I'm thinking that doing a retelling of my favorite fairy tale.  Probably a horrible idea... kidnapping  is sure to ensue since it's currently my favorite only plot device.  (I should also be studying for all my tests this week.  Ah... foolish youth, believing there is always time to procrastinate.)

Annabelle plodded deeper into the forest.  It was different than any forest she'd been in before.  Although many of the forests in Pennsylvania had regrown after the initial clear-cut that had deforested Eastern United States as it was settled, the new forests were different in composition than their parents, Annabelle's dad said so.  But this, this was Shattington Strip; it had never been cut.  It was an old growth forest, a climax community, and the huge trees which towered about Annabelle looked like they'd been growing since the world began.  The oaks, ashes, and beeches, sheltering an understory of maples, and shrubs below their canopies, all looked a little like a fairy story, with moss growing up trunks and toadstools establishing themselves in the old fallen trunks.  Even the smells and sounds were different.  The young girl couldn't recognize some of the birds that twittered invisible overhead, and every step she took seemed to release a transient cloud of rich earthy scent.

Annabelle glanced back the way she had come.  She had the strong sensation that she was trespassing, but Shattington Strip hadn't been owned by anyone for over 100 years.  Her father said it was because the geology was bad and would cost too much to develop, but Annabelle knew better.  Every kid who had every attended Grober Middle School for more than a week new that the Shattington forest was haunted and everyone who ever tried to develop it met with unfortunate fates.  No really, everyone!  Still, the forest was begging her to explore it and she was feeling rather adventurous.  She would show Logan and his friends!  They'd all tried to stay overnight, but been chased out only a few hours after dusk.  Well, they claimed they'd been chased.  Annabelle couldn't decide whether she believed her father, who didn't believe  in ghosts, or her peers.

Yes, she would show Logan, and she really wanted a sample for her father.  He liked to take the ends of branches (preferably with leaves AND fruiting structures) and put them into riker mounts where they would slowly lose their color behind their glass panes and torture students desperately trying to ID them and remember their scientific names.  Annabelle's father never went into Shattington Strip.  Nobody in town did, whether they believed in ghosts or not.

The awkward teenager scrambled down the bank of a small stream, then back up, caking her tennis shoes with sticky mud in the process.  She was 12 years old, not used to being 5'6'' yet (which resulted in several faceplants,) and already fighting a blossoming garden of acne which came with the hormones.  She also had an unhealthy sense of adventure.  She couldn't understand why Logan and the stupid boys that hung out with him were so afraid of the forest, or anyone else in town for that matter.  It was beautiful.

Annabelle was still looking for trees she thought her father didn't have samples of yet when she noticed one of the brightest colored butterflies she had ever seen.  It was a small golden thing that flashed against the dark background.  It pondered settling on a leaf for a second, but in its moment of indecision, Annabelle cupped her two hands around it and held it captive in the sealed space between her two palms.  Strange, the frantic motion of the little insect's wings barely tickled the human.  It occured to Annabelle (although she couldn't put the thought into words) that this was the equivalent of a human beating her hands against the wall until her palms were bloody in an attempt to escape.  The hands opened and the butterfly flew away, leaving only a little bit of golden dust behind.  Some things were meant to be free.

So this forest wasn't supposed to be sampled or used.  Annabelle got the message, although she wasn't sure how, and started back the way she had come.  She'd thought to bring a compass since she knew how easy it was to get lost in a forest so she came to an area of dappled light and thinning trees after only about half an hour of walking.  Wild roses marked the borders of Shattington Strip.  A simple flower with only five pale pink petals, it wasn't nearly as showy as it's hybridized European cousins, but the teenager though they smelled nicer, purer as the dirt road that marked the border came into view. 

Snap!  Annabelle whirled around to face the sudden sound of a breaking branch behind her.  Her eyes had already adjusted to the light and for a moment she couldn't see anything except gloom, then she thought she saw a darker shape move, but despite straining her eyes, Annabelle couldn't seen anything more.  Telling herself that ghosts weren't real, and if she ran she'd been just as bad as Logan.  She couldn't run... it wasn't even dark out.  The last hundred yards were painstakingly slow, but the girl didn't run.  She held her head high and walked out, then glanced back one more time, but there was nothing to see.  It was just a forest.

For a moment Annabelle considered calling her friend Melissa to tell her about everything, but somehow it felt wrong, like the butterfly.  Logan was the one who bragged about how brave he was to enter Shattington Strip.  Annabelle decided she was above that.  Nobody needed to know, well, maybe Melissa, but not yet.  The forest didn’t want to be talked about.  “You don’t pick the roses from Shattington Strip.”  Everyone in town said that all the time, and Annabelle had never really understood what it was supposed to mean, just grownup talk, but now she caught herself quoting it as she walked back to her house. 

Warning: Politics Ahead

Okay, this article really *can't think of any words denoting anger that aren't cuss words* err... made me more than slightly irate. *smiles through her teeth*  I'd love it if everyone who's ever read my blog (what twenty people?) read the whole thing, but since it's 7 pages, and I doubt most people are as interested in this stuff as I am, I'll hit highlights and include a few quick facts about water conservation the article didn't cover.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32814936/ns/technology_and_science-the_new_york_times//

Not as Much of the Stuff as You'd Think

First off, there's a lot of water in the world, but only a very small percentage is drinkable, the rest being salt water.  While water is constantly being replenished by rain, if pollutants are common in common in groundwater, lakes and streams, we may not be adding clean water to the system. 

The above diagram (with pretty pictures!) shows pretty accurately the distribution of water on earth.  Just when you think you've escaped with 3% fresh water, oh wait, 2/3s of that is ice.  My ecology notes further break down the remaining 1% into about 1% groundwater, .02% contained in rivers and lakes and a tiny percentage (.011%) is in the soil or air.  So we're talking about a very finite resource we need for our survival, for the growth of our communities and cities, and for our health.

Everything Has to Go Somewhere

Another basic law of physics that's useful here (I know, I know, but it's important!) is the law of the conservation of mass/energy.  For the longest time, people though that there was an "away."  They dumped as many pollutants in rivers and oceans and they just seemed vanish, they were being so diluted.  Unfortunately, we're now discovering what Newton was kind enough to point out quite a while ago.  Pollutants don't go anywhere; they accumulate until there are toxic levels of them.

Coal mines may eject there unwanted chemicals into old mines and lagoons, but those chemicals can sit there for centuries until they find a way to leak into the water supply.  They don't magically disappear with time.  (Although some chemicals break down, we're just stuck with things like heavy metals pretty much forever.)

Main Case Study

The MSN article (that was yoinked from The New York Times) deals with the health concerns that arise from industrial or agricultural pollution.  The article focuses on the case of Charleston, WV and the heavily polluted water the people are forced to put up with from nearby coal operations.  In Charleston, people have experienced all manner of health problems including tooth decay and rashes since the mines began ejecting slurry from coal into old shafts or leaving it vast  lagoons.  To quote the article:

Neighbors apply special lotions after showering because their skin burns. Tests show that their tap water contains arsenic, barium, lead, manganese and other chemicals at concentrations federal regulators say could contribute to cancer and damage the kidneys and nervous system.

The community has formed a collision to sue the mining company.

Now in all reality this is probably the most vivid and alarming example the New York Times could find, less impressive cases could be just as dangerous.  Some pollutants will build up in the human body over time and cause cancer over extended periods.  These latent cases are often more dangerous since people don't know they're basically being poisoned.

This is Why I Loath Politics

The information that really irked me in the article was the fact that standards appear to be slipping while industries are using their vast monetary resources to tie inspector's hands behind their backs and rendering the E.P.A. (Environmental Protection Agency) less effective.  Water regulation surged in 1972 with the passage of the clean water act but

in the late 1990s, some states’ enforcement of pollution laws began tapering off, according to regulators and environmentalists. Soon the E.P.A. started reporting that the nation’s rivers, lakes and estuaries were becoming dirtier again. 

****

 “We are outmanned and overwhelmed, and that’s exactly how industry wants us,” said one employee [an environmental enforcement agent] who requested anonymity for fear of being fired. “It’s been obvious for decades that we’re not on top of things, and coal companies have earned billions relying on that.”

****

But often, the memos say, the E.P.A. never corrected those problems even though they were widely acknowledged. The E.P.A. “may hesitate to push the states” out of “fear of risking their relationships,” one report reads. Another notes that E.P.A. offices lack “a consistent national oversight strategy.”

So  lately we've lately being taking steps backwards in how clean our water systems are.  A few people are making money at the expense of the rest of the population.

Take Home Message

There is actually a case of water pollution near where I grew up, so I can attest this stuff really happens.  Near a quaint little Amish settlement complete with horse and buggies and lots of goats is an old naval base.  (I can't remember why there's NAVAL base in the middle of Kansas.  Someone explained it to me once and I forgot.)  Back in the day, they used an industrial cleaning agent but the name of tetrachloroethylene I believe.  They washed everything down with it then stuck the dirty stuff in barrels and buried them.  A few decades ago it leaked into the aquifer.  While it hasn't reached the Amish community yet, it's slowly spreading that way via underground currents and when it arrives none of their water will be drinkable.  It's not really feasible to clean up either.  The community will probably just have to get there water from elsewhere.

Being a Christian, I hold this crazy belief that everyone deserves to have access to something as simple and essential as clean water.  There's something horrifying about the thought that you can't take a bath or a drink without poisoning yourself a little at a time.  It isn't just the crazy tree huggers who should care about this, it's everyone.  After all, it's our water.

(Oy vey, that was like writing a research paper!  How does Mr. Russo do it all the time?)

I always thought my uncle was boring.  For one thing, he was a business man and never had time for me.  He was always managing his affairs or traveling by carriage to visit his holdings in other parts of the continent (without inviting me.)  For another thing, he was a full blooded human, and at that time of my life I considered humans to be quite dull.  I meant no disrespect to my mother, but I suspected she must have been dull as well.  Even the cat was more interesting than the gossiping servants or my aloof uncle; at least you could pet her soft fir.

I was almost twenty before I had any reason to like my uncle.  He was reading some old tome in the sitting room, and I noticed that he looked tired and old.  I hadn't really thought of it before, but I knew humans didn't live very long and his time was coming to a close.  It gave me a strange chill.

He looked up from his book and noticed me lingering in the doorway.  "Ah, niece," he said, polite but slightly surprised to see me, "Will you sit?"

I was not sure if he had ever asked me to sit with him before, but I was still feeling slightly sentimental so I chose a chair near the fire and close enough to him to be polite.  I tried to think of something to say to my uncle but my mind was blank.  I did not quite believe that he would have the same cares and concerns as me.  I had never bothered to ascertain this truth for certain and now it seemed much too late.  I turned my attention to the fire and called it towards me, ignoring my uncle's darkening brow as a small tongue snaked out of the fire and settled in my hand for a moment before flickering out.  The uncomfortable silence carried on.

"How is business?" I asked finally.

My uncle started from his book and said, "The same," then added, "tiring." 

"Oh?"

"Wealth is well and good, but... it means nothing in the end if you have lived an empty life to attain it."

This was the deepest thought I had ever heard from my uncle and I had no answer for it, but now the silence seemed more likely to forgive me if I broke it so I asked "What are you reading?"

"Poetry," he responded.

I confess that up to that point in my life, could never sit still long enough to read anything, much less poetry.  My uncle seemed like an even less likely canidate for poetry, but tonight he was full of surprises.  "I did not know you read poetry uncle," I said politely.

"I have so little time for it," he replied.

"That's a shame," I said, thinking that it was indeed a shame, and that I ought to apply myself to it as well.

"It is a shame," he replied.  A moment later he put the book down  and leaned forward a little.  "It is a shame.  You see, I have lost my sense of wonder.  I do not suppose you understand.  You are young and for you the sun still brings joy and the moon makes you dream, but I have seen too much without ever really seeing it.  But when I read poetry, and listen to other men who felt deeper and lived better than I, the world is full of beauty and mystery again, for a short time."

We did not speak again for the rest of the evening and I left shortly afterward, but I am sure our friendship began that night.

**Disclaimer** Characters that I don't bother to name will probably never get their own novels; sad but true.