The morning after I was crowned Red Lady number 30 in 2008 by the High Country Conservation Advocates, I looked out my kitchen window into the vigilant and curving arms of the alpine cirque to the west. “I represent that mountain,” I thought. The symbolic impact staggered me.
My ancient Celtic roots had a tradition of the Sovereignty Goddess, a woman representing the place spirit of the very animate land. The hopeful king ritually married her, pledging protection and stewardship in exchange for earthly abundance.
As I leaned over my sink, the waters of Coal Creek poured out of my faucet and over my hands. The same waters that wrap around the southern hip of Red Lady.
The real work of a tiny town staving off a massive molybdenum mine since 1977 was waged by unrelenting heroines and heroes in the unseen legal world. Externally, the Red Ladies wielded our fierce feminine power, keeping spirits and investments high during the laborious 47-year resistance. It takes a village.
In the late summer of 2024, final papers were signed, releasing the mining claims in perpetuity. Not long after, the community honored the balance of the Autumn Equinox through the 40-year tradition of Vinotok, a festival celebrating nature, community, and the harvest. In the entirety of its history, Vinotok had never seen a drop of precipitation. Yet this past September, inches of sodden snow soaked us as we sang through the streets. Red Lady was expressing her gratitude, we decided, for in this high and dry country, snow is a blessing of abundance.
When the weather cleared, it rained nothing but sapphire skies and glowing aspen leaves right up to our “Red Lady Forever” street party, where we laughed and hugged and high-fived each other and community members who were integral parts of the fight and returned home to celebrate. Pure joy, victory, and release pulsed through our bodies to music carved from these mountains. Watching us from above, Red Lady hoisted the sun on her shoulder until it dripped down her back, and we danced into the dark. I swear, in that moment, I saw her wink.
This is what stewardship looks like, what a long-term relationship looks like, what marrying the land feels like. It is not just climbing peaks, accumulating rides, and posting wildflower selfies. It is enduring, persevering, gritting your teeth, baring your chest, and standing your ground. It is caring and committing. Again and again and again for nearly 50 years. The longest battle of a grassroots effort against a major mining endeavor in the history of the United States. Won. She is free. We — are free.
A few mornings after the party, I sauntered out the Woods Walk to bathe in the gilded air. The newly born autumn was cold and still. Sunlight glittered in diamonds. The day was so clear it cut. An elk bugled and bugled again, his metallic song trailing silver ribbons through the willows. Red Lady, bedecked in her fall’s finest of garnet-colored bearberry, beamed.
Our Mother Mountain.
She holds us.
We hold her in return.