As a photojournalism professor, R. Smith Schuneman mixed high expectations with a warm manner to launch the careers of a wide spectrum of photographers.

His students at the University of Minnesota, many of whom regarded Schuneman as a pivotal influence in their lives, went on to shoot for National Geographic, Look, Life and numerous other magazines and newspapers, as well as for corporate clients, photography studios and a wide array of film and video productions.

Then Schuneman, who went by his nickname “Smitty” and never by his given name of Raymond, embarked on a second career with the creation of Media Loft , an events and communications agency. He eventually sold the company to his employees before retiring with his wife, Pat, to a lakeside home in Okoboji, Iowa.

“Smitty could be utterly ruthless, uncompromising or unyielding in his goal of making photojournalists out of us,” wrote Richard Olsenius, a former student of Schuneman’s, in a memorial book prepared by friends. “But it was underlied with a deep-rooted concern for what is right and moral. He demanded honesty from our work.”

He died Nov. 24 at age 88 of heart problems.

Schuneman was born in 1936 in Spirit Lake, Iowa. His parents Raymond “Art” and Olive “Bunch” Schuneman ran the local newspaper in Milford, Iowa, and it was there that Schuneman began publishing photos while still in school.

He also ran a side business covering weddings, events and “whatever pictures were needed around the small town,” his wife said.

She remembers seeing Schuneman for the first time when her band director arranged for her to take drum lessons from him. She was 15 and he was 16. She later worked for him at his photo service, processing the film.

Willy Boulay and Mike Hudson have a grand vision for building affordable apartments for people with below-median incomes that are as nice as market-rate properties.

Their first buildings, one in Minneapolis that opened in May and another about to open in St. Paul, live up to their plans. Both have fitness centers, balconies on most units, roof decks, solar arrays, EV chargers, community rooms, even indoor playgrounds they tested themselves.

“The slide will support guys over 30,” Boulay said as he and Hudson took me through Canvas, their 161-unit project in northeast Minneapolis. It gets its name from all the original paintings purchased from neighborhood artists to fill halls and other common areas.

The seven-story building cost $71 million and is open to renters of all ages who make 60% of average market income, a level sometimes known as workforce housing. Hennepin County and the city of Minneapolis provided subsidies in the form of tax-exempt bonds and tax credits that will discount rents for 40 years. It’s a typical form of financing for affordable housing to help cover the difference between it and market-rate homes.

As of last week, Canvas had just two vacancies. Well, plus one big one on the ground floor.

To get the project approved, their firm, Broadway Street Development, had to comply with the desires of City Council members for buildings in a so-called “production” district, designated to create employment-focused developments.

As a result, the ground floor was built with 18-foot ceilings and about half of it, around 23,000 square feet, was set aside for commercial use. Perhaps a microbrewery with a taproom will lease it, or a commercial production studio, or a small industrial business that isn’t too disruptive to the hundreds of residents above.

Boulay and Hudson are confident they will get the space filled. They noted, however, that projects coming after them haven’t required as much space set aside. Which leads me to remind readers that, when my now-retired colleague Neal St. Anthony wrote about Canvas as construction was getting underway two years ago, he focused on the years of work Boulay, Hudson and partner Sterling Black of LS Black Constructors had already put in to get it financed.

The first sign of an attack is usually a smell, an aroma that can be quite pleasant, like a freshly cut Christmas tree. It emanates from some of the deepest swamps and most hidden recesses of Minnesota’s forests. But along with that aroma, there is something else in the air, something sweet to a destructive type of bark beetle. It’s a trail of pheromones signaling that it is time to feast.

Scientists at the University of Minnesota have identified the chemicals and compounds that eastern larch beetles produce to communicate with one other. The hope is that those compounds can be manipulated to disrupt that communication and slow an outbreak of the swarming insect that has killed tens of millions of tamarack trees in Minnesota.

“We know a lot more now about how these beetles attack trees and signal to each other and find mates than we ever did before,” said Brian Aukema, a forestry entomologist at the University of Minnesota whose lab has been leading research into the outbreak. “We’re refining and refining our understanding, and if we can understand exactly how this communication signal is working, then we can use it in tree protection.”

Until the last few years, little was known about the eastern larch beetle, and it had never been enough of a problem to merit deep study. The native beetle is found everywhere tamaracks are found, and it had lived in relative harmony with the Minnesota pine trees for some 14,000 years, since the glaciers retreated from the last ice age.

The reason for the outbreak, Aukema’s lab found, is that the winters had become shorter and less severe. The beetles here at the very southern range of the boreal forest now have just enough warm days between deep freezes to reproduce multiple times. Healthy tamaracks can typically fend off one generation of young larvae. But they’re defenseless against two or more.

Scientists have been racing to understand the once-benign beetle to see if there is anything that can be done to keep tamaracks in Minnesota as the climate continues to warm. Disrupting their communication may be one such path.

It’s the female beetle that decides which tree to attack, Aukema said.