Along the Gulf Coast of Louisiana and Mississippi, most people were still reeling from the 2005 hurricanes. So reported Michael May in two superb stories for Weekend America (8/30). Eerily, his radio features were broadcast just two days before Gustave ripped the rural coast again.
May met the Conners' living in a FEMA trailer (their own home was washed away) in Cameron, LA; shrimper Lesley LeBoufe whose livelihood is vanishing as tides wash the marshland away; and wheelchair-bound Betty Davis, "still waiting" for housing in East Biloxi, as the nearby casinos (rebuilt fast with federal money) rake in more money than before Katrina hit.
These two radio stories capture both the cruel aftermath of the storms three years ago and the determination of Gulf Coast residents to reclaim their homeland. Here are people, May writes, who know a "Cajun miracle" when they find one: "A blessed moment of comfort followed by another hard turn."
A dark sky — a truly dark sky — is so rare these days that it's now a tourist attraction. The Wall Street Journal reports that two-thirds of the world's population (including nearly everyone in the US and Europe) "no longer see a starry sky where they live." Most people live in places where it never gets dark enough for the human eye to adjust to night vision. "Our children grow without seeing what is possibly the most extraordinary natural wonder," says Italian astronomer Fabio Falchi.
There is a movement, led by the International Dark Sky Association, to promote lighting that doesn't ruin the night sky. But the amount of artificial light worldwide has tripled since 1970. Even Death Valley is lit up by the glow from Las Vegas.
Women who work night jobs or who live in brightly lit cities report higher rates of some kinds of cancer, the WSJ reports. Bright lights disorient turtles and birds. For most of us, it's just hard to see the stars.
In 1993 the country was in a lather of concern about midwestern flooding that had killed 50 Americans and caused $20 billion in damages. Gerald E. Galloway, engineer and Army Corps of Engineers general, conducted a study finding that the "1993 flood was a significant but not unprecedented rainfall-river event, and that such floods would probably occur again. It pointed out that people and property were at risk of flooding not only in the Midwest but across the country, and that many did not understand the hazard they faced."
And then, nothing happened. Galloway describes the national case of do-nothing in today's Washington Post. Although the 1993 report made a slew of recommendations, "Unfortunately, since then, the order of the day has been discussion, not action."
Meanwhile, the Des Moines Register reports today about the incredible losses suffered in the floods by some community libraries. (Photo above of a Cedar Rapids library.)
Main's streams are cleaner. You can tell by the black fly bites.
Black flies are known (and hated) for their vicious bites, but the little buggers are also sticklers for cleanliness. They like to lay their eggs in pure water. For a time in Maine, that was a problem. Paper mills and other industries fouled Maine's streams and that held down the black fly population. But, the Boston Globe reports, as the state's waterways have grown cleaner over the years, the black fly population has buzzed.
Now they are "so thick you breath them in and they get stuck in your throat. They even get under your eyelids," said one Mainer. Other states work to control the black fly by treating streams with a bacteria that kills the critter's larvae. Maine officials say they have worked hard to get their rivers clean and don't think it's a good idea now to fuss with them. Besides, trout love munching the flies.
After $58 million invested to restore the Chesapeake Bay's oysters beds, the mollusks continue to die. Could the Chesapeake's mighty shellfish be going the way of New England's whales?
As the waters continue to top levees, the debate has begun about what caused the massive floods in Iowa and Missouri over the past several weeks. In the Washington Post this morning, Joel Achenbach reports that "Iowa flooding could be an act of man...."
It did rain cats and dogs, of course, but the people Achenbach talked with also said changes in the way Iowans use their land contributed to the second "500-year flood" in the last 15 years. (Remember the Great Flood of 1993?) The people Achenbach talked with argued that, for a variety of reasons, water was running more quickly into streams and rivers. Fields have been plowed up to streambeds, leaving little water-absorbing buffer. Fields have been engineered to speed drying by quickly draining water. More acres are planted and fewer are left in conservation programs. Wetlands have been removed. There is less crop rotation. All of these things have helped speed water into streams and that is increasing the severity of flooding.
There are plenty of other reasons. The Midwest is in a very wet weather cycle. A result of global climate change? Who knows?
Ag and Trade | Cool Places | Environment | Media | Wildlife
"It shocked the industry," says Brett Matzke, a self-avowed "fish kisser." Matzke was referring to the cattle industry and "Cowboy Unite" -- a collaboration of ranchers (like Todd Swickard, above), enviromentalists, and federal agencies. These age-old combattants agreed to work together to improve cattle management in the Plumas National Forest and bring back the fragile creek that runs through it. And they're succeeding.
Two media pros now present the compelling story of "Cowboy Unite" and other true tales of rural California via Saving the Sierra Radio. The project, led by Catherine Sifter and jesikah maria ross, lets top notch radio features prove what federal forestry officials, residents, cattlemen, and environmentalists like Matzke (a trout conservationist) all want and how many long-range interests they share.
As Sifter writes in the latest edition of Sierra Citizen, the goal is to "make downstream communities more aware of conservation issues at the top of their watersheds, and motivate greater involvement throughout the state." How do you do that? Writes Sifter, by airing "real rural voices."
Did you think bringing fish kissers and cow punchers together was impossible? Listen in for lots more shockers.
Students at the Llano Grande Center in Edcouch-Elsa, Texas, are combining oral history, environmental science, and direct action in 'Toxic Nopalitos,' an ambitious project that's come to the attention of state authorities.
The high schoolers knew that people in this part of South Texas worried that an abandoned chemical plant posed a health and safety hazard. Red Barn Chemical closed in 1985, but the relics of the factory stayed. When the students interviewed local residents, "stories of jumping bicycles from piles of powdered chemicals, smelling the ammonia fumes from the plant and losing relatives to cancer and babies to miscarriage poured out." The students then made their findings public at a community meeting.
Their environmental study will go on. Further, Sara Perkins of The Monitor writes, "the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality has assigned an investigator to the site after students wrote the agency, noting the strong possibility that the soil there could still be contaminated."