Over the River, and through the Woods.

I woke this morning to the sounds of construction equipment. You could hear it tearing at the landscape relentlessly moving eastward through the State forest that surrounds us. It had been quiet the past few days, with crews on holiday, there was a momentary return to solace. A false sense of peace.

It was that solace that brought my family north almost a year ago to the day. Our journey to this place was not easy, it was expensive and labor intensive and it turned everything we knew upside down. But we had one singular goal, and that was for Karen, Charlie, and myself to live our most genuine lives.

A couple weeks back I stood on the shoreline of our small environmental lake, too small to be given a name by the DNR, but large enough to be remembered by the community that has grown up in this area. I watched with a sadness that I still do not understand as tree after tree disappeared from the not so distant horizon.

In truth, I am a carpet bagger to this community, an outsider that can never truly understand what it is to be born of this place. While I may always be that outsider, I have fallen in love so instantly, it is as if I have always been of these woods, so I will live here, and I will die here.

Hailed as a boon for Minnesota jobs, the Enbridge Line 3 project has brought thousands of out of state license plates to a community that has no means to protect itself from a global pandemic. Hailed as a replacement for an ailing pipeline, in actuality it is an expansion and horrible land grab for a multinational corporation with no ties to this State or to our Country.

We scoff at Native Americans when they claim betrayal, but that is what this project is. It is a betrayal of everything that we are and what we identify as Minnesota. Just remember, you were there and complacent when they rammed a fucking pipe full of tar sands oil underneath the mighty Mississippi.