The Silken Tent
My Letter to the World
May 2000

 

May 10, 2000
Wednesday

Fort Indiantown Gap is a 20,000-acre military reservation about 20 miles east of where I live. I pass the exit for it every time I go to Berks County. It has a national cemetery where my husband’s Uncle Flash is buried and adjoins land that serves as a state park and recreation area. It is used by several Army and Air National Guard agencies for training. It
is also home to the only colony of  Regal Fritillary butterflies east of the Mississippi.

I obtained the picture at left from the National American Butterfly Association’s website. Although I had not heard of this controversy until a front page story in yesterday’s Harrisburg paper, I learned from the site that efforts to provide for this colony at the Gap (as it is known locally) has been a high priority for NABA for several years.

Regal Fritillaries like tall grasses that allow them to fly from predators quickly. They need large, open spaces such as the tank maneuver practice ranges at the Gap. They also need violets as food for the caterpillar stage and milkweed flowers as a source of nectar for the adult stage. Both are plentiful on the tank ranges.

For three years, NABA has been trying to persuade the Gap to adopt voluntary measures that would safeguard the Fritillaries. Gap officials have been willing to set aside only 158 acres, spread in non-contiguous patches throughout the property. NABA says the butterflies need more -- about 5,000 acres, contiguous, the same amount now used for tank maneuvers.

Now NABA wants the butterfly named an endangered species. This would force Gap officials to consult the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service every time they want to train troops and would effectively end tank training operations. Faced with this possibility, the Gap is suddenly eager to offer up to 1,000 acres to preserve the Regal Fritillary’s habitat.

I am struck by the juxtaposition of this story alongside yesterday’s report of the House of Cats, and its coming a week after the anniversary of the Kent State Tragedy (or “Massacre,” which is what I called it thirty years ago).

An image from that era stays in my mind -- a Kent State student placing flowers in the barrel of the rifle held by an Ohio National Guardsman as he stands watch on the campus. The softness of her hair, her flowing dress, and the delicacy of the flowers are in sharp contrast to the crisp edges of the Guardsman’s hat, his chiseled profile, the steely sheen of
his rifle.

I was a pacifist by association then. My opposition to the War in Vietnam was entirely intellectual, born of bits of philosophy and an attachment to certain campus leaders who might actually know what they were talking about but whose main attraction at the time was their good looks and their sexual energy. It was not until I read Tim O’Brien’s searing fiction, particularly his short story “The Things They Carried,” that I understood how shallow my perceptions were then.

I’m still a pacifist, but it’s an attitude of the heart now and not of the head, although I’m less inclined to march anyplace to demonstrate it these days. I’ve sent a virtual son to war, and seen him come safely home. The novel I’m working on begins with a scene of the central character watch the man she will marry march off to Gettysburg, and ends with her praying for her grandson bound for France.

I’m told that the guns of Gettysburg could be heard in Pittsburgh, 250 miles away, that sticky July of 1863. On still, humid summer nights, we can sometimes hear the booming of guns out at the Gap. I wonder if the Regal Fritillary is quick enough to fly ahead of the lugubrious tanks, to dodge the heavy boots of the soldiers as they march across a field of
violets.

One Year Ago: Visitors

We now have a thriving community of birds ranging from the brilliant, like the grosbeaks and a breathtaking cardinal, to the ordinary -- little brown wrens and swallows which aren't showy but nevertheless make their contribution.

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Margaret DeAngelis.

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