Rustlings in the Leaves

The silence in the woods. It increases with each passing day.

I present a snapshot of a day for your consideration--one piece of a large puzzle.

I spend a morning sitting in a crowded state house conference room in Montgomery, listening to a debate. At issue is regulation of logging at the county level in Alabama. The elected suits that sit behind the table will decide whether this bill will come before the Alabama House of Representatives for a vote. The legislation under consideration would standardize the regulatory process to prevent Alabama's 67 counties from having 67 different sets of ordinances.

The meeting is contentious. Lots of political spin and a few bald-faced lies. I am called upon to speak on behalf of loggers. The meeting has run long, and before I utter my first sentence the chairman tells me to "make it quick."

Indeed. Thank you, sir.

I make it quick. But I make it count. Three points and the truth. I respectfully request that the honorable gentlemen do the right thing with regard to the issue at hand.

I return to my office down the street from the state house mentally weary and thoroughly disgusted. There is a light flashing on my office phone. I have voice mail.

The call is from Mr. Mac. He is from the little town of Grove Hill in south Alabama. Mr. Mac says he urgently needs to talk with me. Would I please call him back as soon as possible? He leaves his number, and reminds me "to have a blessed day."

I'll tell you a bit about our conversation next time.