Since we were married where the lilies bloom. Never a dull moment.

Mike and I will celebrate our third anniversary next week, but we were up at the marriage place this past weekend after my field trip for the Mount Rogers Naturalist Rally.  wetkneefarm and I led a hike on ferns that was well attended (20+ people), full of treasures (morels, flowers, ferns) and two miles long.  Two miles is a good bit for me anymore since stuff in there is starting to get squished by a growing, active baby. :-)



For those who don't know, we were married on the Appalachian Trail in the valley between Virginia's two highest peaks, Mount Rogers and White Top.  The place is Elk Garden, a high-elevation bald.



I drew trilliums on our invitations, like this Painted Trillium we found on the fern hike.



Our guests carefully stepped around hundreds of native flowers, like this Purple Wakerobin (another trillium).



The woods were still groggy from their Winter sleep.



But all around, it was sure that we were where the lilies bloom.



Saturday, we carefully climbed the marriage rock and savored a moment meant only for three.

After the drafts had been dodged on Saturday, Mike and I put on our thickest and warmest and headed up to the High Country for a little jaunt in the snow.  The snow in town was half-melted, but Troutdale and Konnarock were cold enough to keep most of theirs.

Icy roadsides and bad parking pushed us higher in the mountains and we ended up at Elk Garden.  This area receives the harshest of our mountain winds, so most of the snow was blown around and drifted.  There were some areas nearly bare of snow with others that had drifts more than a foot deep! 

The sleet we got on Thursday formed a sturdy crust on top of the snow.  With the all the rocks that litter the hillsides, it was hard to tell if you were about to step on a couple inches or a foot of snow.  We ended up walking rather awkwardly, standing on top of the snow sometimes and crunching way down other times.  It would have been perfect for snow shoes, but ours were back home. :-(

We wandered down the hill and into the hawthorn grove to get out of the wind.  It was gorgeous and I wanted to lay down and stay forever, covered in a blanket of snow.  I guess that's my dream--to have my chores done and find a hillside and sit on it, looking out over the mountains and listening to the wind.

wetkneefarm posted about this important issue on her blog, but since it's friends-only, I asked her if I could post it here for more visibility. . .

We need your help to prevent Dominion from building a coal-fired power plant in Wise County, Virginia.

Why Should I Care?

* You might be affected by the pollutants.Due to prevailing wind patterns, the smoke from the plant is going to wander across Virginia and well into North Carolina. The U.S. Forest Service came out in opposition to the plant due to the air quality problems they expect in Linville Gorge, NC, as a result of the plant. Air pollutants from the Wise County plant will reach Shenandoah National Park, the Great Smokies National Park, and Northern Virginia within 72 hours of emission. Even if you don't live in Virginia or a nearby state, the power plant is going to emit 5.3 million tons of CO2 annually, a huge contribution to global warming.

* You might be paying for it. Dominion wants taxpayers to pay for the $1.6 billion construction costs of the plant along with a mandatory 14% increase in profits for the company. This cost estimate does not include costs of any equipment or technology to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

* The plant will affect the Clinch River, which is ranked by the Nature Conservancy as the number one river worth protecting in the country. The Clinch River contains 30 endangered freshwater mussel species and 17 endangered fish species, some of which are found nowhere else in the world. The proposed power plant would use up to 1 million gallons of water per day from the plant, which during drought years could amount to at least 2% of the total daily flow of the river. The plant would also emit mercury and other pollutants which will lower the Clinch's water quality, and since the plant is located right on the bank of the Clinch, spills are likely.

* The plant will harm the health of local residents who are already too poor to have access to health care. Thousands of people in our region flock to RAM every year, a free medical clinic which provides many of them with their only source of medical care. Due to the Carbo coal-fired power plant ten miles away from the site of the proposed plant in Virginia City, Wise County already has the highest rates of asthma in Virginia and these rates are expected to rise.

* Dominion has the local politicians in their pocket. Throughout the process, Dominion and the local politicians have steamrollered over any opposition. No other utility companies have been approached to bid on the project, so Dominion has no incentive to give Wise County a good deal. At least two of the politicians supporting the plant have been given hefty campaign donations by Dominion --- $5,000 to Phillip Puckett and $2,000 to Dan Bowling. Dominion also paid for hotel rooms and meals in Richmond for several politicians and signed them up to speak in favor of the plant at the SCC hearing. The Wise County Board of Supervisors, who should be protecting the best interests of the community, passed a resolution in favor of the plant in an "emergency" meeting which was not publicized until a few hours before hand. Dominion is so sure that their plant will get approved that they began site construction months ago even though they have not yet received a permit.

* Environmental racism should matter to everyone. For at least a hundred years, rich corporations have exploited poor Appalachians, extracting our resources and leaving us with the environmental fall out. They promise us riches which never materialize and count on us to be too poor and downtrodden to speak out. The proposed Virginia City power plant is no exception. Dominion has won over the local politicians and some of the population with misdirection and outright lies. Those who haven't been won over are afraid to speak up for fear of property destruction or harm to their families.

What Misdirection and Lies?

* Dominion promised 800 new jobs as a result of the Virginia City power plant. These jobs will only be available during the construction process (which has already begun without a permit) and are likely to be filled primarily or entirely by out-of-state skilled workers. After the power plant opens, the plant will provide 75 permanent jobs at the plant and may produce an associated 300 jobs at mountaintop-removal sites. These jobs will help maintain Wise County's dependence on coal while preventing diversification of our economy. Degradation of our environment resulting from the power plant will prevent the growth of our budding ecotourism economy.

* Dominion promises that the plant will be clean. But the carbon sequestration techology which they have promised us won't be available for at least 10-20 years! The Wise County Board of Supervisors are too enthralled by Dominion's promises to have demanded any advanced technology at the plant.

( What Can I Do? )

 

My dad tells me that in the 70's he might have frozen to death on Glade Mountain.  He reached the summit in deep snow and the white blaze for the Appalachian Trail disappeared from sight.  He walked tree to tree down the mountain, rubbing each one to check for the white blaze.  At last, miraculously, he found it and was able to continue safely and thankfully on his way.

We climbed this mountain together nearly thirty years later in the Summer of my independence and it was still quite the challenge.  Traversing the switchbacks with twenty-five pounds on my back in August made Glade Mountain seem just as powerful as that austere Winter day.  We sweated up the ridgelines, felt thankful for the cruising on flatter terrain and gobbled up Snickers bars without a thought of the calories.  Who's counting when you're burning 600 an hour?

Three years later, the mountain was a kinder place.  The 4000' in elevation was less ominous when the weather was in the forties and one carried only a small shoulder bag of necessities.  Snow hung on in few places, around bases of trees and in secret spots where light is less effective.  Mike and I found a couple teaberries among the fallen leaves and hypothesized about the scorched trees we found on the downhill side of the Appalachian Trail.  Prescribed burn or forest fire?  Not sure.

Over in the next valley, a thick fog hung in the air and gave the look of a high elevation lake or bog.  No such things exist in that area, but the sight of the fog sure was deceiving and imaginative.  It made me think of the enchanted lake the Cherokees believe exists in the Chimney Tops area of the Great Smokies.  Maybe for a moment, it existed in the valley we overlooked. 

Coming back to the trailhead a couple of miles older, there was a sense of reverence for the power of nature and a good bit of thankfulness that our Trail had been so kind.

Today started cold--an expansive sort of cold.  The cold seemed wide to me as I stepped out the front door to warm up the car for Mike.  The frost seemed to stretch for miles and the grey of a Winter sky gave me an unexplainable feeling of quiet.  It was a cold so profound I felt it go through my soul as I stood on the sidewalk.  I was in awe of its power.

This afternoon came out warmer--around fifty degrees and golden.  As we went out to hunt a cabin named the "Locust Hill Country Club," the road was worn and littered with tulip tree leaves.  Bert and Fonzie, the Basset Hounds, came to greet me and lick my skirt.  The lone member of the club was cheery and pleased to see us.  I convinced him he should let "the boys" into his club and he agreed.

We explored Catfish Lane a little more and found tea berries and more blazing golden leaves.  Turning back, a ruffed grouse stepped out onto the road.  It was calm and we were in awe and without a camera.  The grouse stood in the road and we sat in the truck, taking in its beauty, mystified.  It placidly walked up the hill and never stirred when we drove off.

Passing pastures on our way, we spotted numerous vultures circling hillsides.  I tried to convince Ikey I could get a better look if he'd just lay still out in the field for a little while.  As we whisked past farms, a red-tailed hawk took flight.  It was so near to me I saw it's eye sparkle in the sun of late day. 

Ah, yes.  The peace of wild things.

After meeting Mike's parents this morning for breakfast, we headed off to work just as the sun was coming up.  Mike exclaimed how beautiful the sky was, and indeed there must have been a consensus.  My dad sent me this photo he took on his way to work this morning.  It was taken in the valley where the huge hail storm took place earlier in the year.   Looks rather peaceful in this photo.

It's been strange this week--fast and slow.  I've wanted time to go by, and yet to linger so I can cross off items on my to-do list.

Monday was the dentist and fabric hunting in Abingdon.  Thanks to mom, I've come away with fabric for two dresses, notions to last a lifetime, and super-vintage patterns for me and my future Clover (please).  I also picked up some wonderful winter fabric to line my lunch basket and make a cover to keep out the snow (ever hopeful, still). 

Yesterday was Once, finally.  I'd been waiting six months to see this movie and it was wonderful.  The quality of the picture was horrible, but I blame that on the Cinemall.  I can't wait to see it on DVD, as I will.  Mike the songwriter and me the hopeless Scandinavian romantic found it to be everything the previews had made it out to be.  We also made our first pledge to NPR yesterday, in support of DemocracyNow!

Today, another doctor visit (all routine), knitting time with Phyllis at Fiber 4 Ewe and a really loooong afternoon.  Tonight?  Well, maybe it will rain.  I hope to do some more sewing or felting--I'm overwhelmed  with choices and Mike will ready his photos for the Apple Festival.

Tomorrow we'll enter our items before supper and cross our fingers that the judges love my felted hat and Mike's images of apple buttering at Raccoon Branch campground.  This weekend we'll have two festivals to attend--the Fall Festival at Grayson Highlands and the Apple Festival in Chilhowie.  So much to do in this week.  I suppose these are the times where living peacefully will be put to good use.  Fall is such a busy time.

Oh yeah, and the Friends are treating the last round of Forest Service volunteers to dinner at the Sugar Grove Diner on Monday.  So much to do. . .

When I was young in the mountains a young man told me I seemed like I was a country girl.  That was true.  It was a compliment, and probably an icebreaker, until I mentioned my fiance. ;-) 

Being born into a family that was half-Appalachian and half-Midwestern, my identity always seemed a little mixed to me.  My mother's family was the Atkins from Atkins.  They'd been such a strong presence there that the community was named after them.  Mike and I drive through it every day on our way to work.  My dad's family came from out on the prairie of Missouri and Minnesota, the land of blizzards and black flies.  Grandma Lois' family came from Norway--the stereotypical Minnesotans.

Somewhere in the amalgam was me.  Half of my family talked with nasal Midwestern accents, don't you know, and the other half had the same accent of everyone else 'round these parts.  My grandad told me that when I went to preschool at the church that I immediately picked up an accent, and that before that I had been "normal."  I was twelve and vain at the time of this telling, so I set to eliminating any Southern or Appalachian-ness.

When I went to work in the National Forest I had a few more years on me.  I was determined that I ought to be personable and so I found myself speaking with accents tailored to the forest visitors I encountered.  People got more comfortable and trusting and that was always my goal in the woods.  'Round these parts, my Midwestern nuances never fit in anyway.  "You're not from around here, are you?" was something I got all the time. 

Over time, I've come to see the certain wonderful vanity of coming from a place where things are unique, where folks don't talk like the man on the news.  And I've come to be a little nasal and a little twangy.  Now I talk like Elizabeth from the Waltons.  Someday, when I'm 100, I guess I'll have the perfect accent.

Where I'm From, for bluemountainmomma:

I am from dish rags, Gunni Sax, and crates for sitting in the garden picking beans in the gloaming.

I am from the old Howell homeplace that suddenly burned and the shifty man searching for treasure with his shovel in the night.
I am from parents who saved up for every door knob and tile, the fancy house built on the old farm, and the funny looks from the kids on the bus.

I am from pole beans, goldenrod, and fotter twine, the dust of a barn swirling in the late summer sun.
I am from Christmas breakfast at Grandy's and short little women, from Grandma Lois and Virgie and the big oaks that sheltered our home.
I am from the self-sufficient and good cookers, and I am from Grams who don't cook no more.

I am from United Methodists and Lutherans, pow'r in the blood and shaped-note singing.
I am from Pearl's suppers at 3:30 and "Here, eat this!", from Grandad's same old story about working in the post office before the War.
I am from books about graveyards and using Windex to clean the stones, from crackers given to the dog to bury, and from the bleeding hearts who refuse to make inheritance something that is enjoyed with grief.

I am from the most generous people I know.

Mike and I have been enjoying blueberry buckle all week long from the berries I picked along the Lewis Fork Trail.  It's a treat we have only a couple of time a year because I am very sparing with my berries, being sure to ration them to last until the next harvest.  When we were up at Laurel Bed Lake the few berries we did find were small, the last to ripen before the bush goes to a colorful blaze and then sleep.

It's hard to believe it's only three more weeks, but already signs of Fall are all around.  The sycamores and locusts have changed from their green leaves to golden and dull brown.  Goldenrod has started to bloom and the Joe-Pye weed is growing tired along the roadsides.  The few remaining apples are turning a warm red up at Williams Orchard.  And the mornings are dark.  We've been getting beautiful sunrises on the way to work.

I've paid my dues from March till now.  The reward will quickly be at hand.  Saturday at the cabin I will start Appalachian Autumn for the third time.  This book, by Marcia Bonta, is a wonderful way to capture the Appalachian spirit and witness the transition from Summer to Winter.  She records changes in the weather, logging disputes over clearcutting, the cycle of plants and animals and the simple beauty of finding a good spot on a hillside to sit.  It's a wonderful guide for Autumn.

So Summer-lovers, savor these last fleeting moments.  Behold Winter comes quickly.

maggie_hess and Felicia asked me about some of my plans, and so, in a season of lists, I'll tell you what's in the oven for Fall.

1. Sewing the dress I mentioned back in June.  If only I were brave enough to cut out the fabric!
2. Knitting lots of hats and little goodies for sale at Brandy's Fiber Frolic.
3. A couple batches of Nichols' Natural Yard Apple Butter.
4. Grayson Highlands Fall Festival.
5. Entering more knitted goods and maybe an Apple Stack Cake in the Chilhowie Apple Festival.
6. Whitetop Molasses Festival.
7. Weekly interpretive campfires at Hurricane Campground.
8. More time at the cabin.
9. Pressing leaves between waxed paper.
10. Collecting acorns and black walnuts.
11. A Halloween campfire for all my local friends.  Save the date!
12. Pumpkin pie.
13. Lots of colorful mums.
14. Carrots, hopefully.
15. Time on the front porch knitting all those hats!
16. Lots of hiking.
17. World peace, because I'm ever hopeful.

What are your big plans for Fall?  Tag, you're it!

Remember my list from the Spring of what I want from this Summer?  Well, here's my progress.

1. Easter with mom and dad
2. Jello beans and eggs (even if it's not vegetarian)
3. Scott's strawberries turned into jam
4. My own strawberries
5. And blackberries and raspberries
6. And blueberries, please?--see below
   
7. Berrypicking and overnight camping at the Scales--planned for next weekend
   
8. Backpacking with Mike--blasted mystery illness!
   
9. Potluck meals with friends
10. No construction near Hungry Mother State Park--none, yet
    
11. Time at the cabin with mom and dad
12. My very own self-knitted socks--still working on that
13. Breezy skirts
    
14. New curtains for the back bedroom made by me and mom
15. A finished crazy quilt
16. Time in the water at Backbone Rock
17. The Whitetop Ramp Festival
18. A trip to Mount Pisgah Inn
19. A peaceful easy feeling
20. Less flab than last summer
21. Less mulching
22. More time on the front porch in the rocking chairs
23. Cardinal flowers (I hope I remembered to order the seeds)--have to plant them way ahead
    
24. Marigolds to protect my tomatoes
    
25. An appreciation for it all

Summer has made me into a teenager.

I've been feeling really rather wistful lately, at every turn a reason for contemplation.  And yet another reason for procrastination.  If only I could be paid to read books about Appalachian culture and bake things.

Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard have me stupified.  That, and the heat.  I feel I must be on the cusp of some sort of creative season.  Oh, yeah--Fall.

If you want to view paradise,
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world?
There's nothing to it

Let's start with the APEC peace vigil on Saturday.

When I was a newlywed in the mountains, my young husband stood by the roadside armored in denim picking blackberries.  He did this tirelessly, seeking the berry-which-all-Nichols-love-best.  I, being a Davis, loved and sought blueberries. 

One day a man with a farm stopped on the road at the old Davis homestead and told Mike he had a large blackberry patch that no one would pick from.  We were made welcome to take all we would like.  The first morning we went out, we had four quarts of berries in half an hour.  The jam was sealed in jars two hours later.

Now that we are a little older in the mountains, we still make the pilgrimage every year to the most scenic of berry patches.  Through the woods, at the top of a hill, stands one of God's greatest wonders.  The cattle are lowing; it must be a miracle.  A divine gift to berry-lovers.

This year was our third at the berry patch, and we had help.  Beth came with us and developed a new understanding of why she pays $3.99 a pint for the plump berries at her suburban Atlanta supermarket.  I found peace and fear, and that they could exist together.  Cows, especially the running kind, have frightened me since I was a child.  But as I picked in a newly discovered spot, I came to find that there is calm to be had for the spectator of a stampede.  Seek it out.

Mike was, by far, the most productive.  He always is about things like that--persistent, he doesn't easily go to daydreaming or losing hope.  I ask him to help with tasks, sometimes, that I would never have the patience to complete myself.  He completes them with great gusto.  Such a good Gus.

It seems we've been thinking lots on peace lately.  The Appalachian Peace Education Center has been circulating some thoughtful e-mails and maggie_hess has offered some contemplations on reacting to the violent aftermath of mountain top removal.

Long ago, I made an analogy for peace in the pomegranate, and I believe I've found another in the blackberry.  Yesterday, Mike and Beth and I went berry picking on a farm near the Davis Homestead.  I'll write more about the Most Beautiful Place to Pick Blackberries later.  I will say that when we brought Beth, we were destined for adventure. :-) 

The June bugs, Japanese beetles and itty bitty ants were all after the same harvest as us.  So, for about half an hour after our hike to the farm, there would be sudden screams from Beth when she was buzzed by a beetle or found an ant crawling on her.  I offer this anecdote as a background for my own contemplations while picking blackberries.  It has a lot to do with coping with life's perils, choosing your battles, and sidestepping trouble.

Berry picking is not for the faint of heart.  I think that is because most of the berries Mike and I pick are not cultivated.  We find them in meadows and along roadsides.  They are often thorny, sometimes infested with poison ivy, and we are usually not the only ones trying to gobble them up.  Our blackberry patch is also a cow field, and I am petrified of critters bigger than me.  Additionally, berries often take a long time to amass, since most are very small, save the blackberry.  Also a disclaimer:  None of Nichols' Natural Jams & Jellies contain insects--we leave the bugs to have their own.  Just had to say it.  ;-P

As I was trying to help Beth cope with the insects so that she might acquire the berry-that-all-the-Nichols-seem-to-love-best, it occurred to me how tactful we must be so that the beetles and ant may have their fill, as well.  And how disconnected from our food we can be. 


Truly, in the steamy Summer afternoon, there were loads of insects on the ripest berries.  Some blackberries had as many as five June bugs drinking their juices.  They're drowsy with sugar and preoccupied with mating; they'll be a little slow to move out.  But when they do, it's like a flock of ruffed grouse.  Always a little shocking.  Truly, in life, we must expect that when we embark on new journeys challenges will come buzzing out of life's vine.  We can scream in horror, or calmly cope and wait for them to pass.

I also told her to choose her vines carefully.  If they're too covered in bugs, move on.  There's always another vine around the corner in our favorite blackberry field.  Likewise, we should choose the problems we tackle carefully, and know that our options are only limited by our imaginations.  It's not about doing it all--it's about doing what we can, always.

In my ideal Appalachia,
wars would be
carefully considered --
like blackberry patches in the hot sun.

When Felicia commented that she missed a large tree that fell near her college apartment, it got me to thinking more about the giant oaks and our time at Narrow Ridge.  While there we watched a short film some of you have seen, Kilowatt Ours. 

There was a scene about mountain top removal that really stuck in my mind.  A man was talking about the mountains around his home, lamenting their loss to mountain top removal and coal mining.  We were shown scenes of the aftermath of the mining--absolutely horrible.  He said he was often asked if he had a picture of the mountains before the removal and mining.  He said,

High Summer has come to our part of the world and it brings with it the usual signs--heat, high humidity, steamy nights, and sometimes violent rain storms.  I've been mentally preparing myself for this as I knew it would eventually arrive.  And I have to trudge through Summer to get to Fall.  It's like enduring the forty miles of 25 mph curves on US 64 to get to the Cullasaja Gorge.  I've got my sunblock and water bottle--I'm ready.

When we were at the Falls of Little Stony, Mike noticed a curious patch of orange in the forest downstream.  Knowing it was too late for flame azalea, we got closer.  Some leaves on a tree were already turning orange!  I've been noticing it more since then.  I saw some Staghorn Sumacs with decidedly fall leaves on them.  The Black Locusts' leaves were looking a tire brown, too.  I'm curious to know whether this is normal for mid Summer, or if it's related to the dry weather we've had.  The small bits of color are impressive, no less.

In other news, Mike and I got an annual pass to Hungry Mother State Park, which is five minutes from our yet unnamed bungalow.  Having to pay parking fees every time we went to walk a couple miles really deterred us, so now we can go as often as we wish.  This Saturday we plan to walk around the lake (about six miles, easy) very early in the morning with his sister Beth. 

I'm looking forward to using this pass a lot, and doing more than just walking around our neighborhoods.  When we lived in the country on Sugar Street, just going outside was to touch the forest and field.  We could be on the AT in ten minutes and up to Elk Garden in thirty.  Now the another section of the AT is still ten minutes away, but Elk Garden is more of a trip.  I figure we must adapt our hiking to our location and the High Country could use a break from us anyway.  Aaaah, the joys of living in Southwest Virginia.  Shhhh. . .Don't tell anyone--I don't want crowds.

Saturday, Mike and I took the long way over past Dungannon to the Falls of Little Stony.  Instead of oppressing ourselves with the interstate and the long stretch of US Highway 19, we took the scenic route over US Highway 16.  We curved over the mountain and down the other side to Rich Valley.  The valley is huge and deep with profound rocky outcroppings at every turn.

Then we turned onto US Highway 42 and headed West to Saltville.  Old Saltworks Road took us to Route 80 and through Poor Valley, through Hayter's Gap and over Rich Mountain.  In the valley below, it was quite peaceful and we found lots of people out working in their yards and gardens.

The landscape in extreme Southwest Virginia is very profound and not very much like the lush valleys and steep hillsides in our part of the Forgotten Virginia.  When we came into the valley of Elk Garden (not the hillside on the AT where we were married), it was like stepping across the continent to the West.  Rusty fences and rocky fields gave an impressive feeling to the land.  Mike and I stopped to admire the uniqueness of it all.  In one field, where they were probably growing hay, people had picked up all of the rocks and it was a smooth contrast to the lumpy landscape.

After a stop in Lebanon at a drive-in that claimed to "the best burgers in the USA," we traveled on to our destination.  Once inside the National Forest, we saw the results of the prescribed burn that was taking place back in April or March when we came to visit Anna and Mark.  The forest floor was bare of leaves, but new green life was springing forth everywhere.

Finally, the falls.  Mike and I swam for two hours and played with some of the children who had come with their family to the secluded spot.  The water coming down the falls was quite warm, compared with the pool below and felt like a very rough shower on my back.  The water was much lower than the first time I had come there.  It was, however, just the right depth for swimming.

When I was a sophomore at Emory & Henry, Dr. Davis asked me to fill in as secretary for a committee he was serving on.  It was a committee appointed by Congressman Boucher to advise concerning a new National Recreation Area in the Clinch Ranger District.  It was full of interests from all sides and had met many months debating the issues.  There were many fears, including takings like the ones that happened in the formation of the Mount Rogers National Recreation Area. 

I took 22 pages of notes at the meeting, and we went on a field trip.   We piled into a bus and traveled many back roads to the Falls of Little Stony, Bark Camp Lake and High Knob Fire Tower.  A hubcap even fell off the bus at one point because of the rocky roads.  We also went to the Guest River Gorge and walked its trails.  I saw my first solar composting toilet there, and met wonderful people like Steve Brooks and Tom Davenport.  All the while we were followed by a caravan of protesters against the National Recreation Area.  Some places we couldn't even get out because the crowds were too threatening.  After it was all over, no such High Knob National Recreation Area came into existence.  The political climate was just too unsettled.