TO FINISH THIS STORY—for a beginning begets an ending—we must return to where we started: the wide, shallow sea. Now dark and imperiled, hardened but hidden, we don’t think about it—but it’s there, beneath our very feet. We press down upon it every day.
Below the lake that never freezes—past aquifers and saline formations—lies a plain of caprock, a hard frosting of rock icing a soft lump, like crust on a cake. More than a mile below threaded grass roots is a landscape no human eye has ever seen, a world of fissures and crevices in ancient rock. Here, too, is where the primordial sea resides. Caprock has held salt water in place for millions of years. Porous—there’s space down there, and it’s waiting to be filled.
The world above, stripped of coal, cut to a stubble, is suddenly not enough. It already seems so congested, the air included.
Now, we must drill down.
There’s room below for what we can no longer handle.
Deep underground, unless we can act with the most extraordinary measures, we’ll complete the story of a land that is fractured with the destruction of every living thing.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MANY PEOPLE SUPPORTED me in completing this book. Below, I offer them my thanks.
Charlotte Sheedy saved me, encouraged me, and continues to buoy me along the river of writing.
Robert Weil, dream editor, whose work tendencies mirror my own, reintroduced me to the genius of John Steinbeck—without Bob, this book would not be in the world.
The entire Liveright dream team—Haley Bracken, Peter Miller, Carine Zambrano, Nick Curley, Steve Attardo, and Amy Medeiros, along with Trent Duffy, Allison Johnston, and Jennie Miller—kept me on track and made this book a reality.
My English teachers, Kathy Lord-Olson, Jennifer Montgomery, Jane Pole, and Jonathan Hill, helped me understand that a life with literature was possible—and necessary.
The congregation of Christ Church Lutheran kept me going during a very dark period in my life—in particular, Kristine Carlson, Kevin Olsen, Will Stark, and Howard and Erla Polsfuss.
Jim Farrell taught me to see the world as it could be.
Kari Lie saved me.
Brenna Gerhardt brought me back home.
Steve Semken made it possible for me to become a writer and told me to dream big.
Gayle Burdick and John Jensen have given me much more than a place to call home.
Fayette Harrison taught me how to hold an audience, and the importance of storytelling.
David James Duncan and Todd Davis welcomed the “breadcrumbs” that became this book.
Katie Yale, Jeremy Schraffenberger, and Debra Marquart stepped in and told me not to give up on myself or this project.
Kathryn Rhett’s attentive eye and constant support never let me waver from the path of completing this book.
Scott Boddery, Ari Isaacman-Beck, and Chas Phillips make the Mason-Dixon Line, and life, one hell of a good time.
Thomas Christian and Andrew Kingsriter supplied the title for this book, though they didn’t know it at the time.
Anna Schattauer Paille, Katelyn Larson, and Benjamin Henschel trained my ear in rhythm and meter.
The Bakken “Dirty Thirty” made getting arrested one of the best days of my life.
David and Libby Christian kindly gave me a summer of quiet and solitude on the beautiful Olympic Peninsula.
Sandra Steingraber reminds me just how lucky I am to have a friendship where nothing is off limits.
Terry Tempest Williams knows just what I need to hear at just the right moment, including coyote calls.
Donna Prizgintas, the Gertrude Stein of Ames, took me in, taught me to cook, and kept me going through grad school and keeps cheering me on now.
Mary Swander, birthday twin, always picks up the phone and shows me how to raise hell.
Steve Kuusisto helps me understand the importance of being tenacious.
A legion of friends, through conversation and support, made writing this book possible: Wendell Berry, Nick Neely, Clint Peters, Toni Jensen, Pam Houston, Diana Babineau, Mark Odden, Caroline Nitz, Kathryn Cowles, Joe Wilkins, Geoff Babbitt, Josh Anderson, Sean Hill, Derek Sheffield, Simmons Buntin, Elizabeth Dodd, Camille Dungy, Amy Weldon, Mimi Pond, Mary Evelyn Tucker, Anders Carlson-Wee, Athena Kildegaard, Diane LeBlanc, John Price, Michael Branch, Kathleen Dean Moore, Rick Bass, Kerri Arsenault, Angie Carter, Alison Hawthorne Deming, Kenny Cook, Rachel Morgan, John Christian, Paul Bogard, Colleen Foote, Richard Salter, Antonia Felix, Phil and Barb Eaves, David Anderson, Kali Fajardo-Anstine, Fred Kirschenmann, Carolyn Raffensperger, Cynthia Barnett, David Orr, Andrea Peacock, Lawrence Lenhart, Ann Carrott and Jim Odden, and the entire Brown family.
Blue Mountain Center, Mesa Refuse, the Collegeville Institute, and the MacDowell Colony gave me needed time and nourishment, in the fullest sense, for self-restoration.
My colleagues at Gettysburg College, Hobart and William Smith Colleges, and Wofford College have made a life in academe not only possible but rewarding.
My students remind me what I’m fighting for.
Thank you to the colleges and universities who have hosted me over the years, where many of the early ideas in this book were first explored through lectures, panels, and classroom visits.
Beethoven and Brahms, without whose sixth and first symphonies this book would not have been written.
The Minnesota Orchestra’s public radio broadcasts remind me that music is my deepest love and that I still want to be a symphony conductor.
Paul Gruchow, Carol Bly, Bill Holm, and Louise Erdrich taught me that my home was worthy of literature.
Kelsey Ward and Baxter Datt, who are always up for adventure, help remind me how beautiful life is.
Ashley Hatzenbihler and Michael Welch remind me what good work looks like and the goodness of family.
Kirsten Brown keeps me in line and loves me in only a way a sister can.
My nephews, Logan, Noah, Alexander, and Oliver, make being an uncle one of the most exciting parts of my life. I love you.
Mike Sampson once let me know that he was always there to pick up the phone when I needed it—I’ve never forgotten that.
Consuela, Sheba Queen, Mary Lou Jo Bob Henner, my big sister, traditionally known as Tanya, whose love, support, and laughter in only a way a sibling understands, is as bedrock to me as the soil of North Dakota.
My parents, who’ve had a difficult journey, but who tried.
To the little boy who roamed the stacks, looking for a book that reflected his life: this one’s for you, as are all the rest.