Yankee Doodle Tailings Pond: Another Mine Waste Site near Butte

Below Butte's Moulton Reservoir and above the Berkeley Pit/Continental Pit area lies the Yankee Doodle Tailings Pond. It is formed by a tailings dam more than six hundred feet high. I am not certain when this area was first used for tailings disposal, but the Anaconda Copper Mining Company concentrator built in 1964 was a significant contributor. Today, Dennis Washington's Montana Resources. (MR) operation discharges its slurry waste onto the Yankee Doodle pond.

Here's a map of the roughly one thousand acre (nearly two square miles) tailings pond:

And here's a Continental Divide view of the Berkeley Pit (left) and tailings pond (right); (photo by Todd Trigsted):

You can visit the Yankee Doodle Tailings Pond by driving north on the Moulton Road from Walkerville. Watch for a user-created ATV troad after you pass Butte's municipal water treatment plant, about a mile north of town.

When MRI shutdown in July 2000 due to high electricity prices brought on by deregulation (interestingly, MR/Washington had lobbied for deregulation, believing it would lower prices), the tailings pond went dry. When wind conditions were right, Butte suffered from duststorms like this (photo by Derek Pruitt, Montana Standard newspaper):

Citizen complaints and a $121,200 fine forced MR to treat the dry pond surface (beginning with pumping water over them and ending with capping) to prevent blowing dust. To help poor Dennis Washington resume mining operations, Butte gave MR a $2 million loan and reduced taxes. By December 2003, MR was once again pumping its 25 cfs slurry onto the Yankee Doodle Tailings Pond (photo by Stephen Jennings, Montana State University):

The upper end of the tailings pond, where water rushes down from Yankee Doodle Creek, is an unearthly blue color:

Like many people, I had assumed this color was from copper sulfate and other heavy metals salts. My colleage, Chris Gammons, in Geological Engineering has done some testing, however, and he tells me the color is primarily from suspended clay sediments. You can see the color nicely in this shoreline view:

The mine waste slurry discharged by MR is very high in lime (which MR uses to precipitate and recover metals). The lime, and resulting high pH, causes the water in the Yankee Doodle pond to be low in metals (Chris did point out that it might be high in metalloids such as arsenic or selenium). The non-toxic nature of the water in Yankee Doodle Tailings Pond explains why it is used so heavily by waterfowl, and why one doesn't find dead ducks floating on the surface:

Still, there is a million yards or more of mine waste stored behind the Yankee Doodle tailings dam. Though it will probably end up being capped and vegetated if and when mining ceases, that is a decision that will have to be made in the future--perhaps as yet another Superfund site is added to the Upper Clark Fork River complex.

Superfund Connectedness: If Butte doesn't flush, Missoula doesn't drink...

When it comes to America's Largest Superfund Site here in the Upper Clark Fork River Basin of Montana, we are all together in a very big lifeboat. By "we," I mean residents of Butte, Anaconda, Opportunity, Deer Lodge, Bonner/Milltown, Missoula, and surrounding areas. It's like the traditional union slogan, "An injury to one is an injury to all." This is also true in an environmental sense, of course. As some like to say in Butte, "If Butte doesn't flush the toilet, then Missoula doesn't get a drink of water."

Lately, I've been staying out of the springtime blizzards and reading through hundreds of pages of monitoring reports on Silver Bow Creek—that little stream that flows from Butte at the headwaters of the Clark Fork River. Silver Bow Creek -- technically known as the Stream Side Tailings Operable Unit -- was one of the first sites to be addressed by Superfund in the Upper Clark Fork River Basin. Furthermore, Silver Bow Creek is an excellent example of Superfund remedy integrated with restoration, with the state of Montana (rather than the EPA) taking the lead.

Thanks to Montana’s Natural Resource Damage Program, the Department of Environmental Quality (DEQ) is spending several million dollars per mile to cleanup and restore 24 miles of Silver Bow Creek. The flood plain is dredged to remove stream sediments high in arsenic and toxic heavy metals, the stream is reconstructed to function as a stream should, clean soil is spread along the corridor, and the area is revegetated with native plants and shrubs.

To the eye, the area looks pretty darned good, especially when you compare the "before:"

With the "after:"

It's disturbing, though, to learn that the remedied and restored creek is being recontaminated.

Initially, when I heard about the recontamination of Silver Bow Creek, I thought it might be an ephemeral problem stemming from recent work along Butte’s old Metro Storm Drain. The DEQ site supervisor assured me it's not a big problem.

Data show, however, that this recontamination has been occurring since monitoring began in 2002. And it sure looks like a big problem, with contaminant levels far higher than threshold levels that indicate impairment of aquatic life. For example, the threshold for copper in sediments is about thirty parts per million. Contamination levels routinely exceed this threshold by a factor of ten, and occasionally by a factor of one hundred. Geez, if Denny Washington hears about this, he’ll start mining Silver Bow Creek!

After five years of reports confirming recontamination, you’d think DEQ and EPA would do something. Data indicate that recontamination is steadily occurring. Yet, each year, the annual review concludes with the recommendations: collect more data; try to identify the source; wait and see.

What, exactly, are we waiting for? We know that under remedy many sources of contamination on the Butte hill will remain. Furthermore, completing that remedy is some years in the future. Finally, a solution to this recontamination problem is already on the table: EPA included treatment ponds as an option in the Butte hill remedy. Let’s build that treatment facility now, and stop the madness.

In a very real, physical sense, the headwater stream of Silver Bow Creek is connected with the main stem of the Clark Fork River. Water flows down hill.

Every clean up has its price: sometimes in dollars and sometimes in human terms. With the clean up of Silver Bow Creek, Milltown, and other Superfund sites in the Upper Clark, let’s not forget where all that toxic mine waste goes. No, it doesn’t magically disappear.

Here we have a case of social (and environmental) effects moving upstream.

The toxic mine waste from Milltown is hauled up river to the vast Arco-British Petroleum waste repository near the town of Opportunity. Charlie Coleman of the EPA conducted a group tour of CRTAC and Opportunity activists on the repository last week. It was formerly known as the Opportunity Ponds, and for many years the Anaconda Copper Mining Company dumped waste there from its Anaconda smelter.

Tour group at the Arco-British Petroleum waste repository near the town of Opportunity:

It’s a big site: four thousand acres; more than six square miles. To date, the Arco-BP waste repository has been a big problem for nearby residents. Much of the waste was so phytotoxic that it would not support ground cover. Arsenic and heavy metals were carried off by wind and water erosion. Huge dust storms still occasionally engulf the town of Opportunity.

The day we visited, Arco-BP’s waste repository was a beehive of activity. Dennis Washington’s Montana Rail Link hauls waste by the trainload from Milltown, and Washington’s EnviroCon company spreads this waste as topsoil and undertakes revegetation. The 2.2 million cubic yards from Milltown – that’s about a million pickup loads – will cover a third of the waste repository.

EPA believes that the arsenic and metals levels of the Milltown waste, while high enough to classify as toxic waste, are low enough to support vegetation at a highly toxic waste repository currenlty devoid of vegetation.

Toxic mine waste being offloaded from the train to haul trucks:

Haul truck spreading the toxic mine waste as topsoil:

Area recently seeded:

Much of the waste repository has already been revegetated using contaminated soils from Silver Bow Creek. For the most part, says Charlie Coleman, the vegetative standard of 30% cover appears to have been met [see note, below]:

Some areas are pretty sparse, and if necessary will receive additional topsoil and reseeding:

Hopefully, this vegetative cover will end the dust storms, erosion, and further contamination of the groundwater aquifer.

Opportunity is a beautiful little town, and residents worry about being so close to a corporate waste dump. Some are more than a little skeptical about EPA assurances that this toxic waste in their backyard will be safely contained. They also do not trust EPA assurances that the arsenic action level of 250 parts per million is safe. Ninety Opportunity residents recently filed a lawsuit against Arco-British Petroleum, claiming that the corporation has “recklessly jeopardized their property, health, and welfare.”

The lesson here is that in Superfund, as in all things, we are connected. What happens along Silver Bow Creek will affect the Clark Fork River, and what happens at Milltown will affect the town of Opportunity. Let us all praise the Milltown Dam removal and cleanup, but let us also support Opportunity in its quest for environmental justice.

For more news about the recontamination of Silver Bow Creek, the Arco-British Petroleum waste repository, and other Superfund issues, please check out CFRTAC’s website at hyperlink www.cfrtac.org.

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Note: I readily confess that I do not know my butt from a hairy hole in the ground (sorry for the unfortunate analogy, but we are talking about a toxic mine waste site here!) when it comes to revegetation standards. Charlie Coleman, EPA, explained that they are using a Montana State University-Bozeman yardstick called "LRES Standard." The 30% goal must be met within ten years.

[An earlier version of this was broadcast as a commentary on Montana Public Radio.]

Ecorover in the Queen City: Helena, Montana

There I was in Helena, Montana's capital, for two days. As a representative for the faculty union at My College, I engaged in pre-budgetary negotiations (along with reps from other faculty unions) with represenatives from our Office of the Commisioner of Higher Education. The sessions went very well and were cordial & collaborative--a welcome relief after having engaged in contract bargaining sessions with some of the same management folks.

And there are worse places in world to spend two days. First of all, Helena is just one hour from Butte, and it's a scenic trip over the Continental Divide at Elk Park and across the Boulder hill. Elk Park is aptly named, for sure enough there was a big herd or two out on the greening meadows. Still lots of snow back in the trees and on north faces, though, and I think the elk are about a week late returning to calving areas.

Helena is home to the Sleeping Giant Brewing Company/Brewhouse Bar & Grill. For years, the Brewhouse served the best barbeque ribs in Montana. I'm not so sure about that, now, for the latest batch of raspberry chipotle was wimpy at best. The ribs themselves had their usual succulent, slow smoked, texture & flavor. And they go well with the truly excellent Tumbleweed IPA. Let's not forget the fully ripened and smoked jalapenos in the sauce next time, though!

The MEA-MFT put us up at the Wingate near the airport. It's an interesting neighborhood, with modest homes on small, grassy lots and a sort of anything-goes approach to things like putting your truck up on blocks for curbside repairs and erecting huge amateur radio antennae towers:

There are some real gems in the 'hood, like this classic little "dollhouse:"

The neighborhood is very flat, so I put in a couple of brisk miles without ever raising my heartbeat, and before I realized I should get back to the hotel for my usual early bedtime. In walking around uptown Butte, you KNOW when you've walked a mile or so, given the steep hills and 6,000 foot elevation. Still, a pleasant walk. Early the next morning I repeated a shorter version of it and was pleased the notorius mule deer of Helena's residential streets were out and about:


That day's negotiating session was in the Capitol Building (constructed 1896-1902). The Irish revolutinary and early Montana governor Thomas Francis Meagher (bronze, 1905) greets you as you approach the statehouse:

Inside, there is lots of art, including a few bronzes of Montana's finest, including Jeanette "I cannot vote for war" Rankin (1880-1973), a pacifist that served Montana in the U.S. House of Representatives and voted against U.S. involvement in both World War I and II:

And Maureen and Mike Mansfield (U.S. Representative 1943-53; Senate 1953-77):

The high, stained glass windows of the cupola (i.e. dome) is breathtaking:

And the murals decorating four sides of the cupola's base tell you a lot about how early 20th century Montanans felt about the role of Indians, Frontiersmen, Cowboys, and Miners in the formation of the young state:




Helena, Montana: a nice place to visit.

Moonlight Skiing: Altarwise by Owlight

Here is the other half of my recent collaboration for the Butte Silver Bow Arts Foundation show, "Visions & Voices." -- a collaboration of 55 artists and 55 poets/writers -- as part of the first Art Walk for this year in Butte. This first part was exhibited at the MoFAB gallery in the old YMCA (405 W. Park St.). For the
second part of the collaboration, exhibited at the Venus Gallery in the Venus Rising Cafe' (124 S. Main St.), see EcoRover blog entry for 05 May 2008.

Moonlight Skiing: Altarwise by Owl Light

Cross country skiing by the light of the full moon, he recalled a fragment of a poem by Dylan Thomas. "Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house
The gentleman lay graveward with his furies..."

His father had died earlier that winter, and since that time he could taste life. It was like late summer raspberries, sweet and juicy but with an off-flavor that made you hesitate before eating another one. But you knew the end of season was at hand and soon they would be gone, and so you kept eating. Past sixty, he should not be skiing alone at night on narrow trails with the temperature edging below zero.

Leo and Janet were to have met him in the parking lot, but as usual they bagged out. Probably Janet had some new imaginary illness, or perhaps Leo had driven halfway and remembered how the truck’s starter had been acting up. Oh, hell. They had the good sense to stay home on a cold night. What had happened to the days when a dozen or more of the gang would meet up for a midnight ski, build a bonfire, drink brandy, and careen back down the trail to the parking lot?

The steep climb left him breathless. It was a beautiful night. He paused in the big meadow to catch his breath and looking up at the moon, for just a moment he felt the earth and sky swing round the North Star. From the vast silence there arose a faint sound of voices. Too far into winter for geese. Maybe Leo and Janet, following his tracks? No, it was the stars, singing—just as the Kalahari Bushman had taught him. The song was coming from the Pleiades.

He heard his own voice, "My feet are getting cold." It was time to go home.

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And here is the painting created by Kathy Cashell after reading my bit of prose (it's a poor photo that does not do the art justice, but it's the best I could do with the glare and reflection from the glass):



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Friday evening art strolls in uptown Butte, a place and time when friends meet. Jan Munday & I made a quick stop at the Venus gallery before meeting Gloria & Dave Carter for Jan & Gloria's birthday supper at the Old Hotel in Twin Bridges. On our way to the cars, we met up with Frank & Hwe Ackerman, and Andrea & Don Stierle (Andrea Stierle had several beautiful paintings in the show). Of course we did what Buttians do: stand in one lane of Main Street and talk:


The Old Hotel is (in this humble bumpkin's opinion) the finest place to dine in Southwest Montana:


And here's one of the birthday girls, Gloria Carter, at the restaraunt:

Dennis Washington: The New Copper King

Wow, Dennis Washington gave $10,000 to Butte in support of the folk festival!

The "wow" is because this is such a pitifully small amount, given both Washington's huge wealth and the Butte/National Folk Festival's need to raise 3 million dollars.

You see, just one of Washington's companies, Washington Group International, posted more than 80 million dollars in profit last year. Another of his holdings, The Washington Companies, includes Montana Resources, Envirocon, and Montana Rail Link--all very profitable businesses in their own right. Washington makes money coming (by gathering and hauling mine waste from Milltown to Opportunity) and going (from the Continental Pit) in our area.

Like his Copper King predecessors, Dennis Washington operates a giant conveyor belt that permanently removes wealth from Butte. Marcus Daly had his mansion in Hamilton, where he stabled his race horses. William Clark preferred New York City, where he amassed a fantastic art collection. Their combined assets became the Anaconda Copper Mining Company. The ACM left Butte a legacy costing hundreds of millions of dollars in Superfund remedy. The ACM's environmental legacy for the entire upper Clark Fork River Basing is approximately 1 billion dollars.

Dennis Washington secludes himself on a large private estate on Stuart Island in British Columbia. His principle charity is the University of Montana in Missoula. The first million dollars in charity went to finance Grizzly stadium in 1985. The most recent 10 million dollars went to the School of Education. Missoula gets tens of millions and Butte gets tens of thousands—a ratio of one thousand to one? Last I checked, the copper and molybdenum was coming from Butte, not Missoula. Butte copper was crucial in making Washington a billioinaire. With copper and moly at record high prices, the profit margin at Montana Resources (the mining operation here in Butte) are obscene even when compared with Exxon.

Everyone can applaud the many good charitable donations from the Dennis and Phyllis Washington Foundation. Similarly, Butte is happy for the taxes paid by MR, and for the salaries and profit shares to MR employees.

However, one great question remains: the Anaconda Copper Mining Company left us the Berkeley Pit and a crumbling water supply infrastructure; What will be Dennis Washington’s legacy in Butte?

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A version of this piece appeared in The Montana Standard newspaper 07 May 2008.

When Ivy Newman responded to my letter in the Montana Standard, she raised the issue of current (and sorely needed) efforts to reform the 1872 Mining Law. Here are two links she suggested for further information:

US Senator from Montana, Jon Tester's recent op-ed on Reforming the 1872 Mining Law.

Pew Campaign for Responsible Mining

Uncle Mike: a vernacular version of "Seven Nights Drunk"

Gramps (Eugene Patrick Munday, Sr.) was a master of Irish oral culture, having been raised by traditional, illiterate Irish-American parents in various oil boom towns along the New York State-Pennsylvania state line. These towns included Bingham, Harrisburg Run, Nichols Run, Cobb Hollow, and Wolf Run. Like many children, I wish that I had listened more closely and written down his many poems, songs, and stories. Many were bawdy.

Such a one is the song "Uncle Mike." It's clearly related to "official" versions intended for polite company such as "Seven Drunken Nights" (aka "Seven Nights Drunk") recorded by The Dubliners. It's one of the few songs I remember, possibly because Gramps and my sister Kathy sang it so often. Also, it's one of the songs he sang to his teacher Mary Regan as he sat outside the schoolroom window after school let out in Harrisburg Run. He sang her naughty songs and recited naughty poems until she began crying. He thought he was in for the beating of his life, because Miss Regan boarded with his parents (John Eugene and Bertha Munday). But she never told, he felt guilty, and it built a special bond between the two of them. Gramps dearly loved school, though he had to quit in the eighth grade to begin working on an oil lease.

Here's a pic of that old schoolhouse with teacher, students, and some parents. That's John Eugene Munday on the left, with his two sons Charles (left) and Eugene (right) in front of him. I think Mary Regan is the woman just to the left of the open doorway:

I've done my best to teach "Uncle Mike" to the families and kids we've backpacked and camped with over the years. Here it is:

Uncle Mike

Oh Uncle Mike come home one night as drunk as drunk could be,
And at the door he saw a horse where his horse ought to be.
So he said to his wife, his pretty little wife, explain this thing to me
What's this horse outside the door where my old horse should be?

Oh you darn fool, you damn fool, you son-of-a-bitch said she,
It only is a milk cow my mother sent to me.

Well, I've traveled this whole world over, ten thousand miles or more,
But a saddle on a milk cow I never did see before.

Oh Uncle Mike come home one night as drunk as drunk could be,
And on the peg he saw a coat where his coat ought to be.
So he said to his wife, his pretty little wife, explain this thing to me
What's this coat upon the peg where my old coat should be?

Oh you darn fool, you damn fool, you son-of-a-bitch said she,
It only is a cleaning rag my mother sent to me.

Well, I've traveled this whole world over, ten thousand miles or more,
But buttons on a cleaning rag I never did see before.

Oh Uncle Mike come home one night as drunk as drunk could be,
And on the chair he saw a pipe where his pipe ought to be.
So he said to his wife, his pretty little wife, explain this thing to me
What's this pipe upon the chair where my old pipe should be?

Oh you darn fool, you damn fool, you son-of-a-bitch said she,
It only is a tin whistle my mother sent to me.

Well, I've traveled this whole world over, ten thousand miles or more,
But tobacco in a tin whistle I never did see before.

Oh Uncle Mike come home one night as drunk as drunk could be,
And by the bed he saw two boots where his boots ought to be.
So he said to his wife, his pretty little wife, explain this thing to me
What's these boots upon the floor where my old boots should be?

Oh you darn fool, you damn fool, you son-of-a-bitch said she,
It only is two flower pots my mother sent to me.

Well, I've traveled this whole world over, ten thousand miles or more,
But flower pots with buttons and laces I never did see before.

Oh Uncle Mike come home one night as drunk as drunk could be,
And on the bed he saw a head where his head ought to be.
So he said to his wife, his pretty little wife, explain this thing to me
What's this head upon the bed where my old head should be?

Oh you darn fool, you damn fool, you son-of-a-bitch said she,
It only is a baby doll my mother sent to me.

Well, I've traveled this whole world over, ten thousand miles or more,
But a baby doll with whiskers I never did see before.

Oh Uncle Mike come home one night as drunk as drunk could be,
And on her titties he saw two hands where his hands ought to be.
So he said to his wife, his pretty little wife, explain this thing to me
What's these hands upon you where my old hands should be?

Oh you darn fool, you damn fool, you son-of-a-bitch said she,
It only is a night gown my mother sent to me.

Well, I've traveled this whole world over, ten thousand miles or more,
But a night gown with fingers I never did see before.

Oh Uncle Mike come home one night as drunk as drunk could be,
And in her thing he saw a thing where his thing ought to be.
So he said to his wife, his pretty little wife, explain this thing to me
What's this thing here in you where my old thing should be?

Oh you darn fool, you damn fool, you son-of-a-bitch said she,
It only is a candlestick my mother sent to me.

Well, I've traveled this whole world over, ten thousand miles or more,
But a candlestick with balls on it I never did see before.

Spring Hike: Being Al/l-O/one

My tolerance for what generally counts as human culture is about two weeks. For two weeks, I can be around people, function relatively normally, and not act like a total misanthrope. I can satisfy myself with my excellent walk to and from work, chatting with the local ravens, and watching the bitterroot rosettes spring to life:

And the chunky, early spring predator wasps working the sagebrush/knapweed prairie (they sting & paralyse an insect, lay an egg on the insect, and stash it in a small ground burrow):

But the terrible environmental ethics of people begins to get to me, and each day I have to witness ongoing processes of mutilation, such as this ATV track near Big Butte that gets wider and deeper each year:

So I "lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my strength," and head out for a hike. Someplace where there is not another soul in sight. This fine day it was in the shadow of death, that is to say, in the shadow of the Anacona smelter. There are plenty of signs of bad environmental ethics here: the still-barren landscape was heavily damaged by arsenic, acidic fumes, heavy metals, and other fallout from Anaconda Copper Mining company smelters. Still, the damage is historical, and slowly fading away like this old fence line:

And there is remarkably good forage such as the grasses recover the land, and this old growth bitterbrush:

RTD and I saw a lone mulie doe and an enormous bull moose. Strangely, both were extremely skittish. This is normal enough for mule deer, although they usually run 100 yards or so and then turn to look back. This one ran clean to the other side of the open valley (a half mile or more away) before she even slowed down. And (as I learned from the tracks) bullwinkle hightailed it up over one ridge, through a shallow wash, and then up over the next ridge before heading down into thicker cover.

RTD and I also saw two large coyotes , or what I thought at the time were coyotes. We got just a fleeting glimpse of them as they trotted across a small snow field and up over a distant ridge. I wished afterward that we had hiked over to check out their tracks, for they did not look quite right for coyotes: their heads seemed large, and they carried their tail almost horizontally. Hmmmm... Wolves would explain that skittish deer and moose. Sure wish I had hiked over to check out those tracks.

We hiked up the drainage as far as we could go without snowshoes, taking in the good view of Short Peak and Mt. Haggin:

And pausing for a pot of noodles and a hot cup of tea:

Greatly refreshed, and ready to face the human world for another few days, we hiked down the ridges and back to the truck.

M is for Water

The Butte Silver Bow Arts Foundation coordinated "Visions & Voices" -- a collaboration of 55 artists and 55 poets/writers -- as part of the first Art Walk for this year in Butte. Numerous galleries and businesses exhibit art of all kinds, and folks stroll from place to place in Uptown Butte on a Friday night. The "Visions & Voices" was a two part collaboration: first, with the artist creating a piece in response to a bit of prose or a poem; second, with the writer creating a bit of prose of a poem in response to an artist's piece. The second part of the collaboration was exhibited at the Venus Gallery in the Venus Rising Cafe' (124 S. Main St.). The first part was exhibited at the MoFAB gallery in the old YMCA (405 W. Park St.).

Here is a photograph of the papier-mâché piece "Desultory Delusion" by artist Kevin Curtis:

And my response, inspired by Curtis's art as well as the letter "M:"

M is for Water

We shape our papier-mâché lives into meaningful form.

It begins with our face. The infant’s smile when they fart. The toddler’s jaw set in a defiant “NO!” The belligerent boy’s shit eating grin after he has gotten away with some mean thing. Mona Lisa’s shy smile at the thought of her lover.

And living shapes our papier-mâché lives into meaningful form.

It begins with our spirit. Crushed by parents telling us that bugs are bad and scary. Warped by lies we tell ourselves about The Amerikan Way. Bundled away inside of big SUVs, super-sized meals, and five thousand square foot houses.

In late middle age, for a year or two, he had sought the truth about his own life. Once, after a steep climb up and a swift hike down some unnamed ridge of the Continental Divide, he knew Truth. Saw it. Tasted it. Even heard it, like the sound of northern lights crackling in a gin clear February sky. But it must have been the endorphins talking. By the time he stopped for lunch at the lake, this burning Truth had waned to a fuzzy, warm, pleasant ember—something like the afterglow of good sex.

Later that night, over port wine in a tin cup, he tried to unravel it all. It would be the last time. To know it, to really know this thing that was his life, you would have to take it apart. But then no single, isolated fragment would make any sense. And it would be dangerous. You’d end up like Steve Irwin, pierced through the heart by the very thing you wanted to know. From that moment on, he simply accepted the bricolage that was his life. A work in progress.

Leben is leben: Life is living.

Opportunity for Justice: Citizens File Lawsuit Against Arco-British Petroleum

George Niland, of the Opportunity Citizens Protective Association, sent me a message about the citizens lawsuit against Arco-British Petroleum. Here is a paraphrase of that message:

A lawsuit has been filed with Butte District court by the law firm of Lewis, Slovack and Kovacich against Atlantic Richfield Company. 90 Residents of Opportunity are involved in the lawsuit. The lawsuit is for an human health cleanup of Opportunity. The arsenic action level of 250ppm set by the Environmental Protection Agency is too high and the law firm aims to make ARCO clean it up regardless of the action level.

Opportunity continues to be plagued by dust storms from the Arco-British Petroleum waste repository. Everyone is getting sick of it. In the future when there is vegetation on the barren ground, the dust will diminish but in the meantime, Opportunity must endures these horrible storms and there is nothing residents can do about it.

Arco-British Petroleum claims to be making efforts to halt the dust storms, but there seem to be no results. There have been 2 real bad dust storms at night in the last several weeks and seems as if they are doing the dusty work at night. A resident of Opportunity that is on oxygen says he is planning on trying to sell his home and get away from here because of the dust problems.

The old Anaconda Company tried growing vegetation for years in its waste repository and it would grow for a while but die out in a matter of a couple of years. They planted several types of trees and bushes, along with different types of grass, but everything eventually died out. The same thing is likely to happen to the vegetation that ARCO-British Petroleum is planting.

When Arco-British Petroleum pull out of here, they will abandon maintenance, the vegetation will die off, and Opportunity will once again be cursed with severe dust storms.

For more information, see the newspaper article in the Montana Standard (18 April 2008).

Happy Birthday, Kathy (wherever you are)

Today is my big sister's birthday. Kathleen Lenore Munday was born 01 May 1954 in Bradford, Pennsylvania. Here's Kathy Munday in her high school graduation photo (her face is still a little swollen from all the dental surgery following having been hit by a truck):

May first, a good day. May Day, the International Workers Day to celebrate the labor movement. May Day, the pagan holiday--in celebration of which Gramps would say,

Hooray, hooray, it's the first of May.
Outdoor fucking starts today.

Gramps could always get a smile with that, and with his many other witticisms and bawdy songs. Kathy and he would sing "Uncle Mike" at the top of their lungs, shouting out the verses over the noise of the engine that pumped the wells at the oil lease, or over the clatter of the old Willys going down the road. I still laugh to think of it.

For me, though, May 1st not so happy. Not since Kathy seemed to drop off the face of the earth more than fifteen years ago.

She had a tough time of it from day one. Mom and Dad fought a lot, both were alcoholic (Mom especially), there were several older half-siblings from Mom's first marriage, and Mom & Dad were trying to keep an independent trucking business afloat. My first memory is of Kathy coming in to wake me up, taking my hand, and leading me to the top of the staircase where we could peek down into the living room. Dad and Mom were going at it again, yelling and swearing, Dad punched Mom and gave her a bloody nose, and she clobbered him with a wire magazine rack that opened a big slash on his bald head. Kathy was four and I was barely three when the marriage went bust, and Kathy & I went to live with our fraternal grandparents.

Gram and Gramps had always wanted a daughter, and Kathy helped fill that void. But she always longed for Mom & Dad. We saw them both -- Mom on the occasional day visit (often including a drunken visit to the Option House bar) and Dad when he was home from the road (often including a drunken visit to the Italian Club) -- but it wasn't like having them as parents. Kathy & I fought a lot, and I don't know how much of it was our opposed natures, and how much was acting out what we felt in our lives.

By junior high, Kathy was into sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll. I liked books and getting into the woods. Still, we had a mostly good sibling relationship during those years, and I learned a lot that I wouldn't have otherwise. Things like how great the Stones were, and why heroin was a lot worse than pot.

Kathy was very smart and could have done well in her classes at the local University of Pittsburgh branch campus. But rebellion and drugs don't make for college success. Still, she always seemed to maintain, and would pop in and out of my life throughout my high school and college years. She was back home living with Gram after Gramps died, and it was there in the old house at 37 High Street that she met Don, my friend from the MS program at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.

Kathy and Don married, lived near Bradford for a time, and then moved to upstate New York. Kathy Kieffer went back to school, took a degree in nursing, and had some good jobs. But she was still wrestling with some demons, and the marriage and her nursing career did not work out.

Kathy visited with us after Emily was born, and there seemed to be a bond. Emily looked a lot like Kathy at different phases of her life and still does in the right light (and when her anger flares). Soon after that visit, Kathy left upstate New York and none of the family ever heard from her again. Gram, Dad, Mom, and Uncle Jim all longed on their death bed for some news of their darling.

It hurts to remember, but there is also a warm joy in some of those memories. So Happy Birthday, Kathy, wherever you are. And if you ever run across this, please drop me a line.