In late August and September of 1921, the largest armed rebellion in the U.S. since the Civil War was mounted in the coalfields of southern West Virginia. Union coal miners gathered, in numbers estimated anywhere from 5,000 to 10,000 strong, outside of Charleston. It is perhaps misleading to call them an “army”, for they had few resources and lacked formal military discipline. And yet it would be too cavalier to label the miners a rag-tag gathering. They had leaders, they had arms, they had organization, and they even had supporting groups of doctors and nurses to treat the expected casualties.

The miners’ intention was to march to the southwestern coalfields and free their fellow miners from some of the most abject treatment in the history of American labor. In Mingo, Logan and McDowell counties, miners worked under abominable conditions, were paid next to nothing, had no freedom of speech or assembly, and were killed with impunity by mine guards and local politicos in an atmosphere reminiscent of a third-world dictatorship. In 1921, thousands of miners and their families were living in tents in deplorable conditions, evicted from their homes after having the temerity to join a union. The Miners’ March, as it was called, was set to change all that.

The miners were opposed by a well-armed contingent of mine guards and State Police with rifles and machine guns. These would eventually be joined by 2,000 U.S. Army troops armed with airplanes, bombs, and poison gas. The two forces met at Blair Mountain, in Logan County. The coal company forces held fortified positions along the ridge; the miners labored in the heat of late summer to climb the mountain with hopes of engaging company forces at the summit.

This was the Battle of Blair Mountain.

In the early 1980s I researched the West Virginia mine wars, preparing to write a novel that would eventually become Storming Heaven. I had grown up in the southern West Virginia coalfields and taken mandatory state history courses in both junior high school and college. I had never heard of the Battle of Blair Mountain. Not until I stumbled onto an account on the back shelves of a local bookstore did I learn about the events that seemed almost unbelievable to me at the time. Clearly it was an incredible story. But had it actually happened?

The book that introduced me to the Battle of Blair Mountain was Bloodletting in Appalachia by Howard B. Lee. Lee had been the state Attorney General at the time of the events he was describing. An unapologetic curmudgeon, Lee found fault with both sides in the conflict. His very crankiness made his account seem more believable to me. Here was a man with no specific ax to grind, only a story to tell.

On subsequent trips to the state archives, I was confronted with the reality of Blair Mountain. Not only was Lee describing actual events, but also the Miners’ March of 1921 had made front-page headlines in the New York Times. Writers and journalists from around the country, including the likes of James M. Cain and Edmund Wilson, had descended on the West Virginia coalfields, and would do so for years. Reporters from national magazines wrote eyewitness accounts, detailing everything from the passwords used by the miners to the caps worn by the nurses traveling with the insurgents.

But I knew it was not enough to do my research in a library, to sit at a machine studying microfilm, or even to talk to the few surviving people who had been children at the time of the Miners’ March. I wanted to see Blair Mountain for myself. The route taken by the miners can still by followed on two-lane roads long since bypassed by freeways.

From the gathering point in the town of Marmet, I drove up Lens Creek to Racine, then on through coal towns with names like Ramage and Clothier. I knew I was getting close to Blair Mountain, but no one had to tell me when I was actually there. The mountain reared up, long and majestic, clearly blocking access. A drive along the creek that paralleled the mountain at its base revealed no “gaps”, no passes through. The main road I had been traveling would eventually snake its way up the mountain’s flank. But with coal company forces blocking the way, and fortifications manned by machine guns lining the top, it would have taken a massive army to breach Blair Mountain.

I saw Blair Mountain on a sunny day much like the one in August 1921, when anger and despair drove thousands of miners toward the summit. The deep shadows of late afternoon shrouded the mountainside, alternating with patches of brilliant sunlight. The shadows seemed alive. Later, at home, I would write a description of the mountain in Storming Heaven:
“Blair Mountain was one of the most powerful mountains I’d ever seen. It sprawled the length of Hewitt Creek and thrust out its arms to push away the punier hills. Shadows rolled across the folded slopes to mark the time of day, and sometimes the folds opened into a cove, seductive, that promised a way across. But there were no passes through.”

Today, many of the mining communities on the approach to Blair Mountain have been destroyed or have fallen into decay. Many of the surrounding mountains have also been destroyed, and the hollows and streams filled in. Mountaintop removal coal mining is decimating the region.

In the hundred odd years since the coal industry came to this part of West Virginia, land has been taken, miners have been worked to death, streams have been polluted, piles of waste have accumulated, children have grown up in poverty. But throughout all the hardships, the hunger, the black lung disease and other illness, and the scarring of the land, the mountains have essentially remained. They were symbols of permanence, strength, hope. No more. Nothing worse can be taken from mountain people than mountains. The resulting loss is destroying the soul of the people.

The destruction of the central Appalachian Mountains robs the region of topsoil, timber, of indigenous plants, of streams, and leaves behind floods, toxic brews of sludge laced with mercury, and flattened plains of inedible grass. But worst of all is the loss of the mountain landscape, those rugged crags that lift the spirits and touch the sky.

If one mountain were to be spared, one peak to bear mute witness to the devastation that has gone on all around, it might be thought that Blair Mountain would be such a summit. Blair Mountain, after all, has been the most dramatic witness to the struggle of legions of coal miners to be free. But Blair Mountain, though recently nominated to be included on the National Register of Historic Places, is also scheduled for destruction by mountaintop removal mining.

To write about the destruction of even one mountain seems more horrific and unbelievable than any work of the imagination. But this is what we have come to in Appalachia today.

“Gatlinburg.”

For a lot of people the name Gatlinburg, Tenn., conjures up the worst kind of Southern sprawl: huge billboards, flashing signs, tacky theme parks, trash, abandoned cars, and decaying buildings.

Well, hold onto your hats! Gatlinburg turns out on closer inspection to be the best kind of green destination, one that many tourist towns along the Appalachian Mountains could learn from.

It’s true that Gatlinburg’s main street contains lots of brightly lit fudge and funnel cake parlors, arcade attractions, and mini-golf courses. But step back a few feet, and the bigger picture shows a town that has got it right. Central Gatlinburg feels downright European: it’s a walking city, with lodging and dining nestled close to cascading mountain streams, and with world-class outdoor recreation just minutes away via public transportation. Gatlinburg has worked to bury utility wires, pick up trash, provide parking, and offer a host of other amenities that together make it an attractive destination.

My reference point is my hometown of Boone, N.C., a university town with a strong tourism component, but one still debating issues of government control and taxation as applied to aesthetics and commercial development.

Gatlinburg’s success is relevant throughout Appalachia because so many mountain towns are located next to national parkland, national forests, or other protected tracts. Here, the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, with 500,000 magnificent acres of forest and wilderness, has Gatlinburg as one of its main entrances, or “gateways.” As part of a fledgling movement to upgrade such gateway communities, Gatlinburg can serve as a model. All the more impressive is the limited space available in steep, narrow Gatlinburg; the town has 3,200 full-time residents, 11,000 rooms to let, and several million visitors annually, yet dense forest comes right to the main street and anglers fish for trout next to the busiest downtown intersections.

Here are some observations from a mid-May study trip to Gatlinburg:

It’s the transportation, stupid.

Gatlinburg has made it very appealing to park the car and walk, and very unappealing to sit in traffic. The town has nailed the crucial triumvirate of parking, public transit, and signage; the whole system seems calibrated to minimize the time people stay in their cars being lost and searching for directions…with engines spewing pollutants.

On the outskirts, free parking is coupled with an inexpensive “trolley” bus system plying the tourist route (and running until midnight during high season), bus shelters so attractive they shout “Use me!,” and wide sidewalks. Downtown, crosswalk warnings are painted on the roads every hundred or so feet, so that motorists can be aware. Several municipal parking lots fit unobtrusively into the downtown commercial district and are well landscaped to lessen visual impact. The rates max out at $6 a day. Many motels have parking on the ground level beneath buildings.

Municipal signage is well designed and well situated, pointing visitors to “Convention Center,” “Parking,” and “1000 Motel Rooms” with large, rustic-style signs (there’s a 280,000 square foot convention center on the main street but it takes up almost no space in the viewscape). The stoplights are numbered, and everyone refers to locations that way: fast and efficient. The trolley system is color-coded, with free route maps everywhere.

Neatness counts.

At two of Gatlinburg’s main intersections all the overhead wires have disappeared, leaving only the wide-open view of the Smokies. Traffic signals are on gracefully curving poles — arms — rather than strung on wires across the streets. The effect is both calming and exciting, and the city plans to bury more utility wires.
In the touristy downtown blocks, sturdy trashcans are placed every 50 feet or so, and the town picks up the trash frequently — even at 8 o’clock Friday nights — so there’s no overflow (it may be a different story in July). Public restrooms are available; and the town has a relatively large police force, as if to say, “We’re going to make sure vandalism can’t take hold here.” Gatlinburg has instituted a program to get junk vehicles out of town: the city pays the owners $25 apiece for the right to tow cars away for disposal.

Even Gatlinburg’s recreation department has the clean-up bug, shutting down the community center one week a year to perform such maintenance as refinishing the floors, painting the walls, washing the windows, and re-striping the parking lot. Children are growing up in an atmosphere of civic pride. The town’s use of municipal composting and other pioneering solid waste disposal programs helps preserve precious land and even has Japanese delegations visiting for advice.

Sign ordinances in Gatlinburg have some interesting twists: posting room rates is not allowed except in specific and little-used circumstances, which city officials say actually keeps rates a bit higher but removes the maddening bait-and-switch pricing of some tourist cities; new signs are limited to 60 square feet; pricing information for meals and fuel must be kept small; and every new outdoor sign must get approval from the town’s design review committee.

Who pays for all this goodness? Visitors for the most part: every business in town pays a 1 ¼ percent city tax on gross receipts, and most businesses cater to tourists. This kind of impact tax helps keep town coffers full without placing an undue burden on residents.

Rivers run through it.

Several big streams run from Great Smoky Mountains National Park through town, notably the west prong of the Little Pigeon River, and the sound of falling water is everywhere. Gatlinburg has chosen to capitalize on the water: motel rooms and cabins and restaurants are perched over the creeks (how relaxing, and no air conditioning required!), the streams are almost devoid of trash, and there’s a scenic walkway along one branch downtown, with flower boxes, benches, trashcans, and easy-on-the-eyes sidewalks of textured rocks and planks. In addition, the town fosters a fishing culture by stocking the creeks with trout (under the recreation department’s budget), providing easy access from the walkway, and supplying informational brochures for anglers of all ages.

Once you’ve parked at the motel, there’s simply no need to get back in the car for a good dose of fresh air. Why can’t every town care for its resources this way, bringing people to nature?

True partners.

Unlike many national parks established to preserve pristine natural wonders, Great Smoky Mountains National Park was created to revive a gigantic tract of logged-over private property. And unlike the national parks that charge admission — and keep 80 percent of gate receipts for their own use — GSMNP is free and loses out on a lot of revenue. The result is an array of partnerships between “the park,” town government, nature groups, and private businesses, partnerships that raise money for park operations and organize volunteers to provide seasonal help and interpretive programming. The sense of pride in the park is palpable and implies that everyone in town wins or loses together.

Gatlinburg’s parks and recreation department offers imaginative programming for residents and visitors alike; a bike-and-hike program uses town personnel but national park land, while scouting and bicycle groups lead off-hours activities like moonlight biking and moonlight hiking (at full moon only). Bike-only early morning hours in the park help serve diverse constituencies on limited roadways.

Children who grow up with this incomparable natural playground as their back yard are sure to become energetic stewards of the land.

For more information see www.ci.gatlinburg.tn.us, www.nps.gov/grms, and www.Gatlinburg-tn.com.

Freelance writer Nan Chase serves on Boone’s Community Appearance Commission.

Tennessee: New Law Allows Citizens to Comment on Water Permits

On June 7, the Tennessee state legislature unanimously passed a bill that will allow citizens to comment on pollution and water quality permits for the first time in 30 years. Prior to the bill’s passage, when a polluter applied for a permit, there was no means for involvement by members of the public, other industries, and even towns that would be affected by the pollution.

The new legislation sets up an appeals process that will allow citizens and other third parties to participate in the same appeals process that is already available to the polluters. Tennesseans now have the right to appeal pollution, aquatic resource alteration permits (used to relocate streams and pave over wetlands), and inter basin water transfers.

A coalition of groups from across the state, led by the Tennessee Clean Water Network and Tennessee Conservation Voters, spearheaded the effort to pass the legislation. For more information, visit www.tcwn.org.

Alabama: Feds and Environmentalists Team Up to Restore the Bankhead

The U.S. Forest Service and a number of Alabama environmentalists have joined efforts to restore the historic Bankhead National Forest.

The Bankhead, severely damaged over the past century from destructive logging practices and over the past few decades from repeated outbreaks of the southern pine beetle, is now managed under the authority of the Bankhead Health and Restoration Project. This project, which could take as much as 60 or more years to complete, is designed to eliminate all pine plantations and restore native forest types to the Bankhead.

Conservationists contend that the success of the Bankhead Health and Restoration Project is proving that pine plantations can be converted back to natural communities while continuing to provide jobs to local communities and supply local industries with raw materials.

South Carolina: State Grand Jury Empowered to Investigate White-Collar Environmental Crimes.

On May 26, 2005, the state grand jury was granted authority to investigate white-collar environmental crimes. These crimes include: improper waste disposal; oil spills; destruction of wetlands; dumping into oceans, streams, lakes, or rivers; improperly handling pesticides or other toxic chemicals; improperly removing and disposing of asbestos; falsifying lab data; smuggling certain chemicals, such as CFC refrigerants, into the U.S.; bribing government officials; and committing fraud related to environmental crime.

The law provides an essential investigative tool because the state police, unlike the state grand jury, cannot subpoena records and compel testimony. This power to compel production of this evidence is essential because these crimes rarely have eyewitnesses or confessions.

Attorney General Henry McMaster, a key supporter of the law, said “this state will not tolerate those who would knowingly and deliberately break the law, seek an improper competitive advantage, intentionally despoil our land and diminish our natural heritage for future generations.”

North Carolina: Duke Powerplants to Reduce Emissions by More than 90%

On On May 20, 2005, Duke Power Co. took a second step forward in meeting its obligations under North Carolina’s bi-partisan Clean Smokestacks Act by breaking ground on $500 million project to reduce air pollution at its Belews Creek Steam Station in Stokes County—the largest coal-fired power plant in the North Carolina and one of the 10 largest in the nation.

In 2001, the Belews Creek plant produced 83,203 tons of sulfur dioxide, which adds small particles to the air and contributes to haze and acid rain. After the project is finished in 2008, Duke estimates that they can cut these emissions by nearly 95% to just 4,160 tons.

The process to remove the sulfur dioxide involves spraying liquefied limestone into the top of an emission-filled container. The limestone liquid neutralizes the sulfur dioxide to form gypsum, which will be used to make sheet rock and wallboard.

Between 600 and 800 people are expected to work on the project, with a peak of about 350 workers on site at one time.

Virginia: Fish Kill in the Shenandoah River Wipes Out Bass and Other Fisheries for Next 3-5 Years

A massive fish kill has left the Shenandoah River and its tributaries, once legendary for their excellent smallmouth bass fishing, almost entirely devoid of numerous species of fish. In an episode this June that one fishing guide described to the Staunton News Leader as “the quietest disaster in the history of Virginia,” almost all the smallmouth bass in the Shenandoah River system were killed. The few that remain are spotted with lesions and sores and are not likely to survive.

Brian Trow, a Harrisonburg-based fishing guide, witnessed the fish kill’s early stages and described the scene to the News Leader. “I was in the water, floating near Grove Hill,” he said. “There were hundreds of dead fish in the water, and the ospreys were feeding like crazy. It was an annihilation.”
Experts suspect one cause of the fish kill can be found in the massive industrial poultry farms that release their waste into the river. A large runoff of waste, fertilizer, and sediment from these operations in April has been linked to the collapse of the fishery. Biologists with the state of Virginia estimate that fishing will be entirely eliminated in the area for the next three to four years, and that it will take a minimum of five years for the fishery to recover. In the meantime, fishing guides and other businesses based on tourism in the area are expected to suffer significant losses.

Kentucky: Boulder from mining operation crashes through Kentucky man’s home.

Late afternoon on Thursday, June 16th, Timmy Thacker of Pike County, Kentucky watched as a boulder as large as a dining-room table crushed a house on his property. The boulder was likely dislodged by blasting from a mountaintop removal mine, operated by Cambrian Coal Corporation, above the Thacker home. The house was unoccupied at the time.

Thacker’s family and neighbors were evacuated because other loose boulders were at risk of tumbling down the mountain. Cambrian Coal was issued three citations by the Kentucky Department for Natural Resources. As of July 6th, fines and penalties against the company had not yet been assessed.

Damage from “fly rock”, the term for boulders loosed by mining blasts, are not uncommon in the coalfields where MTR strip mining occurs. In July of 2004, tragedy struck in a similar incident when a boulder crushed a three-year old toddler in his bed in Appalachia, Virginia.

Georgia: Controvery Over Proposed Interstate “I-3”

An emerging controversy over a proposed federal interstate highway through the mountains of northern Georgia is becoming more intense as Congress begins considering the next transportation bill.

This year’s proposed federal transportation bill includes the funding of a feasibility study for a new interstate “3” that would stretch across northern Georgia, running through such cities as Augusta and Savannah. Proponents of the I-3 plans claim the building of such a highway would greatly benefit the region, helping to alleviate Atlanta traffic, as well as spreading economic growth throughout less developed rural areas of northern Georgia. However, many conservationists and area residents oppose the construction of such a highway because of its destructive capability to northern Georgia mountains.

Construction of I-3 could happen within the next five years if Congress approves the plan and appropriates the funds.

West Virginia: Efforts are growing in the coalfields of Central Appalachia to end mountaintop removal (MTR) coal mining. Pushed by the continuing devastation and
human rights abuses caused by this form of mining, and strengthened by an influx of energy from Mountain Justice Summer volunteers, coalfield residents are raising their voices louder than ever.

From from the coal counties of Kentucky, West Virginia, Tennessee and Virginia to the capital cities of these states, local citizens and supporters are calling public attention to the suffering caused by mountaintop removal. Although protests catch the most media attention, volunteers with local groups and Mountain Justice Summer are taking a broader approach, doing water-quality monitoring downstream from mines, support work for coalfield activist groups, and door-to-door “listening projects” gathering feedback from the people who live in the shadow of MTR mines.

In Eastern Kentucky, TECO Coal is the focus of protests due to their disregard for neighboring communities. Mining operations cause flooding, mud and rock slides, damage to roads, dust pollution from blasting and coal processing, and other harms. In Tennessee, National Coal Company’s use of MTR mining, which is new to the Tennesse mountains, is causing citizen outrage and anti-MTR organizing.

In West Virginia, the epicenter of this summer’s concern and protest is the Marsh Fork Elementary School in Sundial, West Virginia. The school is 400 yards downslope from a Massey Energy MTR mine that includes an impoundment of 2.8 billion gallons of coal sludge behind a 385-foot-high dam.

Coal sludge is created when coal is washed – a process required to remove soil and rock from the coal prior to being shipped. According to the Sludge Safety Project, “sludge contains carcinogenic chemicals used to process coal. It also contains toxic heavy metals that are present in coal, such as arsenic, mercury, chromium, cadmium, boron, selenium, and nickel.”

Earthen dams holding back sludge impoundments are widely-known to be unstable. One of the builders of the dam at Marsh Fork has said that the dam is improperly constructed. A Massey Energy dam failed in 2000 in Martin County, KY dumping 300 million gallons of sludge in streams. A more tragic example is the 1972 Buffalo Creek disaster in which earthen dams holding back sludge impoundments failed during heavy rains. According to the West Virginia Division of Culture & History, “in a matter of minutes, 118 were dead and over 4,000 people were left homeless. Seven were never found.”

Imagine one of these impoundments up-slope from your child’s elementary school. Herb Elkins of the Coal River Valley lives with that nightmare. His 8-year-old son attends Marsh Fork Elementary. On June 29th, Mr. Elkins refused to leave Massey Energy headquarters in Richmond, Virginia until Massey responded to his concerns for his son’s safety and was arrested for trespassing. Coal River Mountain Watch and other local activists are demanding that Massey shut down and clean up the site or build a new school at another location. They also want the company to withdraw a permit to construct a second coal-loading silo about 250 feet behind the school. Coal dust from the existing coal prep plant only 150 feet from the school enters through air intake vents, causing asthma and other respiratory problems, and coating everything with a toxic black powder.

Mr. Elkins stated, “I promised my son that I would not send him back to that school. His health and peace of mind are too important. No child should have to attend class in a climate of fear.”

A total of 20 people, many of them parents and grandparents of students at the school, have been arrested to date protesting Massey’s threat to Marsh Fork Elementary. Ed Wiley, whose 12-year-old granddaughter attends Marsh Fork, began a sit-in and hunger strike on the steps of the WV state capitol building on July 5th. His protest is in response to a June 30th announcement that the state Division of Environmental Protection will grant permits to Massey Energy to allow the sludge impoundment at Marsh Fork to remain, and to permit the construction of the second coal silo. Gov. Manchin responded to Mr. Wiley’s protest with assurances that he will review the permits and consider relocating the school. These are encouraging words, but the governor has said them before.

Have you ever been strolling along a mountain trail enjoying the peaceful serenity of nature, only to have someone in running shoes blast by you and speed ahead into the forest? If you aren’t a runner, you may very well have been irritated, or at least puzzled, by this outdoor over-achiever. After all, isn’t the whole point of being out in the woods to slow down, to quietly observe nature, to get to know the forest and its creatures on their own terms?

However, if you are a runner who has heretofore confined herself to the streets and sidewalks, the sight of the lean, strong athlete quietly disappearing into the woods ahead will no doubt pique your interest. What is it like, leaving the streets behind? How far are they going? Could I do that?

I have been running on trails for years, and I can attest to the fact that once you have started running in the woods, you will never go back, only venturing onto concrete and asphalt when absolutely necessary. There are practical benefits – the softer terrain is easier on weary joints, and you no longer have to dodge cars or inhale exhaust fumes.

Ultimately, the real appeal of trail running is the same attraction that draws anyone to the outdoors, be they a hiker, climber, paddler, or birdwatcher. Trail running gets you into the woods, and it gets you there often. After I started trail running, I found that I was visiting my favorite trails three or four times a week, instead of three or four times a month. The more I ran, the farther and faster I could roam, so I began exploring new areas. And because trail running can be done all year, I began getting to know the places where I run in all four seasons, from blankets of wildflowers to blankets of new snow.

Or maybe I just do it for my dog, Huck. Trail running is easily his favorite activity on the planet.

Regardless, I am one of the thousands of people in the southern mountains who runs every week on the many trails that we are blessed with in our region. Everyone has a favorite trail running season, and mine is the summer. But my good friend and running partner Miriam Stewart swears by winter running and merely tolerates the summertime heat and humidity.

Taking it to the “Extreme”

As different as our opinions on the best season for trail running might be, Miriam and I are even farther apart when it comes to levels of experience. While I am a fair weather runner who does my best to get out for an hour-long run three times a week, Miriam has crossed over into the realm that I would consider extreme. As one example, each year she competes in a race called the Promise Land 50K near the Peaks of Otter that features an 8,000 foot elevation gain.

This seemingly insane feat is just one of the many extremes to which trail runners regularly go in our region. Another is the Black Mountain Marathon and Mount Mitchell Challenge, an early spring, forty-mile trail race up to the top of Mount Mitchell in North Carolina, the highest mountain in the eastern US. Two women from western North Carolina, Annette Bednosky of Boone and Ann Riddle from Ashville, are making a name for themselves on this circuit that is know as the “trail ultra series,” a sign that our region offers some of the best trail running opportunities in the nation.

Of course these extreme races are not for everyone, and fortunately our region offers numerous trail running experiences for runners at all levels. Trail running clubs across the South sponsor races of every possible length and level of difficulty, from 5K runs to events like the Virginia Creeper Marathon that takes place every spring along the gently rolling Virginia Creeper Trail near Damascus, Virginia.

Born to Run
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Regardless of the type of run that best suits you, if are a runner who is tired of the traffic and pollution, if the fluorescent lights of the gym remind you too much of going to the office, if you are a lifelong hiker who has always wanted to push yourself just a little harder, then trail running might be perfect for you.

A recent study in the journal Nature found that one of the main evolutionary factors that shaped the human body was long distance running. As a runner I feel this instinctually, and through the many hundreds of miles I have covered, my feet pounding out a timeless rhythm, I find that the sense of peace, strength, and clarity that comes from running is even greater when I run in the woods, in the same way my ancestors have been running for millions of years.

If you’d like to experience it for yourself, I would highly recommend setting yourself free from the concrete and giving it a try this summer. Maybe I’ll see you on the trail.

Dear Appalachian Voice

I am a woman who’s life yearning is to help, heal, and save the world and its living beings. I pray many hours a day and night for healing of us and the other living beings including plants and animal kingdoms. I yearn to be praying with others-all people to want us and all to heal and help each other. I yearn for us all to forgive the trespasses on our body, mind, soul and memories. I pray for a place where I can live in peace to do the work I yearn to do.
If you can offer assistance, guidance, prayers and ideas please do.

Dawn Hightree

Dear Appalachian Voice,

My name is Denver Mitchell. I’m very concerned about the danger of Mountain Top Removal, and clearcutting on Island Creek in Logan County and other parts of the state. If we do not have any vegetation in these mountains, how are we going to control the water especially in such steep hills in our area? The people who live downstream in these valleys in Logan County and other parts of West Virginia had better wake up from their sleep and see what they are in for. I see death and destruction like what happened on Buffalo Creek happening to the people who live in this area.

I urge everyone who lives in Logan County to stand up for their rights and let our voice be heard. I’m not against a man earning a living mining coal, but Mountain

Top Removal is not the right way! It should be done by using contour methods and leaving the vegetation alone.

The Slush [coal sludge] ponds are dangerous and building them out of dirt and rock is not the right way to do it. They are not safe! I’m concerned about our

Government letting this happen to the people of West Virginia. Isn’t the value of human life more important than greed? I’m against abortion, and these politicians say they are too, but they let these coal companies endanger our lives the way they mine coal. Look at the water we drink, they say we should not eat too much fish, but what about drinking and cooking with that same water? Now our governor and the DEP want to take control of our water quality Board so they can let these companies poison us some more.

I guess we will have another Buffalo Creek disaster, before our politicians wake up to the dangers of clearcutting, Mountain Top Removal, and sludge ponds. After people are killed or harmed, maybe they will do something. I beg our Government to help us before it is too late.

Denver Mitchell
Rossmore, West Virginia

Dear Appalachian Voice,

Before I start, I am member of Appalachian Voices and love it. I am glad you all are out there. I’m writing in reference to an article in the recent issue of Appalachians Voices magazine, Looking Out for Our Feathered Friends”. That was a great article, I only wish Deborah had contacted me for some additional information. I’m surprised some of her other contacts did not mention me in her interviews, I work with almost all of them. I work for the US Fish and Wildlife Service in Asheville as the Appalachian Mountains Bird Conservation Region Coordinator and Migratory Bird Biologist.

I think the article in the magazine was a wonderful beginning to the advancement of knowledge about our birds in the mountains. But one premise I sort of interpreted from the article was that we weren’t sure exactly what was causing bird declines, other than some things associated with humankind and our activities.

Well, I’d like to say that almost every instance of bird decline is caused by or associated with humankind activities, with few exceptions, whether its on this continent or on the wintering grounds, wherever they are. Its estimated that one billion birds are killed each year by contact with lighted buildings and windows; and that perhaps more individuals of some Appalachian breeding migrants are killed by towers than are in our conservation goals; that is, for instance, we may have set a conservation goal of doubling the current estimated population of Kentucky Warblers in the Appalachians to meet our conservation goal when in reality, more birds that this target are estimated to be killed by tower collisions! Also, 70% of Neotropical migrants that occur in our mountains are declining, and most can be related to humankind. For instance, the Cerulean Warbler, shows one of the steepest decline rates of Neotropical migrants, and almost 50% of the global population of Cerulean Warblers occur in our mountains, and in fact, are most prominent over coal reserves, which as you know are being exploited in a very tragic fashion. This is just one example and I only offer this to suggest maybe a follow up sometime on this issue of bird conservation in the Appalachians, and what we’re involved with from Alabama to New York on conserving birds and their habitats. Also, there are a lot of other programs private landowners can engage in to protect their lands for birds and wildlife conservation in general. So, I’d be willing to offer additional information should you all decide to do another proactive article on bird conservation, which I believe would mutually benefit the birds and the other resources of our mountains we are striving to preserve and conserve.

One last thing. the article implied that red-cockaded woodpeckers still reside in low elevation pine forests in the Great Smoky Mountains. To our collective knowledge, these birds have not inhabited the Great Smokies for at least 20 years, but that’s not to say they don’t, they just haven’t been observed. If they have been, we would likely know, since they are a Federally listed endangered species.

I appreciate all the work you fine folks do there and look forward to further communications on this subject, its really worth it.

Keith – Asheville, NC

As this issue of the Appalachian Voice goes to press, Ed Wiley, a grandfather from West Virginia’s Coal River Valley, has just ended his sit in and hunger strike on the steps of the West Virginia state capitol. Wiley, a coal miner, went to Charleston to demand a meeting with Governor Joe Manchin about a permit just issued to build a new coal silo 260 feet from Marsh Fork Elementary School.

For years, Marsh Fork and the kids who go to school there have been suffering from the impacts of mountaintop removal mining in the Coal River Valley. The kindergarten through fifth-grade school is surrounded by a Massey Energy preparation plant, coal silo, 1,849-acre mountaintop removal mine site and 2.8 billion-gallon coal sludge dam. The dam is essentially a toxic waste storage facility constructed of earth and coal waste, holding back a massive reservoir of coal sludge that looms over the school.

This summer, Massey applied for a permit to build a second coal silo next to the school. The original coal silo stores powdered coal and loads rail cars 150 feet from school grounds. After loading, the operation sprays a binding agent over the coal.

It was the last straw for the people of the Coal River Valley. Numerous coalfield residents and their supporters have been arrested this summer in opposition to the expansion of the facility, but despite their concerns, the permit was issued in June. As the grandfather of a child who attends Marsh Fork, Ed Wiley decided to take the issue to the governor’s doorstep.

“It breaks my heart to send my granddaughter to that school,” Wiley said. “Coal dust and chemicals on the playground and in the air system cannot be good for kids. These are their formative years; they shouldn’t be breathing coal dust.”

The governor responded by meeting with Wiley and agreeing to review the permit. According to the Charleston Gazette, the governor will explore a number of options, including moving the school.

Meanwhile, the state of West Virginia is considering the fate of Blair Mountain, proposed for historic preservation by a state commission but still subject to final action by the state. The mountain was the location of a historic showdown in the 1920s between coal miners, coal companies, and the US government in the struggle to establish a miners’union. Big mining companies are unsurprisingly opposed to historic designation, fearing (and we hope rightly) that it would interfere with their designs to destroy that majestic and historic mountain in pursuit of a few seams of coal. While we are pleased to bring you an article in this issue of the Voice about this modern battle for Blair Mountain by renowned author and West Virginia native Denise Giardina, it is nothing short of tragic that the fate of that mountain should be in question.

The battle being waged over the fate of the coalfields is ultimately a battle between the long-term prosperity of West Virginians vs. the short-term gain for a few wealthy coal companies. Decision-makers can take the long view and ensure a viable future for the coalfields by protecting kids and families, historic sites, clean water, and economic opportunity for the region or they can continue rubber-stamping mountaintop removal permits, allowing business as usual to drive families out of the region, pollute water resources, and destroy the natural and cultural wealth and the future economic potential of historic sites and natural areas in Appalachia. Whether you sit down on the capitol steps contact your representative, or write a letter to the editor, history has shown time and again that it is up to dedicated and courageous citizens like Ed Wiley, and many of the readers of this newspaper, to call on our decision makers to do the right thing for our families, our mountains, and our future.

I have a field guide addiction. Upwards of a hundred of the gems adorn my shelves, although none are more impressive than my massive Gray’s Manual of Botany (1848). Great advances in botany have rendered it somewhat antiquated, but it is nonetheless a masterpiece and testament to a great thinker. With the arrival of spring in the Appalachians, vivid carpets of wildflowers provide a stunning reminder of the unmatched biodiversity that captivated this legendary botanist and sparked his decades-long love affair with the southern mountains.

Asa Gray was born November 18, 1810 in Sauquat, New York. Apparently a fine student, he received a degree of doctor of medicine at the ripe old age of 21. His love of medicine was fleeting, as within a few years, he became far more interested in botany.

He was fortunate at this time to start a friendship with John Torrey, a dominant botanist of the day. Gray’s relationship with Torrey helped nurture his lifelong dedication to botany and the natural world, a passion that would soon place him at the forefront of American botanists of the period (or any other). At the age of 32 he was appointed the position of professor of natural history at Harvard. A few years later, Gray began a series of trips to Europe to botanize, and he soon became a powerful conduit for groundbreaking botanical studies between the two continents.

During the 1850’s, Charles Darwin started corresponding with Gray, not only for scientific exchange, but also to develop a confidant – Darwin was looking for trusted peers to debate (and hopefully defend) his burgeoning theory of evolution. Gray soon became Darwin’s strongest ally in the United States, but not without deep debate and soul searching by both men – Gray was an orthodox Christian.

One of the core points of contention between the two involved the question of intent in “God’s design” for the world. In an 1860 letter to Gray, Darwin wrote the following: “I see a bird which I want for food, take my gun and kill it – I do so designedly. An innocent and good man stands under a tree and is killed by flash of lightening. Do you believe that God designedly killed this man? Many people do believe this – I can’t and don’t. If you believe so, do you believe that when a swallow snaps up a gnat, that God designed that particular swallow to snap up that particular gnat at that particular instant? I believe that the man and the gnat are in the same predicament. If the death of neither man or gnat are designed, I see no good reason to believe that their first birth be necessarily designed…”. Numerous such proclamations and deliberations ensued between the two for many years – heady stuff, and still debated today.

Gray made numerous plant collecting trips to the southern Appalachians during his lifetime. In 1839 Gray went to Paris to study the herbarium collections of the distinguished French botanist Andre Michaux, who spent a good deal of time in the Appalachians. In Michaux’s collection he found an unidentified plant, and named it Shortia galacifolia (Oconee bells). The genus was in honor of the botanist Charles Short, and the species name is a reference to “foliage of Galax.” The herbarium sample did not have a flower, and Gray became obsessed to relocate the colony, as well as to see it in bloom.

Michaux had referenced the plant to “the high mountains of Carolina,” which Gray considered key in relocating the plant. Numerous trips, over a span of several decades, were made to locate Shortia – all to no avail (clue: it was not in the high mountains). Gray was frustrated and heart broken, as revealed in a passage from his journal: “Year after year I have hunted for that plant! And I grew sorrowful at having named after Dr. Short a plant nobody could find.”

What cruel irony that, in 1877, a 17 year old, George Hyams, discovered a mysterious plant on the bank of a river in Mcdowell County, North Carolina. Plant samples eventually reached Gray. It was Shortia! Gray traveled to the site to see the plant that had vexed him and others for so long. However, by the time he reached the colony, it was not blooming. Gray was also skeptical that this was not the colony Michaux had described. Determined to locate the original colony, he made several more trips over the years, with no luck. Feeling the limits of advanced age, Gray gave up.
In 1886, Harvard professor Charles Sargent made a trip to the North-South Carolina border (this time armed with Michaux’s detailed journal notes – a bewildering oversight by Gray and others), where Shortia was found by his search party. It was believed to be Michaux’s lost colony! Flowering samples of Shortia were sent to Gray, who was delighted and deeply moved by the sight. He died 2 years later, on January 30, 1888.

As one would expect, Gray has been honored by people across the world, including the Appalachians. On Roan Mountain, North Carolina, which he described as “the most beautiful mountain east of the Rockies,” he collected an uncommon and beautiful lily that would eventually be named Gray’s lily (Lilium grayi). I always enjoy visiting the Asa Gray historical marker in Bakersville, at the foot of Roan. Fittingly, perhaps to keep him company, there is also a marker for Michaux.

Another great honor bestowed on Gray was the establishment of the Gray Herbarium at Harvard, to which Gray donated 200,000 plant specimens and over 2,000 books. However, perhaps Gray’s greatest gift was an extraordinary large silver vase given to him on his 75th birthday, by 180 botanists throughout America. It had exquisite renderings of numerous plants associated with Gray, including Oconee bells and Gray’s lily. Part of the inscription reads “…how universal is the esteem and how deep is the affection for this genial man.”

He remains a hero to naturalists throughout the Appalachians and the world, and he is surely a hero of mine.

On April 20th, sixteen of Kentucky’s best known authors went on a tour of mountaintop removal sites in their state. The tour, which included a flyover of the coalfields in a small plane, was coordinated by the non-profit organizations Kentuckians for the Commonwealth, Kentucky Riverkeepers and Appalshop. Following the tour, the 16 authors collaborated to issue the following statement:

Yesterday we witnessed appalling destruction to the land. The practice of mountaintop removal to extract coal is ravaging Eastern Kentucky, and its effects are headed your way. Mountaintop removal represents economic and cultural violence which eventually reaches the whole state. What we have seen has convinced us that mountaintop removal is a blight on the entire state that is robbing our people of a better future by destroying our most abundant resources and the very ones we will need for building a viable future economy. Streams and groundwater, scenic beauty, diverse forests and native plants are all being ruined forever by mountaintop removal.

During our two-day tour of mountaintop removal sites in Eastern Kentucky, we saw buried and polluted streams, great hickories and oaks tossed into useless piles, life-giving mountains turned into barren moonscapes, wasted topsoil and sunken homes, the lowering of a people’s quality of life, the increased severity and frequency of flooding, the lost jobs and lost hopes of an entire place. These are not isolated or occasional incidents. Instead, they are an assault on the people, culture and land of Appalachia.

We have met these people and heard their testimony. We learned of a one-mile section of road where four mothers grieve for their dead children, victims of speeding, overloaded coal trucks. Erica Urias spoke eloquently of bathing her baby in poisoned water. Clinton Henshoe, surrounded by strip mining’s noise and air pollution, referred to himself as ‘a prisoner in his own house.’

We realize that coal is an important part of our economy. However, coal can be mined in a more responsible way that respects the spirit of the land and its people. Out of greed, we have forsaken moral, aesthetic and spiritual values. We have traded the futures of our children and grandchildren for cheap coal. The impact of these practices is sweeping across the entire state faster and faster, through the spread of air and especially water pollution.

We are horrified that this practice is legal. We are angry that representatives in our own government are allowing this to happen. Mountaintop removal is not right; it is not acceptable, and it is an act we will fight. We call for the abolition of mountaintop removal and urge our fellow citizens to pressure elected officials in every way to stop this criminal desecration of our common wealth.

The following poem was submitted to the “Voices from he mountains” page by Kent Priestly of Asheville, NC.

Coming Back

Part way up the first ridge,
on a switchback hedged with laurel,
the snow comes on, an errant cloud
emptying itself.
A pair of woodpeckers,
great birds, bursts from the screen of trunks, laughs,
and falls from sight.
They are shrouded in movement,
lost in mania.

“Changed a lot,” people say of this place,
alert to their own sense of loss.
And true that earlier, before the snow,
I could see mountainsides
ochred by what they speak of.
I, too, am different, ten years on.

The snow lifts, sharpening the trees.
An argot – reassuring, tended by time -
returns with them:

Galax
Fraxinus
Castanea.