When The Hills Are Gone Frac Sand Mining and The Struggle For Community Thomas W Pearson All Chapter

When the Hills Are Gone: Frac Sand
Mining and the Struggle for Community

Thomas W. Pearson
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WHEN THE HILLS ARE GONE
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WHEN THE HILLS
ARE GONE
Frac Sand Mining and the
Struggle for Community
THOMAS W. PEARSON
University of Minnesota Press

Minneapolis
London
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Portions of the Introduction, chapter 3, chapter 5, and chapter 6 were published
as “Frac Sand Mining in Wisconsin: Understanding Emerging Conflicts and
Community Organizing,” Culture, Agriculture, Food, and Environment (CAFE) 35,
no. 1 (2013): 30–40; reprinted with permission of the American Anthropological
Association. Portions of chapter 4 were published as “Frac Sand Mining and the
Disruption of Place, Landscape, and Community in Wisconsin,” Human Organization
75, no. 1 (2016): 47–58; reprinted with permission of the Society for Applied
Anthropology.
Copyright 2017 by the Regents of the University of Minnesota
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
Published by the University of Minnesota Press

111 Third Avenue South, Suite 290
Minneapolis, MN 55401-2520
http://www.upress.umn.edu
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper
The University of Minnesota is an equal-opportunity educator and employer.
22 21 20 19 18 17 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Pearson, Thomas W., 1978– author.

Title: When the hills are gone : frac sand mining and the struggle for community /
Thomas W. Pearson.
Description: Minneapolis : University of Minnesota Press, [2017] |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017001741 | ISBN 978-0-8166-9991-9 (hc) |
ISBN 978-0-8166-9992-6 (pb)
Subjects: LCSH: Sand and gravel mines and mining—Environmental aspects—
Wisconsin. | Sand and gravel mines and mining—Wisconsin—Public opinion. |
Hydraulic fracturing—Wisconsin—Public opinion. | Environmentalism—
Wisconsin.
Classification: LCC TD195.S3 P43 2107 | DDC 622/.362209775—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017001741
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CONTENTS
introduction Magic Mineral 1
1 Save Our Hills 33
2 Low-Hanging Fruit 55
3 Dangers Unseen 77
4 Where You Live 105
5 Neighbors 127
6 In Pursuit of Local Democracy 153
7 Confronting the Next Boom 183
acknowledgments 199
notes 203
index 239
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INTRODUCTION
Magic Mineral
The money associated with this magic mineral has proved

intoxicating to landowners and small communities all over
Wisconsin.
—Tom Lindfors, New Richmond News, November 2, 2012
Several of us pack into a rusty minivan with a box of

homemade pamphlets and speed down a gravel road to the highway.
It is May 2012, spring in full bloom. Cheryl Merrill, a spirited, confi-
dent woman in her retirement years known as Shea, is behind the
wheel. Driving urgently, Shea negotiates the meandering Knapp Hills
with the skill of someone who grew up in the area. I gaze out the win-
dow at the rugged, tree-covered landscape, the warm sun and thick
vegetation almost too good to be true after such a long Wisconsin
winter. Twisting, irregularly shaped farm fields prod their way through
narrow valleys.
For much of her adult life Shea lived about an hour away in the
Twin Cities, where she worked as a medical lab technician. She re-
cently retired and moved back, close to family. Her daughter, Lisa
Pelnar, happens to live along the planned haul route of a proposed
industrial sand mine and associated railroad loading facility, or rail
spur. A Texas-based company called Vista Sand initiated the ambi-
tious project, hoping to get in on a wave of sand mining development
that has swept through the region over the past few years. The rail
spur would be located in the town of Menomonie, in Dunn County, on
what is now farmland. The plan is to receive sand from a proposed
mine some twenty miles away in Glenwood, “home of the fifty-seven
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2 in t r o d u c t io n
hills,” located just over the border in St. Croix County. A looping haul
route would cast a wide shadow, bringing upwards of four hundred
trucks a day down quiet country roads. The mine itself will transform
the countryside and bring new threats to air and water quality. Sev-
eral landowners envision huge payouts. We aim to stop them.
The sand coveted by Vista is unique. Under these hills rest sand-
stone bedrock formations some five hundred million years in the mak-
ing, pressed into existence during an era of distant geological time
when shallow seas covered most of Wisconsin. Much of the sandstone
that was left behind escaped the most recent episodes of glaciation,
particularly the drift or till deposited some fifteen to thirty thousand
years ago as massive bodies of ice receded. For this reason, some parts
of southwestern Wisconsin are known as the Driftless Area, which re-
mained unglaciated. Silica sand, almost pure quartz, waits just below
a relatively thin layer of topsoil. That makes extracting the material
easy. And profitable.
The prevalence of sand has always been a notable feature of the
western Wisconsin landscape. References show up in place-names,
such as Sand Creek, a town located in northern Dunn County on the
Red Cedar River. One of the most iconic books of the modern conser-
vation movement is A Sand County Almanac, first published in 1949,
which Aldo Leopold wrote near Baraboo in south-central Wisconsin.1
In the book, Leopold articulates a new “land ethic,” a sense of moral
responsibility for viewing and caring for the natural world as part of
a wider community shared with humans. He uses the phrase “sand
counties” to reference the sandy soils in the area.
Sand is a seemingly pervasive resource, worthy of little more than
passing reference in Leopold’s seminal text. For most people, sand is
a feature of the surrounding geology, an abundant yet vital resource
we encounter almost daily through rather unpretentious activities:
working the sandy soil in Wisconsin, for instance, or walking barefoot
on a lakefront beach, or wading along a river bottom while fly-fishing.
Children build sandcastles that dissolve under the rising tide. But sand
is actually one of the most sought-after finite resources today. As jour-
nalist Vince Beiser notes, “Our civilization is literally built on sand.”2
It has enabled momentous scientific breakthroughs and urban indus-
trial society as we know it. Since at least the fifteenth century, sand
has been used to make transparent glass, which made possible micro-
scopes, telescopes, and other turning points of the scientific revolution.
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in t r o d u c t i on 3
Today sand is used to produce silicon chips, fiber-optic cables, cell

phone screens, and a range of other technologies. In one form or
another, it turns up in toothpaste, cosmetics, and detergents. And, of
course, buildings. Entire cities, in fact. Anything that uses concrete
needs sand. Think of a skyscraper, or a suburban shopping mall. Or
the roads we drive on. Urbanization in countries around the world
has made sand mining a seventy-billion-dollar industry, with rapidly
developing megacities leading to shortages in some places. “Apart from
water and air,” writes Beiser, “humble sand is the natural resource
most consumed by human beings.”3 A global black market in sand has
emerged, and in places like Cambodia, India, and a dozen other coun-
tries, local gangs engage in violent struggles to control sand mining.4
We are addicted to sand.
Despite the inescapable presence of this banal, gritty material, the
sand that Vista wants is not your typical beach sand. Recognized in
the industry as “Northern White,” its purity makes it ideal for use as
a proppant in oil and gas extraction. A technique known as hydraulic
fracturing, or fracking, has spurred unconventional energy produc-
tion in several parts of the United States. It’s unconventional in that
energy companies target hydrocarbons embedded in shale bedrock
formations that were previously inaccessible or too expensive to go
after. Wells are drilled thousands of feet below the surface and then
curve horizontally, cutting through bedrock and snaking along for
up to a mile. Once the horizontal well is drilled, hydraulic fracturing
creates fissures in the surrounding bedrock. If a conventional vertical
well is like plunging a single straw into a glass, hydraulic fracturing,
by contrast, creates a complex web of cracks, somewhat akin to shat-
tering a car window. Fracking does not occur in Wisconsin. But we
have a key ingredient. Dense, round, and uniform in size, tiny grains
of pure silica sand prop open those cracks, allowing the hydrocarbons
to flow to the surface.
Fracking itself is profoundly controversial, altering life in rural
communities and raising concerns about environmental impacts that
range from contaminated drinking water to earthquakes.5 While states
such as Pennsylvania have embraced fracking, with several thousand
wells drilled in the northern and western parts of the state, others,
such as New York, have banned the practice. The controversy fuels
grassroots activism that has evolved into a national movement, and
fracking has emerged as an issue in presidential election campaigns.
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It has been the subject of high-profile documentaries and Hollywood

films. Yet few consider the role of lowly sand. Wisconsin’s so-called
frac sand, it turns out, is the key that unlocks the dramatic promise
and peril of America’s unconventional energy boom.6
Back in the minivan, the people I am with are organizing against
Vista’s proposed operation, canvassing the haul route and handing out
pamphlets to inform residents about the potential impacts of an indus-
trial mining operation. Vista had been working behind the scenes for
months before their plans became public. We are playing catch-up.
The chase is on.
We reach our first stop, the village of Knapp, named after John H.
Knapp, a nineteenth-century lumber baron. Just like the forces of geo-
logical time, but much less gracefully, humans have indelibly shaped
this landscape as well. From the 1840s to the 1890s, Knapp, Stout &
Co. developed into one of the largest lumber companies in the world,
part of an extractive industry that essentially clear-cut northern Wis-
consin’s vast forests of white pine. The company originated with a
small lumber mill in Menomonie, where I live, and where Vista’s rail
spur will be located. In the early 1800s, Menomonie was a settlement
on the Red Cedar River about ten miles southeast of Knapp. The river
was dammed to create a mill pond and log reservoir that still exists
today, now called Lake Menomin. The lake’s name, like the town’s,
is derived from the Ojibwe word for wild rice. Prior to lumber mills
in the 1830s and 1840s, the area had been utilized by both Ojibwe
and Dakota tribes, with the later addition of French trappers and fur
traders. Native ties to the land stretch back some ten thousand years,
but the pursuit of natural resources accelerated white colonial settle-
ment along with the displacement of indigenous peoples. Loggers used
the Red Cedar and Chippewa Rivers to transport lumber west to the
Mississippi River, dramatically reshaping lives and landscapes along
the way.
Places such as Menomonie and Knapp are remnants of the once
titanic lumber empire. Knapp, Stout & Co. experienced tremendous
growth during the second half of the nineteenth century, at its peak
owning over a half million acres of land, what today would amount
to “more than 23 townships.”7 Lumber interests controlled economic
life through various enterprises, including banking and finance, com-
pany stores, and company farms. Logging camps and lumber mills also
led to the founding of many towns and villages in the region.8 Even
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Ü Lake
Superior !
Chippewa Valley
Rivers
Cities
`
^ State Capitals
Sandstone Formation
Minnesota
Michigan
r
e
Ri v
ew a
Ch ipp
edar R iver
Glenwood City
Minneapolis
dC
Knapp R
e
Chippewa Falls
Menomonie
Saint Paul Eau Claire
Wabasha
M
Black River Falls

i ss
issi
pi
p
R iv
er
Winona
La Crosse Lake
Michigan
Decorah
Madison Milwaukee
Iowa
Illinois
Chicago
0 20 40 80 Miles
Approximate location of sandstone bedrock formations, based on data from the

United States Geological Survey and the Minnesota Geological Survey. Map
designed by Alyssa Quilling.
Pearson.indd 5 18/08/2017 11:48:29 AM

the university where I teach has its roots in lumber wealth. In 1891 the
philanthropy-minded James Huff Stout used part of his family’s for-
tune to establish the Stout Manual Training School in Menomonie, the
legacy of which still exists as the University of Wisconsin–Stout. Despite
logging’s momentous role in this area, by the end of the nineteenth
century the lumber empire faced rapid decline. Land was sold off,
and farmsteads were established in the valleys cleared of white pine.
A number of towns disappeared entirely with the end of the lumber-
based economy at the dawn of the twentieth century. Menomonie is
now a small city with about sixteen thousand people and a university
whose namesake recalls an extractive industry long since vanished.
Frac sand mining is already leaving its mark as a new and unfamil
iar wave of natural resource extraction. While small sand and gravel
quarries are common, prior to the recent boom only a few industrial-
scale sand mines operated in western Wisconsin, such as Badger Min-
ing, a family-owned company that originated in 1949.9 Badger Mining
harvested sand for various industries, ranging from construction to
foundry and metals casting. They had existed for decades and drew
little attention. Wisconsin’s only two underground sand mines first
opened in the early 1900s in Bay City and Maiden Rock, small towns
located among the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River. An Ohio-
based company now known as Fairmount Santrol acquired the Maiden
Rock mine in the mid-1990s and then acquired the Bay City mine, as
well as a processing plant in nearby Hager City, in 2007. It was around
this time that the low profile of industrial sand mining in Wisconsin
began to change. In December 2006, Fairmount received permits to
develop a sand mine in Red Cedar, a town just outside Menomonie.
While Fairmount broke ground in Red Cedar, a Texas-based company
called Proppant Specialists sought permits for a mine in the neigh
boring town of Tainter. This raised eyebrows, in part because of its
proximity to a protected conservation area, and local opposition
stopped the proposed mine. However, growing public awareness and
grassroots mobilization did little to stem the tide. Over the next few
years, hydraulic fracturing ramped up elsewhere in the country, driv-
ing up demand for Wisconsin’s pure silica sand. Several new mining
operations started up in nearby Chippewa and Barron Counties, with
many more in several other counties.
Wisconsin is not the only source of raw material to use as a prop-
pant in the fracking process. Mining companies have also prospected
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for high-quality silica sand in southeastern Minnesota, northwestern

Illinois, and northeastern Iowa. Outside the Upper Midwest, frac sand
with other characteristics is mined in several parts of the country, in-
cluding Texas, Arkansas, and Oklahoma.10 Ceramic proppants can be
synthetically manufactured. But the growth of frac sand mining in
Wisconsin has been nothing less than explosive. By July 2011, news
reports estimated 41 frac sand operations active or in planning, all
in the west-central part of the state where the sandstone is concen-
trated.11 The number of frac sand operations more than doubled the
following year, with estimates of 107 sites active or in development,
quickly making Wisconsin the nation’s largest producer of frac sand.12
By late 2015, even as development slowed with the global decline of
oil prices, the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources (DNR)
counted a total of 129 industrial frac sand facilities, including mines,
processing plants, and rail loading sites; 84 of these are listed as active
sites.13 Several factors contribute to the rapid and extensive growth of
frac sand mining in western Wisconsin: the purity and quality of the
sand deposits; the concentration and relative accessibility of the sand-
stone; access to transportation infrastructure, especially railroads; and
a state political environment that has been favorable to the mining
industry, often at the expense of environmental safeguards.
Shea stops at the gas station in Knapp. Barb Flom, an education
professor at UW–Stout, hops out to speak with the attendant and leave
a stack of pamphlets. She and her husband, Gene Ruenger, a professor
of environmental chemistry and industrial hygiene, own a home and
land in rural Knapp. Landmen prospecting for sand arrived one day
in 2011 in a white pickup truck sporting Montana license plates. They
offered to lease their property for the next few decades. It would have
been enough money to retire on. As Barb told a local reporter, “Even
as a conservationist, when they talk about how much money they
could possibly be paying, you start thinking. I would never have to
work another day. You have to step back and take a breath.”14 She
exhaled, worried that mining would disturb groundwater and create
air pollution issues, as well as ravage the picturesque countryside. So
Barb and Gene rejected the offer, and then Barb began working with
neighbors to prevent mining development in her community.
Barb returns and we drive to Boyceville and Downing, both located
along Vista’s planned haul route. To some extent, these have always
been haul route communities. Historic buildings, some abandoned, sit
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Ü 1
!
Active Operations
Inactive Operations
Rivers
Counties
Burnett Washburn
Sawyer Sandstone Formation
1
r
ive
aR
C hippe w
Barron
Rusk Price
Polk 1
e d Ce r River
!1 1
1
1
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!
da
1 11
!!1
!1 Taylor
1 1
Dunn
!1
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1!
1
Saint Croix
!1 1 1
R
1 Chippewa
11
1 Marathon
Pierce 1 Clark
! Eau Claire !1
1! 1 1 Pepin 1
!
11 1
11
1 1 1
1! ! 1 1!! 11
Mi s ! 1!1 1
Trempealeau 1
si Buffalo ! ! !
111 Wood
11!11 1
ss
Minnesota
1 1
ipp
1! ! 1
!1 Jackson
i 1 1
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ive ! 1 1 1
R
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1 1 1
1
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La Crosse 1 Monroe
Juneau
Vernon
Sauk
Richland
Crawford
Iowa
0 12.5 25 50 Miles
1 1
Approximate locations of industrial sand mining operations in western
Wisconsin, based on data compiled by the Wisconsin Department of Natural
Resources. Includes mines, processing plants, and rail and transportation sites.
Current as of May 2016. Map designed by Alyssa Quilling.
Pearson.indd 8 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

next to an old rail line. A couple of existing construction quarries re-

cently began to mine frac sand near Downing, and some residents here
are worried about additional mines opening. Quarries are small in
scale and operate sporadically, usually to supply local construction
projects. Frac sand mines bring a much bigger and permanent pres-
ence. In contrast to local quarries, frac sand mines range from two
hundred to over a thousand acres, some operating twenty-four hours
a day all year long. Vista’s proposed mine would operate for thirty
years on nearly four hundred acres of land in Glenwood, an out-of-the
way town that, like others in the area, has nineteenth-century roots as
a logging camp and now-abandoned rail depot. We take pamphlets
door-to-door to warn people about the proposed Vista Sand project.
Glenwood may eventually become one of the eighty-some “active
sites” counted by the DNR. Beyond sites, this is also a question of
routes, the pathways and interlinkages that connect a sprawling com-
modity chain of unconventional energy development. Frac sand is on
the move, a resource defined by its very mobility. In a typical opera-
tion, topsoil, or what miners call “overburden,” is removed to expose
the underlying sandstone. Miners drill or blast the exposed sandstone
and then transport the loose sand to a wash plant, where it is screened
and mixed with water to remove clay, shale, or other unwanted mate-
rial. The wet sand is transported to a dryer and then further screened
to separate the granules by size. Twenty-ton dump trucks transport the
final product to a special railroad facility, or sometimes barges if near
the Mississippi River. It’s all exported out of the state. Millions of tons
of sand travel across the country along a web of highways, railroads,
and canals.
Once frac sand is extracted from the earth, its destiny remains below
the surface. After arriving in places like Ohio, Pennsylvania, Texas,
Denver, North Dakota, or western Canada, among others, the sand
is loaded back onto trucks, which join convoys of heavy equipment
that descend on an oil or gas well. A single fracking operation uses
mountains of sand, in addition to millions of gallons of water. At each
well pad, the sand is injected into the earth with water and other
chemicals to stimulate and prop open fractured shale bedrock. The
word fracking sounds violent, a process indisputably characterized
by tremendous force and pressure. But I imagine there’s a certain
level of elegance involved in what is also a remarkable engineering
achievement. Frac sand endures the immense pressures of this unique
Pearson.indd 9 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

underground environment while allowing hydrocarbons to flow

around and between the smooth, spherical grains. Some of the sand
returns with the “flowback,” or wastewater, but much of it will remain
below the surface. The hydraulic fracturing of an oil or gas well may
take a few days to a week, and then the well is “completed,” or produc-
ing, for years or even decades.
The amount of sand required for this process has increased in re-
cent years, in part due to changing technologies and the ability to
“stimulate” or “refresh” older or previously fracked wells. Several years
ago, a typical horizontal well consumed roughly 900 tons of proppant
during the hydraulic fracturing stage, but by 2010 the average amount
of sand used per well was around 2,300 tons. In 2014, on average a
horizontal well required somewhere from 4,100 to 5,000 tons of prop-
pant. We’re talking about 40 to 50 railcars worth of sand in one well.
Some wells have used up to 9,000 tons of sand, or roughly 100 railcars’
worth. Developed wells can later be fracked again to stimulate pro-
duction, requiring additional sand.15
It is difficult to convey the amount of sand used for hydraulic frac-
turing. In early 2015 some analysts estimated that twenty thousand
wells are fracked each year, potentially making frac sand a ten-billion-
dollar industry.16 Figures vary, but both the industry-backed American
Petroleum Institute and the nonprofit FracTracker Alliance estimate
that more than a million wells have been hydraulically fractured in
the United States alone.17 As the nation’s leading producer, Wiscon-
sin exported an estimated twenty-six million tons of frac sand in
2014.18 Conservatively speaking, demand for frac sand could reach
forty to fifty million tons annually, “enough to fill the nation’s tallest
building, the former Sears Tower, 21 times each year.”19 In an amazing
feat of modern resource extraction and transportation technology,
Wisconsin’s hills are being removed, shipped around the country, and
reinserted deep into the earth, one speck of sand at a time. But not
without a fight.
“If You’re Not In, You’re Out”

“Is This What You Want for YOUR Land and YOUR Neighborhood?”
asks the pamphlet. I grab a handful as we get out of the van in Down-
ing. After some discussion, the six of us organize into pairs. I walk
door-to-door with Pilar Gerasimo, one of the pamphlet’s main authors.
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She is a health journalist and magazine editor who emerged as a

key leader in the struggle against Vista Sand.20 She is intelligent and
articulate, a fearless public speaker. Having served as the chair for the
town of Lucas, she is also familiar with the local political process. As
we walk briskly from house to house, she comments on the aroma of
freshly bloomed flowers and reflects about the potential impact of
the mining operation. The pamphlet features an eye-catching aerial
photo of a frac sand mine recently taken by Jim Tittle, a St. Paul–
based filmmaker. It is accompanied by photos of silt-laden holding
ponds that failed this spring during heavy rains, spilling mine tailings
and sediment onto adjacent properties. The images evoke feelings of
loss and destruction: the earth artificially carved open; a creek spoiled
by milky-gray mine waste; a productive farm field desecrated.
Frac sand mining has affected people in complex and uneven ways.
For local communities, the potential benefits come down to the eco-
nomic impact. Estimates vary, but around 2012 frac sand was selling
for $45 to $80 per ton, more than double the cost of production, and
then up to $300 per ton when transportation costs are included. A
diverse array of companies and conglomerates joined the frac sand
rush between 2008 and 2014, including small quarry operators attempt-
ing to expand into the new hydrofracking market, companies with deep
roots in Wisconsin, and out-of-state mining companies and invest-
ment firms. Several oil and gas corporations also opened mines and
processing facilities in Wisconsin, such as Texas-based EOG Resources
(formerly Enron Oil and Gas), to directly supply their drilling opera-
tions throughout the country. In 2014 the Wall Street Journal boasted
about one private equity firm striking it rich from its investment in
Texas-based Superior Silica Sands, scoring gains of $1.4 billion on
a $91 million investment.21 Mining companies were offering lucra-
tive payments to landowners who agreed to sell or lease their land,
tempting many with an “intoxicating” windfall too good to pass up.22
In 2012 the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis reported that one
Texas-based company “paid over $16,000 an acre—well above mar-
ket value—for a potential mining site near Red Wing, Minn. In west-
central Wisconsin, farmers have been offered six figure mineral rights
fees, plus royalties of $1.50 to $3 per ton for their frac sand,” which
can easily add up to hundreds of thousands of dollars per year.23
Beyond land purchases and lease agreements, frac sand mining
generates new employment opportunities and potential tax revenue,
Pearson.indd 11 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

sometimes in places with struggling economies. The onset of the Great

Recession in 2008 made frac sand mining especially appealing to some
rural communities already coping with uncertain economic change.
EOG Resources, for example, employed about seventy people in 2012
at its processing plant in Chippewa Falls, one of the largest in North
America, and around thirty worked at its nearby mine sites in How-
ard and Cooks Valley. EOG also contracted with nearly one hundred
truck drivers.24 Economic impacts spill over in other ways too, such
as when companies contract for basic maintenance services or when
local restaurants serve hungry workers. Statewide, frac sand mining
appears to have added thousands of jobs. In 2012, the Wisconsin Cen-
ter for Investigative Journalism identified eighty-six mining, process-
ing, and rail-loading facilities at various stages of development. Using
numbers provided by the Wisconsin Economic Development Corpo-
ration (WEDC), the center calculated that if all eighty-six facilities
operated at capacity, they would employ 2,780 people.25
While proponents often celebrate frac sand mining as creating local
jobs, coming up with accurate employment numbers is actually quite
tricky and requires context to make sense. The job opportunities asso-
ciated with frac sand mining depend on an operation’s size and com-
plexity. Integrated processing plants and rail spurs may entail millions
of dollars of investment, while a small mine may require only some
earthmoving equipment and a handful of truck drivers. Claims about
the number of jobs associated with frac sand mining remain estimates
that capture a snapshot of an industry in motion, with many opera-
tions permitted but undeveloped, and others expanding or contract-
ing from year to year in response to volatile energy markets. Steven
Deller, an economist with the University of Wisconsin–Extension,
suggests that current direct employment numbers could be closer to
five hundred jobs.26 Taking WEDC’s more optimistic numbers and
factoring in the various spin-off activity induced or indirectly gener-
ated by frac sand operations, Deller estimates the total effect of the
industry would be around five thousand jobs—not a trivial sum dur-
ing tough times, but only a tiny percentage of the three million people
who work in Wisconsin.27
The most candid answer to the question of economic benefit is,
“It depends.”28 While industry supporters tout frac sand mining as a
source of economic growth, especially job creation, critics have raised
questions about economic trade-offs, particularly the erosion of nearby
Pearson.indd 12 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

property values and the displacement of other businesses or activi-

ties, such as tourism and farming. Social science research on “boom-
town” dynamics also shows that the rush to exploit a natural resource
often strains infrastructure and public services, creating new costs.29
How this plays out, of course, depends on the type of extractive in-
dustry and geographic location. For example, fracking in the Bakken
oil fields brought tens of thousands of transient laborers to places like
Williston, North Dakota, fueling sudden population growth and un-
anticipated social problems. By contrast, the relatively smaller scale
and more dispersed character of frac sand mining, and hence the need
for fewer workers, insulates Wisconsin communities from dramatic
population changes.
Numerous factors determine whether a community hosting a min-
ing operation is even equipped to effectively reap potential economic
benefits. Out-of-state ownership means that profits tend to leave the
local community.30 The ability to capture economic benefits is also
severely limited if workers live outside the community or if the com-
munity lacks local businesses and services used by the operation.
Given the likely decline of adjacent property values, increased costs
to maintain roads and other infrastructure, and the cost of provid-
ing additional public services, it remains unclear whether frac sand
operations amount to a net increase in local tax revenue. Boomtown
research also reminds us that extractive industries are notoriously
unstable, vulnerable to boom-and-bust cycles and fluctuating global
commodity prices. This volatility affects small-town economies in dif-
ferent ways, especially in remote places that become dependent on
one industry. The sand rush was already showing signs of slowing as
early as 2012, with fickle oil and gas prices causing some frac sand
mines to reduce their operations.31 The steady decline in global oil
prices through 2016 caused severe disruptions, leading many compa-
nies, even heavyweights such as EOG Resources, to lay off workers.32
In addition to economics, frac sand forces other compromises. While
some residents might find employment or some landowners might
hope to cash in, their neighbors are rarely pleased to learn that a mine
and associated industrial activities will be located nearby. As geogra-
pher Gavin Bridge notes, “one person’s discovery is another’s dispos-
session.”33 Highlighting the diverse and uneven impacts, Tom Woletz,
a former official with the Wisconsin DNR, describes frac sand min-
ing as “a very divisive local issue, with some people becoming quite
Pearson.indd 13 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

wealthy in what used to be a tough rural farming area. It’s certainly

big money and a big change. And if you’re not in, you’re out. So you’ve
got families and neighbors who aren’t going to talk to each other for
the rest of their lives and hillsides you looked over your whole life now
cut wide open. Who could have imagined it?”34
Air quality has been among the most controversial concerns. Min-
ing, blasting, processing, and transporting sand generates dust, known
in industry parlance as “fugitive dust.” Mining companies maintain
that best practices for dust suppression, such as spraying water on sand
piles and roadways, are adequate to control these elusive runaways.
But experts also worry about small particles of crystalline silica. These
are invisible to the naked human eye, but when inhaled they remain
embedded in lung tissue. Breathing silica dust in excessive quantities,
especially freshly fractured crystalline silica, puts one at risk for severe
health problems, such as silicosis or lung cancer. The health hazards
of respirable crystalline silica have been known for many decades, and
workplace exposure to silica dust is generally regulated. Highlighting
the risks involved, the National Institute for Occupational Safety and
Health (NIOSH) released a hazard alert in 2012 based on field studies
which found that workers on oil and gas drilling rigs are exposed to
airborne silica particles during hydraulic fracturing operations, which
generate clouds of dust at the drill site.35 While the hazards of silicosis
at worksites are well known, the Wisconsin DNR notes that “little
conclusive information exists regarding sources, controls or levels of
silica present in ambient air,” or open-air environments, and no fed-
eral standard exists for public exposure specifically to silica particu-
lates.36 The mining industry has downplayed concern about this issue,
and the DNR maintains that existing air-quality regulations are suf-
ficient to address silica dust. An industry-sponsored study conducted
by John Richards of Air Control Techniques concluded that exposure
to respirable crystalline silica near frac sand operations was no higher
than the norm throughout the region.37 Similarly, a University of Iowa
master’s thesis in biomedical engineering concluded that frac sand
operations do not increase airborne particulate matter to hazardous
concentrations.38
Critics, however, continue to raise questions about the uncertain-
ties surrounding various sampling and testing procedures, as well as
the lack of consistent monitoring under diverse conditions. Crispin
Pierce, associate professor of Environmental Public Health at the
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University of Wisconsin–Eau Claire, has called for a cautious approach

until more information is gathered. He is especially concerned about
long-term exposure at fenceline communities to ultra-fine particles
of silica dust, measured in micrometers.39 While the average human
hair is 70 micrometers in diameter, Pierce has focused attention on
dust 2.5 micrometers or less in diameter, referred to as PM2.5. “Many
silica levels at Wisconsin frac sand operations have been higher than
workplace standards,” he observed. “In addition, our short-term field
measurements of fine particles around sand plants have been higher
than the regional levels documented by Wisconsin’s Department of
Natural Resources. We believe that mandatory long-term monitoring
of PM2.5 particles around sand plants should be required, reported
to the public, and tested against EPA standards to protect citizens in
Wisconsin.”40
In addition to fugitive dust, other environmental concerns in-
clude impacts on surface water and groundwater. On multiple occa-
sions, during heavy rains water or sediment has leaked from damaged
holding ponds at mine sites. Incidents in St. Croix, Chippewa, and
Trempealeau Counties led to leaching into nearby creeks and rivers,
triggering in at least one case a mudslide that inundated a rural home.41
Separate from such events, one of the main concerns raised by con-
cerned citizens revolves around the use of chemicals in the washing
and processing of frac sand. Processing plants use 4,000 to 6,500 gal-
lons of water per minute to move and wash the raw material. Local
aquifers cannot meet this demand, so processing plants reuse water
where possible.42 During processing, chemicals known as flocculants,
widely utilized in wastewater treatment plants, are introduced to
cause sediment in murky water to clump together, allowing water to be
separated from unwanted material and then reused. Some flocculants
contain potentially toxic chemicals known as acrylamides and poly-
acrylamides, and experts lack a clear understanding of what happens
when these are buried with mine waste or seep from holding ponds
into groundwater systems.43 Flocculants aside, in 2016 the Wisconsin
DNR announced that they plan to study whether heavy metals leach
from holding ponds into groundwater. Water from these ponds have
been found to contain elevated levels of aluminum, copper, arsenic,
and lead, likely released during processing from the clays that hold
sandstone formations together.44 In addition to contamination con-
cerns, in 2012 the Wisconsin Geological and Natural History Survey
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launched a five-year study in Chippewa County to evaluate how frac

sand mining, along with agriculture, affects groundwater recharge.45
Impacts on air and water quality are often invisible. By contrast,
the most visually striking impact of frac sand mining is the degra
dation of land and the transformation of place. Mining disturbs the
physical landscape in often dramatic ways. Topsoil is removed, along
with vegetation and habitat. Farm fields, hills, or bluffs transform
into a desolate landscape marked by exposed bedrock and stockpiles
of white sand, along with industrial processing equipment, excava-
tors, bulldozers, railcars, and dump trucks. A resource like silica sand,
of course, is finite, and most mining operations propose life spans of
twenty to thirty years, raising the important question of what happens
when the mine closes. From an environmental and land-use perspec-
tive, mining is subject to reclamation, which involves returning the
mine site to conditions similar to those that existed prior to its distur-
bance by mining activity. This may involve filling in pits, grading the
disturbed land, and returning or restoring topsoil, thereby allowing for
activities such as agriculture or recreation. Ecologically, reclamation
may also involve restoration of habitats, making the site hospitable to
organisms that were originally present or others that approximate the
original inhabitants.46
All of this is much easier said than done, and not all mining com-
panies treat reclamation with equal seriousness. According to Wiscon-
sin state law, frac sand mines must develop a reclamation plan before
they can be permitted. Known as NR 135, the statute specifies general
standards for reclamation as well as performance standards for sur-
face water and wetland protection, groundwater protection, topsoil
management, final grading and slopes, and revegetation. Even though
NR 135 is a state law, it is administered at the county level. Counties
review applications for nonmetallic mining permits, ensuring that there
is opportunity for public review and comment, as required by the law.
If they issue a permit, counties then monitor compliance with NR 135
and, when the mine closes, certify whether reclamation has occurred.
Mine operators are required to pay for reclamation.47
In communities dealing with frac sand mining, reclamation has
been controversial. Critics routinely point out that “you can’t reclaim
a hill,” lamenting the irreversible loss of a natural landscape feature.
They argue that soil or habitat restoration is a long-term process, per-
haps lasting decades, and worry that mining companies offer empty
Pearson.indd 16 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

promises. Indeed, Dan Masterpole, the director of Land Conservation

and Forest Management in Chippewa County, notes that many “first
generation” reclamation plans lacked detail. During the early years,
roughly 2006 to 2012, the impacts of frac sand mining were poorly
understood, and many local officials were swept up in the gold-rush
mentality that surrounded the industry. Officials sometimes approved
reclamation plans that proposed only vaguely defined post-mining land
uses such as recreation or animal grazing. Such plans often lacked
clear steps for achieving specific outcomes as well as criteria for mea-
suring success. Masterpole fears that officials also underestimated the
financial costs involved in quality reclamation. “We hear all the time
from concerned citizens that ‘we’re living the experiment,’ and, well,
they’re correct.”48 Ultimately, he suggests, there is still a lot to learn.49
The issue of reclamation underscores how mining disrupts not only
the physical but also the social landscape and people’s relationship
to place, raising important quality-of-life concerns. Over time, people
develop attachments to place that ground their sense of community
and belonging. The surrounding landscape, especially in rural areas,
is often a source of meaning in people’s lives. Rolling farmland and
wooded hillsides become familiar and reassuring. They are peaceful
and beautiful. Mining alters that in a dramatic and destructive fash-
ion, replacing the rural landscape with industrial activity that is noisy,
ugly, and dirty. Industrial activity introduces a new source of stress
and anxiety. Some mourn the loss of place and landscape. New divi-
sions strain long-standing social networks and undermine trust in local
community structures. The conflict itself becomes a source of stress,
even trauma.
Given the uneven impacts of frac sand mining and the ways in
which mining can dramatically alter place and landscape, it is not
surprising that frac sand has been the subject of heated local debate
and grassroots citizen organizing. The day Shea drove us along the
Vista Sand haul route from Menomonie to Glenwood, we were en-
gaged in such activism, informing and mobilizing our neighbors. I
would wager that most, if not all, proposals for frac sand operations in
western Wisconsin have faced some local opposition. Viewed against
the historical backdrop of mining in Wisconsin, such activism joins a
wave of anti-mining activism that has helped shape the state’s envi-
ronmental politics since the 1970s. At the same time, grassroots activ-
ism around frac sand mining is in many ways unique.
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Wisconsin’s Contested Mining History

The historical significance of mining in Wisconsin remains subject to
interpretation. The Wisconsin DNR, which Governor Scott Walker’s
conservative administration has sought to reshape into a business-
friendly economic development agency, offers the rosy assertion that
“mining has always been an important part of the Wisconsin way of
life.”50 It is certainly true that mining has held some importance for
select areas of Wisconsin, especially during the emerging industrial
revolution of the late nineteenth century, but the role of mining in
the development of the state has arguably been quite limited. Most of
the communities where frac sand mining now occurs have little, if
any, historical experience with mining, with the possible exception of
Jackson County. In addition, more recent metallic mining ventures
have triggered significant grassroots opposition from a diverse range
of stakeholders often building from Wisconsin’s legacy of progressive
environmentalism.
In some respects, mining does have deep roots in Wisconsin. Dur-
ing the 1820s, the prospect of quick reward lured several thousand
people into southwestern Wisconsin to mine lead ore, producing thir-
teen million pounds of lead a year by 1829.51 Lead mining peaked in
the 1840s, however, and then ceased to be a significant component of
the state’s economy. In southeastern Wisconsin, the early lead boom
was followed by zinc mining in places such as Mineral Point, which
hosted a zinc smelting factory in the late nineteenth century. While
limited in duration and impact, the early lead-mining boom helped
fuel white settlement in what was then the western frontier, leading
to Wisconsin statehood in 1848.
The 1850s saw growing interest in mineral exploration in Wiscon-
sin beyond lead and zinc, with prospecting turning to iron, copper,
and gold. One of the first iron-mining operations was active in May-
ville, northwest of Milwaukee, from 1849 until the late 1920s.52 Flor-
ence County, in far northeast Wisconsin near the Michigan border,
hosted another iron-mining district into the 1930s.53 The Baraboo
area in Sauk County, where Aldo Leopold lived and wrote A Sand
County Almanac, had at least three active iron mines from the early
1900s to about 1930.54 Jackson County, which hosts several frac sand
mining operations, was home to the Jackson County Iron Company
from 1968 until 1982, which operated a surface taconite mine.55 The
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Gogebic Iron Range, stretching some sixty miles from northern Wis-
consin into Michigan, was first mapped and prospected in the 1870s,
leading to a frenzy of speculation and mining activity.56 However,
interest in the Gogebic mining district in Wisconsin declined rapidly
in the 1880s, as attention turned to more profitable deposits over the
border in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The few remaining under-
ground mines in Hurley were largely inactive by the 1960s.57
New discoveries of zinc, copper, gold, and silver deposits in the
1970s sparked a more recent phase of mining speculation, driven in
large part by investment from multinational mining companies.58 In
1974, the Kennecott Corporation, eventually acquired by the multi
national mining corporation Rio Tinto, first sought to open a mine just
outside Ladysmith, in Rusk County, to extract copper and gold from
metallic sulfide ore. Concerns about the impact of mine waste on the
nearby Flambeau River, along with doubts about the economic ben-
efits for Ladysmith, led to opposition from segments of the local com-
munity. Extracting metals from sulfide ores carries the risk of acid
mine drainage, which occurs when metallic sulfide wastes are exposed
to air and water, “potentially leading to sulfuric acids and high levels
of poisonous heavy metals like mercury, lead, zinc, arsenic, copper and
cadmium.”59 Growing opposition, a local moratorium on mining, and
the eventual reluctance of Rusk County officials to grant zoning approv-
als prompted Kennecott to withdraw from the permitting process.
The project was rekindled in 1986 on a smaller scale by the Flambeau
Mining Company, a subsidiary of Kennecott, but it faced opposition
from a coalition of environmentalists, farmers, and indigenous groups.
Despite opposition, the scaled-back project was permitted in the early
1990s. The Flambeau Mine was active until 1999 and has since been
reclaimed.
Opposition to the Flambeau Mine revealed how anti-mining activ-
ism would come to express the state’s progressive environmental tra-
ditions and set the stage for new types of political alliances. Wisconsin
has played a notable role in the rise of modern environmentalism.
Even before Aldo Leopold’s influence in the mid-twentieth-century
conservation movement, in the nineteenth century John Muir spent
his formative years in Wisconsin and attended the University of Wis-
consin at Madison. After settling in California, Muir became a leader
in the early wilderness preservation movement and co-founded the
Sierra Club, whose Wisconsin chapter is today known as the John
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Muir Chapter. The early-twentieth-century Progressive movement in

Wisconsin also shaped the state’s environmental politics, with figures
such as Robert “Fighting Bob” La Follette pushing for social reforms,
innovative labor laws, a more democratic government, and increased
access to education. He confronted the political influence of the lum-
ber barons while seeking to protect natural resources, leading to the
eventual establishment of a state park system. By the 1960s, Gaylord
Nelson, who served as Wisconsin governor and a U.S. senator, emerged
as a prominent voice for environmental causes. He was one of the
founders of Earth Day, first held on April 22, 1970, as a series of edu-
cational activities modeled after the teach-ins prominent in the anti-
war movement.
Amid the initial efforts to permit the Flambeau Mine in the mid-
1970s, Exxon discovered a massive metallic sulfide ore deposit with
zinc, copper, lead, gold, and silver near Crandon, in northeast Wis
consin. Exxon’s proposed mining operation drew dogged opposition
in the 1980s and again in the late 1990s when the stalled project was
revived. The proposed mine would have been adjacent to the Sokao
gon Mole Lake Chippewa Community, and acid mine drainage would
threaten to contaminate the Wolf River watershed, which is relied
upon by Native peoples who harvest wild rice in the region. During
the struggle against the mine, the Sokaogon Chippewa asserted their
treaty rights to engage in traditional subsistence practices, such as
spearfishing and harvesting wild rice, on public lands ceded to the fed-
eral government in the nineteenth century. Mine waste not only pre-
sented an environmental hazard but threatened to undermine Native
people’s ability to engage in “a cultural activity that renews both the
Indian person and the resource that is harvested.” 60
According to Al Gedicks, a UW–La Crosse sociologist and anti-
mining activist, defeat of the proposed Crandon mine occurred because
of an unprecedented multi-racial alliance between Native peoples,
white sports fishing groups, and environmentalists.61 During the 1980s,
the Native practice of spearfishing had been the focus of racially
charged protests by mostly white fishermen and others who perceived
spearfishing as a threat to the local tourism industry. Heated protests
and threats against Native peoples resulted in the arrest of hundreds
of protesters. During the dispute, the practice of spearfishing served as
a way to exercise treaty rights and also to express cultural autonomy in
the face of a dominant society.62 Concern over the Wolf River, however,
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saw these groups overcome animosities stemming from the spearfish-

ing controversy to organize a sustained campaign against the Crandon
mine proposal. Activists pushed for a more transparent permitting
process that included consultation with indigenous groups, as well as
recognition of tribal sovereignty and treaty rights. They also launched
a campaign to pressure Exxon shareholders, held statewide speaking
tours, and lobbied state officials to ban sulfide metal mining. The
efforts resulted in a 1998 statewide moratorium law that requires pro-
spective miners to “provide one example of where a metallic sulfide
mine had been safely operated and closed without polluting the envi-
ronment” before the state can issue a permit for mining of sulfide ore
bodies, a standard the mining industry has never been able to meet.63
By the early 2000s, the multinational mining company BHP Billiton,
which at that point had control over the project, abandoned the Cran-
don mine proposal. The Sokaogon Chippewa and the Forest County
Potawatomi purchased the site in 2003 with casino gaming revenue.64
Despite the hostile climate, multinational mining companies re-
main interested in undeveloped mineral deposits in northern Wiscon-
sin.65 In 2013 a company called Gogebic Taconite (GTAC) initiated
the permitting process to mine iron ore along a four-mile stretch of the
Gogebic Iron Range in the Penokee Hills, located in Iron and Ashland
Counties. The project was opposed by the Bad River Band of Lake
Superior Chippewa as well as numerous environmental organizations.
Opponents worried that the mine would contaminate wetlands and
harm water quality in the Bad River watershed, a Lake Superior tribu
tary that flows through tribal lands. Governor Walker’s administra-
tion heavily promoted the project, with Walker invoking the state’s
history with lead mining to suggest that mining is an integral feature
of Wisconsin, a narrative that inflates the importance of a nineteenth-
century extractive industry and ignores the dispossession of indigenous
peoples during the colonial period.66 Then, with input from GTAC,
the Republican-controlled state legislature passed a new mining bill
in 2013, reducing environmental regulations and hastening the permit
ting process for metallic mines.67 Highlighting the close ties between
the mining industry and the Walker administration, a GTAC lobbyist
and spokesperson was considered for the post of deputy secretary of
the Wisconsin DNR before eventually being appointed by Walker to
the Public Service Commission instead.68 Despite support from the
Walker administration, opposition to the proposed mine continued
Pearson.indd 21 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

and GTAC withdrew from the permitting process in March 2015,

indefinitely stalling the project.
As this suggests, anti-mining activism has been a prominent fea-
ture of the state’s environmental politics for more than forty years.
Such activism has typically occurred in response to relatively large-
scale metallic mines in the northern part of Wisconsin, and it had been
nurtured by vibrant, often statewide alliances in which Native groups,
asserting treaty rights over ceded territory and defending tribal sov-
ereignty, join with environmental organizations and sport fishing and
hunting groups concerned about the conservation of natural resources.
This activism often draws on an environmental justice framework,
critiquing the exclusion of marginalized groups while advocating for
a “decision-making process that is open, informed, and democratic
and that includes the people who will be affected by the decision.” 69
In an era of globalization and growing influence by multinational cor-
porations, anti-mining activism in Wisconsin has challenged corpo-
rate power and advocated for local, democratic control over land-use
and development decisions. “As the international mining industry has
expanded into new resource frontiers,” writes Gedicks, “indigenous
groups and other local communities have increasingly asserted their
right to control their own development and their right to the protec-
tion and control of their lands, territories, and natural resources.” 70
Grassroots activism in response to frac sand mining shares some of
these trends, but it is also distinctive in important ways. Frac sand
mining typically occurs on a much smaller scale than metallic mining
and is concentrated in the west-central part of Wisconsin, a region with
little historical experience with mining. In contrast to recent battles
over the proposed Crandon and Gogebic/Penokee Hills mines, tribal
organizations and indigenous rights activists have also had a less
prominent role in frac sand activism. Larger reservation communities
or areas of tribally owned lands are located in northern and north
eastern Wisconsin, far away from most frac sand operations. The Ho-
Chunk Nation, whose government is headquartered in Black River
Falls, Jackson County, is one of the few with territory in close proxim-
ity to frac sand mining, consisting of smaller landholdings scattered
throughout western Wisconsin. In late 2012 the Ho-Chunk Nation
legislature adopted a resolution opposing frac sand mining, regardless
of its proximity to tribal lands.71 Following the resolution, Ho-Chunk
Pearson.indd 22 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

representatives have lobbied against frac sand and participate in

efforts to build regional coalitions.72
For the most part, however, frac sand activism has mirrored the
smaller scale and dispersed character of frac sand mining, triggering
highly localized disputes that see small towns grappling with power-
ful corporate interests. Dozens of operations cluster in certain areas,
some remote, others near key transportation infrastructure and more
densely populated towns or small cities. Most of the people who get
involved in the frac sand mining issue are not activists or environmen-
talists, though they may eventually identify as such, and they therefore
do not as explicitly draw on environmental justice principles to frame
their concerns. Citizens who organize—typically white, middle-class
residents of rural communities—often form groups with names such as
Save Our Hills, Loyalty to Our Land, Save the Knapp Hills, and Save
Our Bluffs, drawing on symbolism that evokes the defense of rural
landscape and quality of life. For many, frac sand mining presented a
sudden threat that drew into question deeply held assumptions about
rural landscapes and environmental well-being. This is a significant
contrast with many indigenous or other marginalized communities of
color, who often come into environmental justice activism because of
ongoing, disproportionate exposure to environmental degradation or
polluting industries where they live, work, play, and pray.73
Since citizen groups opposed to frac sand mining typically form in
reaction to a proposed operation, their initial goal is to impede the town
or county permitting process. They work through existing channels of
local government, testifying at public hearings and meetings and at
other opportunities for public involvement in the decision-making
process. In contrast to metallic mining, however, Wisconsin currently
lacks statewide regulations specific to frac sand mining, which means
the decision whether to permit an operation falls to local units of gov-
ernment, such as a town or county board. Opportunities to influence
the permitting process therefore vary across localities and counties,
shaping different forms of grassroots activism and a range of out-
comes. If county zoning is in place, the permitting process may involve
multiple public hearings that culminate with a decision by a county-
level land-use or zoning committee, or even the full county board. An
unzoned township, by contrast, may have few opportunities for public
involvement, and the town may have little say over the matter.
Pearson.indd 23 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

Frac sand operations tend to cluster in unzoned townships and

counties where the industry encounters fewer “regulatory impedi-
ments” or thorny political obstacles, including citizen outcry.74 As the
pace of frac sand development intensified, many towns began to em-
brace temporary moratoriums and the creation of licensing ordinances
to regulate the conditions of mining operations, strengthening their
hand when dealing with industry growth. As I discuss in more depth
in chapters 5 and 6, the mining industry responded with new tactics
to undermine community empowerment, even lobbying the state leg-
islature to pass laws that remove or dilute local control. Over time,
local disputes over frac sand mining have evolved beyond individual
towns or counties, also drawing more attention from established, state-
wide advocacy groups and environmental organizations that were ini
tially slow to join the fight. Recent years have seen the development
of regional coalitions and efforts to link frac sand mining to related
issues involving themes of corporate power and democracy.
The story of frac sand mining, however, is one that begins with
intensely local battles. On that beautiful spring day in 2012, Shea,
Barb, and Pilar are gearing up for one such struggle, driving the pro-
posed Vista Sand haul route, talking to neighbors. We leave pamphlets
at several homes and a dingy Main Street bar and grill in Downing.
At one residence, a couple listens attentively as Pilar talks about Vista
Sand’s plans. “So what can we do about it?” they ask. “Stand up and
start fighting,” Pilar responds. “Come to the town meeting in Meno-
monie next week, where Vista is seeking a permit for its rail spur. We
can stop it right there.” 75
A moment of optimism, for sure. Nobody imagined the fight against
Vista would drag on for the next two years.
The Anthropologist on Board

I rode in the van that day as both an anthropologist and a concerned
citizen. Back in early 2012, I knew little about hydraulic fracturing
or frac sand mining. I only moved to Menomonie in 2009. Prior to that
I had lived in Binghamton, in upstate New York, for several years
during graduate school, but left in 2007 to conduct ethnographic field-
work for my PhD in cultural anthropology. Binghamton is located in
the heart of the Marcellus Shale, on the border with Pennsylvania,
an area rich with natural gas. It was around that time that fracking
Pearson.indd 24 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

emerged as a public issue in that part of the country. But I was already
gone, researching environmental activism in Costa Rica. When I re-
turned to the States, I moved home to Chicago for a year to write my
dissertation before taking a job as a faculty member in the Social Sci-
ence Department at UW–Stout. As I settled into Menomonie, I began
to hear periodic references to sand mining. Yet it remained out of sight
and out of mind. I was focused mostly on developing new courses
and publishing academic articles from my dissertation research. I also
became involved in efforts to organize a faculty labor union on cam-
pus. When Governor Walker proposed legislation to dismantle public-
sector labor unions and slash funding to the University of Wisconsin
System, I joined tens of thousands of others in protest.76
I began to learn about fracking from friends still living out east
in Binghamton and in Morgantown, West Virginia. Wanting to learn
more, I attended a public screening of Josh Fox’s documentary Gasland,
an event organized by a student group on campus. I was surprised
to find a dozen or so community members in attendance. Afterwards,
they spoke passionately about the connection of sand mining to the
impacts of unconventional energy development examined in the film.77
Around this time, residents were becoming aware of Vista Sand’s pro-
posed project. I attended another event on campus, this time a presen-
tation by biologist Jim Burritt about the potential impacts of frac sand
mining. Realizing something unprecedented was unfolding, I worried
about the potential social and environmental impacts of a rapidly
growing extractive industry in my community. Fresh from my experi-
ences protesting Walker’s union reforms and budget cuts, I felt moti-
vated to become involved. Having studied environmental conflicts
and activism for my dissertation, I was also interested in frac sand
mining on an intellectual level. I wanted to chronicle the experiences
and perspectives of people entangled in this rapidly evolving issue.
My initial involvement as a concerned citizen shaped the trajec-
tory of my research and my focus on grassroots activism. Following
in the tradition of ethnographic fieldwork, the core method of cultural
anthropology, during the early stages of my research I primarily uti-
lized participant observation, informal conversations, and unstruc-
tured interviews. In other words, I participated in grassroots meetings,
attended countless town and county hearings, and took part in other
events, such as canvassing the Vista haul route with Shea, Barb, and
Pilar.78 Throughout this period of participant observation I reviewed
Pearson.indd 25 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

a growing pile of documents, such as local ordinances, county and state

regulations, industry reports, and newspaper articles. I also attended
several industry events or conferences and participated in two guided
tours of mining operations. As I became more immersed in the world
of grassroots organizing and frac sand mining, I began to focus on
some core questions: How do various actors, such as citizens, local
governments, and private companies, negotiate and contest the right
to transform shared landscapes, exploit natural resources, and gen
erate unevenly distributed benefits and costs? How do communities
handle the rapid expansion of industrial-scale frac sand mining and
the pressures of corporate wealth and power? How is local democracy
affected? What new forms of grassroots organizing have taken shape
in response to frac sand mining, and what lessons do they teach us
about community change and empowerment? These questions guide
the chapters that follow.
Negotiating the dual roles of researcher and concerned citizen was
largely unfamiliar to me. In my previous fieldwork in Costa Rica, even
if I sympathized with the causes at the center of the environmental
activism I studied, I was always an outsider. In Wisconsin things are
more complex. I have only lived here several years, but I view this
place as my home. I work here. I own a house. My children were born
here. My life is here. I still feel like an outsider at times, but I am deeply
connected as well. I approached frac sand mining as an opportunity
to blend community involvement with research and to contribute an
anthropological perspective to the ongoing public debate. I made no
secret of my opposition to Vista Sand’s proposed mining operation. I
wrote a few opinion pieces for local newspapers and accepted invita-
tions to speak at community events. Academic research and publica-
tion is a slow process, so I also started a research blog where I could
publicly share information about frac sand mining and quickly dis-
seminate anthropological analysis and insight.79
I believe my involvement as an engaged observer ultimately en-
riches the accounts and analysis presented in this book. The methods
used by cultural anthropologists are unique in that the anthropologist
is never really separate or detached from the world he or she seeks to
study. Some may try to remain neutral or maintain analytical distance,
but one’s personal experience as a researcher ultimately forms the
basis of observation and data collection. Rather than deny this through
some unrealistic claim to objectivity, I accept that my perspective is
Pearson.indd 26 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

partial and informed by underlying values. In my personal life I sup-

port such principles as environmental sustainability, social justice, and
democratic decision making. In my academic discipline, moreover,
an increasing number of anthropologists have challenged traditional
disciplinary conventions that assume a neutral, detached observer,
calling on academics to become more publically engaged in pressing
social issues—in other words, to be more relevant. This to me seems
like a noble goal. Therefore, while I am committed to nuanced, empir-
ical observation, my research reflects the standpoint of concerned
citizens and grassroots activism. As such, this book tells a story that
seeks to capture one set of experiences while recognizing that there are
other perspectives, other stories that could and should be told. I trust
other researchers and writers will fill these gaps.
Despite my initial engagement as a concerned citizen, my relation-
ship to the issue has evolved over the years. The controversy around
Vista Sand’s proposal for a rail spur in Menomonie, which marked my
initial involvement, eventually died down. Grassroots organizing in
my community subsequently diminished by 2013, though it continued
in Glenwood City. As my involvement in direct grassroots organizing
faded, I gained some distance from a strictly activist standpoint. I
then conducted a series of semi-structured interviews with key figures
in western Wisconsin in an effort to document the origins and evo
lution of a regional grassroots citizens’ network called Save the Hills
Alliance. I continued to follow the evolution of grassroots organizing
and periodically attended key regional events and meetings. Turning
my attention beyond grassroots activism, I conducted a series of inter-
views in 2014 and 2015 to document the experiences and perspectives
of people immediately affected by mining operations, whether or not
they support mining.80
In addition to a conceptual standpoint reflecting the perspective of
concerned citizens, much of the research I conducted is geographically
situated. I have traveled widely and talked with people from through-
out western Wisconsin, as well as southeastern Minnesota, and I cer-
tainly draw on this material. But much of this book focuses on the
lower Chippewa Valley, which includes Chippewa, Eau Claire, and
Dunn Counties as well as portions of St. Croix, Pierce, Pepin, and Buf-
falo Counties. The phrase “Chippewa Valley” gains its namesake from
an anglicized designation for the Ojibwe and technically refers to the
Chippewa River and its tributaries, which include the Red Cedar
Pearson.indd 27 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

Pearson.indd 28
( Mine
Ü ¬
«8 S S * Mine/Processing Plant
* ? Mine/Processing Plant/Rail Spur
) Processing Plant
!
*
)*
* S Processing Plant/Rail Spur
( Rusk D Rail Spur
" Inactive Mines
Polk *S
(
S 4
! Hoffman Hills
Barron * ! Cities
) S Railroads
*
Roads
(* Rivers
(*
er
County Lines
S* Townships
r
ve
! Sandstone Formation
Ri
a
C e dar Riv
D (
w
Taylor
pe
(
(
ip
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S
( £
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53
Ch
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94
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29
May 2016. Map designed by Alyssa Quilling.

Saint Croix
!
( Chippewa
Pierce
!
(
Dunn
!
) ?
S Pepin 94
¦
¨
§ * ( (
( Eau Claire
(
?
(
S Clark
( *
Jackson
?0 5 10 20 Miles
Buffalo
Approximate locations of frac sand operations in the Chippewa Valley, based on

Trempealeau
data compiled by the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. Current as of

!
(
18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM
River watershed once dominated by Knapp, Stout & Co. In terms of

the area’s cultural geography, “Chippewa Valley” commonly refers to
the larger population centers of Eau Claire and Chippewa Falls, as well
as dozens of surrounding communities, including some not necessarily
located within the Chippewa River watershed. I focus on the Chip-
pewa Valley for both practical and methodological reasons. It’s practi-
cal because I live in Menomonie, part of the Chippewa Valley, but it is
also methodological, since this is where one of the first frac sand mines
in the region opened, where some of the earliest grassroots organizing
began, and where a significant cluster of mining operations exist.
Given the highly public but also controversial nature of frac sand
mining, a quick note about the use of names is in order. To the great-
est extent possible, I have tried to write this book in a way that focuses
on people’s lives and experiences. In order to respect people’s privacy,
however, parts of this book follow the social science tradition of using
pseudonyms and disguising places. I indicate when I’m doing this
and generally follow this custom in two instances. On one hand, when
I am discussing more generalizable points or sociological claims, it is
not always necessary to identify individual people. On the other hand,
in some cases people asked to remain anonymous, or I made the deter-
mination that naming them could be detrimental to their reputation
or status, so I disguised their identity accordingly. I do, however, use
real names and describe real places at many other junctures of this
book in order to provide a historically accurate account, typically in
cases where people requested or granted permission that I do so, or in
cases where I am recounting things they said or did in a public capac-
ity. When people were acting in a public capacity, such as testifying
at hearings, speaking with news reporters, or acting in their role as
elected officials, I view that material as part of the public record.
Routes
It remains to be seen if the Glenwood area will host the next Chippewa
Valley mining operation. Like much of frac sand mining, the story of
Vista Sand is on hold. In 2016 the market for frac sand continued to
contract in dramatic fashion as global oil prices remained stubbornly
low. Mining companies continued to shed workers and stall operations.
The boom had busted. Everyone was taking stock. This book sheds
some light on what we learned during the boom years of 2008 to 2015.
Pearson.indd 29 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

It is remarkable, really. Just a couple years ago, frac sand mining

was associated with an aura of inevitability. Many viewed industry
growth as something to be accommodated, not contested. When Vista
Sand was pursuing its permits in 2012 and 2013, for instance, the
company was asked in its St. Croix County mining application to “de-
scribe the compatibility of your request with the uses and character of
the surrounding area.” They responded as follows:
There are other approved, nonmetallic mining operations in the area, so

this operation will not change the character of the surrounding area. The
majority of the site will be similar to the current land use, with the excep-
tion of the 20 or less acres being mined including the area for processing.
[emphasis added]
This claim to compatibility reveals a troubling mind-set. The proposed

site of the roughly four-hundred-acre mining operation sits on the bor-
der of Glenwood City, which has a population of more than twelve
hundred, and near a residential neighborhood in Downing, home to
another couple hundred people. The site is also half a mile from a
K–12 school enrolling several hundred students. Let me repeat that.
Frac sand mine, next to a school. Hundreds of children.
What kind of mind-set would allow a company to assert the com-
patibility of an industrial mining operation within a residential com-
munity and so close to a school? Is this a case where the thirst for profit
obscures the obvious risk involved? Or does this reflect an industrial
worldview in which the human and environmental costs of resource
extraction simply fail to register within the bland calculus of energy
development?
It is difficult to say for sure. But to begin to understand this mind-
set, we can look to the people who have challenged it. We will begin by
exploring the origins of grassroots organizing against frac sand mining
with a group of citizens who met weekly in a chilly garage and suc-
cessfully stopped a proposed mining operation outside of Menomonie,
in Dunn County. Then we will trace the evolution of grassroots activ-
ism in the Chippewa Valley as mining companies followed the path of
least resistance and sought permits in the more welcoming context of
neighboring Chippewa County. Despite the success of mining opera-
tions there, persistent opposition led to the creation of the Save the
Hills Alliance, a grassroots network that has achieved considerable
visibility and longevity. Next we will step back and take a broader look
Pearson.indd 30 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

at how frac sand mining sparks complex and competing claims about
the meaning of place and landscape. We will also talk with people
who have endured dramatic changes to their community and way of
life, and others who have been displaced or must live with unwanted
mining activity. Given the controversy and the tenacity of grassroots
activism, mining companies have developed numerous strategies to
overcome local opposition. We must therefore carefully examine how
mining companies stake their claim to a legitimate place in Wiscon-
sin’s rural landscape. Finally, we will return to the case of Vista Sand
and follow Shea, Barb, Pilar, and others as they navigate countless
town and county hearings. Their efforts to oppose Vista Sand’s pro-
posals highlight the corrosive influence of corporate power on local
democratic decision making.
But their journey also illuminates some hopeful signs. Neighbors,
coming together, challenging a powerful system, and pushing for a new
route forward.
Railcars hauling frac sand through St. Paul, Minnesota, in 2012. Photograph by
Jim Tittle.
Pearson.indd 31 18/08/2017 11:48:32 AM

1
SAVE OUR HILLS
We are slow to realize that democracy is a life; and involves

continual struggle.
—Robert M. La Follette, La Follette’s Autobiography, 1912
I ease my car between a rusted-out Ford pickup and a glossy

Toyota Prius, then nervously gather my notebook. As I approach the
small, one-story ranch house located in an older neighborhood near
downtown Menomonie, I’m greeted at the front door by Marlys
Lausted, a quiet, gentle woman in her late sixties. She welcomes me
into the two-car garage. Coffee, she asks?
A couple dozen people mill about, chatting, holding white Styro-
foam cups, eating doughnut holes from a bowl placed atop a folding
table near the wall. An eclectic mix of kitchen and lawn chairs is
arranged in a circle. An easel with a large paper notepad is set up
to the side. Marlys introduces me to Jerry, her husband, the primary
organizer of the meeting. With curly dark hair and a friendly, inviting
personality, he is gracious and enthusiastic about my attendance. He
and Marlys moved here some years back, but they still raise purebred
Angus beef cattle on their farm outside of town.
A university colleague approaches to say hello. It is March 2012,
and he and his wife have been attending these weekly meetings for
a couple months now. After we discussed my research interests one
afternoon, he revealed the group’s existence. Meetings are not adver-
tised. They are by word of mouth, invitation only. Wear something
warm. To my surprise, I see another professor from UW–Stout. We had
worked together for months attempting to organize a faculty union.
33
Pearson.indd 33 18/08/2017 11:48:32 AM

34 s a v e o u r h il l s
Last year we marched with many others in Madison to protest Gov-

ernor Walker’s efforts to dismantle public-sector labor unions. I had
no idea she had been approached by a Texas mining company to lease
her property for a frac sand mine. She is now working with this group
to stop Vista Sand’s proposed operation.
I’m introduced to several others. The group includes people with
a mix of professional backgrounds: a teacher, a nurse, a farmer, an
artist, a custodial worker, a paralegal, a magazine editor, a biology
professor, an education professor, an economist, and now an anthro-
pologist. Many are retired. Even in my mid-thirties, I am the young-
est. A few people might call themselves environmentalists, rallied to
the cause by a conservationist ethic, but most are just concerned about
frac sand mining. Some have connections to other groups, an emerg-
ing network of citizen activism spread throughout western Wisconsin
in reaction to the rapidly growing frac sand industry. Jerry, for his part,
is the vice-president of the Save the Hills Alliance, a recently estab-
lished organization with a regional focus. Several others are new to
the issue, the experience of citizen advocacy foreign to them. Some
live in rural Menomonie near Vista’s proposed rail spur. Others have
come from the Glenwood area, the site of the proposed mine.
We would meet almost weekly for the next few months in Marlys
and Jerry’s garage, referring to ourselves informally as the Menomonie
Working Group. This embodied people organizing at the “grassroots”
level: volunteers, neighbors, citizens, all rallying around a cause. Each
Saturday, attendees would share information about Vista Sand and
other mining companies in the area, design informational fliers and
other anti-frac-sand paraphernalia, and strategize talking points for
the public testimony portions of upcoming town and county meetings.
I joined the group only several weeks after it had formed. Over
time, however, I learned that the group was not entirely new. In fact,
it was the manifestation of grassroots efforts that had begun several
years earlier. Jerry, Marlys, and a few others first got involved in 2007,
when they organized a citizens group called Save Our Hills and suc-
cessfully stopped a frac sand mine from opening in the rural townships
of Tainter and Red Cedar. That group also met in this garage, and its
story offers valuable lessons, shining light on the social, political, and
economic factors that shape the grassroots response to frac sand min-
ing. Regionally, however, victory was short lived. Within months, pro-
posals for frac sand operations popped up in neighboring Chippewa
Pearson.indd 34 18/08/2017 11:48:32 AM

sa v e o u r h il ls 35
County, where political and social conditions were much more ame-
nable to the mining industry. Grassroots efforts failed to halt mining
there, and Chippewa County has permitted a dozen operations clus-
tered in a few communities. After exploring the success of Save Our
Hills, the following chapter will continue to trace the evolution of
grassroots activism in response to the frac sand industry’s develop-
ment in Chippewa County and the broader Chippewa Valley.
Other Purposes
While a few industrial sand mines have operated relatively unnoticed
in the region for decades, the more recent rush for frac sand can be
traced to late 2006. At that time the Wisconsin Industrial Sand Com-
pany, owned by Ohio-based Fairmount Minerals (now called Fair-
mount Santrol), received a permit in conjunction with Cardinal Glass
Industries, a local glass manufacturer, to operate a nearly five-hundred-
acre mine and processing plant in the town of Red Cedar. The for-
merly agricultural site borders a partially-developed industrial park
in the City of Menomonie. The glass plant had applied for the permit,
with the mine to be operated by Fairmount, and, according to one
county official, “the general understanding was that the glass plant
would be the major customer of the mine.”1 The phrase “frac sand”
was largely unknown in the Chippewa Valley, and hydraulic fractur-
ing had not yet erupted as a topic of national discussion. News reports
explained merely that “Cardinal will use some of the sand mined from
the site to make glass. The remaining sand will be sold for other pur-
poses.”2 With little fanfare, frac sand mining was quietly establishing
a foothold.
Shortly after the first trees were cleared for the Fairmount oper
ation, residents in the adjacent township of Tainter began to hear
whispers of another mining operation. Tainter is located just north of
Menomonie and was named after Captain Andrew Tainter, a partner
in Knapp, Stout & Co. and co-owner of the 3,500-acre Moore Farm,
which was worked by a “large number” of black slaves from 1859
until 1865, when it was acquired by Tainter and his partners.3 In late
October 2006, Proppant Specialists, a startup company with a mailing
address in Brady, Texas, and registered as a limited liability corpora-
tion in the state of Delaware, began talks with local officials in Tainter.
Not far from the old Moore Farm, they proposed a sand mine and wet
Pearson.indd 35 18/08/2017 11:48:32 AM

processing plant on roughly 430 acres of land owned by longtime res-

ident and farmer Darold Lausted, along with a dry processing plant
and rail loading station to be located elsewhere. The site they targeted
was first identified by Mel Bollom, of Chippewa Falls, who had worked
for Cardinal Glass for fifteen years before becoming a consultant for
the Cardinal Glass/Fairmount project. The Proppant operation would
occupy a traditionally agricultural area primarily in southeast Tainter
but also extend into the town of Red Cedar. Mining would take place
on approximately 183 acres over a period of thirty-five years, and the
operation would sit next to the Hoffman Hills State Recreation Area
and within two miles of the Muddy Creek State Wildlife Area, both
protected for public use. In addition to farms situated at the foot of
tree-covered hillsides, several middle-class homes have been built in
the picturesque landscape that surrounds Hoffman Hills, and today
the area includes a mix of longtime residents and new arrivals, includ-
ing professionals and retirees.
Jerry Lausted, who hosted the garage meeting described above, is
a distant cousin of Darold’s. Their farms sit right next to each other,
and at one time Jerry owned part of the land targeted by Proppant
Specialists. His great-grandfather “probably acquired land from the
railroad” when he moved to the area in the nineteenth century.4 Jerry
began running his father’s farm when he was a teenager, an experi-
ence that instilled values of hard work and stewardship. He describes
his father as having a conservation mind-set, restoring washed-out and
degraded farmland. Jerry’s father also had health issues, having con-
tracted rheumatic fever that predisposed him to eventually fatal heart
problems. Jerry recalls “sitting on a tractor seat harvesting crops”
when he was barely ten years old. By the time he was sixteen he was
responsible for keeping the farm going to support his parents, grand-
mother, and sister. He nearly left high school to run the farm full-time,
but was inspired to attend college by Archie Abbott, a locally renowned
agricultural teacher. During high school, Jerry farmed nights and
weekends, raising pigs, sheep, and beef cattle while growing beans
as a cash crop. While a student at UW–River Falls he worked as a
dorm counselor and in the cafeteria, going home on the weekends to
farm. During the summers he worked additional jobs with county
land-surveying programs and he says he probably visited every parcel
of farmland in Dunn County. After graduating with a major in agri-
culture and a minor in biology, Jerry, like his mentor, taught high
Pearson.indd 36 18/08/2017 11:48:32 AM

sa v e o u r h il ls 37
school agriculture classes and advised a local chapter of Future Farm-

ers of America, while Marlys worked in nursing. After their second
child was born they fostered and raised a five-year-old girl with Down
syndrome, a decision that thrust them into a lifetime of community
advocacy. In the 1970s they found themselves on the front lines of
an emerging disability rights movement, helping to promote the Arc
of Dunn County and establish two other local nonprofits that serve
people with disabilities. While Marlys continued in nursing, Jerry
eventually left teaching and returned to farming. He started a feed
and nutrition consulting business while raising Angus beef cattle. At
its peak, they maintained up to 74 beef cows on a 400-acre pasture and
grazing-based system.
Jerry and Marlys first heard about the proposed mine from a neigh-
bor who dropped off an informational flier at their house. The flier
announced an upcoming town meeting to discuss Proppant Special-
ists’ plans. Because Tainter and Red Cedar townships participate in
county zoning, Proppant Specialists would need a special exception
permit in order to start the mining operation. Decisions about special
exception permits are made by the Dunn County Board of Adjust-
ment (BOA), a five-member panel that reviews proposed land uses
permitted within a zoning district but subject to specific conditions.
Although the BOA would make the final determination, towns first
provide their recommendation and suggest any conditions they would
like to see tied to the permit. Proppant Specialists would therefore first
need a stamp of approval from local officials. Their proposal was put
on the agenda of the plan commission, a subcommittee of the Tainter
Town Board. Jerry and Marlys would be sure to attend. The proposed
mine would have been “right across the road from our barn, our pure-
bred cattle,” explains Marlys, “our major investment.”
Ken Lestrud, who lives down the road, also attended that early
January town meeting. He recalls his neighbor visiting him months
earlier to chat about “taking some sand out of the hill up here.” He
assumed it was for a building project on his neighbor’s farm, “and
I said I didn’t have a problem with that.”5 With a scraggly gray beard
and longish silver hair, Ken has a deep appreciation for his family’s
land, acquired by his grandparents in the 1920s. Like many others at
that time, his family started out as dairy farmers, but over the years
the dairy waned as the family’s primary source of livelihood. In the
1940s, Ken’s father took a job at the Sanna Dairies manufacturing
Pearson.indd 37 18/08/2017 11:48:32 AM

plant in nearby Menomonie (now a Conagra plant), which produced

Swiss Miss Instant Cocoa Mix and other milk-based products. The
family still harvested crops and raised animals on their farm. After
serving in Vietnam, Ken earned a bachelor’s degree in forestry from
the University of Minnesota and settled down with his wife, Mary, in
a log cabin they built on four and a half acres of his family’s land. He
struggled with alcoholism and addiction issues, earning a living as a
custodian in the local school system. Ken and Mary’s home is nestled
within a grove of trees located amid seemingly endless farmland that
gradually swells into rolling hills. He describes it as having been “a
good place to stare at the sky, meditate, and try to get over the—
my experiences in Vietnam. And it was probably a lifesaving thing in
that aspect.” 6
On a frigid Wednesday evening in early January 2007, Jerry, Marlys,
Ken, Mary, and a hundred other people packed Tainter’s town hall.
Attendees were concerned and suspicious. In a presentation to the
plan commission, the president of Proppant Specialists, Ron Jordan,
outlined the proposed operation and took questions. The commission
decided to postpone making a recommendation, revisiting the issue at
their February meeting. Jordan again appeared before the commis-
sion, as did more than a hundred residents, many standing in the back
of the crammed town hall, straining to hear the discussion at the front
of the room. Concerns were raised about the proximity to Hoffman
Hills, the impact on property values in the area, and impacts on water.
Commission members also worried that details of the proposal were
still evolving, particularly the site of the processing plant and the path
of the haul route. One proposed route would see hundreds of trucks
rumble along Church Road and past the Tainter United Methodist
Church, an institution that historically has anchored community life
in the area. Proppant Specialists, which had never operated a mine
before, had yet to submit their formal application to the Dunn County
BOA. Many details were unavailable and appeared to be in flux. Com-
mission members opted to delay making a decision until they had
access to the final plan.
In those early months of 2007, concerned residents attended a
flurry of meetings put on by plan commissions and town boards in
Tainter and Red Cedar. Carol Parsons, who lives with her husband,
Jerry, a few miles from the proposed mine site, recalls feeling frus-
trated with the process. Carol and Jerry are from Wisconsin, but they
Pearson.indd 38 18/08/2017 11:48:32 AM

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Polonaise-Fantasie (op. 61), 263f.
Preludes, 264.
Waltzes, 281.
Chord style, 11.
Christian Frederick VIII, King of Denmark, 309.
Chrotta, 368.
Chrysander, 53.
Church, Roman, (opposition to musicians), 371.
Church music, 9.
Church sonatas, 94.
Clarinet, 599;
(in chamber music), 579, 598, 604.
Clarinet sonatas, 603f.
Clavecin, 5, 52. See also Harpsichord.
Clavecinists, 26.
Clavicembalo, 5. See also Harpsichord.
Clavichord, 1, 2ff, 8, 67, 128.
Clement, Franz, 444, 451, 456.
Clementi, Muzio, 64, 98, 100, 112, 117, 119ff, 143, 157.
Gradus ad Parnassum, 121.
Sonata in G minor (op. 7, no. 3), 121.
Sonata in B minor (op. 40, no. 2), 122.
Sonata in G minor (Didone abbandonata, op. 50, no. 3), 122.
Coda (Beethoven), 165f.
Color effects (in string quartet), 555f.
Concertati, 474.
Concert piece (Mendelssohn), 216. See also Konzertstück.
Concerto, (Italian), 67;

(Bach), 81;
(Vivaldi, Mozart), 150;
(for flute and harp), 599.
See also Pianoforte concerto; Violin concerto.
Concerto grosso (Torelli), 388f.
Concerts des Amateurs, 407.
Concerts Spirituels, 404, 410, 487.
Confrérie de St. Julien des Ménestriers, 372.
Conservatory. See Paris Conservatoire.
Contrapuntal style. See Polyphonic style.
Contrast, 49, 469;

(of key), 18, 561;
(of registers, in piano music), 277;
(rhythmic, in early chamber music), 476.
Corelli, Arcangelo, 6, 37, 93, 389, 392, 396ff, 412, 427, 428, 480,
481.
Violin sonatas, 397ff.
Coriat (quoted), 393.
Cornetto, 377.
Cosyn, Benjamin, 18.
Cortecci, 376.
Counterpoint, 19f. See also Polyphonic style.
Counter-theme, 11.
Couperin, Charles, 52;

(compared to Bach), 65;
(influence on Bach), 69.
Couperin, François (le Grand), 8, 36, 41, 51ff, 63, 86, 207, 267f, 398,
484;
(rondo), 58;
(influence on Bach), 69.
Couperin, Louis, 36, 52.
Courante, 23, 25, 473.
Cramer, J. B., 64, 132, 176, 178, 285, 418.
Cramer, Wilhelm, 418.
Cremona, 375.
Crescendo, 378.
Cristofori, Bartolomeo, 155.
Crossing of the hands, 47;

(Bach), 84;
(D. Scarlatti), 106.
Crowd, 368.
Cryptograms, 218.
Cryth, 368.
Cui, César, 330, 331.
Cycles of pianoforte pieces (Schumann), 221f.
Cyclic forms, 30. See also Sonata; Suite.
Czerny, Carl, 44, 64, 182.
Da capo form, 69, 77.
Dale, Benjamin, 598.
Dance form, 30.
Dance rhythms (Schubert), 206;

(Rubinstein), 321;
(Heller), 321.
See also Chopin: Mazurkas, Waltzes.
Dance tunes (15th cent.), 20, 22, 468.
Dances, (early French), 376;

(Spanish), 396;
(17th cent.), 472.
Dante, 318.
Daquin, Claude, 61.
Dargomyzhsky, 330.
Dauvergne, Antoine, 409.
David, Ferdinand, 409, 412, 443f, 451, 458.
David, Paul (quoted), 449.
De Ahna, 451.
Debussy, Claude, 353ff, 367;

(chamber music), 561ff, 604.
Suite Bergamasque, 359.
L’Isle joyeuse, 359.
Estampes, 360.
Images, 360f.
Preludes, 361ff.
String quartet, 561ff.
Delibes, Leo, 462.
Denmark, 326.
Descriptive music, 27f, 55f, 214, 311. See also Picture music;
Realism in pianoforte music.
Diabelli, 165.
Dialogues for two violins, 474, 475.
Dissonance (absence of), 13;

(unprepared), 14.
Dittersdorf, Carl Ditters von, 419.

Divertimento (quartet), 489.
Dohle, 64.
Dohnányi, Ernst von, 338;

(pianoforte quintet), 589.
Domanowecz, Nicholas Zmeskall von, 492, 518.
Double-bass (in chamber music), 590.
Double-harmonics, 438.
Double-stops (violin), 382, 383, 422, 430, 460.
Dowland, John, 394.
Dramatic style (in pianoforte sonata), 122;

(in violin music), 441.
Duet, (for one violin), 387;

(for two violins), 411;
(viola and violoncello), 512.
Duet sonata, 454.
Dumka, 586.
Dunhill, Thomas F. (cited), 460, 589.
Duport, Jean Louis, 591.
Durand, 412.
Durante, Francesco, 59, 97.

Dussek, 98, 176.
Dvořák, Antonin, 338;

(violin music), 466;
(chamber music), 558f;
(pianoforte quartets), 583;
(pianoforte quartets and quintets), 585f;
(influence), 589.
String quartet in A minor, 558.
String quartet in E-flat, 559.
‘American’ quartet, 559.
Trios (op. 65 and 90), 580f.
Pianoforte quartet (op. 23), 585.
Pianoforte quintet (op. 87), 585f.
Ecclesiastical modes (modern use of), 363f.
Eck, Franz, 418f, 440.
Eck, Johann Friedrich, 418.
Edward VI, 375.
Effects, pianistic, 303ff. See also Pianoforte technique.
Elizabeth, Queen of England, 4.
Elman, Mischa, 464f.
Embellishments, 35. See also Ornamentation.
Emotional expression, 14, 41.
Enescou, Georges, 466.

England, 18, 21;
(harpsichords in), 4;
(modern), 339.
English horn (in chamber music), 598, 601.
English virginal music, 18ff, 32.
Equal Temperament, 67f.
Érard, Sebastian, 157.
Ernst, Heinrich Wilhelm, 445.
Esterhazy, Prince, 496.
[L’]Estrange, Roger, 394.
[d’]Étree, 376.
Études. See Pianoforte études; Violin études.
Exoticism (in modern music), 362f.
Fantasia, 11, 469;

(on ut-re-mi-fa-sol-la), 20;
(popularity in early 19th cent.), 285;
(on airs from favorite operas), 286;
(Liszt), 308;
(early use of term), 472.
Fantasie, 79.
Fantasy pieces, 211. See also Schumann.
Farina, Carlo, 382, 467, footnote.
Farinelli, G. B., 397.
Farinelli’s Ground, 397.
Farrenc, Madame, 53. See also Trésor des pianistes.
Fauré, Gabriel, 352f, 604;

(violin sonata), 462;
(chamber music), 583, 588, 589.
Pianoforte quintet in D minor, 588.
Ferrara, Carlo, 591.
Ferrari, Domenico, 404.
Fétis (cited), 440.
Fidula, 369.
Field, John, 55, 132, 176, 179, 183, 254, 278.
Figured bass, 486, 487, 573.
Fingering (violin), 370;

('cello), 591.
First-movement form, 91. See also Sonata form.
Fischer, Johann, 392.
Fitzwilliam collection, 18, 21.
Fitzwilliam Museum, 18.

Florid style (harpsichord), 35.
Floridia, Pietro, 465.
Flute (use of, in chamber music), 598, 604.
Flute concerto, 599.
Fochsschwantz, 468.
Folk-melodies (in English virginal music), 20;

(in pianoforte music), 136, 325.
Fontana, Giovanni Battista, 383, 476.
Foote, Arthur, 340, 589.
Form, 10;
(harmonic principle), 14;
(Scarlatti), 49;
(Chopin), 256;
(César Franck), 550.
See also Instrumental forms; Fugue; Sonata form; etc.
Förster, Emanuel Aloys, 510.
Fortunatus, Venantius, 368.
Foster, Will, 18.
France, 25;
(modern pianoforte music), 341ff;
(violinist-composers), 405ff.
Franck, César, 207, 345ff, 349, 461, 547ff, 561, 581, 586.
Prelude, Chorale and Fugue, 345f.
Prelude, Aria and Finale, 346.
Symphonic Variations, 347f.
Violin sonata, 461.
String quartet in D minor, 547ff.
Pianoforte quintet, 586.
Franck, Melchior, 472.
Franco-Belgian school (of violin playing), 447f.
Francœur, 406.
Franz, Robert (transcriptions of songs), 306.
Franzl, Ferdinand, 418.
Franzl, Ignaz, 418.
Franzl, Johann C., 413.
Frederick the Great, 414.
Frederick William II, King of Prussia, 487, 494, 506, 591.
Freedom of the arms (in pianoforte playing), 301f.
Freedom of the hands (in pianoforte playing), 293.
Freedom of the wrist (in pianoforte playing), 296.
French Revolution, 407, 410, 432.
Frescobaldi, Girolamo, 15ff, 24, 476.
Frische Clavier-Früchte (Kuhnau), 29.
Friskin, James, 589.

Froberger, Johann Jacob, 15, 23 (footnote), 24, 32, 75, 104, 473.
Fuga, 10.
Fugue, 11, 17, 21, 29, 41;

(Bach), 70ff;
(in pianoforte sonata), 129f, 166, 171;
(Mendelssohn), 215;
(Franck), 346;
(for 4 vlns., 16th cent.), 376;
(three and four subjects, Haydn), 493.
Furcheim, Wilhelm, 386.
Furiant, 586.
G-string, 374, 382, 384.
Gabrieli, Andrea, 10.
Gabrieli, Giovanni, 10, 11, 471.
Gade, Niels, 326.
Gaillarde. See Galliard.
'Gaily the Troubadour,’ 285.
Galitzin, Nikolaus, Prince, 520.
Galliard, 22, 23, 473.
[Le] Gallors, 36.

Galuppi, Baldassare, 97, 116f.
Ganassi, Silvestro, 374.
Gassmann, Florian, 499, 503.
Gastoldi, 377.
Gautier, Denis, 26f, 33, 34.
Gaviniés, Pierre, 408f.
Gavotte, 26.
Gelinek, 182.
Geminiani, Francesco, 401, 430f, 482.
Generative theme, 562. See also Thematic metamorphosis.
Genouillière, 156.
Genre pieces, 212.
George, Stephen, 571.
Gerber (cited), 383.
Gerle, Hans, 374.
German romanticism, 320, 321.
Germany, 16, 36.
Gernsheim, Friedrich, 321, 324, 466.

Ghro, Johann, 472.
Giardini, Felice, 404.
Gibbons, Orlando, 19, 394.
Giga, 23.
Gighi, 478.
Gigue, 23.
Glazounoff, Alexander, 333;

(violin concerto), 464;
(chamber music), 555.
Glière, Reinhold, 555.
Glinka, 329;
(transcription of ‘A Life for the Czar’), 330.
Glissando, 192, 243.
Gluck, 7, 503.
‘God Save the King,’ 291, 308, 363.
Godard, Benjamin, 342.
Goldberg Variations, 67.
Goldmark, Karl (violin music), 466;

(pianoforte quintet), 589.
Gossec, 499.
'Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser,’ 497.

Graces, 35.
Grainger, Percy, 339.
‘Grand style’ of piano playing, 303.
Graun, Johann Gottlieb, 413, 414, 415, 420.
Gravicembalo, 5. See also Harpsichord.
Greco, Gaëtano, 38, 43.
Greek modes (modern use of), 362f.
Greek mythology, 27.
Gretchaninoff, Alexander, 555.
Grieco. See Greco.
Grieg, Edvard, 326ff, 338;

(influence), 340;
(cello sonatas), 597.
Pianoforte sonata in E minor, 327.
Pianoforte concerto, 327f.
Ballade (piano), 328.
Holberg, suite (piano), 328.
String quartet, 556.
Grossi, 391, 478.
Ground bass, 83.
Grün, 445.
Guenin, Marie Alexandre, 408, 409f.
Guillemain, 409.
Guitar, 437;
(imitation of, on violin), 387.
Haack, Carl, 416.
Habeneck, Coretin, 447.
Habeneck, F. H., 447.
Habeneck, Joseph, 447.
Halir, Karl, 451, 465.
Hammerschmidt, Andreas, 473.
Handel, 7, 8, 26, 42, 43, 87, 421, 484.

Harmonious Blacksmith, 87.
Hardelle, 36.
Harmonic basis (in the fugue), 70f.
Harmonic coloring (Mozart), 145.
Harmonic principle (in musical form), 14.
Harmonic style, 13.
Harmonics (on violin), 438, 439, 448;

(use of, in string quartet), 571f.
Harmonious Blacksmith, 87.
Harmony, 13f, 29;

(Schubert), 194;
(Chopin), 261f, 265ff;
(Liszt), 318;
(Scriabin), 336f;
(Debussy), 354f;
(Ravel), 364; (modern), 534.
Harp concerto, 599.
Harpsichord, 1, 2, 4ff, 32, 34, 35, 128;

(‘touch’), 5;
(with two or more manuals), 47;
(in instrumental combinations), 573f.
Harpsichord music, 16ff, 40ff;

(florid style), 35;
(leaping figures), 47;
(descriptive pieces), 55f;
(ornamentation), 59.
Harpsichord playing, 66, 68.
Harpsichord sonata, 97;

(with violin ad lib.), 426.
See also Pianoforte sonata.
Hasse, Johann Adolph, 7, 43.
Hausmann, Robert, 451.
Haydn, Joseph, 7, 89, 98, 100f, 112, 116, 128, 131f, 134, 135ff, 207,
410, 412, 416, 424, 444, 487, 503;
(compared with Beethoven), 133;
(fugue), 493;
(string quartet), 489ff, 498ff, 560;
(influence on Mozart), 499, 502f;
(trios), 574.
Piano sonata in G major (op. 14, Peters 11), 138.
Piano sonata in C major (op. 13, Peters 15), 138.
Piano sonata in F major (Peters 20), 138.
Piano sonatas in E-flat (Peters 1 and 3), 139.
Variations on a theme in F (for piano), 140f.
String quartets (op. 9), 491.
String quartets, (op. 20) (Sonnen quartets), 492.
String quartets (op. 33), 493f.
String quartets, op. 50 (1787), 495f.
String quartets (op. 54 and 55), 496f.
Haydn, Michael, 499.
Heine, 134.
Heller, Stephen, 321.
Helmesberger, G., 445.
Henselt, Adolf, 217.
Herz, Henri, 285ff, 297, 447.

‘La Sonnambula’ Variations, 286.
Heuberger, Richard, cited, 194.
Hiller, Ferdinand, 176, 182.
Hoffmann, E. T. A., 218, 232.
Hoftanz, 470.
Holbrooke, Joseph, 589.

Holland, 21.
Holz, Karl, 521 footnote.
‘Home, Sweet Home,’ 291.
Horn (in chamber music), 598, 600, 604.
Horn sonata, 600.
Hubay, Jenö, 466.
Hugo, Victor, 318.
Hummel, Johann Nepomuk, 158f, 175f, 183, 254.

Piano concerto in A minor, 176ff.
Hungary, 317.
Hupfauff, 470.
Huygens, Constantine, 32.
Imitative music, 28, 386f.
Impressionism. See France (modern).
Impromptus (Schubert), 200ff.
Improvisation (Mozart), 142f.
d’Indy, Vincent, 129f, 349ff;

(cited), 167;
(pianoforte quartet), 589f.
Poëmes des Montagnes, 350.
Pianoforte sonata in E (op. 63), 351.
String quartets, 551f.
Inner melodies, 60;

(Chopin), 278.
Instrumental forms, 11f, 41, 102. See also Canzona, Ricercar,

Sonata, Toccata, etc.
Instrumental music (development), 1, 8ff;

(early), 92;
(in 16th cent.), 373;
(15th-16th cent.), 469ff.
Instrumental style, 11, 33;

(influence on vocal), 9, footnote.
Interlocking of the hands (piano-playing), 222, 352.
Inventions (Bach), 67.
Italian influences (in sonata), 99, 107, 117;

(in French violin music), 406;
(in German violin music), 412, 420;
(in France and Germany), 428;
(Mozart), 499.
Italy, 16, 25, 37;

(supremacy of, in 18th-cent. violin music), 427f.

When The Hills Are Gone Frac Sand Mining and The Struggle For Community Thomas W Pearson All Chapter

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When the Hills Are Gone: Frac Sand

Mining and the Struggle for Community

Pearson.indd 1 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

University of Minnesota Press

Pearson.indd 3 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

Copyright 2017 by the Regents of the University of Minnesota

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

Published by the University of Minnesota Press

Printed in the United States of America on acid-­free paper

The University of Minnesota is an equal-­opportunity educator and employer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Pearson, Thomas W., 1978– author.

Pearson.indd 4 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

introduction Magic Mineral 1

1 Save Our Hills 33

4 Where You Live 105

6 In Pursuit of Local Democracy 153

7 Confronting the Next Boom 183

Pearson.indd 5 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

The money associated with this magic mineral has proved

Several of us pack into a rusty minivan with a box of

Pearson.indd 1 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

Pearson.indd 2 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

Today sand is used to produce silicon chips, fiber-­optic cables, cell

Pearson.indd 3 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

It has been the subject of high-­profile documentaries and Hollywood

Pearson.indd 4 18/08/2017 11:48:28 AM

Black River Falls

Approximate location of sandstone bedrock formations, based on data from the

Pearson.indd 5 18/08/2017 11:48:29 AM

Pearson.indd 6 18/08/2017 11:48:29 AM

for high-­quality silica sand in southeastern Minnesota, northwestern

Pearson.indd 7 18/08/2017 11:48:29 AM

Pearson.indd 8 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

next to an old rail line. A couple of existing construction quarries re-

Pearson.indd 9 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

underground environment while allowing hydrocarbons to flow

“If You’re Not In, You’re Out”

Pearson.indd 10 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

She is a health journalist and magazine editor who emerged as a

Pearson.indd 11 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

sometimes in places with struggling economies. The onset of the Great

Pearson.indd 12 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

property values and the displacement of other businesses or activi-

Pearson.indd 13 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

wealthy in what used to be a tough rural farming area. It’s certainly

Pearson.indd 14 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

University of Wisconsin–­Eau Claire, has called for a cautious approach

Pearson.indd 15 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

launched a five-­year study in Chippewa County to evaluate how frac

Pearson.indd 16 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

promises. Indeed, Dan Masterpole, the director of Land Conservation

Pearson.indd 17 18/08/2017 11:48:30 AM

Wisconsin’s Contested Mining History

Pearson.indd 18 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

Pearson.indd 19 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

Muir Chapter. The early-­twentieth-­century Progressive movement in

Pearson.indd 20 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

saw these groups overcome animosities stemming from the spearfish-

Pearson.indd 21 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

and GTAC withdrew from the permitting process in March 2015,

Pearson.indd 22 18/08/2017 11:48:31 AM

representatives have lobbied against frac sand and participate in

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

The University of Minnesota is an equal-opportunity educator and employer.

Today sand is used to produce silicon chips, fiber-optic cables, cell

It has been the subject of high-profile documentaries and Hollywood

for high-quality silica sand in southeastern Minnesota, northwestern

University of Wisconsin–Eau Claire, has called for a cautious approach

launched a five-year study in Chippewa County to evaluate how frac

Muir Chapter. The early-twentieth-century Progressive movement in

This claim to compatibility reveals a troubling mind-set. The proposed

I ease my car between a rusted-out Ford pickup and a glossy