I was just trying to help, but it had all gone wrong.
*
The sky is a light lavender blue - soft, warm, and distant. Its sweet expanse calls out to me; it beckons me to fly away - leave this all behind and forget I was ever a part of such horror. But I am rooted to the ground. I am being constricted by the infinite coils of my emotions...suffocating in the face of my indecision and undeniable guilt...
Take deep breaths...in...out...in...out...
Their screams reverberate through my mind; my chest convulses in fear...I sink to my knees on the hard-packed dirt of the parking lot and press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to remember how this ever happened...
*
I grew up outdoors. My parents were kind and caring, and, looking back, they seem to have brought my brother and I up doing activities in the vast expanses of nature: hiking, biking, running...it was our way to escape and be together as a family unit. In the mounds of photo albums stacked in my parents’ basement, the vast majority of family pictures show us posing outdoors: mostly in the mountains of Colorado - the state which I have always had the honor of calling home.
I had a great time growing up with my parents. I loved them, and I thought they were lovely, intelligent people. I didn’t even feel the same pull to move away for college that a lot of eighteen-year-olds feel after graduating from high school. I stayed close to home, and got a major in industrial engineering at the University of Colorado. I was almost top of my class, and my parents were near-bursting with pride.
*
But when I graduated, I finally decided that I needed some time away from them; I needed to figure out my own true values and future without the environmental pressure of having to conform to their beliefs - a pressure that is always present when living in the same house as other people.
I wanted to experience the real world. I moved to California, and started to job-hunt. Even through my meticulous surveys of every available job that suited my degree, I was unable to find an occupation that both satisfied my interests and had a relatively-decent hourly rate. I called untold numbers of factories and offices; I searched with every possible keyword-combination I could think of in every possible Internet search engine...I even got so desperate that I resorted to leafing through the morning newspapers...I was nearing the two-months mark when I came upon a brilliant idea: I could spend my first year in the field touring around to all the largest factories, making notes of how the best ones were organized and run, so as to get ideas for my own future career. I also started an on-the-side hobby of writing reports on each factory, as a way to practice my professional article-writing.
But when I started touring, young and “naive” as I was, I could tell there was something terribly wrong with how most of the major factories I visited were working. The vast amounts of unnecessary waste and microscopic levels of sanitation were clearly evident, and when, on my first tour in a factory packing bottled water, I finally worked up the courage to ask what was the annual total of waste in tons, the tour guide seems to be intentionally vague in his answer, and quickly changed the subject. So it was with almost all of the succeeding factories. It was this one in particular, a nasty beef-processing plant/ slaughterhouse called Sunshine Farms that finally tipped me over the edge. I couldn’t bear to hear the screams of the cows as they finally realized the full extent of their lives’ purpose; I couldn’t bear to see the veins pop out in the white areas surrounding their pupils as they rolled their eyes in terror; I couldn’t bear to smell the eye-watering stench coming from mounds of putrid waste that I knew must be amplified in the cows’ senses...when I went into the office to meet the manager, I had a hard time keeping my tone polite. But somehow I managed to put on an outwards show of interest, innocence, and pleasantry. I was so charismatic that the manager let me take a picture of the building layout plans, as a way to kick-start my own ideas. “We usually don’t allow such a sort of thing, but in your case,” the manager had given me what I supposed he felt was a fatherly smile. “We can make an exception.” Weirdo.
Later, when I was typing up my personal report on Sunshine Farms, I noticed something rather odd about the factory’s waste-removal system. The pipelines leading from the pens where the cows were kept (indoors) ended underneath the ground - in a medium-sized holding tank. To the majority of people, the plans would look perfectly normal, but with my trained eye of an engineer - along with my natural tendency for the sharp analysis of details - this didn’t look right.
There wasn’t a pipe leading from the tank to the surface; nothing was being removed from the tank. That wasn’t possible.
After doing a few days of research, I had come up with an answer. Underneath the land on which the factory was located as well as surrounding areas, the ground was porous and gently sloped downwards for the next dozen miles or so. The area where the waste tank was dug probably didn’t have a bottom; the waste trickled down into the Earth, spreading itself through the soil. This type of illegal waste removal may not have been affecting the current inhabitants of the surrounding areas, but certainly would have negative implications for future inhabitants. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do. My own suspicions (genius as they might have been) wouldn’t be enough evidence to confront the company with. No one would believe me. This greatly frustrated me.
I don’t recall exactly how I first thought of the idea, but shortly after that last tour I began searching out radical nature-conservationist groups. To my young, fierce spirit, the more radical the better. I discovered a group that met in Sacramento (a handful of hours’ drive from my place) once a week and was already known for its strong green voice. I decided to attend a meeting of the group, officially named Visarmo.
At the meeting, the speakers were passionate and energetic, talking about what had already been done and how we could all try to influence society to have more respect for the great outdoors...overall, it was quite inspiring. After the official part of the meeting, one of the leaders came up to me and asked what profession I was in. I told her, and she seemed very interested. She questioned me about what factories I’d been to, about the reports I’d made, my overall opinions...
Finally, as the members were starting to clear out, she asked me if I could bring my report on Sunshine Farms to the next meeting.
“A demonstration of your talent,” she said, smiling winningly.
She wore green lipstick.
I agreed, and went home feeling pleased with myself.
The next week, I brought the report to Visarmo. It was a written summary of the factory’s building and grounds, employees, products being manufactured, criticism of the sanitation standards, etc. The layout map was included in the report.
Much to my surprise, all the leaders of Visarmo were loudly enthusiastic about my work. They praised me to the highest extent and asked if I would be willing to bring my other reports to the next meeting. Elated that someone was finally beginning to take notice of my skills, I gathered all of my various papers and reports from all over my house and attempted to sort them into official-looking files for the next meeting.
Again, the members of Visarmo were delighted. Another one of the leaders talked to me for a long time after the meeting about my feelings on the field of mass-manufacturing, my opinion about the current state of the world’s environmental awareness, how strongly my want for change would take me...he seemed satisfied.
I would only know later how crucial this conversation was in deciding my future.
*
After a sufficient amount of time had passed for me to prove my dedication to the cause, the board of Visarmo decided to put some confidence in me. I was told about the plan for Visarmo’s next large protest. It involved shutting down a huge beef-processing plant. The huge beef-processing plant that had inspired me into taking action with the environmental group: Sunshine Farms. This idea greatly excited me. We were going to shut down the factory, therefore freeing the abused cows and stopping the outwards flow of waste that so obviously was polluting the land. I worked hard helping Visarmo to get all the information they could about the factory.

But as we got closer to the actual date of the protest, my senses again began to tell me something was wrong. The leaders of Visarmo were too fierce in their accusations, too ready to take drastic measures in order to achieve what they thought would help preserve the Earth. It was this fact that kept me on my toes, kept me looking and listening closely at meetings until, the day before the “protest”, I finally figured out the full extent of the plan. It was psychotic. I felt betrayed.

Horrified and confused, I needed time to think. In a state of hyperactive emotions, I drove along the highway leading from Sacramento for hours until I came upon a small range of mountains. There, I parked along the highway, took a jacket and some water and hiked out into the woods. I walked until my frenzy had worn off, and then I stopped and sprawled out on the spongy pine-needle carpet between the trunks, breathing in the fresh air and watching the high branches of the ponderosas swaying in the breeze...
I was so exhausted from my emotions that I ultimately fell asleep.
*
When I woke up, it was late afternoon. I hurriedly hiked back to my car and got in.
I’d like to say that my little nature-nap had given me grand insight into the situation, but in truth I only felt more disoriented.
After pondering a little, tapping my fingers idly against the steering wheel, I came up with a solution that seemed to be the best of both worlds. The direction that I was driving down the highway was actually taking me in the direction of Sunshine Farms. With another hour or so, I could make it. Then, I could warn the employees to evacuate so that no one would get hurt. By the time they figured out what was happening, it would be too late...
As the tires of my car crunched into the Sunshine Farms visitor parking lot, it was just getting dark. Struck by a sudden whim, I got out and walked around the side of the main building to the spot where the plans said the phony holding tank was. I wanted to see the cause of all this trouble. As I rounded the corner and my eyes took in the scene, my heart stopped.
The plans were wrong. There was indeed a huge pipeline leading up from the holding tank. Sunshine Farms wasn’t polluting. They might have had an unpleasant environment for the cows inside the factory, but they weren’t doing anything illegal.
I was just trying to help, but it had all gone wrong.
*
How could my actions have resulted in this? How could I have been so quick to decide that I had everything figured out? But on the other hand, how could Visarmo have been so quick to believe me? I pause, pondering for only a moment before I know the answer. They didn’t need to believe my theory to want to shut down the factory. They would have done it anyway. They want to be heard in the loudest way possible, and this was simply an opportunity.
How can the world be so full of misunderstanding that the only way people are heard is when they resort to violence?
I can’t let it happen - I must tell the police - yet what will happen if it doesn’t? Things will continue on as usual, and nothing will ever change for the better.
How can it be that this is my chosen path? There has to be some alternate trail where conservationists don’t need to pump air-borne, flammable chemicals into the ventilation of a factory full of (mostly) innocent people and animals in order to protect the purity of the natural world. All we have to do is find that trail.
But as for the present?
A gust of wind sweeps around the corner of the factory, sending a shiver racing down my spine. I think of the sight of the pine forest I slept in earlier today...the fresh green needles, the silent strength of the natural world - who wouldn’t feel moved at the sight of such beauty?
Yet the screams of future bomb victims ring louder than ever in the recesses of my ears.
How is one supposed to make a decision?