Hold on, Nellie. Here we go. I’ve been delaying this topic, because once I get started, it’s hard for me to stop.
Last week, a lady stopped by my workplace with some pamphlets about environmental issues. That’s cool. I was born a tree hugger and a mud lover. But when I started reading the part about how small commercial fishermen are overfishing the oceans, my head almost blew off.
Bless her heart. She was a sweet, well intentioned lady from the middle of Ohio. So I was nice to her. She just needed a little education from the other side.
Yes, overfishing happens. But not in all places and not by the people I know. The commercial fishermen I know love the land and the water better than anyone else you’ll ever meet. They are part of the landscape. They have a vested interest in it. It’s their culture and their family heritage to pass down to their children.
And they’re not stupid enough to defecate in their own livelihood.
The problem, my friends, is greed. And whenever there’s greed, I smell a politician right around the corner. Often, it’s on a local level. Both parties are guilty as charged. And the gavel comes down.
The story I’m posting today is happening right now. It’s certainly not a new story. This story is regional to my beloved Southern Outer Banks. But it is happening all over the world, wherever air conditioners are sold.
I have nothing against someone who wants to sell their land to someone else who wants to buy it. Freedom rocks. And it’s not about class warfare or hating rich folks. Wouldn’t it be sweet to never have to worry about money ever again?
I do, however, take big issue with low down, dirty, stinking, rotten bastards who roll over other human beings to get more green in their own pockets.
Thankfully, there’s a lot of beauty left. For now. And a lot of fishermen and women back home are quietly rolling up their sleeves and doing great things to help preserve the beauty of the marsh, the miles of deserted beaches, the wild horses, the ancient maritime forests…and the people.
This story was originally in Clapboard House a few months ago.
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Circling
by Julie Buffaloe-Yoder
Old man Willis sits in a wooden chair on the front porch of his shack next to the salt sweet shore. His brown-red hands are on his knees. The tongues of his work boots stick out. He does not move a muscle. He used to see bobcats and shy black bears rustle through the tangle of live oaks next to the shore. There was a time when he enjoyed watching the wood ducks fly past his front porch. Now he listens for the sound of the silver helicopters that circle overhead. He does not look up but can hear them come closer. A mosquito lands on his eyebrow and bites hell out of him. He will not move to swat it away.
A new group of real estate developers smell gold in the North Carolina marsh mud. Every day, they circle overhead. Today, they have a tax appraiser and a politician with them. Hot damn! This could mean a sweet retirement. If only it didn’t have to be so hard. If only these frigging marsh billies weren’t so stubborn. They raise hell about their maritime culture and heritage, yet they scrape and sweat with no retirement, no pensions, nothing but a bunch of woods and little boats on the shore to leave the next generation.
The men in the helicopter make jokes about their wives. But they love their families, too. They’re southern men, damnit. Providing for their families and doing the best they can to pay all the electronic bills the twenty-first century brings their way. They smile as they see the aerial view, hues of purple and blue, the stretchmarks of canals on the fertile, black earth. They appreciate the beauty as much as the next man, as long as it’s air conditioned.
The helicopter circles tighter. They see the emerald sparkle of parcels A through M. They’re men of vision, and they can envision a freaking goldmine. An upscale community with its own mall, a restaurant with a view of the bay, wild horses grazing in the distance. Horses crap a lot, don’t they? Build a fence. Tourists love to see wild horses, but they don’t want to step in piles or hit one if it dashes across the parking lot.
They circle even tighter, and they see Lots 3 through 23. Get rid of those oaks and cypress. All that old swamp shit is too spooky nowadays. Fill it all in. If they fill it in, it’s not a wetland, is it? They can get the permit. They’ll grow sweet spring crops of men in pink shirts playing golf, a marina for yachts. How about a gentlemen’s club? A spa for the ladies. Maybe they can plant a few banana trees. Find out if they grow here-why the hell not?
They circle closer and there’s the old man’s life: his paint-peeling shack, Sunday clothes on a line, a yard full of nets hanging, stiff and sun dry, the lap of the tide on the side of a shrimp boat, stacks of carving wood next to a shed, at least two hundred rusty crab pots, some old hip boots, three long-eared hounds, canvas gloves, buckets, knives, and vines wrapping around an anchor by the old front porch. In the backyard, there’s a creaky wooden building with a blue crab painted on the side. The crab’s faded gray and hanging on for dear life. There’s a hand lettered sign: Willis and Son Crab House, 1863.
No need to worry. Their crew can remove all that crap in a day.
They land in a whir of wind, and there sits old man Willis on his porch, looking like Abraham Lincoln in a camouflage cap. He does not move a muscle. The chopper spins a wind that sends loose shingles, boots and boards flying across the yard. Bottles roll across the porch, windows rattle, the porch swing rocks.
Even when a shingle hits old man Willis on the cheek, he does not flinch. He’s lived through seventy-eight years of hurricanes much stronger than this piss-ant little breeze. Old man Willis will never sell. For love nor money, he will not budge. He will not blink. He will not speak to these bastards.
That’s okay. They can wait a while. They slap the old codger on his shoulder and take their bird back up to circle some more. Because they know. The real estate bubble hasn’t burst in this part of the country yet. These waters will be closed to clamming next season due to storm drain runoff. Just wait ‘til the old man gets the next waterfront tax assessment on his little crap shack.
And there’s a moratorium on commercial fishing licenses.
Old man Willis has a son who’s pushing forty, who works double shifts in maintenance at a condominium complex a one-hour commute one way. Old man Willis’ son comes home in debt on payday, feeling like a red-eyed duck swimming upcurrent in a gale.
Every night, when he opens his door, there are four little ones peeping up at him, their mouths wide open.
from the heart coupled with a very fine writing. It is going on everywhere and that is the sadness of it all–loved old man willis–seems like we all know him and the voice in this–fantastic with a tinge of watch out–you just might get your ass kicked
Thanks much, Scot.
Someone recently sent me an article about a tribe of people so remote they’ve never seen other people or anything modern at all. No McDonald’s wrappers. No logo t-shirts. No bottled water. None of it.
There was a picture of the people with the article. They were terrified of a plane flying overhead (I think the plane carried a team of scientists of some sort who were studying the tribe. Would that be anthropologists? I don’t know). Anyway, they were trying to help the tribe, because deforestation is headed their way. But it just made me sad. I wish the world could leave them in peace.
Thanks again for stopping by. I look forward to more of your flash fiction!!
Beautiful story – sad and honest. I really like how you show pressure coming in overhead but then also pressure on the ground, with his son’s financial position. His stillness seems a strength but one could also see it as he is frozen in place between the two.
Thank you, Brigindo. That’s a wonderful perspective. You have a good reader’s eye. And thanks again for the award:)
Very nice. Reminds me that I need to finish my latest Hal story about a date he takes to an L.A. seafood restaurant: she is horrified that none of the options on the menu are of the “sustainable” variety (“That shrimp is harvested in Thailand, where they allow child labor; that cod is from an overfished area of the North Atlantic”, etc., etc.)
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That cracks me up! Can I go kick your character’s butt? Ha!
I know a woman who acts that way. She doesn’t know squat about squat, but she’s always harping about the latest “cause.” She doesn’t do anything about any of it, either. But she’s oh so fashionably aware.
I’d like to put her to work at the fish house. Then she’d really have something to worry about.
Your story makes me think of another story. A woman who is obsessed with germs and cleanliness. She ends up making her boyfriend (the narrator) wear a full body condom. Now who in the heck wrote that? T. Coraghessan Boyle? Dang…I can’t remember who. If you know, please tell me, or that will drive me crazy.
Thanks much, Rodger! I look forward to reading your story. -Julie
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Okay, it only took me three days of obsessing, but I found the story on one of my bookshelves. “Modern Love” by T. Coraghessan Boyle from his collection of short stories, “If The River Was Whiskey.” Great stories. I know I’m straying from the topic here, but I get distracted by shiny objects. -Julie
Thought you might be interested in a recent article published in the July 2008 issue of Wildlife in North Carolina:
http://www.ncwildlife.org/pg09_NCWildStore/sample_july08.pdf
BTW, that tribe photo turned out to be a hoax. I read the Yahoo! follow up article. People have known about the tribe for some time. Seems the person responsible for the photo lied to draw attention to deforestation.
Thanks, Kimberli. Great article. It’s sort of depressing, though. I want to go home so badly, but everybody else wants to go there, too. Maybe instead of “You Can’t Go Home Again,” it should be “You Can’t Go Home, Because You Can’t Afford It.” Ha!
I’m glad the picture is a hoax. It made me really sad. But I wonder why someone would want to lie about deforestation? It’s a very obvious problem. Hmmm…go figure!
Thanks again…I appreciate it a lot.
I just did a search for the article, and apparently it’s still being debated. Check here:
http://english.eviewweek.com/Photographer-photos-of-lost-Amazon-tribe-are-fakes.shtml
and here:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,370943,00.html
What’s the truth? Who knows.
Depressing is right. How do you balance growth with preservation? As with many places in the Carolinas (and elsewhere I assume, I don’t know) land–including farm land–in the area we live is quickly disappearing. With this drought, we barely have enough water as it is, and more people are moving in? On the flipside, several sections of the OBX were recently closed off after nesting endangered birds were found. The locals are furious because of the impact on the economy. (If you haven’t seen it yet, info on the OBX controversy is at http://savehatteras.com. I’m still trying to sort through it to figure out what’s going on.)
Now this is the part that really rips me. People work hard to develop the OBX and NC’s coastal plains for tourism or whatever, but there are no tourists during the winter months! Edenton businesses are having extreme problems staying open during the Low (or rather, non-existent) Season and several shops have closed this year. And the OBX? We went through Rodanthe and Avon during the winter months and it was EMPTY. Shops were closed. Houses locked. We passed a few cars along Hwy 12 and that’s it. Couldn’t even find a place to eat. What sense does it make to scoop up land, build on every inch of it, and utilize it for only three or four months out of the year? Especially land as fragile as the Outer Banks?
Oh my, I must stop. I’m getting ticked again. We need answers. Fortunately, a few organizations are trying to work together to preserve what they can.
You are so right, Kimberli! I can tell you know the state and the issues we face. I was blown away by your article, though. I didn’t know the growth rate was going to be that much!
I’ve also read articles about the Geeche/Gullah people who are having the same problem. They’re trying really hard to retain their culture, as it should be!
My dear friend works at a museum in Harker’s Island, and they are now trying to partner with other people in other areas to learn how others are dealing with the problem. She told me the history of Hilton Head, SC, and it is just sickening.
That’s so true about tourism. Thankfully, we’re not like the upper banks/Avon area. YET. The SOBX region is just now getting discovered big time.
The thing about the Carolina coast is that it IS different. It’s unique. There are no garbage scowls. It’s wild. It’s free. The southern outer banks was never for everyone (very few stores and conveniences…get ready to rough it a bit if you go there). But developers are doing their damnedest to turn it into just another crowded, cruddy beach.
Another issue…I wonder if people realize the seafood they are eating AT the beach might be imported from Asia? I mean, you go to an area hoping to eat the local cuisine, and who knows.
Again, politics. There are so many restrictions on shrimpers (often state restrictions are worse than federal ones). Taxes, etc. BUT the floodgates were opened some years back for frozen imports, which were much cheaper for restaurants to buy.
No offense to our Asian friends is intended. But big boo’s to our government restrictions on our own people.
A wonderful organization called “Carteret Catch” is working with local restaurants to buy local, fresh, wild caught seafood. My friend is also big in that organization.
If you go to a restaurant on the coast, please ask them if the seafood is local! It really does put the pressure on them when patrons ask. If it is in Carteret County, the restaurants who do will display the Carteret Catch logo.
Okay, I’ll shut up for two minutes…ha! Thanks again, Kimberli. Please feel free to leave more comments and articles.
Thanks for allowing me to voice my opinion, Julie. Living in eastern NC, I see the issues all around me and I’m concerned.
I can’t find a good transition here, so I’ll just jump into my next thought: The bee is a good example of the hidden dangers of failure to conserve natural resources. SC Wildlife magazine tackled the issue of the disappearing bee in an article titled, Pollinators in Peril” (South Carolina Wildlife Magazine, July/August 2008 at http://www.scwildlife.com/pubs/julyaug2008/pollinators.html) Seriously, my first thought was, “Who cares. I dislike them and I’m glad they’re gone.” Then I read the article and was reminded that bees are pollinators, and without pollinators, our food supply shrinks. It doesn’t matter how much one plants and how much technology is available. No bees, no crops. Farmers are actually renting bees to help their harvest (wonder how they’re listed in the Yellow Pages!) What else are we losing in our oblivion?
Have you seen the Species Watch article in the July issue of “Our State Magazine”? After I grumbled about their covering the Karen Beasley Sea Turtle Hospital in Topsail (I just covered the hospital in my blog. Our State is always one step ahead of me!) I came across a quote from Jean Beasley, the hospital’s founder. According to article author, Marla Milling, Ms. Beasley said, “We have to be conservation minded. Every single person can make a difference. It’s up to all of us to change the direction we’ve being (sic) going in”. I honestly believe that’s the key. We learn, we teach those around us, and support conservation efforts. Simple.
I just had to delete a paragraph that sounded totally preachy. No sense in numbing your mind with my prattle. On another note–sort of–“Nights in Rodanthe” will be released in theaters this September. Wanna bet fans will start flocking to Rodanthe after that? Maybe that will help the tourist trade during the low season. That’s good, as long as people don’t disturb migrating birds resting along the shores.
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Hi, Kimberli…No, please don’t ever think you’re being too preachy. Your comments are excellent. I love having you and everyone else here. I could stand on this soapbox for the rest of my life. Sometimes, it just feels like I’m the only one screaming, so it’s good to know others are concerned, too.
The bees is a great example. No, I haven’t seen the article from “Our State Magazine,” though it sounds like a good one. Conservation is definitely the key. If only the government of the state of North Carolina would practice conservation when it comes to development, then we’d be in business. Again, I have to say I’m not against someone who sells their own land by choice. But some of the tricks I have witnessed first hand are outrageous. If you tax or regulate a poor family with four kids to death, eventually they’ll sell. Who can blame them? If I had to feed my children or sell, I know what I’d do. All the waterfowl and the bees and the turtles don’t stand a chance next to row after row after row of condominium/yacht complexes.
The turtles remind me of something else. Commercial fishermen get blamed for the decline in the sea turtle population when, in fact, they traditionally put turtles back that were caught in their nets. Long before the invention of the TED (turtle excluder device), which is now government imposed. Sure, some turtles were eaten. But again, the fishermen are not stupid enough to wipe out the population. Nobody dares to point a finger at the real culprit–unchecked development. Sea turtles come up on the beaches to lay their eggs. I’ve seen condominiums that are barely feet away from the nests. Before wildlife authorities started guarding the nests, it was an even bigger problem (people stealing the eggs or destroying the nests). But who gets blamed? Who gets taxed? Who gets restricted? Not the developers, that’s for sure.
One last thought. The million dollar beach homes that are built next to the sand dunes. Hmmm… What usually happens at least every few years? Yep. Good old hurricanes. Who gets to pay for it? WE do! FEMA loves to hand out money to the popular beaches. My family home was destroyed by flooding after Isabel. My best friend who still lives in the area was wiped out, as were many others. They didn’t get squat, at least not that I heard, and at least not for the first two years after the fact. She quietly started over from scratch, as did many others. Because they know if you live in an area that’s prone to hurricanes or flooding, those are the risks you take. (If you read the history of Harker’s Island, they floated over on pieces of driftwood after a hurricane in the 1800’s). But when the national news covered Isabel, all I saw were condos and rich houses on Emerald Isle or Hatteras. Those were quickly rebuilt, because money talks. It makes me want to puke.
Good grief…I’m sorry to go on and on! See what I mean? I can’t stop myself!
Thanks, Kimberli. I really appreciate your comments. Keep them coming!
Ah wonderful story, good conversation as usual.
The tribe in the Amazon – the hoax was the part of the story that claimed they’d had no contact with “civilization”. They have. They’re still an indigenous tribe of people in the deeps of the Amazon that is quickly being cut down around them though. Sorry.
You know, if you can believe it, this story kinda reminds me of how I feel when people go nuts on Canadian sealers every year. I think baby seals are as cute as anyone, but the hunters who take them are part of a culture that absolutely depends on seal skins (and fishing when there are any fish left) for their livelihood. Generations and generations. And it’s not like they go onto ice floes in helicopters and shoot with AK-47s. They actually kill the seals by hand. It’s not very pleasant to see, no doubt about that. They use these nasty looking hooky things. But they are close to the animals they kill. Not like us. I don’t like to see young, innocent things killed any more than anyone else but, as is often the case, there’s more to this story than meets the eye. The “killers” are barely able to survive with their destroyed fisheries.
And, speaking of destroyed fisheries, in my Atlantic Canada neighbourhood, it wasn’t the local fishers that destroyed the cod. It was the huge fish manufacturing plants on the sea from Scandinavia, Japan and elsewhere who killed it.
Oh it all makes me so mad!
Thanks for giving it a voice Julie.
Hi, hysperia!
Thanks so much for dropping by. Your comments are very thoughtful and good, so I’m glad you have a voice here. The Canadian sealers are a good example. I don’t know anything about them, but we sure do get all the negative images of them here in the states. It would be nice to see a truthful documentary about their lives. You are so right. They are much closer to the seals than any of us ever will be.
And…oh boy…your comment about the huge fish manufacturing plants is right on the money. Sometimes it seems like that will be the only thing left someday. Huge, government run fisheries. Or only the large rich companies who can afford to do it. I get so riled up when the media points its finger at the little people who truly know what conservation means. The people I know knew about overfishing and were practicing “rotation” hundreds of years ago. They have also worked with conservation agencies to do studies that help certain types of fish, like the red drum. They truly care about the ocean, unlike some huge company run by people who don’t even live there.
I was wondering about the Amazon tribe, too. If maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle. Whether they’ve seen a Coke bottle or not isn’t really the issue, is it? Thanks for the information on that one.
And thanks for your comments, as always! I love your site, too. You wouldn’t believe how often I stay up too late reading your articles…but it’s well worth it!
P.S. to all – Sorry I’m taking a while to get comments up. I’m still getting bombarded with propositions after the Shaqueena poem, so I’m approving comments. If I’m not at home, it may take a bit. But I’ll get them up there, I promise!
The poem wasn’t intended to be dirty. It’s about young women and body image. But this is the internet, so… Good grief.
Take care & have a beautiful day. -Julie
And the poem WASN’T dirty Julie. You should see some of the stuff I get! I am now scared to look at comments and absolutely thrilled when there’s a friend around.
Yeah, I thought I was being pretty mild here.
I can only imagine what you get! But I know you have friends, too, including me:)
Hi, Julie… as a tree-hugger of long standing, I’m coming to realize the delicate balance between truth and supposition, complete with the realization that many of the positions on both sides of the aisle are over-stated with a gusto born of fanaticism, as though to concede a single point (even in the face of valid, documentable evidence) is heresy. All corporate endeavors become money-grubbing excess and all environmental efforts suddenly take on wild-eyed hues of spotted owls and baby seals being slaughtered before our weeping eyes. So what (and who) are we to believe?
I love the conversational style with which you write… cuts right to the chase. Thanks…
Hi, Bob! You should always believe ME! I would never lie to you (she says, batting her baby blue eyes).
Okay, I’ll be serious for a moment. You have an excellent point. People on the outside are probably like…what the heck is she talking about? But as for me, I tend to believe the people who live the issue. Whether they live in Canada or the Amazon or Carolina or the Midwest or wherever. As opposed to some government wanker or somebody who lives five hundred miles away and takes a class or passes out a pamphlet. But you have a great point, so thanks.
And thanks for your kind words. I love your site…and your style. Your wit is awesome. Did I tell you that you got me in trouble at my day job? We have new big brother technology, so boss man can see the sites I visit. You, Scot, and PoetMan came up. The boss was puzzled, because most people are looking at porn.
Ha! Well, if you like, I guess I could include a few photos just to spice it up a bit… heehee. Just tell her/him that it’s an affectation indulged in *only* during your lunch hour. Of course, he won’t believe it, but it might buy you some time. Heehee… love your site, as well. Thanks…
HA! HA! Too bad he’s a big, fat ugly man. He’s dumber than a flaming box of poop, too. Everybody wave!
I’ve heard that poets should get fired at least once in their lives, because it builds character. But they won’t fire me. They know I work like a sucker.
I do get away with a lot, though. It must be my charm.
Bob photos would be cool. I’ll put you on there with Shaqueena. My stats would go through the roof!! Or just forget all this froo froo creative writing stuff. Ha! Oh yeah, I’m still at work. I’ll hit your site in about an hour. See you soon, Mr. Bubba:)