Generation green - youth fight for planet - Brief Article

Sierra, Nov, 2000 by Heather Millar

The California Conservation Corps, the oldest and largest of the dozens of youth corps in the nation, was formed in 1976 by then-governor Jerry Brown, who modeled it after the Civilian Conservation Corps created by President Franklin Roosevelt in 1933. Roosevelt's corps provided work and vocational training for almost 3.5 million young men during the Depression. It also resulted in thousands of conservation and public-works projects. In modern California, nearly two thousand young people aged 18 to 23 join the state's corps each year. They receive training in ecology and trades such as carpentry and heavy-equipment operation, then work for minimum wage building trails, restoring habitat, and fighting fires. The corps' motto: "Hard work, low pay, miserable conditions ... and more!"

"We have roll call at 8 A.M.," says Joseph Martin, 32, who leads a crew at Ten Mile Dunes. "Then we check our gear, drive out to the site, unload the tools." Joseph started as a corps member in 1985 and returned after attending college. "I signed on for six months and that turned into three years," he says. "The CCC developed an interest I had in science and the environment. I enjoy the outdoors, the restoration of endangered species."

I hunker down in the beach grass with Joseph's crew, sitting on my heels. "Here," says Brandi Parker, a young woman from Sacramento wearing her regulation helmet and khakis. "You can borrow my gloves. I don't like to use them. I think it's easier to get ahold of the grass with bare hands." I gratefully accept the gloves, then watch as the youth around me twist bunches of stems around their hands and pull. I try to do the same. The grass does not move. I pull again. The grass does not move. They weren't kidding about those rhizomes and root systems.

A year ago, Brandi says, she was in trouble. She was doing all sorts of drugs--alcohol, crank, coke, ecstasy, mushrooms, pot. She dropped out of school, and was taught at home for a while. When she stopped showing up for her home-school appointments, her mother, exasperated and ill with cancer, kicked her out of the house. Looking for a job and a place to live, Brandi came across a CCC ad in the paper.

"Believe me, the environment was not on my radar; I used to eat in the car and throw the trash out the window," she laughs. "Now I know a lot more. Some of my old friends laugh at me, 'Miss CCC girl thinks she knows it all now.' It's hard, but I know that one day, they will wake up and realize that it's not a joke."

The grass I'm trying to pull still isn't moving. "Here," says Mike Grindell, a 23-year-old with a hint of blond stubble. "It's easier if someone gets the roots first." Mike thrusts a shovel blade beneath the clump I'm holding. I feel the roots release, a miracle. Mike and I get into a rhythm. I wrap a clump of grass around my hand. He drives the shovel deep into the sand. I feel the roots release, then pull and toss. The repetition becomes meditative: Wrap, thrust, release, pull, toss. Wrap, thrust, release, pull, toss. Nothing else in the world exists, just the rasping of the shovel going into the dark brown sand, the ripping of the roots.