Home Beckons

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Whew!  November 4th 2008 is now history.  All the election rhetoric, prognostications, and promises are behind us, leaving hope and change plus some finger pointing and blame, depending on your perspective.   As my previous posts show, I’m part of the hope and change crowd, but am also keenly interested in how my old party will pull itself together after straying from its principals over the past several years.  Will it be able to right itself and return to its basic economic tenets, support its social conservative base, and yet appeal to those in the middle?  Only time will tell.

I’ve taken grief from some of my friends and family about the whole hope and change campaign line.  My initial support of Obama sprang from his positions on Iraq, foreign policy, taxes, social security, health insurance, and education.  Once convinced on these issues, I let myself listen to the rhetoric.  Is it really so terribly naïve to believe that it’s possible for each of us to positively impact the way our country is governed?  I think not.  This election has shown the power of individuals to find their voices.  We must each continue to press our elected officials to find responsible solutions to the scores of problems our country faces.  With renewed hope in our power as citizens, the change will be ours.   
 

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Our flailing economy cries out for action, getting top billing by TV pundits, in campaign speeches, and in letters to the editor across the country. Plunging stock prices, bailout blues, lost jobs, and fading financial futures capture our attention like no other election-time topics. With just a few days left before Election Day, I feel compelled to speak out on one other important issue, which seems to be buried under our collective concentration on the economy. The Iraq War.

Iraq presents one of the clearest distinctions between the candidates in this election. Obama supports a plan to drawdown troops in Iraq, recognizing the need to do so without jeopardizing their safety. McCain takes an even stricter stance than Bush – remain in Iraq, no matter how long it takes to “win.”

For those whose first priority is the economy:
Our total cost so far in Iraq: ~$566,750,000,000
Cost per year: ~$140,000,000,000
Cost per month: ~$12,000,000,000
U.S. funds lost and unaccounted for in Iraq: $9,600,000,000

To put these costs in perspective, the 2008 Federal budget provides just $59B for the Department of Education and only $25B for the Department of Energy, which is in charge of, among other things, energy-related research and domestic energy production. To bring it down to a very personal level, this war has cost every family of four in the U.S. $16,500 so far. And the war goes on…

For those who never believed in starting this war:
Yes, Hussein was a despicable man, but our justification for invasion was faulty. The Bush administration exaggerated the threat he posed. Remember, there were no weapons of mass destruction found, and then no evidence found that Hussein was harboring or supporting Al-Qaeda. McCain followed the Bush lead into Iraq and continues to support this war, while downplaying Afghanistan where Al-Qaeda did and does thrive. If his judgment is flawed in Iraq, can we depend on him to lead us through difficult and potentially volatile relationships with Syria, Iran, and North Korea?

For those of us with loved ones in the military:
Amazingly, Bush has not asked all citizens to share the same burden of Iraq, providing tax cuts to the very richest among us during a time or war. McCain plans to continue these cuts for the same individuals and corporations who evade billions in taxes each year through loopholes and offshore tax havens. Instead, Bush and McCain place the largest burdens and sacrifices for this war on those who serve and on those who wait at home for them.

Our sons, daughters, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends are serving bravely and honorably in our armed services, just as those a generation ago did in Vietnam. Leaving Iraq will never tarnish the honor of those who have been lost or who are wounded, for they did what their country asked them to do. Leaving Iraq will honor those we’ve lost by not losing others to a situation where winning cannot be defined. Having the courage to change course by taking us out of Iraq shows great strength and honors the troops currently serving in Iraq and those prepared to go when called.

Remember and honor:
4,188 U.S. military dead
30,757 U.S. military wounded, many with lifelong devastating injuries
30% to 40% returning U.S. military with psychological problems

The men and women in our military join their units with the knowledge that they may be called to duty to serve and defend our country. We must ensure that they are only called to the most crucial battlegrounds at home and abroad. We must expect our government to be capable of recognizing a need for a changed policy. And, we must demand that it has the courage to act accordingly.

McCain would keep us in Iraq indefinitely. Obama will lead us to a responsible end to this war. He will call on Iraq’s leaders to take on the responsibility for running and funding their own future. He will return us to a position of respect in the world where our efforts toward peaceable solutions are at least as great as our willingness to exercise our military might. Please keep Iraq in mind on Election Day.

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“You should be calling your old friends,” my husband reminded me a couple of times in the days before we loaded up the Buick for a trip south to Fredericksburg. He was right, but procrastination, or maybe premonition, prevailed, and after seven hours on the road, we pulled into the Fredericksburg Hospitality House unannounced and unexpected, except by the front desk clerk.

“I can’t believe that you came down here all by yourself back then!” Gary said after we got settled. By ‘back then’, he’s talking about my decision in 1974 to move three hundred miles from home, leaving family, friends, and familiar surroundings far behind. “You know, I look back and can’t believe it either. It’s not like I was self-confident – pretty naïve and scared actually. I was just really determined to strike out on my own.” I closed my eyes and drifted back thirty-some years.

Three job offers came my way back then from Virginia – hospitals in Staunton, Culpeper, and Fredericksburg all needed a registered x-ray technician. Staunton tempted me with the sweet smell of honeysuckle wafting through much of the area, and small-town Culpeper called out to my farm-girl comfort zone. It was Mary Washington though who closed the deal, the hospital providing me the backdrop for two exciting, first-job, out-on-my-own memorable years. Scenes from those years tumbled around in my mind…

Helping the eighty-year-old woman in the dressing room remove her falsies for a chest x-ray… Buying my first car, a Toyota Corolla and almost crashing through the dealer’s picture window after the test drive… Holding hands with a Route US-1 accident victim who would die before morning from burns too severe to treat… Driving a total stranger home after he crashed into a telephone pole right in front of me because I didn’t want to miss the only horse show I’d ever ridden in… Lecturing the drunken barroom brawler on Christmas Eve about peace on earth as I x-rayed his banged-up body… Holding the money from my first income tax rebate for just a magic moment before giving it up for a friend to get her car out of hock… The ridiculously short white uniforms we wore… The wonderfully mixed-up lives I shared with Beverly, Beulah, Judy, Puggie, Kevin, Hugh, Roger, Miss Redd, Marsha, Linda…

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Linda. We talked for a few minutes, catching up quickly on what the years have brought our ways. We laughed and swapped memories of long-ago chest x-rays, barium enemas, and hip replacements. “What ever happened to Tommy?” I asked, thinking of our boss at the hospital and a fellow horse lover. “Tommy died.” Linda said, sending a sharp, stabbing needle through my heart before I could even ask how and when. “You know she had those stomach problems…” My tears welled up in instant mourning for a friend, out of touch for years, but still very alive in my mind’s file drawer labeled, “Fredericksburg Adventure.” Ah, Tommy, if only we could talk just one more time, I’d say…

Thanks for taking a chance on a kid from Pennsylvania by hiring me. Please tell your dad that I appreciate his help the night he dug the grave in your hard-as-rocks lawn for my dog, Roentgen, after she was hit by a truck. Remember that trip we took to the horse show at the Meadville Fairgrounds when we slept in the stall and had to use the 16-hole outhouse – wasn’t that great fun? Thanks for taking care of Kapoka for three months after I moved back to PA. I probably still owe you for hay and feed. Do you know that I will miss you, old friend?

Bringing someone special back into our lives isn’t always possible to do, so I will cry for Tommy and honor her by treating others more thoughtfully and with greater care. On the way back to Pennsylvania, Gary and I each made a list of people who are important to us, but who we’ve neglected to keep close. If you have a similar list – people to thank, to forgive, to ask forgiveness of, to reminisce with, to remind that they are important to you - call, write, email, visit. You may not get that chance if you wait too long!

With love and appreciation for the life of Thomas Ann Chapman 1946-1992.

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Besides being a life-long registered Republican, I am also a mature, middle-class, small-town, white, married Christian mother of three, who hunts and eats deer meat. Add farming roots and thirty years of work in a non-union manufacturing company based in a conservative community, and the profile places me firmly in the pollsters’ McCain camp, especially after the addition of Palin to the ticket. Instead, for the first time in my life, I’m actively campaigning for the other side.

With rising costs for fuel, health care, food, and other necessities, more than half of all Americans struggle to achieve or to maintain a decent life. The American Dream, where anyone willing to work hard will prosper, is on hold. We need to rein in a system grown fat at the top with its bias for big business and big money at the expense of decent, hard-working people.

Compare tax plans of the two candidates. In McCain’s speeches and advertisements, he touts his plans to extend the Bush tax cuts. Saying that he is in favor of extending tax cuts sound good, but he never defines how the cuts are divided up across incomes. In his plan, the fortunate American families reporting more than $2.87 million in income per year see an average tax cut of 4.4%, which means tax cuts for each in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Contrast this to his tax relief for the 60% of American households at the other end of the income spectrum: those making up to $66 thousand per year. McCain’s plan provides these folks less than one percent in tax breaks, from $19 to $319 each. He offers millions to the richest and pennies to those hard-working people at the lowest pay levels.

Obama’s plan redistributes the tax burden, requiring more from the wealthiest households, while providing tax relief from those who earn the least. The highest income group, those making more than $2.87M, will not see tax cuts, but rather will see an average 11.5% tax increase. All households making less than $250K per year (98.1% of all households) will see a tax cut in Obama’s plan, including the 60% making the least, who will see tax cuts of 2.5% to 5.5%. Even with these broad cuts, Obama’s plan would add less to the national debt than McCain’s. (The Brookings Institution and the Urban Institute, both nonpartisan and nonprofit organizations compared the two tax plans. See a summary at Tax Proposals).

McCain claims that Obama will tax middle class America, but this only rings true if he believes that most families are making more than $250K per year. This attitude puts him totally out of touch with typical middle class workers. I don’t normally begrudge the richest their multi-million dollar homes, yachts, and off-shore tax havens (some of them actually earned what they have), but the Bush/McCain tax cuts unfairly burden the majority of hard-working people whose salaries can’t keep pace with rising costs for food, medical, fuel, and other basics.

McCain’s other tax plans are also based on the belief that if you make the rich richer, they will invest and expand the economy, which will in turn be good for the rest of Americans. He would drastically slash all corporate tax rates (even as gas and oil companies rake in record profits and even for corporations with monstrous multi-million dollar executive pay), hold the line on tax rates on investment dividends and capital gains, increase the tax exemption on inherited properties from $3.5M to $5.0M, and greatly reduce taxes on inherited wealth above this exemption from 45% to 15%.

Again, in contrast, Obama would only slightly reduce corporate tax rates, raise the highest rate on investment dividends and capital gains, keep the inheritance exemption level at $3.5M, and apply the 45% rate to wealth inherited over the exemption.

I maintain enough of my Republican roots to believe in a certain level of healthy free market economics, but am not so naïve to believe that the rich will always act in my best interests. I choose not to depend on wealth trickling down to my level! I favor Obama’s plan, which recognizes the need for a measure of governmental controls in order to ensure that we maintain a viable, working middle class.

With the recent meltdown on Wall Street, both candidates may have to revise their tax plans, but the current stated plans reflect a critical distinction between the parties. Obama demonstrates a solid understanding of who Middle Americans really are and what challenges we face. His specific fiscal plans target the needs of the majority of workers. We can’t afford another four years of unbalanced tax policies.

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In 1907, my great-grandma and her six young daughters departed from the western port of Glasgow, Scotland bound for the U.S. in the dirty, stinking, rocking, noisy, damp belly of the S.S. Columbia. Pinned inside her dress was enough money to deliver them all to Ohio where her husband anxiously waited. Unfortunately, after nine difficult days at sea, her kind, caring heart kept them stranded on Ellis Island, just short of mainland America.

“Someone stole all my money!” a fellow lady in steerage cried out. “If you give me yours so that I can get off the Island, I’ll get money from my husband and bring it back to you.” Reluctantly, my great-grandma handed over her savings and gathered her girls close to wait for the lady’s return. The hours slowly ticked by before desperation finally descended; her troubles, when viewed from today’s perspective seem bone crushing. No cell phone to call her husband. No debit card to replace the lost cash. No friend to call for help. No open border to slip through. No way off the island until help arrived from Ohio several days later.

I’ve heard this story many times since I was a child. My imagination always pictures the villainous women, laughing with evil delight as she leaves the island with her ill-gotten cash. Once on dry land, she disappears forever into the crowded streets of New York City, never looking back at or worrying about the seven sad souls left behind. She lives the rest of her life without guilt or regret, but surely someday pays for her dastardly deed. Or, so I chose to believe until recently…

“Did you ever think that maybe she tried to take the money back to your grandma?” my friend asked after hearing the story. “Maybe something or someone stopped her.” I started to protest, but stopped and looked at her with wide eyes, already beginning to create a new ending to an old story. “Wow, you’re right! What if her husband wouldn’t let her go back? What if she couldn’t get back to the island? What if she were just as frantic as my great-grandma?

Perhaps this mystery woman lived the rest of her life with a heavy heart, wondering what happened to the kind, caring woman with the six little girls! Is there another great-granddaughter somewhere out there in America who also heard this same story, but from the other perspective? We’ll never know what really happened that April morning a century ago, but I’ve rewritten the storyline. The feud’s finally finished with no shots fired, and I feel better!

How often do we pass judgment on someone’s actions or words without knowing what truly happened or what is in the person’s heart? In being quick to judge, we take on and carry the heavy baggage of anger, resentment, and blame. I’m convinced that it’s never too late to lighten our emotional loads with a new, positive perspective. Letting go… Having a change of heart… Giving the benefit of the doubt… Forgiveness… It’s worth a try!

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“What kind do you want?” I ask, turning sideways from behind the booth counter so that I can point out the goods. “This apple with two crusts or Aunt Marie’s apple crumb? The fat blueberry or Suky’s fresh-off-the bush-today blackberry? Red cherry or that lemon with mountains of meringue? Fresh peach or Janet’s heavenly coconut cream? Allyson’s creamy peanut butter or the home-grown pumpkin? It’s the annual Wyalusing Volunteer Firemen’s Carnival, and I’m hawking the best deal on the grounds - homemade pie!

It’s summer 2008. In many restaurants around the country, three to four dollars buys a day-old, refrigerated, artificial-tasting, barely tolerable piece of pie. In contrast, our fair pies, all donated to the cause by individuals still versed in the noble art of pie baking, arrive freshly baked, sometimes still warm, and all mouth-watering good. Baking a real pie is time-consuming, kitchen cluttering, and sweaty-August hot, so at a dollar-fifty a piece, it’s a baker’s labor of love and a buyer’s bargain.

My aunts and cousins run the pie booth four of the five nights of the fair. Each year we have the same conversation following this typical exchange with a hungry customer. “I want a piece of coconut cream,” the man says. “Which one do you want,” I ask, pointing to pieces from three different coconut cream pies. “I don’t care, just pick one,” he answers, not even glancing at the table behind me. I choose the one that looks least tempting, guessing that he’ll never fully appreciate the finer nuances of pie excellence.

After he leaves, the conversation begins. “How could he let me pick without even looking? I ask, starting up where we left off a year ago. “Yeah, I can’t even imagine that,” my cousin adds. My aunts chime in with equal exasperation. “Not care? How can he not care whether the crust looks flaky or tough?! Doesn’t it matter to him whether the filling is fresh-cooked or second-rate instant?! Can’t his taste buds distinguish between real whipped meringue and artificial gunk from a can?!”

Homemade pie…so good, it’s a melt-in-your-mouth, blast-to-your-taste-buds, can-I-have-another-piece kind of sensation. I fear for the future of homemade pies. Even the definition of homemade is shifting as the fast-food frenzy wipes away memories of the how-to and the tastes-like. Many restaurants and bakeries claim they serve homemade pies when the only connection to the real deal is the oven temperature. Shame on these imposter pies and those who dare to serve them! Sympathy to those who eat them for they travel through life without true pie knowledge!

Fortunately, we can stop the impending demise of perfect pies. It’s a radical, but necessary solution: baking at home. Putting a store-bought frozen pie in the oven does not count! Imagine a pie world freed from high fructose corn syrup, food coloring, and preservatives. Envision a pie so good it sends shivers down you spine with the first amazing taste-jammed bite. You owe it to your family, to your community, and to your country to protect the future of real pie. Generations to come will thank you.

So, pie bakers of the world unite! Roll out those real crusts! Pick those berries! Cook that filling! Whip that meringue! Teach your pie-making secrets to your children, grandchildren, and friends and pass on your pie pans before it’s too late. Be proud. Be strong. Go forth and bake!

OK, so my family might be a bit radical when it comes to pie expectations. I even had to look at over 500 pictures of pies before finally choosing the one at the top of this post! If you know good pie, you already understand the seriousness of picking the perfect piece. If, on the other hand, you are pie-challenged, find someone in your community known for homemade pie and discover one of life’s small, but perfect pleasures. Now, let’s talk about that store-bought ice cream…

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“I like him.” my friend said, somewhat defensively, referring to the landsman who talked with him about signing a gas lease in the Marcellus Shale. “Well, I like him too,” I shot back, “but remember, he probably won’t be around here next year, and who knows what company you’ll be dealing with down the road…

Waste water, well spacing, fracing chemicals, wildlife habitats, lease assignments – all issues worth sparring about with my friend whose eyes are firmly focused on future fortunes to be made from the Marcellus Shale. Marcellus divides us like no other topic. He, the perpetual pessimist, and I, the eternal optimist, suddenly exchange places when debating this on-coming drill fest.

Consider lease assignments… You’ve carefully researched the gas companies before choosing your best deal, becoming comfortable with your landsman, his company’s history, and its financial situation. Now, you’re just marking time until your company’s rigs arrive. Unfortunately your carefully chosen company may abandon you before the ink is dry on your contract or any time business goals take them elsewhere. These multi-billion dollar gas and oil companies craft new deals often, buying and selling drilling rights as they manage their total portfolios.

Recent deals include XTO Energy’s who announced in April plans to acquire 152,000 net acres in the Appalachian basin from Linn Energy. Similarly, Dominion Resources plans to assign drilling rights on 205,000 Marcellus acres to Antero Resources. In cases like these, landowners signed leases with one company, but now, most without any input or choice, will have new partners who possess the legal power to impact their land usage.

Even the natural life cycle of a gas well could contribute to ownership shifts. The output of a typical well drops drastically after the first couple of years of operation and then gradually lessens over the full life. If the Marcellus Shale follows the path of other gas plays around the country, older wells may become candidates for sale to smaller, less financially stable gas companies.

In a standard lease agreement, the original lease follows the sale. You will be dealing with the new company, with few, if any rights to go after the original company should things go badly – capping of old wells, gas leaks, water issues, etc. Some contracts carry addendums stating that the gas company must notify you if they assign your lease to another company. An addendum declaring that the lease cannot be sold or assigned without your approval may offer a bit more protection.

But no matter how carefully you negotiate the terms of your lease agreement, the reality is sobering: you are no longer sole owner of your land. You are no longer lord or mistress of all you survey. You are no longer in total control of what happens to your little heaven on earth. Your newfound prosperity carries a hefty cost - a dramatic loss of ownership and independence.

Consider this extreme, but possible lease ownership shift. A short Reuters article from Hong Kong appeared on-line in July. “China National Petroleum Corp (CNPC), China’s top state oil firm, is thinking of bidding for minority stakes in shale gas assets of Chesapeake Energy Corp… Chesapeake is looking to raise as much as $5 billion this year from selling minority stakes in its Arkansas and Pennsylvania shale gas properties, the South China Morning Post reported.” Will this happen? I don’t know, but it’s enough to know that it’s possible.

“Well, maybe China National is a good company,” my friend offers. “Yeah, I did some research on it,” I replied, “and it looks like it is, but that’s not the point. We’re already drinking Belgian/Brazilian Budweiser, facing Korean- or Chinese-owned GE appliances, and getting used to the idea of Abu Dhabi owning the Chrysler building. What’s more difficult to imagine is that our neighbors’ private, personal properties could someday belong to China or any other country courted by the gas companies.”

“OK, I can see your point,” my friend said, as the sun slipped from view over the hilltop beyond the valley. As I looked out over the lush, green fields bordered by century-old stone walls, I spied a couple of deer stepping cautiously out from the wood’s edge. I made a mental note to take more pictures over the next few months, capturing on paper this beautiful land as it was before Marcellus awoke.

Image by Don Fulano

Tina Turner probably doesn’t need another back-up dancer anyway. Not that I had a real shot at it, since I never took dance lessons, and standing tall, I max out at five foot one inch and just a little bit more. “Man, I’d still love to dress my sturdy thighs in fishnet stockings and dance to “Private Dancer” behind Tina,” I thought when I read through the old list. Have you seen Tina sing and dance her way through that song in her video “One Last Time in Concert?” The super-slim back-up dancer, in the red dress slit way up the side, brings her long, lean leg straight up in front of her face. Well, I can’t get my face that close to my leg while sitting down and bending over, so that to-do will have to come off the list.

I found my things-to-do-before-I-die list stuck to the back of a catch-all drawer and hidden by receipts, buttons, paper clips, matches, rubber bands, pot holders, batteries, pens, markers, locks, candles, cards, incense sticks, keys, bubbles, rolls of tape, scissors, flea collars, flashlights, and stale gum. “GTE SYL” in blue lettering caught my eye on the top fold of the paper, opening out to “GTE SYLVANIA, Quality Through People and Technology” when unfolded to full page. Written in 1992 just before GTE pulled out of Towanda, my list lay hidden for sixteen years.

So, how’d I do? Cross-country ski? Yup. After the first grueling outing, my arms ached so much from uphill poling that for three days it hurt to push down the water fountain button. Buy a 65 Mustang? Check. Great time cruising - abruptly interrupted by brakes gone bad at the top of a hill. Win a tennis tournament? Yes. Small-town, small-time tournament, but hey, the first-place trophy sits on my bookcase!

I checked off three of the ten to-dos, but what about the rest? Backpack on horseback in the mountains? Never. Take a cruise? Nope. Shoot at the national field archery tournament? Never going to happen. Learn to read German? Nein. Go to Scotland? Not yet. Write a book? Not even one page. “Wow!” I thought. “What have I been doing all these years? The Tina gig was always a long shot, but all these other to-dos were reasonable. So, what went wrong?”

Maybe nothing went wrong… My cruise ship may still be dry-docked and bagpipes wail too far off in the highlands, but I’ve roamed the streets of Berlin, Taipei, Saltzburg, Kyoto, Daegu, Helsinki, and Lisbon. My German is still limited to ordering spaetzle or spargel, but in the meantime, I’ve tackled sign language and brushed up on Spanish. A tennis racquet now feels just as much at home in my hand as a compound bow did years ago, and a recent hour-long horseback ride reminded me that I’d rather watch, smell, and clean-up after horses than ride them! Fortunately, life quite often offers excellent unplanned adventures equally satisfying as those once imagined and anticipated.

“OK,” I thought, pulling out a clean piece of paper. “I’ll make out a new list just for the fun of it. “Write a book” goes back on the list, and I’ll add my grand schemes to save the world.” A few minutes later, nine to-dos looked back at me. “These are great, but what truly serious challenge can take the place of Tina?” I wondered. Just then, as if on cue, “Whiskey River” started playing on the radio. “Yeah, that’s a definite! ” I thought excitedly as I completed the list…

#10 BACK-UP SINGER FOR WILLIE NELSON (long legs not required)

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I promise to never again ask my husband why he is taking another picture out an airplane window! I finally realize that each time he flies; he recovers, at least for a few moments, a child-like curiosity and wide-eyed wonder of what he sees. You can’t always tell when those moments will find you.

Softball games, county fairs, picnics, berry picking, swimming in the creek, riding down hill on sleds, ice-skating on the pond, deer hunting, high-school plays…all scenes from my childhood in rural Pennsylvania. My grandparents, parents, other relatives, friends, and neighbors and I lived quiet lives revolving around family, home, and community. Trips to Florida and Canada were monumental adventures, exciting events celebrated with slide shows and stories of new sights seen. Only local service men experienced exotic lands across the oceans.

My limited knowledge of Japan followed me into adulthood: samurai, sumo, geisha in kimonos, rice, Mount Fuji, and green tea. As time passed, new images of Japan pushed their way forward – Japan as a powerhouse in technical innovations and top-notch manufacturing. And then, the real lessons began with my first flight west to the land in the east.

“I can’t believe I’m actually standing in Japan!” I thought, gazing out my high-rise window at the Keio Plaza. “It just doesn’t seem possible. Who would have ever believed that I would make it from the farm on Sugar Hill to Tokyo! I wish my Aunt Belle were still alive so that I could tell her I’m here doing business with…”

Japan! Where trains run on time and people politely wait their turn in line… Where taxis have pure-white starched headrest covers and people sensibly aren’t embarrassed to break into a run when late… Where simple lunches are served with care on real china and “set” meals are served without choices of side dishes… Where toilets make cheering noises and shoes are taken off in restaurants and placed in perfect alignment at the door… Where fish guts are actually listed on the menu and every meal challenges the I-don’t-like-seafood eaters of the world!

Japan! Where a westerner stands out like a red cherry in a bowl of bings and rules for bowing are somewhat baffling… Where clerks and waiters shout “welcome” and “thank-you” and wrapping up everyday packages is an art form… Where in business, a smile isn’t always a positive and a frown isn’t always a negative… Where centuries-old temples sit peacefully among high-rise office buildings and young people grow much taller than their elders… Where 3.5 million people pass through Shinjuku train station every day in such a rush of humanity that I have to look down at the floor to keep from getting motion sickness!

Japan! Where Mount Fuji looms off in the distance and bullet trains fly low through the countryside at 186 miles per hour… Where rice fields grow right up to back doors and no land is wasted on oversized lawns… Where the heaviest people would be among the thinnest at home… Where giants Sony, Panasonic, Hitachi, Mitsubishi, and Fujitsu develop the latest have-to-haves and massive electronics stores hawk these wares with a lights-flashing, beautiful-girls shouting, loud-speaker blasting, wonderfully-chaotic style!

Japan! Where…

Even after making several more business trips to Japan, that moment when I gazed out over the rooftops of Tokyo for the first time remains forever etched in my mind. In today’s fast-paced and over-exposed world, we’re lucky to find occasional spontaneous moments of joyful wonder. Take another picture out the window, Gary. I know how you feel.

Image by Nicholas_T

“You’re just being pessimistic. It won’t be that bad,” my friend said, referring to my concerns about the gas boom from the Marcellus Shale. “No,” I replied. “I’m just being cautious. We know the money will be good, but there’s a whole lot more to think about besides the money.”

A year ago, I refused to sign a gas lease. I didn’t want anyone walking on, driving on, drilling on, piping on, being on…you get the picture! And, at $100 an acre, my husband humored me. Now, money calls out a whole lot louder. “We can’t stop the drilling all around us, so we might as well sign,” my husband says, as he nudges me a little bit harder. We can sign a lease with a no-surface rights clause – drill horizontally under us, but don’t tread on me! It solves the “not on my land!” problem, but I’m still losing sleep thinking about the bigger picture.

Consider what we’ve learned so far. When representatives from Anadarko, Range, Chesapeake, Cabot, Chief, and others came into the area, they acted as their shareholders expected them to act:

• Pay as little as possible to the landowners.
• Don’t advise people about the sure-to-happen-soon price run-up.
• Offer contracts with legal protections only favoring the company.
• Don’t advise the landowners to seek legal help before signing.

Like it or not, these actions are typical and legal business strategies. So, keep in mind: the gas companies, with their big bucks and heavy political clout, will always approach the Marcellus strictly as a business. Just because they act legally, does not mean that they will act in the best interests of landowners or others who live in our communities. We must be vigilant and vocal in our call for responsible drilling.

“I’ve seen a few drill sites around here over the years and you hardly notice them,” my friend said, trying to put a positive spin on the subject. I shook my head. “Those were vertical wells, and they didn’t produce much. It’s a new ball game now. Energy costs are up, plus they’re pretty sure that they can get at the gas with horizontal drilling and fracing…

Consider just two causes for concern: the impact of well spacing and surface damage due to drilling sites. Landsmen from two companies spun the same story to me: “Horizontal drilling means that wells can be further apart than vertical wells. There could be one well drilled per square mile or per 640 acres.” What they hadn’t answered yet is my question about why Marcellus will be different than the horizontal drilling taking place in the Barnett Shale in Texas. Even horizontal drilling with fracing can not capture enough of the gas in shale, so companies are increasing their recovery in the Barnett by infill drilling their horizontal wells (drilling in between existing wells) with spacing as close as one well per 20 acres.

Let me repeat that…as close as one well per 20 acres! Apparently, Pennsylvania has lax rules on well spacing (please leave a comment if you have specifics). Will we see dense drilling in the Marcellus? Probably. How dense? I don’t know, but it’s an issue that should be discussed and researched by everyone living in the Marcellus play, landowner or not.

What about surface damage at the well sites? Horizontal wells require approximately four acres of land (versus 1 ½ for vertical wells) for the drilling pad, storage pit, equipment, etc. Each pad must be placed on a level surface, so excavation of hillsides is inevitable; especially as well spacing becomes denser. Add to that the access roads carved into the land to every drill site and the miles of pipelines. And, although companies are supposed to return drilling areas to a similar state as before drilling began, if Marcellus follows Barnett’s lead, many wells will be refraced several times over their lifetime. Surface destruction will happen more than once at each site.

My scenario may be the extreme, but even with regulations, gas companies in other states have easily received variances to allow them to reduce well spacing. Remember: the gas companies will be focused on recovering billions in lease investments and on maximizing their future profits. They won’t walk away from profitable gas extraction just because you don’t want to see a wellhead out every window. If you haven’t signed a lease yet, consider this issue. If you have signed, think about it the next time you negotiate. If you don’t own land, realize that this gas play impacts you too.

“OK, OK,” my friend said. I’ve heard enough for one day!” I took a long breath and said, “OK, I’ll stop, but someday soon I want to tell you about drilling mud and produced water and the Clean Air Act and compressing stations and pipelines and lease assignments and wild life and deer hunting and water supplies and…

I mentioned my concerns to someone else last week and felt my stomach churn with his reply. “I don’t care if they ruin this area,” he said. “I’ll just take my royalty checks and move somewhere else.” He left me momentarily speechless and deeply discouraged. Later, I reminded myself that many others also love the beautiful Appalachian Mountains region of Pennsylvania. Our challenge? To find a balance between our newfound prosperity and the natural surroundings that enrich our small-town and quiet country lives.