Up the Creek

I love the sight of the bee on my basil and the surprise of the Great Blue Heron flapping up Four Pole Creek. Occasionally, on my morning jog, I'm lucky enough to see him gliding silently over the water, his 4-5 foot wing span seeming to cover the entire width of the creek. That's quite an urban sight.

Emerson and Thoreau professed the intrinsic necessity for humans to be contemplative in nature. They found it the way to illumination and epiphany--the clear path to the "seat of the soul." Muir had an ecstatic, religious experience in the untouched, open spaces and high places of the Tetons and would go on to become a significant force in preserving and creating Yellowstone. Olmstead 's vision created the complementary coexistence of wilderness and city in his parks, including Central in NYC and Cherokee in Louisville, KY. These visionaries knew humans craved the expansion of human inventions and glittering cities; yet, they also understood the key to maintaining a healthy modern society. Several game hunters have conveyed a similar message to me. They actually appreciate the quiet, alone hours spent in the woods and on the waterways as much as the hunt itself. The key to our wholeness is regular time spent in nature.

Bear Rocks, Dolly Sods, WV

People who think wild areas should be preserved for nature's sake are called any number of adjectives with negative connotations from "knee-jerk liberal," to "treehugger," to "hippy."
However, the small farmer Wendell Berry and orchard keeper Robert Frost would not describe themselves in those terms, but they certainly have written treatises about the uneqivocal measure of the natural world. Teddy Roosevelt was a man's man and avid big game hunter, but he knew the immeasurable importance of preserving large swaths of unspoiled nature for the future of our existence.

Jesse Stuart wrote fond memories of the good life in the rolling hills of Northeastern Kentucky and Silas House has written the true to life account of the coming of the lumber mills and strip mines to Southeastern Kentucky. The people who lived in the hills took the good paying jobs that depleted all the old growth forests and that denigrated their family land. They too were caught up in the coming of the machines, the rolling in of dollar bills even if to sacrifice their beloved hills. It's always been this way, from coal to sugar cane. The people pay in so many irreversible ways just to earn a living. In Silas House's, Coal Tattoo, the main character finds herself married to the son of a big coal operator. I say "finds" because she wakes up one day in her big, fine house on the hill, utterly empty and alone-- above the rumble and lights of the mine site, and over the company houses. She is literally looking out upon grey slurry and muddy, treeless coal roads that used to be her family forests and meadows. She and her womenfolk eventually do what seems unthinkable. They are so torn in their hearts by the ripping apart of the hills that they lie down in the haul road, their desperate act of defiance. The very land they grew up on is about to be destroyed. The sheriff, who has known them all their lives, has to cuff the ususally mild mannered one and carry her to the paddy wagon.

Mountaintop Removed in Pike Co., KY

This is where we are today. The great American visionaries of the past helped preserve the western U.S, and some urban areas and key spots on the eastern seaboard. The ancient Appalachians, however, are pieces of a patchwork quilt scattered about, unconnected and unprotected. We have Shenandoah and the Smokies, but in between, hugh chunks of at least 5 states have been leased to the men with the mighty machines. People from the same place are pitted against one another in a fight for their lives. Miners and mountain people threaten each other and their livelihoods. People from the foothills and the cities fight the battle, some dismissing the fervor as just the stage for those "knee-jerk, liberal, hippy, treehuggers" to have a parade, while other urban dwellers, most with ties to the mountain communities and family from the mountains, are piecing together a new vision.

The great divide continues. Those with money and power over the land wish to continue to profit despite the unconscionable destruction they wreak. The working people are scared for their jobs while many mountain people and their land-protector allies fight for the legacy of this land, these waters, this air, these creatures, this culture.

There is a way, amid the outlandish propaganda thrown in all directions. It will not come easily, but we can make progess to green energy and green jobs, The mines will not be shut down overnight. It is called transition, not to job loss, but to new kinds of jobs. But it will require unity, and we are sorely lacking that in this country. I was told that where a deep mine used to employ 900 people for decades, the same MTR site above the old mine now employs maybe 20 people for just a few years. So much for job security.

However, this is not just a regional issue, nor is it a bandwagon just for "hippies." And biodiversity is not a big word reserved for scientists. Without a wide array of prospering flora and fauna, we sacrifice clean air, healthy food and medicine.

This is the future of your health at stake all across this country.
For what starts upstream eventually comes downstream into your river, your creek, your pipes, and your home from, "the redwood forests to the gulf stream waters." Get out your paddles. At least take a look at what it means to be green and look at some of the work others are doing to make the shift into a sustainable economy and a sustainable natural world. Sierra, OVEC, Powershift, Coal RIver Watch, Mountain Keepers and ilovemountains, just to name a few. The urban and the natural worlds can coexist.

Altitude Changes

We entered this world

of our choosing

with intrigue

and trepidation

For unknown monoliths

amid peaks

swirling ridges

Shadows on the river

Ever changing

Once among the tribe

we rested

Dark barley drinks and welcoming

Supped on cast iron casserole

Then fast asleep in the hacienda haven

I know 

not 

your exact 

point 

of origin

but

eons condensed

in 

your formation

Startle me 

into

recognition

of time 

wind 

and river

coalition 

A summer evening we shared

the Colorado's layers 

and solitude

red umber to green 

to sunset's 

purple hue

From the market square to the cool aspen air

We picked stone fruits and feasted

our eyes upon vistas ne'er imagined

Dynamite to Dust

It's a three-fold fubar conundrum
When you feel the pound of the explosion
The sound imploding in your eardrums
25 dead and still another shift's begun


Machine's ripping into the mountain
See the Big John Shovel
Here it comes
Twenty years of coal dust
and no pension
Water table's busted
There's no fixing it

It's just dynamite to dust
What's to become of us?
How will the mountains 
and her people stay alive?
When they're tunneling in,
blowing off the tops
and dying inside?


I wrote this song after a visit to Larry Gibson's homestead,  Kayford Mountain, or what's left of it after MTR, just outside of Charleston, WV.  I just rewrote the opening and chorus to pay tribute to the miners killed in the Upper Big Branch explosion on April 5, 2010.  


Almost everyone from Appalachia either has family who work in the mining industry or knows people who do.  It is a pervasive mono-economy.  It is also an invasive one, for the miners and their families gave up land (mineral) rights many years ago to the greedy outsiders who saw the  black gold at the end of the tunnel.  The mountains are owned by people who aren't from them, but worked by those who grew up in them.  It is the best paying job around--one that men and women today are proud to do, just like their daddy did.  But it's killing them and the mountains.
    
The fat cats and the working people live in the same world, but share very different realities.  Recall the opening to Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities?
          It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of     foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way...


My song goes on, "Now the miners are fighting the mountain man
                             Both from the same place taking opposite stands
                             While back in the cities the lights burn
                             But here in the hills we got valley fills
                             And no where to turn..."


I understand the economic necessity of taking the best job in town, but I am beginning to believe that the hold the big man's dollar bills has on the working people and the desperation it causes can only be conquered  together by those who want to save the mountains and those who dig coal inside them.  Contrary to popular belief, these are sometimes the same people.  Many of the environmentalists working to end mountain-top removal come from a long line of coal miners.   Yet, the boss promises he has good intentions for his workers, stirs up their patriotism and leads them to violently riot at peaceful gatherings of those standing up to end the fouling of the waters, the unrecoverable desecration of  the mountains' majesty, and now, the tragic and preventable death of deep miners.  


This same coal baron  played a central part in breaking up the unions in the 80's, so his employees are at his whim and have no union voice to speak out against the unsafe conditions they work in.  He also "donated" 3 million to a state judge's election campaign and that same judge voted in favor of his settling another environmental dispute at one of his surface mines.  The national reporters today are having a hard time getting quotes from the miners in Coalmont, WV because they fear what they call, "the long arms of Massey."  


Outsiders indeed.  The Kings of Coal came from the outside and bought the people.  Hard-working people who want to make an honest living, yet they call the people who want to lead the way in sustainable alternatives to this dangerous profession the outsiders.  Fear and greed are a deadly mix.  


Misinformation and lack of vision are too.  I heard three young men on the MU college radio station discussing the Upper Big Branch disaster yesterday, and they all had the same point of view.  They didn't even consider bringing on someone with the opposing view for a civil discourse on college radio.  


Some of their quotes that stand out: 
 "This is our heritage and we will dig all the coal until it's gone.  No need to even consider alternatives until then because it's not going to happen."  
(No, if you don't consider wind, sun, water, and crop alternatives, they certainly won't happen, boys.)


 "If you get right down to it, you can blame the eco-freaks for this, because they are trying to end mountain top mining, which is much safer for our miners."  
(Safer yes, but the jobs are few and many are taken by outsiders brought in by the company.  Plus, I was told by several locals in the area that Massey closed down one MTR operation just a week before many local miners would have hit their 20 years of employ, then reopened it later with a different name so they didn't have to pay the pensions.)


"We're all a big family and have to keep the outsiders and commies out of this so we can keep our economy thriving."  
(I almost ran off the road when I heard that one.  If you consider a few thousand risking their lives to make a living while the quality of life continues to spiral down to the point of no return with no alternatives after all the mountains have been destroyed, "thriving,"  then you certainly have no vision for the mountains of your heritage or your people living in them.)


A philosophical rift of long-lasting consequence grows as innocent, hard-working people die, as the lifeblood of a people, the earth and water, falls away, useless and foul.  


It's just dynamite to dust
What's to become of us?


I believe we have to keep speaking out and finding ways to make a shift to sustainable energies and other ideas that can maintain the mountains and the mountain people.  No, we 're not trying to shut down the jobs and turn out the lights tomorrow.  We are trying to find better ways to provide and protect.  Maybe I'm just idealistic and the land and water lover's will turn into land and water barons if given the opportunity to bring better uses of the mountains to the people.  I hope not.  


The final quote from the  college radio boys: "The mountains of West Virginia really aren't good for much except the minerals inside them.  We have to mine them.  That's what we do."  
(That's what people resign themselves to do because it's what has always been done, because it's the only alternative the rich outsiders have given them.  But the mountains were here before the humans and would still offer up providence and plenty if only the people could see.)  

My heart goes out to the loved ones of those lost deep in the mines.  

Harriers of Ra

Hawk is hunting

in the back yard again

Perched in the middle 

of the cherry tree limb

Hidden in the hemlock

scatter sparrow and wren

Squirrel clings frozen

Statuesque and grim

Seed gatherers abate

in silent apprehension

 Cardinal sentries wait

 Unafraid of him

All the while

the
 lantern eyes
of the black cat
within

Stare with stoic calm

in the Egyptian fashion

Fleetwood Mac Rhiannon Live 1976 Stevie Nicks

Rock Dreams

     In 1974, I was 12 going on 16.  To say my life was a cross between that of an army brat and a gypsy wouldn't be too far off.  As my father followed his elusive dreams, we had moved from our small, Southeastern Kentucky hometown to a big, old house where my grandparents lived in the Woodland Park area of Lexington to an uptown apartment on the reservoir to a new townhouse development across town to a fine house in the Lexington area called Chevy Chase.  Then we moved to the country of South Central Kentucky.
     Ten acres, a county school and a horse later, I found myself in need of friendship.  The family across the road had a 300 acre cattle farm and four girls.  Thank goodness the  sixteen-year-old took me under her wing, even though she was four years older than me.  For one thing, since I had gotten my height (all 5"4' of it) and curves by age twelve, the older boys were beginning the chase and I could use some older, wiser advice.  But more importantly, she had a truck.

     One sweltering summer day, we were driving down dusty gravel roads, looking for some other bored people to hang out with, the radio blasting,  when THE new song came on.  A mesmerizing masterpiece by a new group with a mystical rock goddess at the helm.  Rhiannon, by Fleetwood Mac.  I don't know where my summertime friend is now or if we even have anything in common--I lost track of her decades ago.  What I do remember though, is me turning the radio all the way up as she pulled off the road.  There we sat in the glare of the sun, the cornstalks waving, as Stevie Nicks captivated us with her sultry voice and mysterious lyrics.  We listened intently to the smooth sound and the words...

...Rhiannon is like a cat in the dark

and then she is the darkness

She lives her life like a fine skylark

and when the sky is starless

All your life, you've never seen

A woman taken by the wind

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Will you ever win?

      Ah, "she lives her life like a fine sky lark..." Poetry to sooth the teen angst.  Silky rock to soften the hard places.  And a rock goddess to idolize.  Stevie Nicks remains my muse to this day.  To me, she has a way like no other.  

     By the time we moved two more times and ended up back in the hometown we had started out in, I was 14 going on 15 and owned the beginnings of my album collection.  Rumours was the first and I played it over and over AND OVER again in my room after school every day, as did the boy around the block.  The lyrics and sound spoke to me.

Now there you go again/You say you want your freedom

Well who am I to keep you down?

It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams

And have you any dreams you'd like to sell?

Dreams of loneliness/like a heartbeat drives you mad

In the stillness of remembering what you had

And what you lost...

I soon discovered that the Mac's previous LP, Fleetwood Mac, contained Rhiannon.  It remains a song I still can't get enough of.   So when I saw Taylor Swift butcher Stevie's song on stage at the Grammy's, I became angry.  Angry that someone young enough to be my daughter could call my idol, a rockstress old enough to be her grandmother,  her idol; angry that Stevie had to stand off center and try to get the girl with all the awards back on key on HER song.  But also upset both at and for Taylor Swift.  She seems like a sweet girl with some catchy lyrics that some other girls can relate to, but I don't personally relate.  And she also comes across as a squeaky clean commodity, which is somewhat troubling.  All the suits behind her slobbering as they dream of more bubble gum lyrics worth millions.  The two women and the two socio-musical time periods they arrived out of are in such deep contrast to one another.  We can't separate ourselves from our generation, and maybe I'm just being swayed by and loyal to mine.  But I think there's more to it than that. (To be continued in a later essay).

     Part of my reaction is also my subjective preference for abstract lyrics with poetic elements like alliteration and metaphor. ("Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night").  Swift's are much more concrete and rooted in the here and now, which can be powerful too.  A classic: "He stopped lovin' her today/ hung a wreath upon his door/soon they'll carry him away..."
       I'm a mixed bag of singing and song-writing myself.  Just the other day, I discovered an online review by an aquaintance about my old CD .  She gave it a 2.5 out of 5 stars and said, "It would do in a pinch."  That's humbling. Ironically, I am noticeably flat on a note in one of the songs.  When I reflect on it now, I regret that I didn't demand a retake from the people I was paying to produce and mix it. I didn't think I was good enough to be demanding.  I'm more confident now, but I still have plenty of rock to chip away to get to my own song gems. And my singing might be compared to a cross somewhat in the fabric of Neil Young and Linda Ronstadt (if I had been so lucky to have pipes like hers).   So, I'll give Taylor Swift a little more time to grow.  What I cannot forgive is an industry that I believe contrived the whole Stevie/Swift duet/idol thing to make themselves look good, and it backfired.  

Cliffside Dwellers and Indian Traders