HOW DID I GET HERE?
MERLE DILLON, PART II
I am tired, and feeling suddenly old and yet a younger person inside me wants to stand up and demand attention. I picture myself standing in front of heavy equipment once again daring the operator to run me down along with the trees. I want to shout for the creatures, large and small, to be saved. I speak with several state and ecological agencies and am reminded that the area my neighbors and I want to save is too insignificant in size for anyone to want to defend it. I personally don’t understand how this could be. I am told state law does not require an ecological study because we are not considered a sensitive area, but how does anyone know that unless they actually come out and assess? We also are not considered wetlands, so all of our protests fall on deaf ears. A few weeks ago we discovered a huge painted turtle slowly making its way across our driveway toward the woods. It had stopped to take a swim in one of the large puddles in the lane. I call my neighbor over to witness this prehistoric looking creature and he asks, rhetorically, “If there are no wetlands, why is he here?” I answer with my heart and tell him because he wants us to see him, protect him, but how? It’s these kind of days when I am full of such hope and passion and ready to take on the world. Then reality sets in. I am indignant when lawyers that an environmental alliance group recommend don’t respond to my phone call about writing an appeal for us concerning the construction of the access road. I feel battered and bewildered and at a loss which direction to turn next…
And then my oldest sister passes after a long debilitating illness and for days I am relieved that she is at peace at last and I am thankful to use this mourning period to focus on nothing but family. I allow myself to believe that nothing else matters right now. I read my sister’s eloquent obituary and am reminded of a time when she was mayor of a small nearby town. She was co-founder of a group named C.A.A.R.E.—Citizens Against A Ruined Environment—which was created to stop expansion of a hazardous waste facility within 1650 feet of the high school in her hometown. I recall her being afraid that her phone was being tampered with, at a time when we depended solely on landlines. She also contacted Postal Inspectors about disruption of her mail. She believed in what she was fighting for and yet continued, knowing what she was up against. I am proud of her, and wish I had told her that. I also wish she was here to enlist in my endeavor.
There is now a new set of circumstances to disturb our serenity and peace of mind. A small enclave of homeless people have been driven out of a tent city across a major roadway and somewhere into the four acres of woods next door. They have set up camp and there are also squatters in a newly vacated house on our block. There have been issues with trespassing and drug paraphernalia showing up on private properties. My daughter opened our front door one morning to let our dog out and discovered a man standing at the top of our long and winding driveway seemingly confused as to where he was and how he got here. My daughter’s car, and her husband’s, were broken into one morning after I left for work. Only minor items were taken but I am so angry, and then afraid. Afraid, in my home that I so dearly love. This is what my neighbors and I have feared with the coming construction—attention being drawn to our little corner of the world, but its already here. For a moment I consider the fact that maybe it would be better to have all the trees torn down, then we would be able to clearly see what is living in our midst, be it good or bad. I realize how cold that sounds, how mixed my emotions are. I don’t want people next door so I am willing to give up on the fight for our wildlife? How tricky this has all become. What should my priorities be? I have sympathy for the homeless, they are just trying to get by in a cruel world. They have no representation whatsoever, it seems. I am worried about animals being driven from their homes, when these people have NO homes. This could be any one of us. You see it everywhere. I recall one trip to Colorado in the western part of the state seeing a young man with a pack on his back, hitch-hiking, dog at his feet. We were in the middle of nowhere. I felt sad for the dog, but turned and looked the other way. I wanted to believe they were just traveling, but my senses told me they came from nowhere and had nowhere to go, though I did not want to see.
I am feeling that what started out to be about my land and my neighbors’ land is suddenly being driven toward a bigger, more encompassing picture. How do we all blend in with nature and just try to survive? What of these apartments being built? How many will be for low income individuals? How does that even work? Is there some sort of lottery? What is the fight I can shoulder? What cause is for the greater good? How did ANY of us get here? For the moment, I think I know what I have to do. I’ll take some time, regroup my thoughts and plans, and listen to the advice of Curtis Mayfield— “We who are young, should now take a stand, continue to live, continue to give for what you know is right.”
MERLE DILLON is a writer, artist, and mother to all cats. Part I of her essay is here.