Fouling the nest isn't what it used to be. We live in an era when denial, often paired with self-interest and corporate dollars, encourages us to ignore the mess we have created. Or to find someone else to blame.
If you never acknowledge a problem, you can avoid accountability for a long time. But not forever. I know.
Because. Mother Nature told me so. And if Mother Nature ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
Join me below for an object lesson about the wages of willful ignorance, and the failure to allocate accountability in direct proportion to the damage done...
In the early seventies, I remember reading of an effort by one of those pragmatic Northwestern states- Washington, or Oregon- to correct an outrage against human nature through legislation. The crime? Pay toilets.
In the rich, sonorous tones that good legislation often assumes, the new law proclaimed, “that it is the profound belief of this legislative body that when Mother Nature calls, she should not have to call collect.” Rarely has a law justified it’s own purpose so succinctly, and with such pragmatic humor. It has always served as a reminder to me that good works are possible through intentional legislative bodies, and that it possible to take the work, but not ourselves, so seriously.
I still laugh at the work of some of these legislative bodies, whose decisions (or indecision) affect my daily life. However, that laughter is not the amused, self-deprecating kind. It is the laughter that has always been a part of my Semitic cultural heritage- we laugh, or we would cry.
WHERE I LIVE
I live on the north shore of Massachusetts, in a small, historically rich and ecologically diverse community called Newburyport. Like so many seaside communities, there have been tremendous socio-economic changes in the past 50 years. Since Newburyport presciently lined up early when urban renewal funds were made available in the mid-seventies- an event that literally rescued the city from a fifty year decline that destroyed the downtown business area- we have seen a complete reversal of socio-economic order. It has been a kind of gentrification, on steroids. Areas where the poor and lower class would live- ‘up-along’ the river, and near the waterfront- are now teeming with well-heeled young families. The poor are left to fend for themselves, mostly-which means they move out of Newburyport to other communities. Still, we remain diverse- we have both men and women living here, in relative harmony. The fastest growing segment of the immigrant population is Asian- because, mostly, of adoptions.
Nowhere is this shift more evident than on Plum Island, a six-mile long barrier island that Newburyport shares with in a contiguous town, and the federal government. The government operates a large wildlife refuge- one of the top ten birding hot spots in the country. In fact, aside from the annual invasion of the 'green heads', the biggest complaint people have is the refuge shutting down about three miles of beach each summer, to allow the endangered piping plover to nest. That hasn't been working out so well over the last few years- feral cats and coyotes have been taking most of the nestlings. Still, the refuge is lovely, with six miles of biking from one end to the other. And, it is still very much a barrier island. Which means, simply, that it is a fine example of the magic of nature. Now you see it and now you don’t.
Barrier islands are by definition, temporary. They are conditional, and subject to greater variances in borders and boundaries than a democratic legislative district being gerrymandered by a republican legislature. Nature sets up barrier islands as a precaution against storms; an insurance policy for the mainland. A big storm can remove acres of barrier, only to return it a year later, in another storm. And the mainland breathes easy.
I’ve always thought that if G-d wanted man and woman to permanently occupy barrier islands, there would be fresh water available. Readily available. But it isn’t. Despite a fundamental environmental conundrum- no fresh water, and no place to dispose of those wastes that accompany civilization, the temptation to inhabit Plum Island is irresistible. At the turn of the last century, the Island was filled with hotels, and the tram ran right out to them from the city, which is about two plus miles west, as the bike rides. Over time, the hotels burned down, or were lost in storms- always storms, changing the shape of the Island, every year.
Once the hotels were gone, and they ceased to beckon to city-dwellers yearning for beachside in the summer, Plum Island became a refuge for the least affluent Newburyporters; and the Island, over the first 75 years of the 20th century, gradually filled with winter rentals, tumbledown shacks, burned garbage and bottles on the beach. And failing wells, polluted by septic systems that lay in top of them, seeping into the water supply.
As urban renewal turned Newburyport into a destination, the shacks were allowed to tumbledown, and in their place, fabulous mansions, with a half a block of windows facing the ocean or the bay popped up. Montel Williams owned on Plum Island for a while, as did the ubiquitous Dr. Keith Ablow. It became very pricey.
And the ocean still claimed one or two houses every year, it seemed, as part of the tenancy agreement any barrier island has with nature. But with the right kind of insurance, the buildings would jump back up, bigger, better, and with more windows. What didn’t go away, however, was the fresh water and sewage problem.
WATER, SEWAGE AND POLITICS
When poor people lived out there, it was easy enough for the community to ignore them. But when the rich and famous, the affluent and the investor class staked a claim to the Island, their voices were heard. Gradually, against the wishes of much of the larger community, a plan was put in motion.
Bring fresh water out to Plum Island from the city water supply. Bring sewage back to Newburyport through sewer piping- both routes extending out to the barrier island. It would cost a pretty penny to hook up, but it would resolve the issue, and stabilize the value of the housing on Plum Island. At least as long as nature allowed.
The larger question of whether the city should invest in running pipes out to a barrier island to begin with was never really explored. The urgency of the residents of the Island was constantly tossed at us- their despair, the loss of value of their homes. All worthwhile considerations. And in truth, the alternative to the nearly $25,000,000 project was unthinkable- well, not by environmentalists, but by taxpayers.
That alternative would have been to stop any residential development on the barrier island; and gradually buy out the residents, removing the houses, and letting nature do with the island as it had for thousands of years.
So the City Council put their stamp on it, and the bond went out, and we moved forward. Well, forward is a relative term.
Not the best decision for the environment, although you could make a case that sewage seepage into ground water so close to the ocean wasn’t a great idea either. A compelling story for residents, who found their sewage systems failing, through no fault of their own. Though, they didi choose to move there...
Ahh, but it gets worse. By deciding to run those pipes out and back, to relieve the Island enclave of it’s dilemma, we inserted the critical variable in any environmental nightmare.
The human element.
The contract apparently went out to bid. Well, maybe not. It looks like a no-bid contract went out to a specific vendor. That vendor was the former employer of the city employee who would probably be overseeing the project, and in fact, had the responsibility to sign off at completion.
YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING
Cost over-runs, and delays ballooned the project. Finally it was finished, we signed off, and Plum Island residents no longer had to boil their water. That was good for about three years.
Suddenly, apparently, systems on the island- sewage systems- began to break down. They'd back up. In an effort to determine the cause, some of the pipeline was opened up, to see what the problem was. It became self-evident. The pipes for sewage, which were to have been sunk to a level of eight feet, began to appear at four feet. Perhaps miles of pipe, running out across a barrier island, where the sand shifts every storm, were deposited with barely enough sand covering them to prevent a person from tripping over them. And we signed off on the project when it was done.
Now, that is a problem, but not a crisis. It becomes a crisis, however, when the bolts that hold the pipes together are not the coded bolts- they are not galvanized- they rust. And each time a storm shifts the sands, those rusted bolts are stressed, and then they snap. And as if history repeats itself, sewage permeates the ground near the houses. And we signed off on the project when it was done.
Yup, all signed off on by the city.
No one wants to talk about this. I can't even verify the above, though I know it is accurate...
“It could go to litigation, so we can’t talk,” says the Mayor, and the City Council. Is it in litigation? "Can't say." No one confirms or denies the rumors, no one has the information. No one is accountable. Nearly $30,000,000 to run pipes to a barrier island, and we seem to have screwed it up.
WHY I MARCH
So I march. Not for the residents of Plum Island, though I have to ask for their votes when I run for office. I wish them no ill, but I would have preferred a genuine conversation about the implications of running pipe across salt marsh, and through shifting sands to meet the needs of a community living in a place that nature has other uses for.
I march because I am tired of conversations about the impact on the environment that are always bracketed by what’s good for the one per cent, and not what sustains the rest of life on this planet.
I march for the same reason I laugh- if I didn’t I would cry.
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