Free Something's Rising: Appalachians Fighting Mountaintop Removal by Silas House and Jason Howard Page A

already been lied to by the coal companies and are here to warn their neighbors. Others don't know what to believe. There are all kinds of rumors already.
    Like many of the social movements in Appalachia, the rising chorus of Wilson Creek is largely made up of women. There are two elegant older ladies in crisp dress pants and sweaters, an earnest young woman who is new to the group and is taking into account everything around her, a vivacious woman in her sixtieswho is wrapped up in her husband's puffy coat and gives off a wonderful air of not giving a damn what anyone thinks of her. She is loudly relating how she told off one of the men who came to her house to try to talk her into selling. The circle around her collapses in laughter when she delivers her blunt reply to the man's encouragement. Several other women are there to represent their families, who promise to fight to the very end before they'll ever sell out to a coal company known for bullying people into signing away their rights. These are strong Appalachian women: tough as coal trucks, clever as foxes, as spirited as the music of these mountains.
    A few men have turned out, too. One is from a neighboring county, and he has come to talk about the rich geologic formations—including the High Rocks—that stand on the ridges along Wilson Creek. He is a self-taught geologist, a man who reads books on rocks and minerals for fun, and he wants to offer any help he can. There are two teenagers who are concerned about their hunting grounds being destroyed, and a young man who is from the holler but is now enrolled at Morehead State University. He says he wants to study geology so he can someday serve as an expert witness in trials to prosecute coal mining companies. Ricky Handshoe, from nearby Hueysville, has come to tell everyone of his experiences fighting the coal company mining the land above his home. He is joined by Lowell Shepherd, who says he gave a coal company a lease on his land only to quickly discover that they weren't going to live up to any of their promises. He says that constant blasting 1 —much of it higher than the legal limit—has caused his house's floor to be so hilly that his grandchildren beg to roller-skate on it because it looks like it would be so much fun.
    One of the young women is concerned about what will happen to her two asthmatic children if coal trucks start running up and down their road. “There'll be so much dust off that road,” she says, looking around the room so that her eyes meet those of everyone else. She twists her wedding band around on her fingerwhile she talks. Her hands are hard-working and chapped, hands that have known scalding dishwater and mopwater, hands that have scrubbed counters and carried plates, grabbed hold of hot skillet handles. This woman is worn out from just trying to get by, and now she has another aggravation, a threat to her children. Finally her hands become still in her lap. She looks down at them briefly, as if this manner of talk has worn her out, and then lifts her head to address everyone again. “If we let this company come in here, I just don't know what I'll do. 'Cause my children'll not be able to stand it.”
    “We'll just have to make sure they don't come in here, then,” May says in her reassuring way, and many of the women nod, a gathering of strong forces, determined to fight back. May offers a reassuring smile, and some of the frustration falls out of the woman's stiff shoulders.
    Over the next few months, the group works together to figure out ways they can fight the coal company before people start selling and before permits are filed. “It's pretty much been the case that if a permit gets filed, then you're already too late,” May explains. “So we want to act before that permit ever gets on file.” They stick together, and their strength in numbers has begun to work in their favor.
    The group manages to persuade their newly elected state representative, Brandon Spencer