert?” Hoffman says. “And the kids asked great questions.”

Then, the students — after snacks, of course — toured the production floor, where engineers assembled planes and tested parts. For Hoffman, that experience was deeply personal: He wished he’d experienced something similar growing up.

A 10-year Boeing veteran, Hoffman led the group throughout. He started at Boeing in 2015 as a recent college graduate, where he encountered several LGO alums who recommended the program.

“I’d been deeply interested in manufacturing since my early undergrad days. Boeing was an amazing place to work because our products are so complex, and the production systems are so fascinating,” he recalls.

Over time, he wanted to transition into people leadership with an MBA degree. His Boeing colleagues, well-represented among the LGO ranks, urged him toward the MIT program.

“LGO’s network is what makes it so special,” he says.

Upon returning to Boeing after completing his LGO degrees, Hoffman joined Boeing’s LGO/Tauber Leadership Development Program, which allows him to stay regularly engaged with the MIT LGO Program. One such activity where he remains engaged with the program is through the MIT LGO Alumni Board. As part of the board, Hoffman focuses on the social good committee, and the Engineering Tomorrow high school partnership was a perfect fit to meet that committee’s goals.

For Hoffman, these leadership initiatives are what makes LGO distinctive.

“When you graduate from a program like LGO, you’re often so forward-looking. It helps to take time to reflect on what an inspiration you can be to the people who come after you. MIT LGO focuses on both engineering and business. Our students want to study engineering because they want to be problem-solvers. The LGO program, which is at the intersection of engineering and business leadership, is just an incredible inspirational program for young students to see,” Hoffman says.

It was an opportunity he didn’t get as an ambitious young high schooler.

“As a kid, the only engineering class that was available to me was architectural drafting. If this opportunity was offered to me when I was in high school, I would’ve jumped out of my shoes at the chance. You get to see products that are just so complex; you really can't believe it until you see it,” he says.

Setting a positive precedent across industries

Mercer Island engineering design teacher Michael Ketchum had high praise for the field trip, considering it transformative for his students. He estimates that roughly 80 percent of them want to be engineers. He was impressed that the experience was more than just a tour, that it also included classroom support and airplane design kits, reinforcing core engineering concepts. The collaboration allowed them to broaden a previously CAD-focused class into one that also includes 3D printing, electronics, and aerospace applications. 

“For freshmen and sophomores, field trips are key. They stick in their head a bit longer than just school learning. If they get to see people getting excited talking about engineering, and it embeds it a little bit better in their brain,” Ketchum says.

In a post-trip survey, students reported being more likely to consider engineering after the experience.

“They expressed the idea that the conversations with engineers inspired them, and 100 percent of students said that seeing a production facility was one of the coolest parts of the program, which led to them being more inclined to want to be an engineer,” Engineering Tomorrow’s Dickson says.

Next year, the LGO network hopes to expand to partner with additional companies, from health care to biotech.

“The goal is to continue to create exposure. This visit was a really great proof of concept to see what’s valuable to students,” Hoffman says — and, ideally, future LGO alumni.

In a narrow strip of land along the Andes mountain range in central Chile, an Indigenous community has long celebrated the bark of a rare tree for its medicinal properties. Modern science only recently caught up to the tradition, finding the so-called soapbark tree contains potent compounds for boosting the human immune system.

The molecules have since been harnessed to make the world’s first malaria vaccine and to boost the effectiveness of vaccines for everything from shingles to Covid-19 and cancer. Unfortunately, unsustainable harvesting has threatened the existence of the tree species, leading the Chilean government to severely restrict lumbering.

The soapbark tree’s story is not unique. Plants are the foundation of industries such as pharmaceuticals, beauty, agriculture, and forestry, yet around 45 percent of plant species are in danger of going extinct. At the same time, human demand for plant products continues to rise. Ashley Beckwith SM ’18, PhD ’22 believes meeting that demand requires rethinking how plants are grown. Her company, Foray Bioscience, aims to make plant production faster, more adaptable, and less damaging to fragile natural supply chains.

The company is working to make it possible to grow any plant or plant product from single cells using biomanufacturing powered by artificial intelligence. Foray has already developed molecules, materials, and fabricated seeds with various partners, including academic researchers, nurseries, conservationists, and companies.

In one new partnership, Foray is working with the nursery West Coast Chestnut to deploy a more disease-resistant version of the chestnut trees that once filled forests across the eastern U.S. but have since been wiped out. The project is just one example of how AI and plant science can be leveraged to protect the plant populations that bring so much value to humans and the planet.

“Plant systems underpin every aspect of our daily lives, from the air we breathe to the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the homes we live in, and more,” Beckwith says. “But these plant systems are fragile and in decline. We need new strategies to ensure lasting access to the plant products and ecosystems we depend on.”

From human cells to plants

Beckwith focused on biology and materials manufacturing as a master’s student in MIT’s Department of Mechanical Engineering. Her research involved building platforms to enable precision treatments for human diseases. After graduating, she worked on a regenerative, self-sufficient farm that mimicked natural ecosystems, and began thinking about applying her work to address the fragility of plant systems.

Beckwith returned to MIT for her PhD to explore the idea of regenerative plant systems, studying in the lab of Research Scientist Luis Fernando Velásquez-García in the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science.

“To address organ shortages for transplants, scientists aspire to grow kidneys that don’t have to be harvested from a human using tissue engineering,” Beckwith says. “What if we could do something similar for our plant systems?”

Beckwith went on to publish papers showing she could grow wood-like plant material in a lab. By adjusting certain chemicals, the researchers could precisely control properties like stiffness and density.

“I was thinking about how we build products, like wood, from the cell up instead of extracting from the top down,” Beckwith recalls. “It led to some foundational demonstrations that underpin the work we do at Foray today, but it also opened up questions: Where are these new approaches most urgently needed? What would it take to apply these tools where they’re needed, fast?”

Beckwith began exploring the idea of starting a company in 2021, participating in accelerator programs run by the E14 Fund and The Engine — both MIT-affiliated initiatives designed to support breakthrough science ventures. She officially founded Foray in February of 2022 after completing her PhD.

“Our early research showed that we could grow wood-like material directly from plant cells,” she says. “We are now able to grow not just wood without the tree, but also produce harvest-free molecules, materials, and even seeds by steering single cells to develop precisely into the products we need without ever having to grow the whole plant.”

Beckwith describes her lab-grown wood innovation as analogous to Uber if there were no internet — a powerful idea without the digital backbone to scale. To create the data foundation and ecosystem to scale plant innovation, Foray is now building the Pando AI platform to enable rapid discovery and deployment of these novel plant solutions.

“Pando functions like a Google Maps for plant growth,” Beckwith says. “It helps scientists navigate a really complex field of variables and arrive at a research destination efficiently — because to steer a cell to produce a particular product, there might be 50 different variables to tweak. It would take a lifetime to explore each of those, and that’s one reason why plant research is so slow today.”

The “operating system for plant science”

Foray’s team includes experts in plant biology, artificial intelligence, machine learning, computational biology, and process engineering.

“This is a very intersectional problem,” Beckwith says. “One of the most exciting things for me is building this highly capable team that is able to deliver solutions that could never be created in a silo.”

After a year of pilot collaborations with select researchers, Foray is preparing for a broader public launch of its Pando platform early this year.

Over the next several years, Beckwith hopes Foray will serve as an innovation engine for researchers and companies working across agriculture, materials, pharmaceuticals, and conservation. Foray already uses Pando internally to create plant solutions that overcome limitations in natural production.       

“Fabricated seeds are one capability that we’re really excited about,” Beckwith says. “Being able to grow seeds from cells lets you create really timely and scalable seed supplies to address gaps in restoration, or shorten the path to market for new, resilient crop varieties. There’s a lot to be gained by making our plant systems more adaptive.”

“We want to shorten plant development timelines, so solutions can be built in months, not decades,” Beckwith says. “We’re excited to be building tools that represent a step change in the way plant production can be done.”

As Foray’s products scale and more researchers use its platform, the company is hoping to help the plant science industry respond to some of our planet’s most pressing challenges.

“Right now, we’re focused on plants in labs,” Beckwith says. “In five years, we aim to be the operating system for all of plant science, making it possible to build anything from a single plant cell.”