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2. Geologic Book Burning or Preservation?
- University of New Mexico Press
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17 Chapter Two Geologic Book Burning or Preservation? Estella B. Leopold When the mountains are overthrown and the seas uplifted, the universe at Florissant flings itself against a gnat and preserves it. —Arthur C. Peale, Hayden Expedition geologist, 1873 Unique fossil beds of evident beauty and international recognition of their scientific importance, occurring in a remarkable landscape, might seem a perfect place for the nation early on to establish a park or national monument. But that did not happen, though there were calls for Florissant’s protection by scientists and even some local ranchers as early as the late 1800s. Instead, the valley became an economic temptation. The uniqueness of the area was a pheromone for buzzing developers. Until the early 1960s, this part of Colorado had been predominantly pastoral, dotted with small farms and cattle ranches. However, storm clouds of development had begun to appear on the horizon. When the National Park Service first announced interest in the area in 1962, real estate developers eyeing the area accelerated their interest in buying the land and selling plots at a pretty price for summer cottages.1 And ranchers, especially those on the periphery of the proposed monument, saw Chapter two 18 an opportunity to cash in. There was cause and effect: land values had been low, but after 1962 land values took an upward turn. If this continued, it would preclude moves to make the region a monument. If the fossil area were developed for housing, the potential national monument might become impossible. Sprawling housing developments and profits to be made in real estate were consuminglandacrossthecountry.Butthiswasnotjustanyland.TheFlorissant fossil area is unique, its value incalculable as a national resource. Allowing real estate development there, one scientist said, “is comparable to what we might think of as a geological book burning, especially devastating because there is only one irreplaceable volume on this subject in the universe.”2 In my position at the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS), I could see what was already happening to ranch land in the area: real estate values were indeed going up and subdivisions were appearing. Beatrice (Bettie) Willard of Boulder’s Thorne Ecological Institute was noticing the same thing. Beginning in 1964, we began to work with environmental organizations and the press to try to stay the real estate development and ownership fragmentation of the Florissant valley (figure 2.1). Our springboard for action was the introduction in 1964 of the first bills in Congress proposing the creation of a Florissant national monument. If enough people would join an effort to save Florissant, we thought, perhaps the public could exert enough pressure to bring Congress to act on the bills. But in an economy of rising land values, would it be in time? Most of the land within the boundaries of the proposed monument was still owned by ranch families, so there was a chance that the main part could be saved from development if Congress would act with relative speed. Bettie worked on the issue through the local Sierra Club chapter in Boulder, and I through the Colorado Mountain Club in Denver. Florissant: A Personal Story of Science and Action For me, the idea of conservation activism came from my father, Aldo Leopold, an early ecologist who was one of the first proponents for saving wilderness areas. He was a strong advocate for conservation all his life. His book, A Sand County Almanac, spelled out an ethical view of land and became a foundation text for American environmentalism.3 When my siblings and I were young, Dad bought 80 acres along the Wisconsin River, where we as a family spent many happy years repairing [34.229.62.45] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 16:26 GMT) Geologic Book Burning or Preservation? 19 damage (now called “ecological restoration”) on the worn-out land of our farm. We lived for those weekends close to nature spent camping at the rustic family cabin. As a youngster I spent many an idyllic day roaming the floodplain , chopping wood, learning plant names, swimming in the Wisconsin River, and playing on its beaches. The Sand County farm was a wonderful place to “get lost” in nature—a place to learn natural history. I got to know Bettie Willard in the 1950s when I was studying for a master’s degree in botany at the University of California at Berkeley. Bettie was teaching school then and living at the International House on the Berkeley campus . Later, she worked on her doctorate...