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For the love of the South

As he prepares to step down, the founder of the Southern Environmental Law Center looks back on three decades of defending the region’s natural treasures

 

Ambitious and naive.

That’s how Rick Middleton describes himself 33 years ago, when he founded the Southern Environmental Law Center, a small nonprofit that would protect the air, the water, and the special places of the southeastern United States. It was 1986, and he was 39 years old.

“I didn’t have enough sense to know how challenging it was going to be to start up an organization,” he says, and he didn’t have much of a plan for how he’d build it over time, either. With the  goal of hiring about five lawyers who would work regionally out of a single office on the city’s Downtown Mall, he says his “grandest dream” was that maybe a dozen attorneys would someday come on board to support his vision.

But today, with 140 employees on his staff and nine offices on the map, Middleton has built the largest environmental advocacy organization in the South. And as one of the country’s pioneers of environmental law, this is the legacy he leaves behind as he prepares to retire this spring.

So why did he do it? The Alabama-born-and-raised University of Virginia alum says the answer is quite simple: “Love of the South.”

While there’s been much talk lately about preserving Southern heritage, history, and culture, Middleton is concerned about protecting the South as a physical place, whose treasures include the Appalachian mountains (which run through each state the SELC represents) hundreds of miles of Atlantic coast, and hundreds of thousands of acres of national forest, all of which the organization’s army of attorneys has fiercely defended.

Middleton says that of the few environmental advocacy groups that were around when founded the SELC, none knew much about the historically conservative South, nor were they interested in learning.

“The South needed an environmental advocate,” he adds, but even more than that, it needed a lawyer.

Environmental law was just emerging as a distinct field in the 1960s and ’70s, as the federal government passed a wave of landmark legislation to protect our land, air, and water. After graduating from Yale Law School in 1971, Middleton went home to Alabama, where he worked at the attorney general’s office to enforce those laws against some “pretty big” polluters like the Tennessee Valley Authority and U.S. Steel.

He then practiced law with national environmental nonprofit Earthjustice in Washington, D.C., for seven years. But while that organization was scoring some big wins on the federal level, Middleton wanted to have more impact on the place he loved the best—the South. And he decided he’d do it right here from Charlottesville.

A graduate of UVA, he knew the university brought in some of the brightest people from across the Southeast. And “I felt like Charlottesville was a unique and special place that would attract like-minded people,” aka smart and capable lawyers who cared about the environment.

Middleton admits that environmental advocacy in the South hasn’t always been easy. But he grounded his approach in staying local, tapping into people’s connection with their home.

“The way we view the world is that the environment shouldn’t be a partisan issue,” he says. We all should love and care about the places [where] we live, work, and go have fun.”

In his experience, if you can bring major environmental issues out of the national, highly polarized political world and down to a local, place-based level that people can easily understand, “I would say almost always the local public is on our side.”

Southern Environmental Law Center founder Rick Middleton’s grandest dream when he founded the nonprofit 33 years ago was that he’d eventually be able to hire a dozen attorneys. Now, there are 80. Photo: Courtesy Southern Environmental Law Center

Global issues, local impact

Here’s a not-so-fun fact: If carbon dioxide emissions from the six states the SELC represents were combined, the region would be the eighth-largest contributor to global warming on Earth, Middleton says.

The Southeast can attribute rising seas, loss of beaches, wetlands, and other natural resources to global warming, “but we’re also having this devastating flooding from these monster hurricanes that are clearly because of changing weather patterns from climate change. So we’re not only producing more carbon dioxide than anywhere in the country, the Southeast is [also] suffering the consequences of this.”

In other words, the region he’s worked so hard to protect is also the epicenter of the problem.

But tackling climate change is one of the big issues the SELC is equipped to take on.

“We now have an organization that is smart enough and big enough and has enough staying power that we can do things today that we never could have dreamed about 30 years ago,” he says.

Roughly 12 years ago, the SELC created a strategic plan to reduce carbon dioxide emissions across its six states. And, Middleton says, they’ve done it.

Twenty staff members are currently working on the project, which began with Environmental Defense v. Duke Energy. In this case, SELC attorneys represented the Environmental Defense Fund, Sierra Club, and Environment North Carolina when Duke wanted to rebuild and extend the life of a dozen of its coal-fired power plants without installing new legally required pollution controls.

They took the case all the way to the Supreme Court, and won—a unanimous victory that required power companies to always install new pollution controls on rebuilt plants, and set off the largest power plant cleanup in U.S. history. Since 2010, the SELC and its partners have reduced one-third of the Southeast’s coal plant capacity by pressuring companies into retiring their plants.

“The reduction [of emissions] has been something like 30 percent,” Middleton says. “I mean, it’s incredible.”

Going forward, the SELC is working on the South’s first carbon cap-and-trade program for power plants. If adopted, it will give utilities incentives to opt for low- or zero-carbon energy resources.

The largest fossil fuel-powered station in Virginia is in Chesterfield, where 300,000 tons of toxic coal ash are stored in unlined pits. Thanks to a law passed last week, which Southern Environmental Law Center attorneys have been a major advocate for, Dominion is now required to excavate all of the coal ash on site, and either recycle it into products like cement or concrete, or place it in modern, lined landfills. The law also affects Dominion’s three other plants in the Chesapeake Bay watershed: Chesapeake Energy Center, Possum Point Power Station, and Bremo Power Station. Photo: Ryan Kelly

Building the team

But before there was a staff of 140 people who could tackle such large-scale projects, there were just three attorneys.

The first to join Middleton’s fledgling organization was David Carr, a Princeton grad with roots in Albemarle County. Carr had graduated from UVA’s law school in 1983 before moving to Seattle, where he practiced general business litigation and did some business advising.

But what he really wanted to do was environmental law. At the time, there were few jobs available in the field, so when a friend saw an ad for the new SELC, he jumped on it. About a month later, he was back in Charlottesville.

He was 30 years old. Now he’s 63, focuses primarily on alternate energy and protecting wilderness, and is one of the first names that usually surfaces when asking about the enormous impact the law center has had on the Southeast.

“It all happened pretty quick,” says Carr, who had no idea he’d spend the rest of his career at the organization. Middleton had secured a grant and funding for only three years. “We didn’t know if we’d be in business three years down the road —at least I didn’t.”

But it wasn’t long before Kay Slaughter, whom Middleton recruited from UVA’s law school in ’86 and who would serve as Charlottesville’s mayor 10 years later while still at SELC, turned their duo into a trio.

Slaughter, who retired in 2010, says the three lawyers focused on bringing their knowledge of federal environmental laws to city and state laws in the South.

“We’re certainly a very different organization than we were when there were three of us,” says Carr, but he commends Middleton for maintaining a sense of camaraderie and collegiality as the organization grew.

Middleton built a management committee to help him lead the staff as it sprawled across six states, while still holding onto his original vision of protecting the South’s environment and the people who depend on it for their wellbeing at a local level. And he’s maintained high standards across the board for SELC’s work, whether that be its legal advocacy, fundraising, or communications, Carr says.

“That’s been the secret sauce.”

Like Middleton himself, many of the attorneys who work for him are motivated by their love for the outdoors, and Middleton has always encouraged—even insisted—that they get out and visit the places that they’re working on, Carr says.

Getting boots on the ground can give attorneys a visceral sense of the particular place, stream, mountain, or beach they’re fighting to protect.

“Plus,” says Carr, “it’s good for the attorney’s outlook and spirit to get out of the office and enjoy the places that they’re working on. …A lot of my best memories in working with Rick have been visiting some of those places together.”

He specifically recalls an SELC-sponsored retreat to the barrier islands of the Cape Lookout National Seashore, a three-mile boat ride from the coast of North Carolina’s southern Outer Banks. It was 2001, immediately following the September 11 terrorist attacks.

About 25 SELC staff watched as fishermen reeled in an “incredible catch” of croakers and spot from the sound side of the Cape. The fish would usually be destined for New York’s famous Fulton Fish Market, but because it was closed due to the tragedy unfolding in the city, the fishermen were trying to figure out where they could sell their catch of the day.

“And on the ocean side, there were surfcasters reeling in these huge flounders,” Carr remembers. “I’d never seen flounders this big.”

He also recalls early trips to Georgia’s Cumberland Island National Seashore and North Carolina’s Cedar Island, which the SELC successfully protected from development and other destruction. Staff hikes around The Priest and Three Ridges, two of Virginia’s most popular hiking circuits, are also at the top of his list.

Because of Carr and the SELC, the Nelson County spots are now congressionally designated wilderness areas, which means they’re federally managed and designated for preservation in their natural condition.

One of attorney David Carr’s (left) favorite days on the job was in April 2009, when the Southern Environmental Law Center staff hiked through Priest Wilderness in the George Washington National Forest, where his advocacy and legal work has protected thousands of acres from development and other human interference. He says the nonprofit’s founder, Rick Middleton (right), has always insisted that staff take time to enjoy the places they’ve helped preserve. Photo courtesy Southern Environmental Law Center

Protect and defend

Longtime environmental advocate Ridge Schuyler, who has worked with the SELC in a couple of different roles, says Carr’s dedication to preserving The Priest and Three Ridges is a prime example of the law center’s outstanding work.

As a chief policy advisor to Senator Chuck Robb in the ’90s, Schuyler worked closely with the nonprofit to protect national parks and other forests. Later, as director of the Nature Conservancy, he worked with the SELC on protecting the Rivanna watershed, and specifically restoring healthy river flows to the Moormans River in the early 2000s.

That presented a dual challenge: protecting the river while still providing water for the community.

“Working together,” Schuyler says, “…We took what is often seen as an intractable challenge and figured out a way to solve it.”

Though this primarily involved policy and regulatory work instead of litigation, when asked if the Nature Conservancy could have navigated the situation without the aid of the SELC, Schuyler doesn’t mince words: “No.”

SELC attorney Rick Parrish brought his expert knowledge of the Clean Water Act and state regulations to guide the Nature Conservancy in developing a plan that would meet water supply needs and the law’s requirements to protect the environment, Schulyer says.

“Rick was an excellent partner during a stressful time—both good for nature and good-natured,” Schuyler says. During the course of the conversation, he also praised a string of other SELC attorneys such as Carr, Slaughter, Morgan Butler, and Trip Pollard for their passion and reputation.

Adds Schuyler, “Their work undergirds a lot of what makes Charlottesville a wonderful place and an attractive place to live.”

Grey McLean, director of the locally based, climate-change-combatting Adiuvans Foundation, has supported the work of the SELC for years. After getting to know Middleton and the attorneys, first through their projects in Virginia and then throughout the Southeast, he joined the organization’s board of trustees a few years ago.

He’s impressed by the SELC’s “extremely high degree of professionalism,” he says. “These are really committed, talented lawyers who, quite frankly, make a significant financial sacrifice working at a nonprofit, relative to working for a for-profit law firm.”

He says the reputation of their work precedes them, “and I think that has an impact on the behavior of folks who might otherwise be ready to run roughshod over the environment.”

Adds McLean, “I often think if it were not for SELC, what would happen?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Carr suggests some answers: For starters, likely more than a million acres of wildlands and other wilderness and national scenic areas like the George Washington and Jefferson National forests would be unprotected, vulnerable to things such as pipelines, fracking, and coal mining. The Southeast might be smothered in a film of air pollution, and the shift to solar energy and other renewables might not have taken off. (Now North Carolina is ranked second in the amount of solar systems installed nationwide, with SELC’s other five states ranked in the top 25.)

“We’d probably be lagging behind the rest of the country, whereas we’re helping lead the rest of the country in those transitions now,” says Carr.

Staying power

Though he’ll remain president emeritus of his law center, Middleton is stepping down at a particularly fraught time, as the Trump administration fights tooth and nail to tear apart the protections he has defended for 30 years. But as Middleton hands over the reins to Jeff Gleason, a 28-year veteran of the organization and an expert in clean energy and air, he says the SELC is better prepared than ever to fight back.

“It’s almost like every organizational decision we’ve made in the last 30 years has been to build an organization capable of succeeding at this challenging time,” Middleton says.

One of the policies under attack by the administration is the Clean Water Act, which was passed in 1972 to regulate pollution, and is to thank for increasingly cleaner waterways despite population growth. SELC research found that gutting it would affect the drinking water supply of 2.3 million people in Virginia alone.

The president’s goal is to reduce Environmental Protection Agency oversight of what gets released into the country’s wetlands and isolated streams, seemingly because the current law doesn’t sit well with some of his base. The Clean Water Act limits how folks such as rural landowners, real estate developers, and golf course owners can use their properties, including restricting the quantity of pesticides they may use.

“There’s nobody in that administration who’s interested in protecting the environment,” says Middleton. “It’s up to us.”

Now the SELC is the central organization defending the Clean Water Act with a team of about a dozen attorneys, and thousands of environmental allies on their side. They expect their litigation will play out in the courts over the next two years, and ultimately be decided by the U.S. Supreme Court.

Middleton calls the administration “over the top” and “extreme” for things such as denying climate change and a refusal to act to reduce carbon pollution.

“There’s no rationale to it,” he adds. “It’s all just ignorance, hostility, and greed.”

Take offshore drilling as another example. It has never happened on the South Atlantic seaboard, because when former President Barack Obama initiated a plan to explore it, the SELC helped to convince more than 100 communities from Virginia Beach down to the Florida-Georgia line to pass anti-drilling resolutions, which further convinced the former administration to change its mind. Now more than 200 communities are on board, but not Trump. His administration and supporters are hellbent on extracting that petroleum.

With a sly smile, he does a quick and fairly tame impersonation of those pushing offshore drilling: “More oil! More gas! Drilling! Who cares about the coastal communities? Who cares about listening to people locally? I’m promoting maximum fossil fuel extraction. Let’s crank up the global temperature! We don’t believe in global warming!”

Now, Middleton’s law center has found itself back in the epicenter of the argument, “and this time it’s going to take the lawyers. We’re not going to be able to convince the Trump administration any other way,” he adds.

SELC attorneys currently have a lawsuit underway in Charleston, South Carolina, and just won an injunction to prevent things from moving forward until their suit can be heard. They’ll challenge any seismic testing permits that are issued, as well as a final drilling plan.

“We’ve never been so busy,” says Middleton. “And it’s never been so important, but we are winning.”

At the same time, he says the SELC must stay true to its roots: “people and place.” That means focusing on the preservation of specific communities’ unique culture and ecology across their six-state region.

“Don’t lose sight of that kind of heart and soul of who you are and why you’re doing what you’re doing,” says Middleton, who plans to spend time after retirement visiting many of the places he’s worked to protect and “spreading the good word” about the SELC.

Says Middleton, “It’s not just enough to win a case—you’ve got to win hearts and minds and values.”


Here’s what Middleton has his eye on in Virginia—and you should, too

Defending the Clean Water Act to keep pollutants out of Virginia’s streams and protecting its coastal communities from offshore drilling are top priorities for SELC attorneys. Here’s what else they’re working on across the commonwealth.

Opposing the Atlantic Coast Pipeline

Environmentalists have strongly opposed the 600-mile, $7 billion natural gas pipeline that will slice through Nelson County on its way from West Virginia to North Carolina since it was proposed half a decade ago. The SELC has also dug up mounting evidence that casts doubt on the need for a pipeline. And the organization has brought several lawsuits that have delayed the ACP’s construction, including convincing a federal court to throw out a U.S. Forest Service permit that would have allowed the ACP to cross two national forests and the Appalachian Trail. They also plan to challenge the pipeline’s entire approval permit.

Protecting our forests

A longtime champion of the George Washington and Jefferson National forests, the SELC helped draft the Virginia Wilderness Additions Act, which Senator Tim Kaine introduced a few weeks ago. If passed, it would permanently protect 5,600 acres in the Rich Hole and Rough Mountain Wilderness areas in Bath County.

Advancing clean energy

Accelerating a transition to renewable energy is an SELC priority, and it has several opportunities to do so in Virginia. Attorneys are currently defending the appeal of a March 2017 ruling that Dominion’s coal ash pits at a plant in Chesapeake are in violation of the Clean Water Act. The SELC also encouraged the administrations of former governor Terry McAuliffe and Governor Ralph Northam to propose the South’s first carbon cap-and-trade program for power plants, and will have an advisory role as the proposal moves forward. And lastly, the SELC is fighting for solar power access for all Virginians.


Greatest hits

In three decades, SELC’s attorneys have scored some significant victories. Here’s a sampling:

Moving the South away from coal

In April 2007, after a seven-year battle, the SELC won a U.S. Supreme Court case, Environmental Defense v. Duke Energy, which ruled
that power companies could no longer continue their practice of burning coal without installing new pollution controls on rebuilt factories. This ruling set off the largest power plant cleanup in U.S. history, in which the SELC also blocked or deferred companies’ plans to build seven new coal-burning units across their six states, and had a hand in the retiring of one-third of existing coal towers in the region. Carbon dioxide levels have now dropped 29 percent in the Southeast. That’s a lot.

Cleaning up 90 million tons of coal ash

Utilities generally store their toxic coal ash in unlined, leaking pits, but through SELC legal action and public pressure, utilities in South Carolina have agreed to safely store or recycle all coal ash, and in North Carolina, Duke Energy has agreed to clean up eight of its 14 sites. The law center’s suit challenging the Tennessee Valley Authority’s dumping of coal ash at its Gallatin Fossil Plant achieved a landmark ruling when a federal court, for the first time in the nation’s history, ordered the utility to excavate its toxic ash, finding it a violation of the Clean Water Act.

Saving special places

When traditional native fishing grounds on the Mattaponi River were threatened by what the SELC classifies as the largest proposed wet-
land destruction in Virginia’s history, or when a proposed Navy jet training facility wanted to squash an Atlantic Coast tundra swan and snow geese habitat, attorneys were there to say, “not so fast.” So far, they’ve been able to protect and preserve dozens of these natural areas.

No acres lost

The law center defended more than 700,000 roadless acres of national forest in the southern Appalachians from logging, road building, and other destruction, and celebrated their permanent protection in 2013.

Less asphalt

SELC attorneys take the position that unnecessary roads induce unrestricted growth, and take away from funds that could address other transportation needs. Over a period of many years, they were able to halt the doubling of Interstate 81 across Virginia, a 210-mile outer perimeter of roadway around Atlanta, and a string of roads in the Carolinas such as the Garden Parkway, which would have been a limited access toll road. They’re now seeking new ways to advance forward-thinking land use strategies and steer funding toward public transit.

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News

Getting schooled: County school board member questions existence of climate change

Science class was in session at the October 25 Albemarle County School Board meeting, when board member Jason Buyaki paused to question not only the existence of climate change but also the nature of fossil fuels themselves.

Buyaki, who represents the Rivanna district, recently wore a tie bearing pictures of Confederate flags to a meeting to consider banning Confederate imagery from county schools. He later told the Daily Progress he chose his neckwear as a historical lesson about “various flags flown over the U.S.”

His latest lessons, this time in geology and climatology, came as the board discussed a proposal for county schools to commit to using renewable energy sources and reducing greenhouse gas emissions.

Buyaki’s ire focused on the proposed resolution’s second paragraph, which said, “there is scientific consensus regarding the reality of climate change and the recognition that human activity, especially the combustion of fossil fuels that create greenhouse gases, is an important driver of climate change.”

“When I read this thing, there’s a lot of hot buzzwords in here and phrases that are questionable, and we should question it,” he said, according to a video of the meeting. “One of the first ones that strikes me, in the second paragraph, says there is scientific consensus regarding the reality of climate change. No, there is not—There is scientific consensus among the scientists who believe that there is climate change, but it’s a pretty broad field out there with diverse opinions. So that’s my first red flag warning on this.”

A United Nations panel of the world’s leading climate scientists warned in early October that climate change will cause catastrophic damage within decades unless humanity takes drastic action, including sharply decreasing carbon emissions from fossil fuels.

First, though, Buyaki wanted to define some terms.

“I also question the idea that petroleum products come from fossils,” he said. “I think that’s a fair thing to ask.”

He continued: “That was something that was taught to me in school, that oil comes from fossils. And I find that really strange as a concept, that fossils are buried so deep in the earth, and we can pump ’em out. And some of these oil fields run dry, and then 30, 40 years later they can pump out more.”

According to the U.S. Department of Energy, so-called fossil fuels, including oil, coal and natural gas, formed over millions of years when prehistoric plants and animals died and were gradually buried by layers of rock.

After the meeting, three school board members contacted by C-VILLE did not respond to inquiries about whether the board shares Buyaki’s skepticism about climate change. Buyaki did not respond to an email request for comment.

County resident Matthew Christensen, with Hate-Free Schools Coalition of Albemarle, says Buyaki’s remarks are part of a “disturbing” trend that government officials can decide they “don’t believe in science.”

If the school board member is going to deny science, says Christensen, “I don’t think Jason Buyaki has any business being in charge of our children’s education.”

He adds that Buyaki’s Confederate-flag tie was “a signal to people what he stands for.”

The school board will take action on the clean-energy proposal at its November 8 meeting.

Updated November 2 at 2:30pm with comments from Matthew Christensen.

 

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Arts

Jeremy and Allyson Taylor’s environmental art approach

When it comes to visual art (paintings in particular), you can’t throw a rock without hitting a pastoral fantasy. Which may be why local artists Jeremy and Allyson Taylor’s reverence for nature comes as such a surprise. 

“I definitely go to the grotesque,” Allyson says, “because I find it really beautiful and interesting. And sometimes disgusting and funny.”

As an example, she points to a drawing from “Growers,” her latest collaborative exhibition with her husband. “There’s a woman who’s drawn from behind, and she has this really big butt. All of these mushrooms and turkey tail fungus are growing out from her bottom. I think they’re really beautiful, but it’s also an image of stagnation. Like if you were to stand still for too long, you would start to grow things.”

Jeremy, too, draws pieces that highlight how humans and nature interact, using humor and absurdity to treat heavy subjects with relative lightness. 

“[The exhibition has] three or four pieces of mine where animals have consumed toys, human parts or people,” he says. “I have one drawing where a deer is jumping over a pile of junk: a Jack-o’-lantern, a zombie head, a bomb, a ‘Dukes of Hazzard’ lunch box, a Nike shoe. It’s the idea that we generate all of this stuff and nature will persevere. It’s continually fighting back. In my mind, it’s a peaceful way of fighting back, but nature isn’t always so gentle.”

The Taylors know a thing or two about the ways of nature. Over the years, they’ve grown copious amounts of pigments, fibers and other materials for their art-making. At one point, they managed a 3,000-square-foot garden right in the middle of Belmont.

“The inks in our drawings are made with walnut ink that we make ourselves. You harvest the walnuts and boil them,” Jeremy says. “Occasionally we’ll make paper from the flax that we grow. Last year we grew cotton, too.”

“We grow pigments in our garden, indigo and rose madder and safflower, and then we use them to dye fabric,” Allyson says. “It’s so woven into everything. We grow our pigments right next to our food and herbs, and it’s just a part of life. Our daughter definitely identifies more plants than most adults because she’s been in the garden since she was in a little sling on our backs.”

“The other part of the work that’s not dyed is recycled. There’s a quilt in the show that has a chenille blanket we altered to make it look like the ocean. There are a few found objects,” Jeremy says. “Our process is very rigorous and oriented towards doing everything as sustainably as possible.”

But just to be clear, the Taylors aren’t preaching at you. 

“There’s genuine love for animals and nature and the experiences we’ve had making our work,” Allyson says. “But we were born in the ’70s. We were born into better living through chemicals. We drive a car. We had a kid and doubled all the weird plastic things that came into our lives. We’re trying to do our best, but we don’t live in a tree in the woods. We’re commenting from within.”

When they met 16 years ago, at a graduate program at UNC Chapel Hill, Jeremy was already making environmental art and exploring sustainable ways to make art materials. His thesis focused on the impact that humans and industrialization have had on animals and the planet. (Even now, his artwork largely features prey animals like birds and rabbits and deer.)

Allyson, whose studio was across the hall from Jeremy’s classroom, made clothing at the time. She became intrigued by Jeremy’s research into making his own ink and paint. 

“When I was an undergrad, one of my professors got sick from traditional art-making materials. He literally couldn’t be around certain things, so I learned a lot about non-toxic materials,” Allyson says. “After meeting Jeremy, I decided that I don’t want to use poisonous pigments or things that I can’t wash down the sink. I don’t want to worry about harming the water, or animals, or in the future harming a kid.”

As artists, the pair’s collaboration began by sharing skills—pattern-making for Jeremy, sewing for Allyson—and they were married within a year of meeting one another. Then they began making a collaborative body of work independent from their personal art portfolios. 

The Taylors’ current Gallery IX exhibition includes 101 pieces of art. It’s the first time the couple has shown all of their pictorial quilts in one place.

“When we first put them all up, I felt really emotional about them,” Allyson says. “I saw all of the handwork that we put into them—many, many hours of hand sewing and embroidery—and I saw all of those plants we grew. I saw years of gardens, years of dyeing fabric and making thread, and putting it all to use in these images of people communing with animals or nature. It’s really exciting.”

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News

Eaglets’ landing: Nest could slow preservation development

When David Mitchell bought 120 acres 10 years ago off U.S. 250 in Crozet, he wanted to maintain much of its rural character and planned a subdivision with 13 clustered homes, with his own on a 60-acre preservation tract on the banks of Lickinghole Creek Basin.

But he wasn’t the only one who found the spot appealing. A pair of bald eagles liked the location as well, and built a nest on the reservoir before Mitchell could break ground. Now his plans for Fair Hill are going to have to accommodate the formerly endangered birds and their two eaglets.

Mitchell says the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Department contacted him about the nest and he will be meeting with that agency along with the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries.

Because while bald eagles were removed from the Endangered Species Act in 2007, they’re still protected under federal law, which prohibits disturbance of their nests during their mid-December to mid-June breeding season, according to Bryan Watts, director for the Center for Conservation Biology.

The center maintains a bald eagle nest locator, and tracks more than 1,000 pairs found in the tidal region of the Chesapeake. “The population size is much smaller in the Piedmont and mountains,” says Watts.

Since the 1970s, when the state had 20 pairs of bald eagles, Virginia now has a “robust” population of eagles that nest in residential neighborhoods, he says. An isolated pair in a rural area “would be more affected by development.”

Federal regulations require a 330-foot buffer around a nest, and a secondary 660-foot buffer. How that will affect Mitchell, whose land is in growth-area Crozet, has not yet been determined.

When Mitchell first spoke to C-VILLE April 10, he said the tree with the nest would not be cut down and in fact was on land that belongs to Rivanna Water and Sewer Authority. He first saw an eagle about seven years ago, he says, and he believed the nest belonged to a single raptor—until he spotted an eaglet, “about the size of a chicken,” April 20.

Other birders have been aware of the nest. “When I was there in February an eagle was in it, and it appeared to have at least one chick,” says Dan Bieker, PVCC adjunct natural sciences professor. He estimates the nest has been there at least three years and before that, there was a nest below one of the houses in a neighboring subdivision. “It was blown apart by a storm,” he says.

Mitchell’s Fair Hill land is near the thick of Crozet development. It’s beside Foxchase, Cory Farms is west of that and Western Ridge is on Lickinghole Creek’s north side.

Mitchell says he would have preferred that whoever notified authorities had called him directly “rather than ratting me out to the federal government.” He has county approval for the project, and the 60-acre tract he plans to live on will have a conservation easement. “We’re ready to start pushing dirt in six to eight months,” he says.

He’s frustrated about possible restrictions on the use of his land, for which he paid $3.8 million in 2006, according to county records, because “a bird put a nest on my property,” and he says it could have a “potentially devastating” economic impact to him and his family.

“We will abide by the protections required,” he says, but adds, “If the nest was on the property when I bought it, I wouldn’t have bought it.”

Categories
News

Smoke in the air

The faint smell of smoke surrounding the city Tuesday morning is coming from two large wildfires in Nelson and Amherst counties, according to Charlottesville Fire Department Chief Andrew Baxter.

The situation in Nelson County, referred to as Eades Hollow Fire, is currently consuming between 300 and 500 acres of private land just north of Lovingston, according to John Miller, the Virginia Department of Forestry’s director of emergency management. He says he expects his crew to finish containment lines late today and there is no immediate threat to the public.

In Amherst County, however, the Mount Pleasant Fire has taken over 2,711 acres as of this morning, with the majority of it consuming national forest land, which is controlled by the United States Forest Service, and with less than 10 percent of the fire contained at this time.

Miller says his department is working with the national forest service to evacuate some private homes scattered along the southern side of the area. With new resources, he says he hopes progress will be made in containing the fire today.

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News

Bellair Bambis: Resident blames UVA for increased deer population

Matt Bowen came upon a juvenile buck “in its last throes” early Sunday morning, September 4, on Canterbury Road in his Bellair neighborhood. He contacted Albemarle County Animal Control to humanely dispatch it, and the next day, found the deer at the same spot, albeit with a bullet hole in its neck.

Bowen, a doctor, examined the beast and found no signs of trauma (aside from the bullet hole). “It was obviously gripped by a disease,” he says.

The incident reignited his ire with the UVA Foundation, a nonprofit that administers the university’s real estate holdings and obtained the 199-acre Foxhaven Farm in 2012. The entrance to the farm is at the back end of Bellair, and for years, its previous owners, Jane and Henderson Heywood, had used bowhunters to keep the deer population in check. That ceased when UVA Foundation took over the property.

“I do know there are a heck of a lot more deer,” says Bowen.

Bellair, like many high-end subdivisions on the west side of town, such as Farmington, Ednam Forest and Inglecress, allows residents to hire bowhunters to cull deer, an option even the City of Charlottesville is considering to combat an out-of-control population.

Tony Shifflett, who owns Rangeland Archery in Ruckersville and Urban Deer Management, started bowhunting in Foxhaven in 1994, when Jane Heywood contacted him. After UVA Foundation acquired the property, “They ran it through the board and decided not to allow any hunting and hiking on the property,” he says.

The foundation also owns neighboring Birdwood Golf Course, which used to have its own hunters to contain the deer, but UVA ceased that about the same time as Foxhaven, according to Shifflett.

Bill Cromwell is director of real estate asset management for the UVA Foundation, and he confirms that there has been no deer hunting at Foxhaven since UVA obtained the property in May 2012.

“Typically, such programs are undertaken on farms when deer populations are causing damage to property or crops,” he writes in an e-mail. “Foxhaven Farm is contiguous to the Birdwood Golf Course and other vacant, forested property owned by the foundation. We have not seen any damage to these properties as a result of deer populations. Should such a condition arise, the foundation would work with the Department of Game and Inland Fisheries to mitigate damages from deer or any other wildlife.”

Bellair “has a serious problem” that is “absolutely” connected to the decision to stop bowhunting on the UVA properties, making them a haven for deer, says Shifflett. He has clients in Bellair, where he takes out about 40 deer a year, as well as in a half dozen other subdivisions. The deer meat is donated to Hunters for the Hungry.

“I have seen deer with ribs showing and growths on them,” he says. “I can’t say it’s wasting because I find no dead deer”—except for the ones he routinely finds on the U.S. 29 bypass, to which Bellair backs up.

“The biggest fear homeowners have is ticks,” he says. “I personally know seven or eight people who have Lyme disease.”

Not everyone in Bellair is perturbed by the deer. Ralph Feil is secretary/treasurer of the Bellair Owners Association, and says he “has no clue” about whether deer are a problem in the neighborhood, although he also acknowledges that he lives in one of the first houses in the ’hood, which stretches more than a mile, and rarely visits the nether regions on the Foxhaven end.

“We’ve always had a policy to allow individual property owners to have bowhunters on their property to shoot deer,” he says. “We’ve never done it as an association.”

Bonnie Wood is president of the homeowners association, and she says the issue of bowhunting usually comes up at the annual meeting, but it’s not a major concern.

What is a major concern: “Somebody reported a rabid skunk the other day,” she says. “A neighbor was able to take it down with an air gun.” Animal control confirmed the skunk was rabid, she says.

Chronic wasting disease is a fatal neurological condition affecting deer, elk and moose—but not humans. It’s a big concern for the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries. Lee Walker with the DGIF says an outbreak was found in the northwest corner of the state in 2009. “We inherited it from West Virginia,” he says.

And while he’s not aware of any outbreaks in the Albemarle area, he describes stricken deer: “They look sickly. They basically starve to death. They deteriorate to the point they collapse and die.”

Hemorrhagic disease is a more common deer disorder caused by black fly bites, he says, and outbreaks occur almost every year in the southeastern United States.

Whether the deer Bowen found had either of those is unknown. When he found its carcass the next day, he disposed of it, and he questions police leaving it on the side of the road.

That’s standard procedure, according to Lieutenant Todd Hopwood with the Albemarle County Police Department. “If an injured deer is in the roadway or a hazard, we do euthanize them with a shot to the head,” he says. “We notify VDOT if it’s on a state-maintained road.” If it’s a private road, it’s up to the property owner to dispose of the remains. Bellair is a county road.

Bowen says he routinely sees a dozen deer in Bellair yards, overgrazing the fauna. Between the risk of disease and the deer “lollygagging at the bypass,” putting drivers at risk, he says, “Deer are a major public hazard.”

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Point of view: Power line rebuild draws discord

City and county residents heavily criticized Dominion Virginia Power’s plans to rebuild area transmission lines at a recent public hearing, and a Rockbridge County man, who has filed suit against the power company after a similar rebuild in his area, says locals’ concerns are justified.

“They marred one of the most beautiful valleys in the state so they could save themselves a little bit of money,” says Kristopher Baumann, who owns a farm in Rockbridge.

His suit alleges that Dominion lied about the number and type of towers it planned to build and the degree to which new structures would resemble those being replaced. The power company also published false information to the public and did not follow statutorily required procedures, according to the suit.

“Dominion has admitted that it made no attempt to mitigate the appearance of the transmission line as it traverses nearly 40 miles of pastoral landscape through the Shenandoah Valley,” the lawsuit reads. “Although other projects in Virginia have been built with darkened towers at the lowest heights possible, so as to blend more effectively in a rural environment, these towers are enormous and made of a bright galvanized steel that reflects in the sun, making the long line of towers a scar upon the landscape that is visible above the trees, from miles away.”

The materials Dominion is proposing to use to rebuild the area’s Cunningham-Dooms 500kV transmission lines, which run almost 30 miles through Albemarle, is the biggest turnoff for some locals.

At the August 8 State Corporation Commission public hearing, Albemarle County Supervisor Ann Mallek said she has been disappointed by Dominion’s “misrepresentation and incomplete information,” and she asked the commission to reject Dominion’s application for the local rebuild, citing the height, width and, most importantly, she said, the appearance and color of the towers.

“The company rejects the COR-TEN material, which has been used for decades,” Mallek says. COR-TEN provides protection from corrosion through a chemical process that turns steel into a brownish color that blends with the landscape. One of these lines built in 1960 that was supposed to last 25 years has lasted more than 50 without any expensive maintenance treatments, she says. “Therefore, the worry that there is a structural deficit is not supported by facts.”

In a report to the SCC, Dominion has stated there is a $266,000 difference in total installation costs to use darkened poles rather than the silver galvanized poles, says Mallek, and “the additional investment is minute when compared to the damage that the galvanized poles will do to the scenic viewshed of Albemarle.”

Daisy Pridgen, a Dominion spokesperson, says the decision to use different poles is not cost-based, but issue-based. The overall cost of the project is slated at $60 million.

“Significant issues were discovered in the structural joints of all lattice tower structures built with COR-TEN steel,” she says, and Dominion stopped using it several years ago.

When a galvanized steel tower is first erected, Pridgen says, “it can appear somewhat reflective initially, but the exterior finish dulls relatively quickly and fades to a medium gray color,” she adds, “similar to the dulled effect observable over time on highway guardrails.”

In the Cunningham-Dooms 500kV rebuild, each structure of about 160 is being replaced and the height of new towers will be about 28 feet taller on average. The original line, built in the early 1960s, needs to be replaced to current standards to maintain system reliability, Pridgen says. Dominion is now working to provide detailed responses to the August 8 SSC hearing, which will be available in September.

Says Mallek, “We need engineers to find ways to accomplish this rebuild with brown poles to reduce the impact of the line, not accountants telling the SCC that this extra cost is too much.”

In Rockbridge and Augusta counties, Dominion got approval for the rebuild from the SCC “based on false numbers,” Baumann says, “claiming that the tower heights would be far less than they actually are.” At the time, Dominion’s website said the average height would be 115 feet, though towers are as high as 174 feet, his suit claims. Originally, towers ranged in height from 74 feet to 149 feet.

On November 19, 2012, Dominion filed the application to rebuild the existing transmission with both a 500kV line and a new 230kV line, though the previous build included only the former. The SSC approved it, but at the end of the application process, the power company withdrew it and filed another application a year later.

“In addition, when explaining how the 2013 heights would differ from what was approved for 2012,” Baumann says, “Dominion stated to the SCC that the increases in tower height on average would be two to 14 feet, but tells [the Department of Environmental Quality] that 14 feet would be the maximum increase height, neither of which was factually accurate.”

On September 24, 2013, Dominion’s lawyer, Charlotte McAfee, sent an e-mail that urged the DEQ not to review the second application, which she said would involve only “slight modifications” from 2012 plans and that the “modifications do not change the visual characteristics of the structures.”

In 2015, Dominion produced an Excel spreadsheet to the SCC that showed original tower heights, proposed tower heights in the 2012 and 2013 applications, with one increasing as much as 41 feet, Baumann says. Though it was only recently made available to the public, he says it shows that the company was aware of height discrepancies at the time of filing their applications.

Though the project isn’t finished,  the average of the newest constructed towers is 148.5 feet tall, Baumann has concluded from the spreadsheet.

An achievable goal with the lawsuit, he says, is to force Dominion to mitigate the damage it has already done by painting the power lines and towers a darker color. He says he won’t stop fighting the company, which has “deep pockets” and “enormous legislative power.”

They’re going to try to run me into the ground and anybody else who gets in their way,” he says.

photo 1
From Kristopher Baumann’s front yard, the top image shows the original, nearly invisible transmission lines. The bottom photo was taken after the rebuild. Click to enlarge. Courtesy of Kristopher Baumann

After Dominion's rebuild in Rockbridge County, this is the view from Kristopher Baumann's front yard. Courtesy of Kristopher Baumann

 

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UVA students join March on Mansion protest

Four “brides” decked out in distressed wedding gowns joined the March on the Mansion demonstration July 23 to protest Governor Terry McAuliffe’s relationship with the fossil fuel industry.

UVA third-year Maria DeHart was one of four women sporting glitzy wedding dresses that were caked in debris, torn and accessorized with chains. They walked in unison with a gangly depiction of a skeleton that was labeled as McAuliffe.

“There were four brides performing a ‘marriage’ with a puppet of McAuliffe,” says DeHart. “My costume represented the coal industry, and the other brides were oil, natural gas and pipelines.”

Over the past two semesters, art students teamed up with student leaders in environmental justice groups at Virginia Commonwealth University to form the Trillium collective, which aims to combine creative arts with environmental and social justice strategies. The collective created the mobile art demonstration.

“The piece that I was a part of was called the ‘Toxic Marriage,’ and it aimed to show the toxic/corrupt relationship between Governor McAuliffe and the fossil fuel industry in Virginia,” DeHart tells C-VILLE.

More than 600 protesters demanded that McAuliffe recognize the welfare of civilian lives over the interests of the Virginian fossil fuel industry.

DeHart attended the protest as a member of both UVA’s Climate Action Society and the statewide college-run group Virginia Student Environmental Coalition.

“It was really, really hot in that dress but it was so worth it,” she says. “Our outfits attracted so much attention, and the image of us walking in formation was very powerful.”

DeHart is no stranger to environmental demonstrations—one of which led to her arrest. But she says her arrest contributed to her fervor, and actually sparked her interest in attending the protest.

DeHart, who says she didn’t receive any animosity from counter-protesters, hopes the governor will have a change of heart.

“The governor did not respond to our message to him, but he definitely heard us and knows who we are,” she says. —Melissa Angell

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Wildfire aftermath: Shenandoah’s path to rehabilitation

By Rebecca Bowyer

When a visitor journeys up Skyline Drive and looks out over the portion of Shenandoah National Park recently ravaged by wildfire, black scars, charred trees and the smell of soot linger—but, almost unexpectedly, a majority of the area is green.

The Rocky Mountain wildfire was first reported to park officials on April 16. Windy and dry conditions contributed to its massive size; it burned 10,326 acres before being contained. With the flames officially out, the focus turns to rehabilitation and the threat of invasive species.

Stephen Paull is a biological science technician at the park who served as one of several resource advisers during the fire to make sure the suppression efforts didn’t do more harm than good. Rehabilitation began while firefighting crews were still at the park.

“When [the fire] cooled down, we were able to start rehabbing fire lines,” the man-made gaps in the vegetation dug during efforts to stop the flames, says Paull. “That involved pulling soil back into those areas and pulling vegetation back across the lines to try and conceal them so that they didn’t look like trails. We were able to take advantage of the labor on hand.”

While dozens of trails were closed to visitors during the fire, all have since reopened with no restrictions. This does not mean the work is finished. In fact, Paull anticipates the rebuilding process will take three or four years.

“We had about 23 miles of trails that were in that burned area, so we have crews that are currently evaluating them to determine what kind of work is required,” he says. “We know there are some areas where so much of the soil was burned off that we are worried about erosion. Those crews will be going in and making repairs now.”

Paull expects repairs to be completed by the end of 2016. “Going forward, we have applied for funding to do some additional work in future years,” he says, and the park is seeking $58,000 in federal funds.

Shenandoah National Park spokesperson Claire Comer estimates suppression efforts cost just over $4 million to bring firefighters and air support to the park.

“It was an intimidating sight for our neighbors,” she says. “And it was unusual because there were a lot of flames—normally fires burn low. The view from Route 340, which was west of the fire, was incredible. It almost looked liked a superhighway with the number of jam-packed cars trying to get a look at the flames.”

The concern turns now to the invasive plants and insects that could take advantage of the destruction left behind. Existing populations of tree of heaven, aka ailanthus, princess tree and oriental bittersweet love disturbances such as wildfires, says Paull. Part of the potential funding would go toward monitoring their growth.

“Crews for the next three years will perform seek-and-destroy missions,” he explains. “Basically going after specific plants and either hand pulling them or using a herbicide to remove them.”

Money would also go toward tracking the condition of native Eastern hemlock populations. The evergreens were already under attack in the forest by a sap-sucking insect that originated in Asia, and Paull worries hemlocks were further weakened by flames. Infested trees may be treated with an insecticide to help them survive.

Both Comer and Paull echo the same point —despite being daunting to control, fire can have advantageous effects on forest health.

“From an ecological standpoint, a lot of that area is going to benefit from the fire,” Paull says of the land surrounding Rocky Mountain. “There is the concern of hemlocks and the exotic plants, but most of the vegetation will be fine. It’s still alive.”

Some plants need fire to survive. The table mountain pine has cones that open to release seeds when heated. Fire also produces more nutrient rich soil, which benefits all species. 

Visitors who walk the trails in the burned area under the trees see a patchwork of colors. Ferns and wildflowers are sprouting from the blackened earth. Charred limbs remain in some spots, but the signs of rebuilding are there.

“Even though you may burn a tree to the ground—really all you’ve done is top-killed it,” Paull says. “The roots are still alive, and it will resprout.”

FAST FACTS:

  • The Rocky Mountain wildfire burned 10,326 acres
  • Its location was northeast of Grottoes in Rockingham County
  • The fire was declared 100 percent contained on April 29
  • Suppression efforts cost $4.2 million
  • It was the second-largest fire in park history
  • 350 firefighters and support personnel arrived to assist from 33 states
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This land is your land: Efforts to save Fulfillment Farms continue

In April, C-VILLE reported on the potential razing of historic buildings at Fulfillment Farms in Esmont. While a demolition permit is currently on file, and the structures could be bulldozed at any time, a group of concerned citizens has come together to make a final plea for preservation.

In Thomas Forrer’s will, signed months before he died in October 1997, he left the 1,910-acre farm to the Wildlife Foundation of Virginia, which still owns the property. Officials with the foundation now plan to demolish the historic main house in order to build a hunting lodge. The property is currently used for hunting, bird-watching and hiking, according to the foundation’s website. No-fee hunting and general-use permits are issued annually.

Though Forrer gave the foundation “wide latitude,” according to his will, to use its discretion in developing any lakes or ponds, trails and campsites, and to conduct timbering operations, “so long as such activities or projects are in keeping with the basic purpose of providing habitat for a variety of wildlife in a natural setting,” some locals, including his granddaughter, Alex Forrer, don’t believe his wishes are being met.

Alex Forrer, who lived on the property until 1996, describes her grandfather as a “deliberate and precise” only child, who “studied things in-depth.” “He really made no decision without looking at all of the aspects of it,” she says.

At the time of his death, Forrer was sick with cancer and heavily medicated, his granddaughter says. “Perhaps in the state that my grandfather was in…being a civil engineer and the precise person that he was, he wouldn’t have made that decision [to gift the farm to the wildlife foundation].”

“We’re the type of people who pass things down to the next generation,” she says. “I have furniture from my great-great-grandparents because we value things like that and take care of them and encourage craftsmanship and detail. It’s kind of bred in us to take care of something that should be taken care of.”

She was disappointed when she last visited Fulfillment Farms in 2014.

“The house was a wreck,” she says, adding that the lawn was full of old lawnmower or automobile parts.

But Mary Roy Dawson Edwards, the great-granddaughter of Civil War veteran Andrew Jackson Dawson, who owned the property—then called Cool Springs Farm—for many years before selling it to Forrer in the 1950s, says she checked up on the farm on a recent Sunday after church. She describes the area surrounding the structures as “neat as a pin,” and, in her opinion, that might mean demolition could be imminent. She wrote a letter last week to the Virginia Wildlife Foundation’s executive director to buy some more time.

In the letter to Executive Director Jenny West, Edwards writes she hopes those concerned “can come up with a mutually beneficial solution” to preserve the structures. A “win-win,” she calls it.

West previously said she evaluated the cost of restoring the main farmhouse at more than $300,000. The foundation gave Edwards the option to fund the restoration with an annual $25,000 endowment. Although she originally passed on the offer, Edwards is now reconsidering and hopes to meet with West and the rest of the foundation’s board. She’s not alone.

Joining the efforts in finding a solution to save the structures is Rich Collins, a retired UVA professor of urban planning, architecture, environmental negotiation and historic preservation.

Curious about the property for many years, he has visited several times. One thing that always strikes him, he says, is the site’s memorial to Forrer—the only thing Forrer specifically asked for in his will—which states that “this land was given for the enjoyment of the devotees of nature.”

Based on the exclusiveness of access to the property (a permit is required) and the board’s seeming disinterest in preserving the historic structures, the foundation may not be honoring Forrer’s last wish, says Collins.

“It’s pretty clear that the board itself is being highly criticized by local people and others for what they could call a lack of stewardship consistent with the aims of the goal of the gift,” Collins says.

He does, however, acknowledge the conservation easement Forrer placed the property under in 1990, which was to protect Fulfillment Farms from future development. And though the deed specifically states that no permanent structure shall be built, it does allow the construction of a hunting lodge.

It also states that, “accumulation of trash, refuse, junk or any other unsightly material is not permitted on the property.”   

West did not respond to multiple interview requests for this story. At press time, she had not responded to Edwards’ letter.

The foundation has recently received some praise for its work at Fulfillment Farms.

In a March 4 letter to West, the executive director of the Department of Game and Inland Fisheries, Bob Duncan, wrote, “In general, we acknowledge and congratulate the Wildlife Foundation’s variety and scope of science-based wildlife habitat management techniques employed at Fulfillment Farms.” He cites the foundation’s promotion of youth, disabled and veteran hunters, timbering strategies, the conversion of 80 acres of fescue grass to native warm season grasses and the construction of a shallow marsh for wetland wildlife.

Related Links: April 27: Local woman wants to keep historic buildings standing