When
Gen. Robert E. Lee surrendered at Appomattox on April 9, 1865, his battered men
in gray started home—any way they could get there. Among the walking was Nathaniel
Joseph Green. Wearing shoes crafted from
a horse collar, Lisa Sikes’ paternal great-grandfather trudged from North
Carolina to his family’s farm outside Screven.
That’s how long her clan has embraced the black water and sugar-white
sand of the Satilla River watershed.
And that’s why
Lisa Sikes couldn’t lie on her Old Town Alexandria, Virginia, couch and brood
about what was about to happen four miles as the “coal ash blows,” she says—from
her parents’ home on Sikes Road. Newton
and Jean Sikes’ daughter—the second of four siblings—boiled into action,
leveraging her education, professional skills and work schedule.
Following
a text from her mama in early 2016, Lisa’s first reaction to the Broadhurst
proposal was: “Are you kidding me?” Since
she owns her own business, Lisa could manage her time to use every ounce of her
three college degrees to research what Republic Services was planning for its
2,200-acre Broadhurst Environmental Landfill.
Through a freedom-of-information request, she obtained the 750-page U.S.
Army Corps of Engineers rail-spur application.
“I read it, and I read it, and I
read it,” she said.
Coincidentally,
Lisa and her father have the identical degree—geography—from the University of
Georgia. She also has a master of fine arts in set design from the University
of North Georgia, along with a post-baccalaureate certificate in geological
information systems (GIS). In short, she
evolved into a software wizard who couldn’t and
wouldn’t be baffled by the technical lingo which is common in government
documents. She’s a former geographer of the red-tape-laden U.S. Census Bureau,
too.
The
more Lisa dug into matters, the more motivated she got. “I am
just as worried about the dust from coal
ash as I am the water,” she said. She
mused about the joy of spending Christmas and summer vacations with her Screven
grandparents. “I know what it smells
like after a rain,” she said. “I cherish
the times Uncle Fred Sikes took us swimming in the Little Satilla River.” Lisa explained that those childhood memories inspired
her to do more than “just rant on Facebook.”
Instead, she
became one of the angels who lit on the shoulders of those fighting to protect our
natural resources. A few on that long
list of angels are Jimmy Carter, the 39th president of the United
States; an anonymous benefactor to help with legal costs; and attorney Joe Gote
from the Netherlands, who’s contributing his advice pro bono—for free—just as Lisa has donated her
services.
As volunteers
struggled to wade through hard-to-understand wording, Lisa descended with
energy and expertise. She’s put together
maps and illustrations that would have cost a fortune if she had charged the marketable
rate. Lisa’s knowledge added immeasurable lift to the arguments against a
wetlands-destroying rail spur and trainloads of toxic coal ash. Right now, she’s among those who hope there
can be an amicable resolve to the controversy.
Nonetheless,
Lisa inherits her passion for nature through DNA. After a 37-year career, her dad retired as a
ranger with the National Park Service.
Newton Sikes spent his last eight years on Cumberland Island. His daughter gets misty-eyed talking about the
love of her sense of place, dating back to Nathaniel Joseph Green’s generation. On her desk, there’s a quotation by Edward
Abbey: “Sentiment without action is the
ruin of the soul.”
Lisa
Sikes may not give herself enough credit to accept the “angel” accolade, but
trust me. She has shown over the past 16
months that her soul is in no danger of ruination from inaction.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
