A shy homemaker battles pollution

My name is Belinda Manning and I'm not your typical environmentalist. I compost in my backyard but I don't hug trees. I'm just a woman who wants to raise her family in a healthy place -- who knew it would transform me into an award-winning crusader?

The tragedy that forever changed me
For almost a decade I lived a quiet life here on South Bishop Road in Coldbrook, N.S. I spent my days caring for my daughter, Shauna, now 15, running the household and driving her to swimming lessons. I didn't bother anyone and no one bothered me.

But then in 1999 something happened that forever changed me. I was out in my front garden when a truck filled with greyish, foul-smelling sludge barrelled past and turned onto a dirt lane that leads to Baltzer's Bog, a nearby wetland. Within weeks, the trucks were sailing past on a daily basis, trucking in mounds of sludge and returning empty.Curiosity got the best of me. I decided to take a walk out to the bog to find out what was happening. As I drew nearer, I got a waft of one of the most unpleasant odours I've ever smelled -- a weird mix of rotting organic waste, manure and old socks. When the bog came into view, I almost gagged. Where once had been low lying shrubs, spongy green moss and wild cranberry bushes, was now giant trenches filled with skuzzy-looking grey water. Great big mounds of mud sat next to piles of stinking compost. A feeling of grief swept over me. That wetland was an important part of our community. Our children played there. They would tell us about the wildlife they saw -- ducks, deer, rabbits, even coyotes. I turned back home, holding back tears the entire way.

Working up the courage to fight
Before long, I heard about a meeting at our local community centre. I didn't socialize much back then, but my husband, Gary, encouraged me to go. I felt so nervous -- I didn't know anybody and I felt out of place. It hardly mattered though. Everyone was so fired up that the air felt almost electric. It took me almost an hour to work up the courage to raise my hand. But finally I did.

"A question from the back." The facilitator pointed to me. Legs shaking, I stood up. "What process do you use to compost the material you bring into the bog?" I asked. It was a simple question, but no one had thought to ask it. The owner of the composting company looked straight at me and said, "I turn it and turn it until it don't stink no more."

The room exploded into angry chatter. People were shaking their heads. I was shocked -- I didn't have a degree in environmental science, but I knew that commercial composting was a complicated process that required more than a couple of turns with a bulldozer. I went on to ask him a couple more questions. When the meeting was over a few people thanked me for coming out. I think I smiled the entire drive home.

I didn't miss a meeting after that night. No matter how scared I was, I'd make myself stand up and ask when I didn't understand something. I thought all those questions might have made me look a little foolish, but one day, to my surprise, I realized that people had started asking me the questions. My phone would ring with people looking for information, or even local media asking for my comments on the bog. I'd get caught up in engaging conversations and emerge a little wiser, and a lot more confident than I had ever been before.

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Becoming a community advocate
I collected every tidbit of information I could find. I filed a Freedom of Information (FOI) request with the Nova Scotia Department of Environment and Labour, and a few weeks later, I was staring at a stack of environmental inspection reports indicating that the composting company was responsible for serious surface and groundwater contamination at the industrial park. And now they were dumping the same material in the bog.

With so many of our wells close to the bog, I worried that our drinking water could easily be contaminated, too. I called all the residents in our community and suggested that they start buying their drinking water. Then I started calling all the appropriate authorities. But to my utter dismay, I kept getting bounced from one department to another. Even though I could prove that the composting facility would put my community at risk, I still couldn't get anyone to listen. Was it because I was a stay-at-home mom who didn't have a list of initials after my name?

My bravest move
The following day I did something I never thought I'd have the guts to do. I picked up the phone and called the Minister of Environment and Labour. My heart was pounding so loud I was worried that the Minister might hear it. His wife answered the phone, and I asked for her husband. "This is a private home," she told me.

"This is a private home, too," I remember telling her. "But I've got a 77-acre public problem in my backyard."

When I hung up the phone, I was shaking. I didn't get the chance to speak to the minister and it felt like I had just hit another brick wall. But this time, I was more than just frustrated -- I was angrier than I have ever been in my entire life. My family was at risk, and no one seemed to be willing to help us.

Yet, my anger turned into a valuable source of fuel. I started a community letter-writing campaign, and eventually the province revoked the company's composting permit. But it wasn't over. The company was still mining peat moss out of the bog, leaving gaping trenches. I battled on, though there were days when I wanted to give up. But then I'd get a phone call from one of my neighbours and I'd remember that there were people who were counting on me.

The campaign gains attention
One day, my research unearthed a name: Dr. Martin Willison, a leading environmental scientist in Nova Scotia. I invited him to the bog. As we walked, I kept mispronouncing the names of the plants, but he treated me with so much respect that I didn't feel too badly.

Willison discovered the bog contained tree stumps dating back possibly thousands of years. The stumps are like ancient time capsules, containing valuable information that could help scientists understand climate change and weather patterns.

Willison wrote to the Minister of Environment and Labour and within weeks, the mining stopped. While I was overjoyed, I felt a little hurt that it took only one letter from a well-known scientist to achieve what had eluded me personally for four years.

Moving forward
Yet I can't complain. I went on to win a Canadian Environment Award. After the birth of my daughter, it was one of my proudest moments. It feels as good to me as a PhD in environmental science. I've gone on to be a guest lecturer at universities, and I'm even involved in writing new environmental guidelines.

Today I travel across the province, working as an advocate for other communities who are dealing with similar environmental challenges. And I'm still fighting to get either the composting company or the provincial government to pay to clean up the bog and help return it to its natural state.

An old man I know and respect told me that there will come a time in my life when I realize that I just have to stop digging. A few years ago I might have believed him. But just between you and me -- now I'm not so sure.

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