"Thank you so much for all YOU are doing. It means a lot for someone to come this far and "GET IT!" We need more people like you. When you are down here you are more paralyzed by the scope - you shut down and lose hope. Having y'all here does give us hope - if that makes sense! Thank you again!!!"   -  Kelley Wolff Lyons


Today was the first "normal" day we've had in two weeks. We didn't have any major obligations other than laundry, grocery-shopping, making dinner and making calls and plans for the rest of the trip. We even had time to watch junk tv. We've all been on the raw edge since before we left - it's why I decided to make this trip in the first place - and we've had more than a few stressful, emotional moments (in some cases hours) since this news first broke, but we've managed to hold it together and just do what needed to be done. More than one person we've talked to has said they've just managed by focusing on whatever's next and we certainly understand. We've driven for more miles than we could count, struggled to stay in touch, make appointments and get interviews, camped in frankly stupid conditions, had blistering days working in the sun, been lost (literally and figuratively) and scared, had car problems, minor injuries, sunburns, been bug-ridden beyond belief, had run-ins with BP employees, Coast Guard, Wackenhut guards and faced the irreparable heartbreak of seeing the devastation up close, feet in oil, watching little shoreline creatures struggling to their inevitable deaths. All of that has taken a brutal toll on our mental and emotional balance, and I believe we will be dealing with the scars from this for the rest of our lives, but as hard as all of that has been, this day has been the hardest. 
When you are working, moving, writing, posting, doing something, you can focus on that and feel like you are making an impact. Even if it's just shoring up someone else's effort or emotional balance, you can concentrate on something other than your own feelings and the overall, overwhelming reality of all that is happening here. But when the time came to try to relax and regroup, the big picture began to sink in. I couldn't help but wonder, after all I've seen, learned and experienced, how I could just be going about such mundane business while the world around me seems to be dying, just like those little crabs and other creatures I watched struggling on the oil-soaked beach. I can't help but wonder how, if, I will be able to return to normal life after seeing grown men cry, watching small volunteer groups work furiously to beat the black tide, feet from the incoming oil, listening to a 6 year old boy who is obsessed with what is literally happening in his own yard, seeing people's lives be completely destroyed and understanding that they are completely lost and have no idea what to do next... 
What I am doing here is SO small. I consider myself to be a realist, and I can't help but wonder if I am really making ANY difference, if there is any point to this at all. I am just one little infinitesimal "David", facing a savage "Goliath" the size of Cthulhu's* big brother. This realism is one of the many reasons that this 'day off' went by in a fog. Just like every other day, I just did what I had to get done, but my heart and mind were heavy. I guess I'm lucky that my dogged little internal optimist won't give up though. She tells me that if ALL the Davids band together and just keep throwing rocks, there's a chance, there's at least some HOPE. Sometimes, I want to tell her to shut heck up and just let me sleep - forever - but she's loud, and ultimately I believe that she's right. I'm not sure where that optimism originally comes from, and I figure it's best not to question it at this point, but I sure know what keeps it going. It's all of you. People like our hostess, Amanda Bacon, local resident, activist and business owner Kelly Lyons, who posted that precious note on my Facebook page today, and of course all of our friends back home, along the Coast and across the country who have cheered us on, sent donations and otherwise helped us keep our heads above water. Even before we began this journey, the people in our own community back home in and around Tryon and Asheville, NC rushed to support this sudden, last-minute endeavor without question, offering supplies, donating their hair for booms, loan of gear, and helping us raise the money we needed to get here and stay on the road. As we were getting ready to leave, it's as if we were packing little pieces of home to bring along with us. We were grateful then, but at the time we really had no idea how important that would be, spiritually speaking, when the reality of this finally hit us.When things have been darkest, I have pictured our little place on the Pacolet, dear friends around the bonfire, the sweet, hopeful faces of the people who came out to help us when they found out we were leaving, and of course, all the kids we know and spend time with there. This is THEIR future we're dealing with here in the Gulf. As soon as we made the decision to stay on and realized we would need more funds to keep us going (needless to say we are all missing out on paid jobs while we are here) I bit the bullet and posted a 'donations' button on my blog and within 24 hours, we had at least enough money for gas to get us through the next week and then home, sent from friends and even strangers, all over the country, even though many of them are struggling to make ends meet themselves. We have had notes, calls, cheer-leading from every corner, on Chris' birthday, a complete stranger from northern Alabama dining next to us with his wife and teen-aged son overheard me talking on the phone with my oldest girlfriend  about what we're doing here and paid for our celebratorily expensive seafood dinner without us even knowing until after they were long gone. People have opened their homes and hearts to us, opened their mouths to tell their stories to us, and opened their eyes to what's happening here at our request. These things, all of these things, are like the booms holding the black oil back from our hearts. 
We cannot thank you enough. I don't know how we would manage all that we are trying to do without all of this help and love, and I don't know how I could go on if I couldn't do something. 
There's no way to know for sure yet whether anything we're doing is helping to save the Gulf, but we seem to be helping save others and we are definitely saving ourselves. I'm glad we'll be going back home with our eyes wide open, even if it hurts. I'll take pain over oblivion and ignorance any day - the pain will remind me to never, ever give up.

Photo by Chris Riddle

*Cthulhu is one of the central Great Old Ones of the Lovecraft Mythos. It is often cited for the extreme descriptions given of its hideous appearance, its gargantuan size, and the abject terror that it evokes. Cthulhu is often referred to in science fiction and fantasy circles as a tongue-in-cheek shorthand for extreme horror or evil.