Stand Up That Mountain: The Battle to Save One Small Community in the Wilderness Along the Appalachian Trailby Jay Erskine Leutze
LIVING ALONE IN HIS WOODED MOUNTAIN RETREAT, Jay Leutze gets a call from a whip-smart fourteen-year-old, Ashley Cook, and her aunt, Ollie Cox, who say a local mining company is intent on tearing down Belview Mountain, the towering peak above their house. Ashley and her family, who live in a little spot known locally as Dog Town, are “mountain people,” with… See more details below
LIVING ALONE IN HIS WOODED MOUNTAIN RETREAT, Jay Leutze gets a call from a whip-smart fourteen-year-old, Ashley Cook, and her aunt, Ollie Cox, who say a local mining company is intent on tearing down Belview Mountain, the towering peak above their house. Ashley and her family, who live in a little spot known locally as Dog Town, are “mountain people,” with a way of life and speech unique to their home high in the Appalachians. They suspect the mining company is violating North Carolina’s mining law, and they want Jay, a nonpracticing attorney, to stop the destruction of the mountain. Jay, a devoted naturalist and fisherman, quickly decides to join their cause.
So begins the epic quest of “the Dog Town Bunch,” a battle that involves fiery public hearings, clandestine surveillance of the mine operator’s highly questionable activities, ferocious pressure on public officials, and high-stakes legal brinksmanship in the North Carolina court system. Jay helps assemble a talented group of environmental lawyers to contend with the well-funded attorneys protecting the mining company’s plan to dynamite Belview Mountain, which happens to sit next to the famous Appalachian Trail, the 2,184- mile national park that stretches from Maine to Georgia. As the mining company continues to level the forest and erect the gigantic crushing plant on the site, Jay’s group searches frantically for a way to stop an act of environmental desecration that will destroy a fragile wild place and mar the Appalachian Trail forever.
"Stand Up That Mountain is the story of that struggle, and it isn’t just a good book in a progressive, environmental, eat-your-vegetables kind of way. It’s a good book, period. Leutze’s style of literary reportage is in the tradition of narrative nonfiction like Jonathan Harr’s A Civil Action, all the way back to Truman Capote’s classic In Cold Blood.” -Charlotte Observer
“Jay Erskine Leutze makes memorable work. He is brilliant at portraying characters (heroes and villains alike) and depicting his stunning setting.” Cleveland Plain Dealer
"Deeply personal and reflective, and as much about his own future as about the mountain he loves, Leutze’s account, enormously compelling from start to finish, can serve as a guidebook for activists everywhere." -Booklist
"Leutze’s affable narrative takes the scenic route, pausing to recount a piece of Avery County lore or to take in the panoramic vistas. Wide-eyed and instructive, the story carries the reader through the complex, occasionally riveting twists and turns of the American judicial system and strikingly depicts the region’s unique beauty." -Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Even Jay Leutze could not possibly make these people up. From the brilliant Ashley Cook to the unmovable mine owner, Stand Up That Mountain is populated with riveting real characters from a world apart. Leutze lets us listen as they speak and tells their story —and his own —with an expert hand. He has given us a glimpse of Appalachia that is both heartbreaking and inspiring.”
—Lee Smith, Best-selling author of Fair and Tender Ladies, The Last Girls, and On Agate Hill
“Stand Up That Mountain is not just a page-turner, but a testament of how deeply place and community can instruct us. Jay Leutze, a naive young law-school graduate, living "intentionally" in the Southern Appalachian Mountains, has the modesty to be instructed by a mountain, by the Appalachian Trail, and by mountain people who lead him with hillbilly humor and unstoppable ardor in a fight to save their homes. Gentle, funny, affectionate, smart, and self-effacing, Jay Leutze leads us gingerly through a tangle of lawsuits and small-town run-ins that would have delighted Faulkner, to a dramatic and surprising end.”
“Jay Erskine Leutze has long been a passionate defender of the priceless natural resources of the Southern Appalachian Mountains. His love of those mountains and the small communities they harbor has found expression in many ways, including the permanent protection of thousands of acres of land. In the case of the Putnam Mine, Jay also demonstrated his pit-bull tenacity in the face of seemingly impossible odds. All those who appreciate these mountains, both residents and visitors alike, including the many thousands each year who traverse that area along the Appalachian Trail, owe Jay a debt of gratitude for his unswerving defense of those all-too-fragile mountain landscapes.”
—David N. Startzell, Former Executive Director, Appalachian Trail Conservancy
“Starting with a phone call from a neighbor, Jay Erskine Leutze describes an epic fight to save the landscape from utter destruction. Telling the story through the characters in his Appalachian community, he brings the mountain people alive with their speech, history, and values. As the group takes their case from the county to the state’s highest court, Stand Up That Mountain celebrates the power of grass roots political action in America at a time when grass roots efforts are essential to protect our land.”
—John H. Adams, Founding Director, Natural Resources Defense Council and Chairman, Open Space Institute
- Publication date:
- Edition description:
- Sales rank:
- Product dimensions:
- 5.50(w) x 8.30(h) x 1.00(d)
Read an Excerpt
For me, this is how it started. With a phone call.
“My name is Ashley Cook and I’m calling about Paul’s crusher.” The woman spoke rapidly, as if seizing an opportunity that might pass. “I got your name from a lady up on Yellow Mountain.”
“Who? Which lady?”
“Beth, I believe it was.”
Beth Langstaff? My mind tried to find a reference. Witt Langstaff and his wife had bought the pastureland down the hill from me, below my pond. Beth. Must be Witt’s wife, I thought.
“Is everybody okay? Is Witt okay?”
“Well, not everybody.” The woman’s voice was high and tight, like the first string on a guitar. “Paul pulled a shot over at the rock crusher and it cracked the foundation on our house. We’ve got a police report on it. I called that lady and she called her husband, who is off somewhere working, and that man said I should call you, because Paul has run all over the mountain, and you being a lawyer . . .” She stopped to regroup. “See, Paul and Richard Whitehead—you probably know him—and James Vance, we call him Nasty, they work for Paul, and he has violated the mining law in ten different ways. At least ten. I haven’t counted it up, not yet. Now they want to put in a gravel conveyor that would be on a seventy-nine-foot tower.” Ashley Cook’s words came out in a torrent, but her tone was clear and her intelligence obvious. Her accent was faint, country, but not overtly mountain, and I wondered if she was making an effort to conceal it. She said she was a Cook. I knew the Cooks from up on Little Horse Creek, but she didn’t talk quite like them. She sounded as if she had moved away from here and come back, had tried to forget how to talk mountain.
“I heard it,” I said.
“Heard what?” She’d gotten tangled up in her own telling.
“When they pulled that shot. When they blew that first chunk out of the mountain.”
“Don’t you live up on Birchfield Creek somewhere?”
“I live up on the mountain.”
“And you heard it all the way up there?”
“That’s interesting,” she said, as if this were an important part of a puzzle she was piecing together. Now she muffled the receiver and relayed my words to some audience: “He says he heard that shot all the way up on Yellow Mountain!”
Yes, I had heard it. I was working at my desk when the air went wild with an explosion on Belview Mountain. The sound swept up the east slope of Big Yellow and screamed over the house. I sat up. Nearly levitated. One of the dogs, Biscuit, rose from a deep sleep and let loose a fusillade of barks. I expected every tree on the ridge to lie over flat, for feathers to fly from birds, but once the sound passed, everything stood as it had.
“Tell me about the gravel conveyor,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of this just yet, but this woman had seized my attention.
She paused. I detected in her tone that she was less than impressed that I did not immediately understand the significance of a seventy-nine-foot conveyor tower.
“Do you want to talk to Aunt Ollie?” she asked suddenly.
I didn’t know if I did or not. In my brief moment of consideration, the phone was passed on to Aunt Ollie.
“I hope we’re not a-botherin’ you,” said a new voice, “but, son, we got big trouble, Mr.—”
“You can call me Jay.”
“All right, Mr. Jay. We need help. We’re killed.”
This voice I knew. The Cooks have been rooted in Avery County for as long as history or memory records. They are mountain people. Hard people with birdy faces who live high up on the cold creeks. Either hard drinking or hard churchgoing, the Cooks and Taylors I knew growing up were wraithlike. They grew potatoes and a little bit of corn, cabbage. They hacked at the slopes to try to get the earth to give something back. Some of them carpentered for a living, others worked horses, in timber, and one of them was married to a man who ran a sawmill down below our house when I was a boy. They talked in the singsong trill of the deep hollers. I asked Aunt Ollie how she was kin to my neighbor Stella Thomas, who was born a Cook.
“She’s my sister. My half sister. See, my father got married twicet.”
“Okay.” I had heard that before.
Aunt Ollie took a deep breath. “We’re in trouble,” she said before pausing. Was she smoking? She might have paused to pull on a cigarette. “We’re barely hanging on. Paul’s killing us.”
“All right. But who is Paul?”
“Oh, Jesus, son!” she exclaimed at my lack of knowledge. “Paul owns that rock crusher over across from my house. He’s killing us. You don’t know Paul Brown?”
“Paul Brown,” I said, scrambling to repair my credibility. “Clark Stone Company. I know of him.”
“Well, you’re going to know Paul real good before this thing is over. Because he’s going to pull that whole mountain down.”
“So I hear. What can I do for you?”
“What we need for you to do, if you’ll do it, is to come to the county-commissioner meeting. I don’t know if we need a lawyer, or a preacher, or a damn undertaker, but Sam Laws has got this thing all lined up the way he wants it. Thing is, doesn’t Avery County have a Ridge Law?”
“North Carolina has a Ridge Law,” I said. “I don’t know about the county.”
“Well, if I’d knowed what to do, I’d’ve already done it.” She nearly said I’d’ve already did it, but she corrected herself. I made a note of her efforts in this regard. “We can’t get a lawyer because Paul has them all bought off already. He’s got a lawyer on a retainer, that’s what I heard. Ashley, she’s read everything on the books, but Paul don’t care one thing about any laws, and he’s wanting to get a variance for his conveyor tower and hit seventy-nine feet tall. And the commissioners are all a bunch of damn dogs, some of them anyway. You might know some of them.”
“Who is Ashley?” I asked, treading furiously to keep up.
“That’s who you were just talking to. Ashley Cook. She’s read everything in print and on the Internet, too. All the mining laws they ever passed. She’s my niece.”
I heard a question raised from beyond her. A son? Husband? Aunt Ollie now relayed the question. “Dallas says, don’t a seventy-nine-foot conveyor violate the Ridge Law? We’re killed if it don’t. Hayull.”
She drew in her breath again. “Well, I’m honest I don’t know what to do. You got to forgive me. I got your name and I told Dallas, that’s my husband—everybody calls him Curly on account of his hair, I’m sure you’ve heard of him—and he said we had to call somebody to do something about this, because Paul, he’s coming in here like a Scud missile. And luckily Ashley, she got your name.” Aunt Ollie felt the need to explain, for which I was grateful. “Well, what happened was, Dallas asked a man, and he said to call Witt Langstaff from up on Yellow Mountain ’cause he’s madder’n hell about Paul. And his wife, Mrs. Langstaff, she said she would have to call him where he was a-workin’, and then she called me back and she give me your number. Can you help us?”
and post it to your social network
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
See all customer reviews >