In My Backyard

The tar sands debate – dark and dismal – always seemed focused on someplace far away: the Province of Alberta, Nebraska, West Texas.  But en sotto voce, plans have been taking shape right out my back door.

The Casco Bay is the maritime port for Eastern Canada.  Into this year round deep-water port, oil tankers arrive daily to unload their crude and then ship it by pipeline 236 miles north to Canada.  Since 1941 – for almost three generations – over 4 billion barrels of crude oil have been pumped northward along the Portland-Montreal Pipeline.

It is no engineering feat to realize that a pipeline can flow in either direction.  And as the Keystone XL pipeline became embroiled, rumors began to surface for shipping the tar sands oil east, from Alberta to Quebec then into Vermont and New Hampshire for export through the Gulf of Maine.

The pipeline can move 600,000 gallons per day.  Its terminus is South Portland.  The oil tank farm lies across the street.  Tar sands would come here.  Not without a fight.

The Portland-Montreal Pipeline Company has made no announcement of plans to reverse the pipeline.  None, officially, but a strong grass roots coalition – raising voice from Vermont to South Portland – has been preemptive in resisting the possibility.

In South Portland, it is a zoning issue.  On 5 November there is a referendum up for a vote.  The citizen initiated Waterfront Protection Ordinance states that within the Shipyard District, the permitted use would include “facilities for the unloading of petroleum products from ships docking in South Portland” but “there shall be no enlargement or expansion of existing petroleum storage tank farms and accessory piers, pumping and distribution facilities….”

If you ask any of the activists in favor of Waterfront Protection, they make plain that the existing crude oil business is fine – the inbound unloading of tankers – but there should be no expansion that allows the outbound loading of tankers.  Tar sands is the issue, and the related toxic fumes, emissions, and the very real risk of an oil spill.  The high bitumen content of tar sands makes clean up difficult by an order of magnitude.

In debate, plain language is anything but, and big oil is funding the movement against Waterfront Protection. The Portland-Montreal Pipeline Company, which operates quietly out of a small red brick building over on Hill Street, and does have a sterling record of safety, is a subsidiary of Exxon-Mobil Corporation.

“It’s the Economy, Stupid,” is a slogan proven to win elections, and that is the crux of their argument.  Upon a faulty premise, they have built a case carefully, and are broadcasting misinformation widely in glossy mass mailings, that arrive weekly.  They are spending a reported $275,000 in their campaign against the ordinance.

They paid Charles Lawton, a local economist, $15,000 to quantify the impact of the ordinance shutting down all oil-related business.  (Bear in mind, the ordinance clearly states that the status quo is fine, and only the expansion is restricted.)  Given the premise of all operations ceasing, the economist logically projected over the next decade 5,600 jobs would be lost and $252 million dollars in earnings would vanish; the “economic multiplier” would impact the wider community to the amount of $26.6 million annually, eliminating about 250 jobs, $12 million in income, and $9.4 million in tax revenues.

In the 16 October edition of the Portland Press Herald, a columnist called this report, “a scare tactic masquerading as a fact.  Pretty slick, huh? One minute Lawton is talking hypothetically about a waterfront sans workers – and the next his gloomy forecast is attached, as sure as tomorrow’s sunrise, to a “yes” vote on the Waterfront Protection Ordinance.”  http://www.pressherald.com/news/Oil_guys_pollute_South_Portland_ordinance_issue.html

You have to wonder how Lawton regards this distortion, and what to make of his quote from the article : “I’m not uncomfortable with what I delivered…[but] I can’t say how it’s been represented in ads or handouts or fliers or whatever.”   Is the public nothing more than a bunch of rats being lead through a dirty maze?  Independent thought and fact checking are crucial.

Fear is an easy message to sell.  Whether it is true or not seems hardly the issue.  Big Oil has reportedly hired youths to go door to door, telling people they also want to protect the waterfront but the language is too restrictive.  “It’s just the wording is wrong.”

Now firefighters statewide have raised their voices against the Waterfront Protection Ordinance.  Their union also says the wording is wrong, and would restrict companies from upgrading for safety requirements.  Really?

Bill McKibben, a bright light and outspoken environmental activist has said, “The Portland pipeline isn’t some obscure local issue — it’s a fuse leading straight to one of the most dangerous carbon bombs on the planet.”

A description of this “carbon bomb” – referred to as the most destructive project on earth – can be found at the web site http://allagainstthehaul.org/the-haul/the-heavy-haul/the-alberta-tar-sands/ :

The Alberta Boreal Forest, under which the oil is embedded, is equivalent to the size of England; the deforestation is so vast it can be seen from outer space.

The industrial process is massively consumptive of resources: four barrels of water, four tons of earth, and energy equal to three barrels of oil are required to extract one barrel of oil. 

Ninety percent of water used in tar sands extraction cannot be returned to the Athabasca River due to quality issues.

The Tar Sands contain 17% more carbon than other types of crude oil, and the extraction process emits as much as four times more carbon dioxide than conventional drilling.

First Nations communities living close to the oil sands or downstream on the Athabasca River are suffering from higher-than-normal cancer levels and illness.

The facts of the tar sands are nightmarish, and its scale is overwhelming.  This is an important moment for the members of our community to take a stand.  The question before us, at its most basic, might be framed as whether, as a community, we want to remain dependent upon the fossil fuel economy, or shall we pursue a future that is restorative, that is abundant rather than austere, that embraces creativity as a means to discovery, and that teaches our children to think for themselves and neither follow blindly nor let fear fuel their decisions.

Good Garden Karma

At the grey end of winter I made a list of plants for our art farm.

I opened my copy of “Dirr’s Manual of Woody Landscape Plants” – the authoritative tome on matters of shrubs and trees – and cross referenced against available nursery stock.

I have nursery wholesale accounts and looked forward to buying at discount.  My wish list grew rapidly.  Our bank balance had not.

The obvious approach was to disregard planning and go the “free and found” route.

There is no turning back.  Nor need there be.  We have to date spent $43 on all the plantings.

Estate gardens overplant.   Where two Rhododendron should go, seven are planted. Trees arrive with trunks thick, the leafy canopy high and wide, accompanied by heavy equipment and work crews.

But it takes one year per inch of trunk diameter for the tree to settle into new terrain. Trees slowly overcome the transplant shock and you are better off buying a smaller tree and letting it grow into the landscape.

I know of one estate that solves this problem by handling trees like annuals.  The arborist actually told me that he sometimes leaves the metal cage on the root ball to make it easier to remove and change out the trees later.  Instant gratification. Ever-changing.

At the big house I manage, the planting phase was completed before my tenure.  My job, my challenge is about editing.   This season we attacked several problem areas.

From a thicket of lilacs, dogwoods, spirea, and one still-unidentified shrub – truly the ugliest hedge anyone had seen, and no one could solve – I partially removed shrubs along a 20-foot section.  Transplanted to our house this became the backdrop for our entire foundation beds, plus a privacy hedge along the street where our chicken coop will go.

Our plantings are scrawny, laughable like the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree, but with a quick pruning, generous serving of compost and space to grow they have leafed out and are ready to flower.  We have good soil.

Bayberry, which is salt tolerant, expands by sending out runners to start new plants.  While cleaning up the estate beds I harvested a handful of small – one gallon – shoots.  Planted here along the street, and given time, they will form a dense fragrant semi-evergreen hedge protecting the shade garden at our front porch.

It will take some time.

If the estate gave us a solid start, bio-mass abundance came from our neighbor Gina. We were renters last summer, and prohibited, by our landlord, from gardening at that house.  So when I had leftovers from the big house I passed them to Gina.

The return has been extraordinary; I delivered last summer a few one-gallon pots and this week hauled home car loads of 15 gallon pots: Rudbeckia, Monardia, Shasta Daisies, Pulmonaria, Lilies – common orange and Stella D’ora yellow, Astilbe, Iris, Lupine, Geraniums, Sedum.  She has more to offer.  I need time to make more beds.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” indeed!  Pete, across the street, dropped off two highbush blueberry plants.  Other friends delivered eleven blackberry canes.  An orchardist gave us some grape stock, cuttings from the big house that he potted up a few years back.  The roots are as long as the shoots so these are ready to grow.

We also purchased from him a Red Haven Peach tree. For the bees and butterflies I also planted Nepeta, Goatsbeard (Aruncus dioicus), and Buddleia davidii (Butterfly Bush).

The pace of arrival began to cause a backlog on planting.  I found a solution to that problem.

Somewhere in search of “free & found,” most likely in either our untamed back yard, or the woods where I went to gather ferns, I brushed up against a poisonous plant.  My skin is highly sensitive to the oils in poison ivy, and I have learned to be patient as it runs its course.  But this season the rash took hold and spread like wildfire; think poison ivy on steroids.

In fact, my doctor said it was not poison ivy but did prescribe steroids as rexall.  His diagnosis was “Type 4 hyper sensitivity reaction; immune system is on overdrive; caused by some plant material or pollen.  Could be in roots or soil. Most likely from a wild uncultivated place.”  Ah, toxins that protect plants, and aim to keep us away.

The steroids have worked wonders and my energy level is absurd.  After a ten-hour workday at the big house, I was outside in our garden at 11pm.  In a gentle rain, with spring peepers chanting in the distance, I planted, dare I say, more ferns.  This time from the big house, not the woods.  And this time fueled with performance enhancing steroids.

We have no budget for assistance so this has been solo work.  Perennials and shrubs that arrive measured in gallon pot size are no problem.  Trees with balled & burlapped roots are different by an order of magnitude.

We were given a multi-stem Acer ginnala (Amur maple). The tree was a gift from my Mother.  She said that she wanted to give something long lasting, to have an enduring presence on the property.  We have named it the “Family Flame” maple.

Well formed, at 7 feet tall by 6 feet wide, it will grow to about 15 feet tall and wide; we gain privacy from the street while the passing cars will enjoy its scarlet flame leaves in autumn.

This gift arrived with an estate sized root ball.  In the back of my pick-up truck, it became an immovable object.

Until a neighbor drove by, shouted an offer of assistance and then recruited some young friends.  Within minutes the tree was proudly in place.  Our daughter ran around the yard shouting, “We thank you from the bottom of our hearts!”  It was comic.  And perfect.

And so has gone our first spring at this property and place of our own.  Our art farm, transitioning from virtual to actual, has been about setting roots and feeding forward the good karma.

Our daughter, again, said it best, “Our tree is all about joy!  Because you planted it.”