Everything about the steel around us


Oil and Monks Don't Mix! (Part 3 of 3)

Soon, drilling and fracking rigs were running
up and down the newly cut-in roads, poppingOne day I looked at the creek that ran
in wells every couple of acres. Janet and Ithrough the property and noticed that
helped where we could, but were moreeverything in it, all the frogs and fish and
interested in digging up a large plot ofwater spiders, were dead. The salt water had
ground by the trailer for the one hundredleaked out of the holding pond and
tomato plants we were nursing in their littlecontaminated the ground water, coloring it a
boxes. We gathered red mulch from insidetelltale red. The land was beginning to erode
rotting logs in the forest, loaded it on ouras well, with many of the trees now gone, and
little three-wheeler's trailer, and used itthe pump jacks were rusting away. Our little
as  fertilizer.hill  was  not  the  same.
The first three wells went in within oneJanet and I became disheartened. Things that
hundred yards of each other close to theinitially endeared us to the property were
mobile home. Only later did we learn thatchanging, as all things do, and sadness was
pump jacks are giant lightening rods! And wecreeping in. I found myself becoming
were in for it since we lived on a hill!emotional quite often, feeling as if I was
Although lightening never hit the trailer, itstanding on a tarmac tearfully waving goodbye
regularly hit the pump jacks next to it,to a dear friend that I knew I would never
which made the severe storms that frequentsee again. Perhaps this was a sign that my
Northwest Pennsylvania interesting to say thepractice was deepening. I wasn't sure, and
least.although the pain was melancholy, it was
painful nonetheless. Now I understood why I
Once a well was drilled, steel pipe casinghad always been afraid to attach to things
was run down the hole and then pressure wastoo tightly; it just hurts too much to let
introduced by the huge fracking rigs,them go. But go they must, as all things seem
shattering the rock strata below, andto  do  in  time.
allowing the oil mixed with salt water to
seep from the formations where it would beWhenever Janet and I surrendered supports
subsequently pumped to the surface. Rods withthat we relied upon, we usually found
seals were lowered into the casing to act asourselves navigating through turbulent
a pump, and pump jacks were built above thewaters. Giving up both the heaven we had
well (looking like giant grasshoppers), tocounted on so desperately, and the world as
move  the  rods  up  and  down.well, was difficult without feeling a
crushing loss. This always left us no
After a well was outfitted, undergroundfoothold, but maybe this spiritual poverty
plastic piping and electrical lines were run.was exactly what we needed in order to slide
The piping ran from the wells to largedown that mountain we had created and have
storage tanks in the middle of the propertybeen struggling to climb. If need be, we were
where the oil and salt water was separated.more than willing to live in both the
The oil was stored in the tanks until a localpoverties  -  material  and  spiritual.
distributor picked it up, while next to the
tanks a large, deep pit was dug and sealedThis was a dark time for me. I was restless
with plastic sheeting to hold the salt waterand began to doubt myself; perhaps my whole
until  it  could  evaporate.life had been for naught. Life had lost its
appeal and I was depressed, and even though I
The salt water was produced at a greateralways had Janet, I began to feel alone and
volume than I expected, however, and I had aabandoned. It was if I was waiting for
bad feeling about it. As the wells weresomething . . . and there was nothing I could
completed, my job was to pump them makingdo,  except  wait.
sure that each well was pumping twice a day
for the appropriate amount of time so that itA shot rings out, a deer falls, the universe
wouldn't pump dry. This involved all kinds ofis diminished. After being exposed to two
electrical and mechanical maintenance andhunting seasons on the hill, it was time to
repairs on pump jacks that were regularlyleave, and like two rivulets of rain running
damaged  by  lightening.into a stream that is happily returning to
its Source, we ended up at the Zen Center in
Janets brother-in-law was already in theSan Francisco. I thought that I had conquered
process of drilling more wells in otherany meditation related illnesses that
fields, but when the price of oil dropped anddeveloped at the Abbey, and threw myself into
legislators ended the cozy tax sheltersthe practice, but I was about to learn that
connected to oil wells, it wasn't long beforewhat I thought was of little consequence.
the  oil  boom  .  .  .  went  bust.



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