Eagleridge Bluffs

“These organizations are conning you,” John said.

The “again” was implied though not actually spoken.

“Thank you for your opinion,” Miriam commented caustically.

“If we were to obliged these people and their demands do you have any idea what that would do to the economy and our standard of living?”

“I’m not sure who you consider the “we” to be. But if by “these people” you mean Ruth Shapiro, and by “their demands” you mean saving Eagleridge Bluffs, I’d say none whatsoever.” Miriam didn’t know why she was so angry. Perhaps it was partly Ruth’s sacrifice and partly her feelings of inadequacy. Ruth had died for the Bluffs, while she’d made coffee.

“You really are an innocent, aren’t you?” John said scornfully. “These environmentalists are out to stop logging, mining, and fishing, the three main engines that drive the provincial economy. It’s taxes from these industries that pay for education, health care, as well as their bloody welfare checks.”

“I may be just an innocent,” Miriam shot back, “but from what I’ve learned from all this “junk mail” is that people concerned about the environment don’t want to stop industry. They just want it to be sustainable and responsible.”

“Sustainable,” John guffawed. “That’s just another word for unprofitable. Nobody goes into business to lose money.”

“You can’t eat, drink or breathe profits. All the money in the world won’t bring back extinct plants and animals, you…you ninny!” Miriam shrieked, totally losing it.

“Maybe you’re right,” John responded hotly, “But tell me what good your little protest did? The Bluffs are gone, your friend is dead, and your boyfriend has abandoned you.”