This is for Sophie, Julia, Carol Judy, Matt and Billy P., Wendy, Dave, Lou, Patty, Joe, Matt Landon, Stacey, Larry, and many many others. Thank you for sharing your ideas hearts and minds with me and so many others over the last week.

Creature Comforts - oh so important 

• Accomplishment - I pitched my tent in 20 minutes! It was tight and tidy. Slept great the first night. Second day, around noon, I headed back into the tent to grab my notebook, and found a carpet of ants - crunchy icky wiggly ants - under my sleeping bag. See, we had been warned not to have food in our tents (because of bears - ants were not mentioned) but I decided to sneak in a Pop-Tart before snuggling into my sleeping bag. I thought I had put the wrapper in a zip-loc bag, but had accidentally left a tiny one inch square piece of foil that the ants just could not resist. Plus, I had pitched the tent right on top of a giant ant hill. So... swept it out and moved it to a new location. Got to sleep a couple of nights later through a great thunderstorm but stayed dry. 
• Porta-potties are not too bad, as long as they are emptied and cleaned regularly. And as long as you can figure out the whole latch system - had one brief period where I was locked in and couldn't figure out how to release the door. Whew. Or pee-yew.
• GREAT food - Lots of tofu and tempeh - and eggs and apples and bread and also fresh veggies from the farm nearby. Much more food than I needed. 
• MUSIC! Monday night we were gifted with the music of The Missing Parsons Report - headed by brothers Matt and Billy - mandolin, guitar, banjo, fiddle - old old old folk songs. The highlight - Matt singing Dark as the Dungeon  mining dirge, a cappella. 
• The best part of it all - the people - hugging, serving food, washing dishes side by side, sharing ideas frustrations and plans, singing.
• True confession - headed to the Pipestem State Park Lodge after the fourth night in the tent where I had a ceramic toilet, shower, and, more importantly, a little space on my own just to think.

Contradictions - stretched my mind...

• Tuesday morning we spent several hours digging into anti-oppression talk. We began with what initially seemed to be a pretty simple small group exercise with two questions - When have you felt excluded? When have you excluded others? Okay. Not so simple, it turns out. There was lots of pain evident as folks recalled times when they had very actively and blatantly or even subtly been excluded - as young children, in high school of course (lots and lots of those stories), as adults. More surprising - many people talked about how they isolated or "excluded" themselves from groups or activities, often from fear of being rejected or misunderstood. And there was pain in the memories of times when we had not been so kind - either deliberately or unintentionally - and in our efforts to understand why this had happened. 
• Oppression? Related to physical, mental, intellectual abilities. To race, class, ethnicity. To sexual orientation or gender identity. To religious beliefs and practices. To military status. To educational status or work life.... too many ways that we sort people out and put them into categories, weighing their value in such odd and unimportant ways, resulting in so much damage.
• Talking about this stuff was important as we moved into talking about how we can work with others in respectful ways in our efforts to stop mountain top removal - members of the mountain communities, politicians, miners, other activists who think or act differently. We put mega-buckets of energy and effort into talking and thinking about this. It was hard but necessary - and uncovered parts of my mind and heart that had not seen light for awhile.
• Early afternoon on Tuesday, I took a ride into town, needing a little time by myself to process all that we had talked about. I turned on the radio, by happenstance tuning into an American Family Radio station. Within ten minutes, I heard two brief stories that kind of blew my mind. One, a talk show guest, who represented himself as a Christian attorney, took a call from a pastor who described a troublesome situation at his church - a man had recently started attending the church, sometimes accompanied by a service dog and sometimes alone but using a cane to help him navigate. The caller's question - was the church legally obligated to allow the man to attend with the service animal? The parishioners found the man "odd" and thought it was "strange" that he sometimes had the dog, and sometimes didn't. The attorney assured the caller that the church was within its legal rights not to allow the service dog in the church, in effect leading to the exclusion of the new church-goer. Well. Second, two talk show hosts voiced anger and disgust that a Macy's employee had been disciplined for not allowing a transgendered individual to use the women's restroom - "I would have said, 'Dude, use the dude's bathroom.' HE's the sick one - HE is the one who should be in trouble." This conversation was presented in sarcastic, snarky tones.

The world is full of contradictions, isn't it? Hurtful contradictions - hard to fathom - divisive - counter-productive - hateful - ignorant. But it is so so so very important to face these contradictions and to dig down deep for the courage both to unearth our own cruelties and to  speak up - respectfully and firmly - when we observe the cruelties of others... to speak up about the value of every human being, about their rights to live in a home, a natural environment that is protected from the life-killing toxins related to particular industry practices.

Our natural world breathes - miraculously alive, ever-growing and changing.

What a week. I am not sure where to start - or even if I should start. My week at the Mountain Justice Summer Camp has been - inspiring, confusing, disturbing, mind-stretching, soul-feeding, humbling.

I have been trying to figure out how I ended up at the camp, what led me to sign up for this week in Pipestem, WV. The best that I can recall - about a year ago, I read the Post-Gazette reports about the investigation into the Upper Big Branch mining disaster, and it made me ill - the callous disregard of coal mine owners, particularly Don Blankenship, for the health and well-being of the miners and the mining communities and the "look the other way" practices of publicly funded regulatory bodies made me ill. Shortly thereafter I decided to participate in the March on Blair Mountain, wanting to understand the issues better, wondering if and how they might connect to Western Pennsylvania's own fracking controversies. So I went to Blair Mountain, and then continued to read and listen, and somehow ended up at the Mountain Justice camp in the heart of the Appalachians.

My parents grew up in Harlan County, KY, in the small US Steel-owned coal-mining town of Lynch. They shopped at the company store, and lived in company-owned homes on the clearly socially-stratified main street of town (an old story - it was a little scandalous that my mother, who lived in the No. 6 block, married my father, whose family lived in No. 5). As a child, we visited Lynch often - the smell of the mountains this week took me back immediately to Lynch. 

None of my grandparents or uncles worked in the mines, but my dad's cousins and uncles did. I remember stories about black lung disease, and mine injuries. I also remember what I heard a lot about this week - the boom and bust cycle of being a miner. Boys I knew became miners as early as possible - this was in the boom years - and had big cars and married young. A few years later, they were poor. Back and forth, up and down.

My parents lived in Lynch for awhile after they married, then left when my dad decided to go to the University of KY to study engineering. But to my mom, Lynch was "home." So learning - or re-learning - about mountains and mining has pulled at me over the last year in ways that I can't quite understand or explain.

The camp took place at the Appalachian South Folk Life Center - a pastoral setting looking out on breathtakingly beautiful mountains. Each morning, I sat at the top of a hill looking out over the misted mountains, listening to the birds. And all day into the evening I attended workshops about mountain top removal from all angles - Appalachian culture and history, rural vs urban activism, facilitation practices, solidarity economics, non-hierarchical organizing. I was one of only a few folks older than 40 (okay, I was probably the oldest person there), and I had the privilege of learning from much younger people who were either born in some part of Appalachia or have chosen to live and work there, all serving as social justice activists. I don't know what I expected - I don't know that I had any particular expectations - but what I experienced was unexpected. 

The people in Mountain Justice, and related groups such as Radical Action for Mountain Peoples' Survival, Coal River Mountain Watch, Larry Gibson's Mountain Keepers, and others, work with community members to understand, monitor, plan, and act to stop the practice of mountain top removal. The movement to stop MTR is based upon the devastating destruction to the ecosystem of the mountains and related long-lasting harm to the physical, communal, social, and emotional lives of community members. There is a substantial body of research documenting the damage done to water systems, wildlife, human health, economic stability, community life.

And yes, the opponents of MTR are allies with others involved in fighting extractive industries, those involved with extracting coal, gas, and oil - with a particular focus on opposing the manner in which the industries operate, again with little regard for the immediate and long-term damage to human life and the ecosystem. So yes, this movement to end MTR is related closely to the efforts in Western PA and elsewhere to stop hydraulic fracturing for natural gas - better known as fracking.

What else did I learn? I got to spend time with people who defined themselves variously as radicals, activists, and anarchists, who question and are committed to swimming upstream against mainstream ideology and against business as usual, when this business hurts people. Today, two groups of campers participated in direct actions - one involving five people who chained themselves to a coal-carrying barge in Charleston, WV (yes, they were arrested) and another involving dozens of people who blocked a road leading up to an MTR site, making it impossible for the trucks that transport coal and other materials to pass through. 

And I also learned that I have a whole lot more to think about. Not sure where I fit into this whole scenario, or where I go with what I learned. More later... about people, and food, and music, and stories...

I am in Princeton, WV  tonight -- preparing for my week with Mountain Justice that starts tomorrow. I don't know what to expect but I do know that much of it will be new to me. 

I am humbled that I get to do this, that I have the time and the means to come here to learn from others about mountain top removal and how it affects people in the mountains -- in terms of health, physical security, jobs, sense of home, faith and spirit, politics. I am grateful that I will be spending time with people who have done so much work in this area, people of wisdom and courage, some of whom have put their own security and freedom on the line. I am a little nervous -- will I get it? can I contribute in any meaningful way? and basically the age-old - will I fit in? For real! Almost 59 years old, and still wondering about that!

In July, I get to teach Environment and Psychology again to the masters students, then I will do a related course in the fall with the doctoral students. I feel such a responsibility to understand these ideas -- How is our well-being affected by the natural environment? How are we affected when we unplug and spend time in nature, or have access to whole healthy foods and safe water? How are we affected, physically, emotionally, spiritually, by environmental disasters such as Hurricane Katrina or the BP oil spill or the tsunami and nuclear meltdown in Japan? How do WE affect the environment? Can we learn to make really good choices, each day, so that the world that supports us stays clean and safe and viable? In the classroom, these questions sometimes seem so abstract. I suspect that they won't seem so abstract this week.

We will be visiting some mountain top removal sites, so I will see, smell, hear all about it in a very concrete way. I will be learning about what the mountains have meant and STILL mean to the families they have sheltered and supported for hundreds of years -- and what it feels like to have these centuries-old guardians threatened. 

I don't live here and I cannot really know what it is like to live in such precarious circumstances, but what I hope to bring home with me are some universal stories and truths that I can share with others. I am humbled and grateful.

Unplugging for the duration.... talk to you soon.

Lou Martin is an assistant professor of history at Chatham. I have known him for a bit, but have gotten to know him more in the last year as we have started to talk about his work related to mountain top removal resistance in his home state of West Virginia. We both participated in the March on Blair Mountain a year ago - Lou for the entire march, and me for the last couple of days. Lou has said that he began the march as a historian, and ended it as an environmentalist. And, in a few days, we will both be attending the summer action camp sponsored by Mountain Justice.

Last week, Lou spoke at the opening of Reflections: Homage to Dunkard Creek, an art exhibit at Chatham. In 2009, Dunkard Creek in West Virginia was the site of an enormous fish - creek kill when the 43 mile long creek and its wildlife were poisoned and killed by golden algae. The algae bloom was reportedly related to high chloride levels associated with discharges from a Consol Energy mine treatment facility (PGH Post-Gazette, 3-16-12). Google "Dunkard Creek fish kill" for photos of the disaster.

The Reflections art exhibit, sponsored by the Mountain Institute, consists of artwork depicting 90 species of life decimated in the Dunkard Creek fish kill. If you are in Pittsburgh, I encourage you to check out this exhibit, live through May 25. In any case, browse through the slide show on the Reflections web-site.

So back to Lou -- he offered some very thoughtful remarks at the art show opening last week, and generously agreed that I could share these with you. We are fortunate to have him at Chatham - West Virginia is fortunate to have him in its corner. I so appreciate his wisdom.

Comments for the Dunkard Creek Exhibit, May 10, 2012, by Lou Martin

Dunkard Creek winds along the Pennsylvania-West Virginia border, not too far from Morgantown.  In grad school, I used to commute from Washington County down to Morgantown, and I would cross over Dunkard Creek near where is empties into the Mon River. 

In the process of driving an hour to school nearly every day, I became less and less aware of the environment as I drove.  After a while, I scarcely paid attention to the built environment, driving past houses, stores, and old factories without paying any attention to them, let alone the natural environment hidden from sight, like Dunkard Creek.

It is cliché to say that we have been divorced from the natural world in the so-called modern era.  Along with this is a belief that we have mastered nature such that we no longer need to think about it.  But I am reminded of something my friend Larry Gibson says:  “People misunderstand their relationship to the environment.  Our mothers gave us birth, but it is the land that gives us life.”

As we become less aware of our environment and all that gives us life, we run the risk of destroying it and ourselves.  Who among us knows where all the articles and items they have with them today came from?  Not me.  Who knows where their clothing was assembled, let alone where the cotton, dyes, and bleach came from.  I submit to you that the less we know about the origins of the things we consume, the greater the risk that harm is coming to those places as a result of production.

Electricity is perhaps the product we as a society consume the most but whose origins we know the least about.  Electricity itself is ethereal and fleeting.  It does not carry labels that tell us where it comes from.  Yet, it is central to most of our lives and about half of it—as most of you probably know—comes from burning coal.  That coal comes from the Rocky Mountain states of Wyoming, Montana, and Utah, and from the Appalachian Mountain Range, where we live.  Our mountains have been exploited for their coal for 120 years.  As a society we have never questioned whether those resources should be used, only how best to use them and sometimes how best to extract them.

One thing that as a nation we decided forty years ago was that our waterways could no longer be used as wastewater dump sites.  At that time in 1972, Congress passed the Clean Water Act and President Nixon signed it into law.  A confluence of factors produced that law:  fear of chemicals that humans could then create but whose effects on the human body were unknown; a sense that humans were despoiling the natural world; and a confidence that we could have jobs and a clean environment.  At that time, General Motors and U.S. Steel—two of the nation’s biggest polluters—were also two of the most profitable companies in the world.

That law was designed to prevent the kind of events like the 2009 release of wastewater from Consol’s mine into Dunkard Creek that resulted in a massive loss of wildlife as golden algae took over the stream.  But how is this law typically enforced?  Often it depends on residents’ complaints.  Yes, those complaints are then filtered through distant bureaucracies in Harrisburg or Washington DC, but it is the people themselves who must often sound the alarm.  This system then demands that we remain engaged in our environment and know what it is like on most days and know what it is like when the health of the ecosystem is threatened. 

I recently talked to a lawyer about the 2000-2001 floods in southern West Virginia.  They sued the coal companies for improperly reclaiming the land, arguing that the flooding was caused by too little topsoil and vegetation.  The companies responded that the floods were an “act of God” because those two years had seen much more than the normal rainfall.  Luckily for the residents, one family living at the top of a holler had recorded the daily rainfall on their farm…for over 100 years and could testify that the rainfall was not out of the ordinary.  It was the changes to the land that had resulted in the flooding.

This art exhibit is one way—and a very dramatic way—for me and maybe some of you to learn more about our environment in western Pennsylvania.  It is both a reminder of the damage that we in part cause as consumers of coal as well as a reminder of the life that surrounds us—the life that the environment gives us.  Let’s not let these species be the harbinger of our own destruction but a reminder of the importance of maintaining a close connection to world around us to ensure a healthy, happy future for all. Thank you.

Thank you, Lou, for reminding us to be more aware of our world - the natural world - and of the decisions and choices we make each day that can have an impact, positive or negative, on this beautiful world, our source of life.

I feel so lucky! I was able to trade in my cool-looking retro style, but oh so heavy, bike for a new one - so light that I can lift it with one hand. So I have been going, going, going for the last few weeks, riding various rails to trails and commuting to work (while trying to find a route with no hills and no traffic - impossible!).

When I start pedaling, whoosh! the worries and stresses of the day are gone with the wind, just like that. Yes, they are still alive, back at the office, but they don't travel home with me. It is so liberating.

I remember my first bike - a 20" green Huffy. I distinctly remember the day that my dad took off the training wheels and then let go of the seat as I wobbled off, finally finding my balance. I. FELT. LIKE. I. WAS. FLYING. That feeling persists today - makes me feel like I can do anything.

My next bike was a blue 24" Schwinn. It was my companion throughout the summers, taking me to the pool and friends' houses and shopping centers. One basic gear, foot brakes, no baskets bells helmets or whistles. But trusty and reliable.

I had another bike - a 3 speed I think - when I was in college and grad school. In college, I used to ride it through the Lexington Cemetery and past horse farms - beautiful rides. I also rode it from my apartment in Gardenside over to Eastern State Hospital where I worked, going through lots of traffic and not very safe parts of the city - my dad got worried and eventually offered to sell me what was my first car - a boxy olive green Plymouth Valiant. The car was safe and serviceable and lasted several years, but I still rode my bike.

In grad school in Louisville, I rode my bike through back streets to get to campus. My favorite part of the trip was going through Germantown. In the early morning, all the grandmas would be scrubbing their front porches. The smell of coffee and frying bacon, left over from breakfast, lingered in the air.

For my 40th birthday (almost 19 years ago - yikes!), I treated myself to a new bike, 21 speeds. At the time, I didn't think I was much affected by turning 40, but I do recall that I became uncharacteristically irritable, snapping at service people at the Honda dealer or the grocery store or at the kids (I'm sorry!). The bike was a gift to myself, nurturing possibilities of adventures. I did a 35 mile Mon-Yough ride through small hilly towns, through rain - that was a big accomplishment for me. On his 13th birthday, Michael and I participated in Pedal Pittsburgh which took us through the city and parks. If you know Pittsburgh, you know that this involved many hills. Big ones. The ride was advertised as a 25 mile one, I recall. But Michael, ever the "quant" guy, indignantly noted that, based on my odometer, it was actually closer to 29.5. Michael and I did another ride near Settler's Ridge, uneventful except for the fact that I didn't know where Settler's Ridge was and first landed in Sewickley (both DO start with SE!). We did eventually end up in the right location and joined the group of riders.

A couple of years ago, I discovered Facebook. One of my first experiences on FB was reconnecting with old high school friends and acquaintances. Mary Pat Wheeler, former cheerleader and tennis champ and overall athlete extraordinaire, had posted photos from 1976, the bicentennial year, when she rode her bike from Wyoming (I think) cross country to Kentucky. By herself. Carrying her gear and camping along the way. There were more than big hills on this trip - there were BIG mountains. MP told me that she told her parents back in KY that she was doing the ride with a big group of people, so that they wouldn't worry. I think she has since 'fessed up. Anyway, MP's photo story inspired me - made me dream new dreams, made me ask myself - what do you want to do in this life? what big challenges lie ahead? if not now, then when? why not now?

I am still asking these questions, and have made small inroads in a few new directions that have stretched me and added meaning to my life, if that makes sense. I am hoping to ride from Pittsburgh to Washington DC next summer over the Great Allegheny Passage. And next week, I will be leaving for the Mountain Justice Summer Action Camp in Pipestem, WVA, where I hope to LEARN. Period.