LJI 10:10 - take a hike
When I was a senior in high school in the fall of 1996, I began to learn about how political grassroots movements worked. The county was planning to put in a landfill on Graham Road, only a few miles away from where we lived.
This formed the West Plains Neighborhood Association, a group of concerned citizens who were speaking up and voicing their concern. My father, a retired cop who was now driving school bus, went door to door in the area so people could know what was going on and become aware.
Through fundraising of various types, the WPNA was finally able to get a lawyer. The lawyer they went with was a flamboyant publicity hound who, a few years later, ran for city council and won.
The WPNA, unfortunately, didn't stand a chance against the county. The Graham Road landfill went in a few years later, despite the best efforts of all parties involved. Valid concerns were raised about the drinking water in the area. My father sat at his computer and typed out sarcastic, nasty letters in reference to the "Graham Road DUMP".
Okay, the county decided. If these people are so concerned about their drinking water, let's work out a compromise. How about putting a liner in the landfill? That way, the water will still be fine and we can still build our glorified trash heap.
Ideally, it should have worked.
It didn't.
The liner, for all extents and purposes, turned the landfill into a giant toxic teabag, leaching toxins into the ground water the WPNA wanted to protect.
For some of us West Plains residents, the water issue was an annoyance more than anything else. Many of us were far enough away from the landfill that we were not directly affected. We could buy filtered water at the store to drink, or have the friendly neighborhood Culligan man supply us with a water cooler.
But there was the woman who lived in the little green house right off of Graham Road. It was always one of my favorite houses, and as long as I could remember, I'd admire it as we drove back and forth between Spokane and home. I wanted to live there when I grew up.
She had lived there since the sixties. Her husband had built the house for them before they got married. He'd passed away a few years ago, but she stayed there. It was the home they had shared, and she had no desire to leave.
That was, until the point came, when she had to.
The ground water analysis for her home showed that her home's water was so polluted that it was literally poisonous. She had to leave her home.
The little green house was uninhabitable.
The water was toxic.
The liner, which was supposed to make sure this never happened, had caused this.
Too bad, the county said. Sucks to be you. The landfill is staying, you have to go. And there must be another reason your house has toxic water, because the liner made it safe.
Take a hike, they told her.
I just got back from visiting my parents. Every time we went back and forth, I looked at the house out of the corner of my eye. I thought about how devastating it must be to leave your home by force.
And how important it is for everyone to have clean water.
This formed the West Plains Neighborhood Association, a group of concerned citizens who were speaking up and voicing their concern. My father, a retired cop who was now driving school bus, went door to door in the area so people could know what was going on and become aware.
Through fundraising of various types, the WPNA was finally able to get a lawyer. The lawyer they went with was a flamboyant publicity hound who, a few years later, ran for city council and won.
The WPNA, unfortunately, didn't stand a chance against the county. The Graham Road landfill went in a few years later, despite the best efforts of all parties involved. Valid concerns were raised about the drinking water in the area. My father sat at his computer and typed out sarcastic, nasty letters in reference to the "Graham Road DUMP".
Okay, the county decided. If these people are so concerned about their drinking water, let's work out a compromise. How about putting a liner in the landfill? That way, the water will still be fine and we can still build our glorified trash heap.
Ideally, it should have worked.
It didn't.
The liner, for all extents and purposes, turned the landfill into a giant toxic teabag, leaching toxins into the ground water the WPNA wanted to protect.
For some of us West Plains residents, the water issue was an annoyance more than anything else. Many of us were far enough away from the landfill that we were not directly affected. We could buy filtered water at the store to drink, or have the friendly neighborhood Culligan man supply us with a water cooler.
But there was the woman who lived in the little green house right off of Graham Road. It was always one of my favorite houses, and as long as I could remember, I'd admire it as we drove back and forth between Spokane and home. I wanted to live there when I grew up.
She had lived there since the sixties. Her husband had built the house for them before they got married. He'd passed away a few years ago, but she stayed there. It was the home they had shared, and she had no desire to leave.
That was, until the point came, when she had to.
The ground water analysis for her home showed that her home's water was so polluted that it was literally poisonous. She had to leave her home.
The little green house was uninhabitable.
The water was toxic.
The liner, which was supposed to make sure this never happened, had caused this.
Too bad, the county said. Sucks to be you. The landfill is staying, you have to go. And there must be another reason your house has toxic water, because the liner made it safe.
Take a hike, they told her.
I just got back from visiting my parents. Every time we went back and forth, I looked at the house out of the corner of my eye. I thought about how devastating it must be to leave your home by force.
And how important it is for everyone to have clean water.