On the Edge grew out of a lifetime spent living and traveling across the American Southwest, from San Antonio to Los Angeles. Char Miller examines this borderland region through a native's eyes and contemplates its considerable conflicts. Internal to the various US states and Mexico's northern tier, there are struggles over water, debates over undocumented immigrants, the criminalizing of the border, and the region's evolution into a no-man's land. The book investigates how we live on this contested land --how we make our place in its oft-arid terrain; an ecosystem that burns easily and floods often and defies our efforts to nestle in its foothills, canyons, and washes. Exploring the challenges in the Southwest of learning how to live within this complex natural system while grasping its historical and environmental frameworks. Understanding these framing devices is critical to reaching the political accommodations necessary to build a more generous society, a more habitable landscape, and a more just community, whatever our documented status or species.
The Ogallala aquifer, a vast underground water reserve extending from South Dakota through Texas, is the product of eons of accumulated glacial melts, ancient Rocky Mountain snowmelts, and rainfall, all percolating slowly through gravel beds hundreds of feet thick. Ogallala: Water for a Dry Land is an environmental history and historical geography that tells the story of human defiance and human commitment within the Ogallala region. It describes the Great Plains’ natural resources, the history of settlement and dryland farming, and the remarkable irrigation technologies that have industrialized farming in the region. This newly updated third edition discusses three main issues: long-term drought and its implications, the efforts of several key groundwater management districts to regulate the aquifer, and T. Boone Pickens’s failed effort to capture water from the aquifer to supply major Texas urban areas. This edition also describes the fierce independence of Texas ranchers and farmers who reject any governmental or bureaucratic intervention in their use of water, and it updates information about the impact of climate change on the aquifer and agriculture. Read Char Miller's article on theconversation.com to learn more about the Ogallala Aquifer.
President John F. Kennedy officially dedicated the Pinchot Institute for Conservation Studies on September 24, 1963 to further the legacy and activism of conservationist Gifford Pinchot (1865-1946). Pinchot was the first chief of the United States Forest Service, appointed by Theodore Roosevelt in 1905. During his five-year term, he more than tripled the national forest reserves to 172 million acres. A pioneer in his field, Pinchot is widely regarded as one of the architects of American conservation and an adamant steward of natural resources for future generations. Author Char Miller highlights many of the important contributions of the Pinchot Institute through its first fifty years of operation. As a union of the United States Forest Service and the Conservation Foundation, a private New York-based think tank, the institute was created to formulate policy and develop conservation education programs. Miller chronicles the institution's founding, a donation of the Pinchot family, at its Grey Towers estate in Milford, Pennsylvania. He views the contributions of Pinchot family members, from the institute's initial conception by Pinchot's son, Gifford Bryce Pinchot, through the family's ongoing participation in current conservation programming. Miller describes the institute's unique fusion of policy makers, scientists, politicians, and activists to increase our understanding of and responses to urban and rural forestry, water quality, soil erosion, air pollution, endangered species, land management and planning, and hydraulic franking. Miller explores such innovative programs as Common Waters, which works to protect the local Delaware River Basin as a drinking water source for millions; EcoMadera, which trains the residents of Cristobal Col—n in Ecuador in conservation land management and sustainable wood processing; and the Forest Health-Human Health Initiative, which offers health-care credits to rural American landowners who maintain their carbon-capturing forestlands. Many of these individuals are age sixty-five or older and face daunting medical expenses that may force them to sell their land for timber. Through these and countless other collaborative endeavors, the Pinchot Institute has continued to advance its namesake's ambition to protect ecosystems for future generations and provide vital environmental services in an age of a burgeoning population and a disruptive climate.
The first comprehensive study of the park, past and present, Death Valley National Park probes the environmental and human history of this most astonishing desert. Established as a national monument in 1933, Death Valley was an anomaly within the national park system. Though many who knew this landscape were convinced that its stark beauty should be preserved, to do so required a reconceptualization of what a park consists of, grassroots and national support for its creation, and a long and difficult political struggle to secure congressional sanction. This history begins with a discussion of the physical setting, its geography and geology, and descriptions of the Timbisha, the first peoples to inhabit this tough and dangerous landscape. In the 19th-century and early 20th century, new arrivals came to exploit the mineral resources in the region and develop permanent agricultural and resort settlements. Although Death Valley was established as a National Monument in 1933, fear of the harsh desert precluded widespread acceptance by both the visiting public and its own administrative agency. As a result, Death Valley lacked both support and resources. This volume details the many debates over the park’s size, conflicts between miners, farmers, the military, and wilderness advocates, the treatment of the Timbisha, and the impact of tourists on its cultural and natural resources. In time, Death Valley came to be seen as one of the great natural wonders of the United States, and was elevated to full national park status in 1994. The history of Death Valley National Park embodies the many tensions confronting American environmentalism.
Over the past 300 years, settlement patterns, geography, and climate have greatly affected the ecology of the south Texas landscape. Drawing on a variety of interests and perspectives, the contributors to On the Border probe these evolving relationships in and around San Antonio, the country's ninth-largest city.Spanish, Mexican, and American settlers required open expanses of land for agriculture and ranching, displacing indigenous inhabitants. The high poverty traditionally felt by many residents, combined with San Antonio's environment, has contributed to the development of the city's unusually complex public health dilemmas. The national drive to preserve historic landmarks and landscapes has been complicated by the blight of homogenous urban sprawl. But no issue has been more contentious than that of water, particularly in a city entirely dependent on a single aquifer in a region of little rain. Managing these environmental concerns is the chief problem facing the city in the new century.
Char Booth, an avid library education and technology advocate, introduces a series of concepts that will empower readers at any level of experience to become better designers and presenters, as well as building their confidence and satisfaction as library educators
Sitting just south of the nation's capital, Alexandria has a long and storied history." "Still, little is known of Alexandria's twentieth-century African American community. Experience the harrowing narratives of trials and triumph as Alexandria's African Americans helped to shape not only their hometown but also the world around them. Rutherford Adkins became one of the first black fighter pilots as a Tuskegee Airman. Samuel Tucker, a twenty-six-year-old lawyer, organized and fought for Alexandria to share its wealth of knowledge with the African American community by opening its libraries to all colors and creeds. Discover a vibrant past that, through this record, will be remembered forever as Alexandria's beacon of hope and light.
Drought and fires, floods and rising tides: These and other climate-driven forces are compelling us to examine our role as inhabitants of our imperiled planet. In over forty vitally important essays and vignettes, Natural Consequences is Char Miller’s literary tour de force that illuminates the historical background of how we got here, what we need to do now, and how we can thrive into the future. Professor of Environmental Analysis and History, and author of books, articles, and essays, Char Miller’s narratives are not only expansive in scope, but also intimate and personal. Living in Southern California, he walks us through the environmental touchstones of his backyard, through his neighborhood, into the widely varied ecospheres of California, and then the world beyond. The essays encourage readers to look for themselves at the meaning behind environmental disasters and injustices, but also examine the tiniest details that can be encountered simply by taking a walk. As Char Miller wanders, we see the world anew through his eyes and words. And we are better for it.
In Not So Golden State, leading environmental historian Char Miller looks below the surface of California's ecological history to expose some of its less glittering conundrums. In this necessary work, Miller asks tough questions as we stand at the edge of a human-induced natural disaster in the region and beyond. He details policy steps and missteps in public land management and examines the impact of recreation on national forests, parks, and refuges, assessing efforts to restore wild land habitat, riparian ecosystems, and endangered species. Why, during a devastating five-year drought, is the Central Valley’s agribusiness still irrigating its fields as if it were business as usual? What’s unusual, Miller reveals, is that northern counties rich in groundwater sell it off to make millions while draining their aquifers toward eventual mud. Why, when contemporary debate over oil and gas drilling questions reasonable practices, are extractive industries targeting Chaco Canyon National Historic Park and its ancient sites, which are of inestimable value to Native Americans? How do we begin to understand “local,” a concept of hope for modern environmentalism? After all, Miller says, what we define as local determines how we might act in its defense. To inhabit a place requires placed-based analyses, whatever the geographic scope—examinations rooted in a precise, physical reality. To make a conscientious life in a suburb, floodplain, fire zone, or coastline requires a heightened awareness of these landscapes’ past so that we can develop an intensified responsibility for their present condition and future prospects. Building a more robust sense of justice is the key to creating resilient, habitable, and equitable communities. Miller turns to Aldo Leopold’s insight that “all history consists of successive excursions from a single starting point,” a location humans return to "again and again to organize another search for a durable scale of values.” This quest, a reflection of our ambition to know ourselves in relation to time and space, to organize our energy and structure our insights, is as inevitable as it is unending. Turning his focus to the tensions along the California coastline, Miller ponders the activities of whale watching and gazing at sea otters, thinking about the implications of the human desire to protect endangered flora and fauna, which makes the shoreline a fraught landscape and a source of endless stories about the past and present. In the Los Angeles region these connections are more obvious, given its geography. The San Gabriel Mountains rise sharply above the valleys below, offering some of the steepest relief on the planet. Three major river systems—the Santa Ana, San Gabriel, and Los Angeles—cut through the range’s sheer canyons, carrying an astonishing amount of debris that once crashed into low-lying areas with churning force. Today the rivers are constrained by flood-control dams and channels. Major wildfires, sparked by annual drought, high heat, and fierce Santa Ana winds, move at lightning speed and force thousands to flee. The city’s legendary smog, whose origins lie in car culture, was fueled in part by oil brought to the region's surface in the late nineteenth century. It left Angelenos gasping for breath as climatic conditions turned exhaust into a toxic ozone layer trapped by the mountains that back in the day were hard to see. Clearing the befouled skies took decades. Every bit as complex is the enduring effort to regenerate riparian health and restore wildlife habitat in a concrete-hardened landscape. The emerging tensions are similar to those threading through the U.S. Forest Service’s management of the Angeles National Forest, exacerbated whenever a black bear ambles into a nearby subdivision. How we build ourselves into these spaces depends on the removal of competing users or uses: a historic strawberry patch gives way to a housing development, a memorial forest goes up in smoke, a small creek tells a larger tale of the human impress, and struggles over water—a perennial issue in this dry land—remind us we're not as free of the past as we'd like to think. Neither are we removed from the downwind consequences of our choice to live in fire’s path. The West does not burn every summer; it just seems that way. And not every fire is a smoke signal of distress. Picking through the region’s fiery terrain is as tricky as trying to extinguish a roaring blaze in the August heat. There are lessons to be had by examining how we respond to the annual conflagrations. The Wallow Fire, which in 2011 burned hundreds of thousands of acres in remote Arizona, sparked equal amounts of political grandstanding and hand-wringing about wildfire-fighting strategies. Beyond the headlines and flashy, smoke-filled images lay another reality. The creation of defensible space and the thinning of forests communities—signs of homeowners' and state and federal agencies' proactive intervention—meant few structures burned during the monthlong firestorm. That such good news is rarely reported is part and parcel of another ethical dilemma too rarely acknowledged: the decision to live in fire zones should come coupled with homeowners’ responsibility to do all they can to ensure their homes don't go up in smoke. How they build their homes and landscape its environs are essential steps in defending their space. That obligation comes with another, made clear in the 2013 Yarnell Hill, which took the lives of nineteen firefighters. To make our houses fire-safe is to give firefighters a fighting chance. This reciprocity and the social compact it depends on require us to believe we inhabit common ground with our neighbors, a realization that should build a stronger sense of community. But it's a tough concept to promote in a bewilderingly antisocial political environment, when budgets for fire prevention are slashed as part of larger efforts to defund the nation-state. Or when the very reasons some seek to live in isolated, mountainous environs clash with the larger need to act in concert with their communities. Fires illuminate many things, not least the ties that bind and those that are frayed. Miller develops his argument from a variety of places and perspectives. Most of the pieces ask a series of questions about a particular landscape—Gila National Forest, Death Valley, Zion, Arches, and Rocky Mountain National Parks, and a host of other iconic western scenic spots. Why do we conceive of wilderness as a preserve, separate and inviolate? Who benefits—or does not—from the idea that such landscapes are, or ought to be, untrammeled? Why has this intellectual construction, and the preservationist ethos it depends on, come to dominate contemporary environmentalism? Related queries bubble up after Miller spends time in the newest national park, Pinnacles in central California, or one of the most venerable, the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona. What impact has the long history of tourism and recreation had on these public lands? Maintaining trails that weave through the Yosemite Valley is an arduous, incessant task made more difficult by the visitors pouring in to John Muir’s favorite terrain or rushing to rock climb in Minerva Hoyt’s beloved Joshua Tree. Still more daunting is the prospect of sustained ecological restoration and habitat regeneration under current conditions and those that climate change is generating across the West. Once again Aldo Leopold can be a guide. “A member of a biotic team is shown by an ecological interpretation of history,” he once observed, adding that many “historical events, hitherto explained solely in terms of human enterprise, were actually biotic interactions between people and land.” Only when “the concept of land as a community really penetrates our intellectual life” will history, as a subject and methodology, become fully realized. Not So Golden State contributes powerfully toward the realization of this enduring cross-generational endeavor.
Miller shows how government institutions changed the meaning of American citizenship during the World War II era. He considers the state's role in creating concepts of citizenship and subjectivity by analyzing the application within military and educational institutions of systems of discipline associated with Frederick W. Taylor and scientific management. Miller also explores a neglected aspect of Michel Foucault's concerns about citizenship and subjectivity when examining the power of institutions and bureaucracies in creating and precluding political identities. Of particular interest to scholars and students involved with American political history and theory and the sociology of work/education/war and conflict.
At the beginning of the Civil War, Federal troops secured Alexandria as Union territory. Former slaves, called contrabands, poured in to obtain protection from their former masters. Due to overcrowding, mortality rates were high. Authorities seized an undeveloped parcel of land on South Washington Street, and by March 1864, it had been opened as a cemetery for African Americans. Between 1864 and 1868, more than 1,700 contrabands and freedmen were buried there. For nearly eighty years, the cemetery lay undisturbed and was eventually forgotten. Rediscovered in 1996, it has now been preserved as a monument to the courage and sacrifice of those buried within. Author and researcher Char McCargo Bah recounts the stories of those men and women and the search for their descendants."-- back cover.
The world-renowned psychic intuitive shares her special gifts by teaching you how to tap into your intuitive powers to make the wisest choices in life and obtain more money, love, and success. Every day, people are faced with countless decisions, from the trivial to the very important. Yet few are able to truly hear that inner voice that helps them make the wisest choices: their intuition. Char Margolis explains how to do just that. Using her own incredible experiences, she outlines how to use your own inner voice as you learn to develop your intuitive powers in four simple steps. By combining intuition with logic and common sense, you will be able to make better decisions and attract the people and opportunities you most deeply desire into your life. Learn how to: Tune in to your health and use your energy to heal Raise healthy, happy children by nurturing their intuition as well as your own Listen to your instincts in evaluating people and opportunities Attract compatible partners Access your sexual energy Sense the right career opportunities Recognize the messages you are receiving from your deceased loved ones Char also provides helpful instruction on how to prevent potential problems, protect yourself from bad energy, cope with setbacks, and get attuned to the universal plan. With Char's guidance, you will be empowered to begin your own personal journey of discovering -- and listening to -- your inner wisdom.
Through conducting an ethnographic study about doctoral students from traditionally underrepresented groups who are learning to conduct ethnographic research, this volume offers unique insight into the challenges and experiences through which these students develop their skills and identities as qualitative researchers. Foregrounding the stories and perspectives of students from minority backgrounds including Latinx, Black, differently abled, and queer students, Graduate Students Becoming Qualitative Researchers identifies how the process of learning to conduct ethnographic research underpins doctoral students’ success, confidence, and persistence in the academy. Chapters follow students during a one-year ethnographic research course during which they learn about ethnography, and also conduct observations, write field notes, interview participants, and gather artifacts. Offering important pedagogical insights into how ethnography and academic writing are communicated, the text also tackles questions of access and diversity within scholarship and highlights barriers to first-generation and minoritized students' success, including impostor syndrome, stereotype vulnerability, and access to time, knowledge, and capital. This volume will prove valuable to doctoral students, postgraduate researchers, scholars, and educators conducting qualitative research across the fields of education and rhetoric, as well as the humanities and social sciences. It will also appeal to those interested in multiculturalism and diversity within the education sector.
Psychic intuitive Char Margolis has amazed TV hosts from Larry King to Regis Philbin--and millions of viewers--with her uncanny ability to make contact with departed spirits. Now she shares her most exciting experiences in this astonishing book. But this is much more than a memoir-Char also tells you how to develop your own psychic abilities. Her inspiring advice can help you to contact a loved one's spirit, or enhance your innate ability to sense danger or protect others. She also provides easy instructions for making life-changing decisions-intuitively-about business, family, health, and love! Discover: * Why we don't have to fear death * Nineteen questions that test your intuitive abilities * Sure-fire ways to tell if a spirit is trying to contact you * Expert guidance on evaluating an intuitive or psychic message * Methods to help you communicate with loved ones, guardian angels, and spirit guides * The messages you can find in dreams and daydreams * Important facts about guarding against negative energies...and much more! LET CHAR SHOW YOU HOW TO FOLLOW YOUR INTUITION TO... ..."hone in" on missing or misplaced objects ...psychically contact people or "accidentally" run into them ...choose or change a career intuitively ...do an intuitive health check, including discerning specific conditions ...ease the pain of grief and losing a loved one ...expand your wisdom and happiness ...increase your ability to love ...prevent problems and attain goals in your life
Louis Riel personally singled out Major Charles Arkoll Boulton for execution. Thomas Scott was shot instead, but Boulton never lost his visceral hatred for the "rebel chief". A leader of the Canadian forces during the Red River Rebellion of 1869-70, Boulton was a seasoned veteran when Métis rose again in 1885. Recruiting his own force of mounted infantry he served in the heart of the action at Fish Creek and Batoche, witnessing scenes of massacre and horror, listening to First Nations leaders as they pleaded their cases, visiting the headquarters of the Métis, speaking with the English general Frederick Middleton. Boulton was privileged to be both participant in and observer of the drama of passion and ambition that idelibly marked the history of the Canadian West. First published in 1886, the narrative reproduced in I Fought Riel presents an incredibly vivid portrait of this important passage in the history of the West. With an insightful introduction by Heather Robertson.
Char Booth examines the long-term adoption of one established tool, Voice over Internet Protocol (VoIP) in order to gain insight into the library innovation process.
On September 9, 1921, a tropical depression stalled just north of San Antonio and within hours overwhelmed its winding network of creeks and rivers. Floodwaters ripped through the city’s Latino West Side neighborhoods, killing more than eighty people. Meanwhile a wall of water crashed into the central business district on the city’s North Side, wreaking considerable damage. The city’s response to this disaster shaped its environmental policies for the next fifty years, carving new channels of power. Decisions about which communities would be rehabilitated and how thoroughly were made in the political arena, where the Anglo elite largely ignored the interlocking problems on the impoverished West Side that flowed from poor drainage, bad housing, and inadequate sanitation. Instead the elite pushed for the $1.6 million construction of the Olmos Dam, whose creation depended on a skewed distribution of public benefits in one of America’s poorest big cities. The discriminatory consequences, channeled along ethnic and class lines, continually resurfaced until the mid-1970s, when Communities Organized for Public Services, a West Side grassroots organization, launched a successful protest that brought much-needed flood control to often inundated neighborhoods. This upheaval, along with COPS’s emergence as a power broker, disrupted Anglo domination of the political landscape to more accurately reflect the city’s diverse population. West Side Rising is the first book focused squarely on San Antonio’s enduring relationship to floods, which have had severe consequences for its communities of color in particular. Examining environmental, social, and political histories, Char Miller demonstrates that disasters can expose systems of racism, injustice, and erasure and, over time, can impel activists to dismantle these inequities. He draws clear lines between the environmental injustices embedded in San Antonio’s long history and the emergence of grassroots organizations that combated the devastating impact floods could have on the West Side.
President John F. Kennedy officially dedicated the Pinchot Institute for Conservation Studies on September 24, 1963 to further the legacy and activism of conservationist Gifford Pinchot (1865-1946). Pinchot was the first chief of the United States Forest Service, appointed by Theodore Roosevelt in 1905. During his five-year term, he more than tripled the national forest reserves to 172 million acres. A pioneer in his field, Pinchot is widely regarded as one of the architects of American conservation and an adamant steward of natural resources for future generations. Author Char Miller highlights many of the important contributions of the Pinchot Institute through its first fifty years of operation. As a union of the United States Forest Service and the Conservation Foundation, a private New York-based think tank, the institute was created to formulate policy and develop conservation education programs. Miller chronicles the institution's founding, a donation of the Pinchot family, at its Grey Towers estate in Milford, Pennsylvania. He views the contributions of Pinchot family members, from the institute's initial conception by Pinchot's son, Gifford Bryce Pinchot, through the family's ongoing participation in current conservation programming. Miller describes the institute's unique fusion of policy makers, scientists, politicians, and activists to increase our understanding of and responses to urban and rural forestry, water quality, soil erosion, air pollution, endangered species, land management and planning, and hydraulic franking. Miller explores such innovative programs as Common Waters, which works to protect the local Delaware River Basin as a drinking water source for millions; EcoMadera, which trains the residents of Cristobal Col—n in Ecuador in conservation land management and sustainable wood processing; and the Forest Health-Human Health Initiative, which offers health-care credits to rural American landowners who maintain their carbon-capturing forestlands. Many of these individuals are age sixty-five or older and face daunting medical expenses that may force them to sell their land for timber. Through these and countless other collaborative endeavors, the Pinchot Institute has continued to advance its namesake's ambition to protect ecosystems for future generations and provide vital environmental services in an age of a burgeoning population and a disruptive climate.
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