The Trashy Truth

 

 

One of the reasons I hold Paul Davis in such high regard is that he does not dive headlong into situations and issues without waiting to see how the facts will unfold. I have tried to emulate his patience as I have studied the East-West Highway issue. While there are certain edicts of conservatism that I cannot compromise, such as private landowner rights and the rights of the individual, the secrecy that has shrouded the highway has kept me suspicious at best.

 

It is no secret that Doug Thomas and I do not get along. I feel Senator Thomas is a dishonest man. He changes his positions on issues with the regularity of a chameleon. I have had first hand experience in seeing that the good Senator has all the listening skills of a bullhorn. He is one of those types of individuals that Ronald Reagan once said, “Listen with their mouth, not their ears.” I do not trust Doug Thomas.

 

So with this mistrust, I continued to quietly investigate the corridor issue. I recently attended a meeting in Alton, Maine. The meeting had been explained to me as a East-West Highway informational, but when I got there, I found it was about a different issue, but not entirely separate from the highway.

 

You see, Alton has a trash problem and it is a growing problem. Alton is the spot for the Juniper Ridge Land Fill. It sits along I-95. The problem with trash is that once you fill the land with it, you need more land. Juniper Ridge is expanding and there are other interests that want to create another landfill, for more trash.

 

Trash by the truckloads from out of State, coming up interstate to the landfill and, now we learn the corridor is going to cross I-95 right there in Alton. Coincidence? I think not.

 

How did the residents of Alton end up with this trashy problem? It’s the small town dilemma. Not enough votes, not enough voice and not enough clout. So the trash continues to spread up the corridor.

 

I live in Piscataquis County in the foothills of the 100-mile wilderness. We have heard the arguments for this large structure destroying the fabric of the Highlands that we love so much, but the struggles of our friends down in Alton exposed for me a whole new danger that I hadn’t heard before. The more we learn about the Corridor the more it smells, well, like trash.

 

Landfills eventually run out of land and they need more. Remember, they are shipping in trash from other States. As the appetite for more land grows, where do you think they will find it? Where can they find more little towns with a small voice, no votes and no clout? How about Atkinson, Ornville, Charleston, Garland and so many others along the shrouded route? We don’t know, nobody knows, but the trash keeps growing and demanding more land.

 

Have you ever driven through the New Jersey turnpike? God didn’t create those mountains, man created them. We live here in the Highlands for a reason. We love the wild beauty here.

 

The biggest question raised about the highway was how would it be paid for? Trash is a lucrative business. If the answer is to bring in mounds of trash from all over the United States to deposit in our beautiful backyards and contaminate our lakes and streams, then this answer stinks! If you are tired of the trashy truth of Thomas’s rotting lies that keep turning up the more we dig, then its time to clean out the garbage and vote Paul Davis in!

A Highlands Christmas

 

The whisper of snow

As it falls through the trees

Climbing it, piling it

To each child their glee

High in the mountains

Betwixt snow and ice

The water still thunders

The pictures so nice

And on down the mountain

Through Gulf Hagas Gorge

‘Till the river moves Pleasant

Past the old Iron Forge

Past depots in Brownville

In Milo a meeting

Two brothers called rivers

And three now are greeting

Way up in the Highlands

With tales told of yore

The great lake called Moosehead

Its grand icy shore

In its forests of bounty

They searched and found gifts

But deep in its depths

Lay old ghostly ships

So much that surrounds us

Such beauty to see

How oft’ we forget this

We just see one tree

We bustle to fill it

With ribbons and bows

Despair if there’s nothing

Beneath its fir boughs

But while we are shopping

For Foxcroft’s fine wares

In Dexter, in Guilford

In here or in there

Remember the blessing

To live in this place

Wrapped in God’s beauty

His picture of grace

From Greenville to Dover

His birth for us all

From KI to Milo

May all heed His call

Written by Andy Torbett

Dec. 17th, 2012