Ice Storm December 16, 2007

Peanut Brittle (or I Am Not a Cook)

I do not consider myself to be much of a cook. There are some things I manage well. In the past two years, I have made an effort to make some new recipe once a month.

In December every year, I make fudge. Chocolate fudge, white fudge, butterscotch fudge. I take it around to my various clients and hand it off to friends.

It is one thing I do well.

This year, I thought for my new thing that I would try peanut brittle. I had never made it and a friend told me it was really easy. In fact, she listed the ingredients as I was on my way to the store and without looking at the recipe, I purchased what she'd said.

She neglected to mention I should use raw peanuts. But from the recipes I found online that was okay; you just didn't add them to the corn syrup and sugar until the very last.

So today was fudge-making day, and I decided to do the peanut brittle first. I gathered my ingredients, buttered my pan.

My good candy thermometer, to my dismay, was broken. I didn't trust the other one I had so I called my mother-in-law to borrow hers. She lives just across the farm. I raced over there and back again.

Corn syrup, water and sugar in the pot. Stir, stir. I put the two thermometers side by side. Mine seemed to be 10 degrees off. Hers was registering hotter, but then sometimes they matched. It was kind of weird.

It took a while to get to soft ball stage (234 degrees F.). I had to get to hard crack stage - which was either 290 degrees or 305 depending on the thermometer.

The ingredients, clear at first, began to yellow. Then they turned a dark golden color. It was fascinating to watch.

Stir, stir. Eye on the thermometers.

Stir, stir.

Yes! It was at hard crack stage. Time to take the pot from the heat and add the peanuts.

I dumped the peanuts into the pot and began stirring. Suddenly black stuff swirled around the golden yellow. At first I thought I'd not been fast enough and scorched something.

Then I looked down at the utensil I was using:

I was using a plastic spoon. It melted off into the peanut brittle.

You may all laugh now.

Can you say "devastated idiot"? I stood there, mouth agape, looking at the pot and the spoon. I moved to the refrigerator and slowly beat my head against it.

Then I realized if I didn't get that stuff out of the pot, it was going to harden. I grabbed potholders and flew outside with it.

The air, cold enough to snow as we wait for an ice storm, quickly cooled the ingredients.

It was almost too hard to remove. I took a handy stick and got chunks of it out, but quite a bit remained around the sides of the pan.

I took it back in the house, dumped water in the pan, and put it back on the stove eye to heat so I could scrape the pan.

The candy thermometers gleamed with coats of hard thin candy. The peanut brittle would have set up nicely had there not been a spoon mixed in...

To top it, as I began to clean the thermometers, I actually sliced open my thumb on the thin sheen of peanut brittle mixture. I bled like the James River after a rain.

I really am going to make fudge this afternoon. Really I am.

But I will be using a metal or wooden spoon.

Clouds

Sunset, December 12, 2007

Books

Sacred Sins
By Nora Roberts
Copyright 2000
Audiobook, Abridged
Read by Carolyn McCormick

According to editorial reviews on amazon.com, this is a reissue of a 1980s book. However, if it was that old I didn't catch it, as it did not seem that dated to me. I even thought there were references to cell phones but perhaps I was mistaken.

In any event, Tess is a psychiatrist called in to help with murders. Ben is a detective on the case. They mesh, have difficulties, Tess becomes a target for the killer. Interesting twist on the killer's identity, fairly nicely rounded characters.

A good read if you're looking for some nice escapism that isn't overtly gorey and yet suspenceful enough to make you want to turn the page.

3 stars

Knowing the Unknown

"It was S. S. B.!" I cried!

My husband looked up from the newspaper to where I was rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. He looked alarmed.

"What's wrong?"

"The person I saw at the market! It was S. S. B.!"

Relief washed over me. It was five hours later, but I finally remembered the name of somebody I saw at the store.

My husband returned to his paper. "I thought something was wrong," he grumbled. "You shrieking like that."

Known Unknowns

It happens again.

I am in the grocery store, and a voice calls out. "Oh, hi! So nice to see you! How's your husband?"

"Oh, hello there," I respond. "He's great." Mentally my mind races, clicking through my Rolodex brain as I try to figure out who this person is. Not her, not her, oh darn.

"Everything okay with you?" I ask, hoping for a clue. "Your loved ones well?" Notice I go straight for the generic. I learned my lesson once about asking after a husband when I didn't recognize someone; her husband had recently passed away. Now I don't even take a stab at a spouse or parent or child.

"We're fantastic, just working hard. It's so great to see you! Merry Christmas! Gotta run!" Off she goes.

I am at a loss.

Unfortunately I have hit the store when the older folks are there for their senior citizen discount. I seem to know a lot of older folks. I am stopped again.

"Oh! Hey, I read your stuff in the paper, that was a great article," says another unknown shopper. "You do such a fantastic job."

"Thanks. It's been busy, lots of meetings," I say. Mind races again. Flip, flip. Not her, not her. Oh darn. "How are things with you and yours?" There's that generic again.

"Oh, we're great, you know it's always run run run this time of the year. Joe said he thinks I never sleep when the calendar hits December." Joe, I think. Who do I know with a husband named Joe... Mind races... Rolodex flips. Darn. I have no idea. I don't know anyone named Joe.

"It is a busy time," I reply. "What about this weather? Can you believe it's in the 70s?" Since I am still clueless, I move to a safe topic.

"It's so warm it's almost scary," she confides. "Well, toodles, I have to run!"

Who are these people? I recognize their faces. I *am* supposed to know them... brain, click into gear!

Next aisle. Someone else speaks my name. I know where she works, but not her name. Still, that's something.

"How are things at the library?" I ask, happy that I know something about this person.

"I work at the bank," she says.

Sigh.

Mrs. W.

When I entered second grade, I did so with much trepidation. My school was new to me, as we'd moved. And the school where I spent first grade had left a terrible mark.

My new teacher promptly informed my mother, when we visited prior to the beginning of the school year, that nicknames were not allowed. Thus ended the use of a name bestowed upon me by my father when I was born (I suppose he did not like my given name). I don't know if this was a school rule or a teacher rule, but in any event, it was life changing.

Mrs. W. seemed ancient to me. She also seemed mean and I remember telling my mother she'd be like some old boat captain, ordering children around. "She'll tell us to scrub the floors!" I said. I always remember that when I think of these childhood days, because I grew to love Mrs. W.

First impressions are not always correct.

Second grade was the year of learning to write "cursive", or "real writing," as I called it. I was ahead of my peers - this school moved children along more slowly than my previous one. I read better, wrote better, knew more math. I tried not to let anyone know, but they still called me names. It has never been easy being someone who can think.

A number of incidents stand out from this year, which must have had quite an impact on my character formation. Mrs. W. gave me much self esteem several times when she chose me - me! - to go over to the first grader's classroom to "babysit" and read to them for the last hour when the teacher had to leave early for the day (it was a different world then). I always read them the dinosaur book. I could even pronounce "Brontosaurus"!

But I could not make an "A" in reading. I made the best grade in reading in the class, but it wasn't an "A." Finally Mrs. W. told me - in front of the class, something she excelled at - that the reason I didn't make an "A" in reading was because I did not read with inflection in my voice. Instead I read in a monotone and gave no life to the characters.

Well, why hadn't somebody told me? After that I did better. I made the coveted "A."

Then there was the note. Egads. A boy named Jerry, who is dead now, decided I should be his girlfriend. He began passing me notes. In my mind this incident is the first time we ever passed notes but I don't know if that is so. In any event, he passed me a note that said something about he wanted to take me out back and kiss me. He drew little hearts all over the paper. I don't recall if I wrote him back but I do remember Mrs. W. towering over me.

"What do you have there?" she barked.

I handed up the note. She took it to the front of the room and pinned it to the blackboard. Then she made every student parade by the note and read it.

I was so humiliated. All I could do was sit and sob. I think I ended up sick in the bathroom.

And finally, this is the memory that comes to me almost every year in December.

Back then we put on a Christmas pageant in the school. I don't think they do such things anymore.

I was chosen to be the angel. Not just any old angel, but the angel who spoke. The angel who was also the narrator.

My father did not want me to do this, but my mother made me a costume and told me to go ahead. I'm pretty sure they had a row over it.

I wore a white sheet and had little gold flecks in my hair. It was my duty to move forward and do the speaking.

I recited Luke 2 (King James Version):


1 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

2 (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

3 And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

4 And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)

5 To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

6 And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

7 And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

8 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

9 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

14 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

15 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

16 And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

17 And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

18 And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

19 But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.


It was an hour I remember every year.

More Colorful Days

I have been away from my blog for almost 72 hours and I have missed it.

Now that I'm here, I don't know what to write about. I could write about someone calling me an angry white woman this week. That was in reference to remarks I made about government, federal and local, and how governing in all its forms seems to have melted into the lowest form of idiocy.

It made me feel like having an opinion was wrong.

Or I could write about a sick relative, or my visit with my great aunt, or shopping for the holidays.

It all seems boring, though, and I don't want to bore.

Maybe later I will have thought of something. Until then, here are pictures of more colorful days:

A Sad Hour

(If you can, read this whole long entry. Some of it may be enlightening.)

Last night about 7:10 p.m., I received an automated phone call. Virginia 6th District Congressman Bob Goodlatte was holding a "Tele-Town Hall Meeting" - if I wanted to listen or join in, just stay on the line.

I stayed on the line. This seemed like something I shouldn't miss.

This was, I think, the second such session the congressman has held. I received a call on the first one also but I was on my way to an appointment and could not listen. I don't know how the calls went out - was it a list from folks who've written in? Random? Everybody in the phone book?

People are desperate for assistance, particularly with health care. When I joined in, Goodlatte was espousing on energy use, so I missed whatever was being said about that. In the ensuing hour, about 14 people called in. Listening to them broke my heart.

I shall paraphrase some of what was said. (And before I am berated and accused of being a leftist liberal or whatever, I will come clean and say I have voted for this congressman in the past. That was when he said he would only serve two terms. Once he broke his word, he lost my vote forever.)

From Lexington: a state employee wondered how to keep the cost of health care from eating up her retirement benefits.

Goodlatte's answer? Not my problem, call your state representative.

From Waynesboro: What can be done about the high cost of nursing care? A loved one has been in a nursing home for three years and it's taking all the remaining spouse's resources. How will she live?

Goodlatte's answer? Qualify for Medicare/Medicaid (which as I understand it means you have to use all your assets up first). Find a cheaper place (?!?) and oh yes, this is all the fault of government regulations because the states/feds require that the person in the nursing home have adequate care and don't lie there in their own feces covered in bed sores.

From Fincastle: How about the federal government mandating a Living Wage (as opposed to a minimum wage) so people can actually afford to live?

Goodlatte's answer: Oh, it's a Free Enterprise System (he mentioned "Free Enterprise System" several times) and we don't want to interfere with *that*. It's bad enough we have a minimum wage. It's "damaging to our economy" (i.e., it makes the corporate profits smaller), so of course we don't want to do that. He also, using logic that eluded me, tied this to illegal immigration. I guess he was implying that if we were all working third or fourth jobs as apple pickers things would be so much better.

From Fincastle (same person): How about tax breaks for converting homes to "green" uses.

Goodlatte: He supports tax credits for that.

From Goshen: A 32-year-old man wondered if he would ever see any payout from Social Security.

Goodlatte: Fixing Social Security requires a balanced budget (this from a leader of the party that has us billions and billions in debt?). He acknowledged that Social Security as implemented isn't broken. What *is* broken is the way the federal government has robbed the Social Security system of its funding to pay for other things (you know, unwarranted wars, bridges to nowhere, that type of thing...) . If the government had left Social Security alone, there would be plenty for everyone.

Goodlatte segued here into a one-way conversation about the Child Health Insurance program and how terrible the Democrats are for wanting to essentially raise the poverty line from barely able to eat to possibly making the house payment.

From Troutville: This poor man is a Veteran who has found that increased surcharges on his medicines and the payments he must make to the specialists he needs for heart and lung conditions are too much for him. He cannot afford his medicine anymore. I had no idea that the VA system was so broken, but apparently it's been as mismanaged as the rest of the government in the last seven years.

Goodlatte's answer: Check out the new low prices for drugs at Walmart.

From Natural Bridge: My Social Security benefits are going down and it's all the fault of the illegal immigrants. Can we put up a big electric fence on the border?

Goodlatte: Well, maybe not an electric fence, but we're putting up a fence.

From Staunton: A disabled Veteran three years ago was put in a new category that took him completely out of the VA system. Apparently he had enough private resources to pay for his health care so he could go someplace else, according to the government. I was never clear if his disability was service related but it sounded like it was.

Goodlatte's answer: Some kind of obsequious political posturing that boiled down to "tough", I think.

From Goshen: A former nurse who is now on dialysis wondered if there was any way the government could create a death benefit for the families of folks who donate organs. She's on the waiting list for a kidney and there aren't enough going around. Medicare would save a lot of money if transplant operations could actually take place because dialysis is expensive.

Goodlatte: Hospitals and insurance companies should look into that. And also we don't want people killing themselves to get the money.

From Waynesboro: Can't we do something for drug addicts so that they get the help they need for rehabilitation? It's so expensive now that only the rich can afford to get help.

Goodlatte: Um. No. (He didn't say that but after you lose the political obtuseness, that was the answer.)

From Daleville: What about this housing/mortgage crisis? I sure don't want the government paying for it like Hillary Clinton just suggested.

Goodlatte: People should talk to their bankers and it should be done case by case, and the Free Enterprise System shall reign. And he can just imagine what Hillary Clinton offered up! (I see Bush is offering up something today, but I haven't read it yet...)

From Covington: What can we do about losing jobs in our area? The industries are shutting down and people are unemployed.

Goodlatte: We'd like to help, really we would. It's the Free Enterprise System, though. Our hands are tied.

From Fincastle: In 1942 the Americans destroyed a synthetic fuel plant in Germany. I want to know why, if the Germans were making synthetic fuel in 1942, can't the US make synthetic fuel for vehicles now?

Goodlatte: I've never heard of synthetic fuel. I've heard of synthetic oil additives to make your car run better. (I can answer this myself - I've read that many of the technologies such as this were destroyed because the big corporations didn't want the competition. The US public has been snookered by its government and corporations for nigh on a 100 years now. It is all about the Free Enterprise System - i.e., the money. It ain't about you.)

From Staunton: Who are you endorsing for president?

Goodlatte: Nobody yet.

From Staunton (same person): I'm an assistant pastor and I want to stand in my pulpit and tell people who to vote for. Can I do that?

Goodlatte: I don't give legal advice.

During this hour, Goodlatte also took a survey. The question was what should Congress focus on - making your energy costs less, lowering your taxes, or cutting government spending.

The responses (keyed in on the telephone) were 18 percent wanted lower taxes, 30 percent wanted something done about energy costs, and 52 percent wanted the government to stop spending.

Note, of course, that there wasn't any suggestion as to what the government should stop spending money on, and I believe the government is currently working hard to stop spending money on the people who need it most - that would be the folks above who are desperate for health care, the elderly who need nursing homes, the fellow who is out of a job in Covington. No, it's far better to give the money to Microsoft and Exxon.

What a sad hour it was. My heart broke for all of those poor people with health problems. I wanted to reach out and hug them all.

Goodlatte just sends them to Walmart.

First Snow 2007

The snow began to the west and north of us. I could see it blanketing the mountains, hiding the Blue Ridge from me.

About 8 a.m. the first flakes began to fall here, fast and furious. Three hours later, the ground was white and looking lovely in the first petticoat of the season:



By 4 p.m., most of the snow is gone, and the gnome has returned to his hidey-hole.

The Forest and Climate Change

From a press release I received yesterday (emphasis mine):

A recent Forest Service determination finds climate change could affect the distribution and diversity of plants and animals in the United States. ...

U.S. Forests can also play a major role in reducing greenhouse gas emissions. Use of wood products in place of alternative products can reduce greenhouse gas emissions. Growing shade trees around buildings can reduce energy use. Large scale cellulosic ethanol production from wood
may become an economically viable option for offsetting fossil fuel emissions. ...

Everyone should be interested in the forest because forest management includes water and water quality. A majority of our water resources come from federal National Forest land. You may be interested in a synopsis of the full report, which you can find here:

http://www.fs.fed.us/research/rpa/2005rpa/Key_Msg_Talk_Pts_RPA_Update_112807.doc

Personally, I found it eyebrow raising to see something coming out of the current administration that actually acknowledges climate change ...

Up until the current president took office, as a rural news writer I had unfettered access to the district rangers. I wrote about a vast range of topics related to forestry, including endangered species such as the James spinymussel and a particular bat that's found only in Craig County, land formations, tree harvesting, Smoky Bear, fire safety, hunter safety, etc.

Within two months of the current president taking office, my access to the forest rangers ended abruptly. I was told I could no longer talk to the rangers; I had to go through the PR office in Roanoke.

The stories about the forest and the U.S. Forest Service and what it was doing locally ceased overnight. In the last seven years, I've written very little about something that takes up about 20 percent of the land mass of my county. The exception has been the federal government's efforts to sell off forest land to pay some of its bills, which made the national news everywhere. (The effort failed.)

My hindered access to the Forest Service and the lack of stories coming at the local level was my first hint of how bad things would get at the federal level. I questioned the lack of access, but at the time no one knew about such things as the PATRIOT ACT and spying on citizens and asking folks what books they check out of libraries. No one thought we'd turn into a police state so quickly... and this was before September 11, 2001.

Eventually the local ranger offices closed because the government "consolidated" the Forest Service work force.

There are lessons here in what I've written, and implications for the future. But we have to be paying attention to see. Are we, I wonder?

Cotton Candy Sunrise

I took this picture on Thursday, November 29, 2007, with my Nikon D40.

It's a Parade!

Saturday at 2 p.m. the Fincastle Christmas Parade marched through the streets!


The police led the way while deputies stood to the side making sure traffic stopped.



There were clowns!


Churches had floats in remembrance of the real reason for the season.



There was lots of waving!




The real reason I was at the parade. The above beauty queen is my niece. She is five years old and quite the ham when she spies a camera. That's my brother at the wheel and my sister-in-law beside her.




The Girl Scouts strut their stuff.



The Fire Department mascot marched alongside the trucks.



Bands played! "Bells are ringing children singing O What a beautiful sight" - Santa Claus is Coming to Town!



Tractors putted down Main Street.



The fellow who brought up the rear!

Humbled

A few days ago, Beth over at Blue Ridge Blue Collar Girl handed me a Community Blogger Award. This award celebrates people "who reach out and make the blogger community a better one," as I understand it.


This is my first recognition ever for blogging. I am very humbled to be acknowledged because there is a lot of nice writing on the web, and a lot of people visit and offer stories and advice and friendliness.

Blogs create a nice community and I enjoy reading what people do and think and experience. I wish I had more time to spend on visiting other folks spaces so that I could "see more of the world," as it were.

The world is one big story and we're all characters in it, each important in our way to the patchwork that makes up the whole quilt. Without our individual achievements and efforts, there would be holes.

Another person whom Beth nominated was Shannon at Going Crunchy, who wrote a very nice entry about her award. I was not familiar with this blogger so I was happy to be introduced.

The award came to Beth via June at Spatter, another blogger I read. June has a lot of interesting things to say.

Beth is a gentle blogger who takes vivid pictures and has a great sense of humor. I delight in her entries.

In the spirit of moving this award along, I would like to recognize and give the award to:

Jeff at Jefferson Street Realist. Jeff writes about life with his young family. Some of his entries tickle me when he talks about his boy. Others are reverent and sad, such as when G'Diddy passed away. His writing rings true to me.

Ms. E. at Ms. Eleneaous in Roanoke. Ms. Elenaeous has an interesting take on life in Roanoke. Wait until you read about her house haunting. She's also one of two bloggers I have met in person!

Becky at Peevish Pen writes about writing and rural life. She's the other blogger I have shaken hands with!

Happy blogging, everyone!

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen reasons why November has left me tired:

1. A meeting on November 8 that only lasted two hours but which required another three hours of reading the file that went with it.

2. A meeting on November 13 that lasted from 6 p.m. to 10:30 p.m.

3. A meeting on November 27 that lasted from 9 a.m. to 6:30 p.m.

4. A meeting today which required a couple hours preparation and then several hours of attendance.

5. Thanksgiving, which required holiday stuff (and stuffing!)

6. Lots of work which required lots of thinking.

7. My husband had a cold. Every woman knows how tiring that is.

8. My husband was also home on vacation for two weeks.

9. It was deer season which meant I had men in and out of the house. They required a steady supply of lunch meat, bread and drinks.

10. I began shopping for Christmas.

11. The days grew shorter and the time changed, all of which seemed to mean I had less time than ever before.

12. Many people wanted to spend a lot of the little time I seemed to have talking on the telephone with me.

13. I hit my head on a shelf about four weeks ago and somehow damaged my neck muscles. I have been in pain ever since, despite three trips to the chiropractor, two to the massage therapist, one to the acupuncturist, and another to my primary care physician. This, in spite of everything else, has been the main reason this month has been tiring!

Books: Legacy of Silence

Legacy of Silence

by Belva Plain

Copyright 1998

Ready by Dana Ivey



Carolyn and Lore, story opens in 1939 pre-World War II.

The Quarry, Part II

It is hard sometimes to write about the things going on around me. Take this quarry thing, for instance, which I started writing about this morning.

A part of me wanted to testify. I wanted to say to the officials, "Don't do this to my neighbors."

I wanted to say don't make my neighbors have to run air purifiers that have filters that look like this within a day:




Don't make them worry about asthma and bronchial problems and wonder if the industry down the road is to blame.

Don't make them wonder if the red rainwater that falls around here sometimes comes from the industry down the road. It's preferable not to have red rain at all.

Don't put that quarry five miles from our historic county seat and then expect it to withstand 30 years of continuous blasting (I don't care if the blasting expert said that amounts to "only" 30 minutes of blasting. It still shakes the house.).

I wanted to say those things and more, but I did not. I could not because I write government articles for a living and it is necessary to maintain objectivity in my work with the paper.

What I did was write several articles about it, as professionally as I could. The first was what I normally write, a "hey folks, here's what's coming up before the planning commission." The second was an update with a slant that officials were doing something new - they were actually checking for endangered species. It was also news that they'd found some.

Then I wrote about the planning commission meeting and then the meeting yesterday where the proposal for a new quarry was denied.

I am fairly sure my articles were not slanted to show my opposition to the project, but I can never be sure and it is always something I watch for. I try to write objectively.

At least one person thought I was in favor of the project. But when you're writing about an emotional issue, people often think any mention of the other side means you don't favor them. It's not a situation the messenger can win in and I no longer try. I do the best I can.

My editor did write an editorial opposing the project. He opposed it when it first came about three years ago, too. I'm not sure he could have been objective about my work on this issue because he was very much against the project.

For my part, I conversed with people who lived far enough away (about five miles) from the proposed industry to think they would not be affected. I tried, and failed, to convince them that they were wrong. At least, they did not show up to voice their concerns as I'd hoped.

Fortunately this time the proposal fell through. But what about next time?

Because there will be a next time.

Actually none of this is what I originally sat down to write this morning. I wanted to write about this issue from the standpoint of business and how corporations are killing us.

I wished to point out that living near an industry, and "near" can be defined as next door or miles and miles away, is challenging. There are so many unknowns in the things people do to make money. It is all about the dollar and not the environment or quality of life for those who are already in residence.

Who cares about endangered spinymussels or historic buildings or people with asthma, anyway?

I do.

I guess that's really what I wanted to say.

The Quarry, Part I

(The above photo was taken Christmas Day, 2004. The smoke is from the cement plant. When the stakes let go, I can see it from my house.)

I live about four miles from a cement plant and quarry. The industry is on property that once belonged to my ancestors, who are also my husband's ancestors. His branch of the family ultimately sold parts of their farmland for this big hole in the ground.

While I can't do anything about that, since I wasn't even born, I do feel some responsibility for this environmental apocalypse.

On Monday as I worked, I was on the phone with a person who lives a similar four miles from this same industry, only in the other direction. As we spoke, there was a blast. "That was from the quarry," we both said as the sound came from all around us and also through the phone lines as we each heard it.

My house let out a resounding crack as something settled.

So over at least an 8-mile land area, that blast rattled windows. Living near such a thing has challenges. It's dusty, for one thing. Even four miles away. Fine white powder settles over the furniture within minutes of dusting. We run four air purifiers in the house to keep the dust down.

It was with horror that I saw that another quarry application was before the planning commission this month. As a writer covering government for the paper I try not to take sides on issues, but I do live here. This quarry would be about 9 miles away from me as the crow flies; about 11 by road.

I wrote my articles about this as straightforward and unbiased as I could. I am sure I did not succeed because at one point I was accused of being biased in favor of the developer.

Which of course was completely wrong. I thought this was a terrible project. Not just because I think quarries, which leave big gashes in the land, are bad. This particular quarry would be located within 100 feet of a major tributary to the James River.

The business people thought this was a fine idea and apparently were nonplussed at the idea of the stream vanishing in their quarry pit.

(I'll continue this later...)

Reaching for the sky