RECLAMATION OF THE LANDSCAPE 339 



Perhaps now we have even arrived at the point where we should 

 consider vesting an independent commission with similar powers to 

 protect and promote our valuable and vanishing scenic resources. 

 Such commissions are common in other countries facing similar prob- 

 lems. I well remember the lament of one of the great conservationists 

 of the Hudson Valley when he heard that a beautiful scenic area 

 was about to be desecrated with an ugly industrial installation. They 

 told him that the government could halt this desecration only if it 

 could be proved the site qualified as a national monument. 



"In France," he said, "they declare a view a national monument." 



He has a point. Our views are disappearing. Our vistas are 

 being destroyed. And we are very much the poorer for it. 



If we were ever a Nation that could dig and cut and then just 

 move on, we certainly are not that Nation today. 



Mr. CAUDILL. The southern Appalachians are so beautiful that 

 they mask the poverty of their inhabitants. The loveliness of the 

 steep hills and narrow valleys must be experienced to be appreciated. 

 Tragically, their loveliness has rarely been respected by the people 

 who live there or by the corporations which own the immense 

 mineral wealth. 



Part of Appalachia is the Cumberland plateau, notorious for the 

 destitution of its inhabitants. Until 6 or 8 years ago the 16 miles 

 between Cumberland in Harlan County, Ky., and Eolia Post Office 

 was an enchanting drive. U.S. Highway 119 lies parallel to the Poor 

 Fork of the Cumberland, then crystal clear and dotted with deep 

 fish-filled potholes. The valley is narrow. On the north lies the 

 long ridge of the Pine Mountain, its crest rising craggy and pic- 

 turesque. To the south is the much higher and more massive Big 

 Black Mountain. This mountain contains some of the richest and 

 thickest coal deposits in North America. Near Eolia Post Office, 

 the Poor Fork bubbles out of the earth and starts its long journey to 

 the sea. A few miles away on the other side of the Pine Mountain, 

 the Kentucky and the Big Sandy Rivers have their sources, flowing 

 northward to the Ohio. The Cumberland trickles westward, even- 

 tually reaching the Tennessee. 



During much of the year the crest of the Big Black is veiled in 

 cloud wisps. Deep hollows cut its ancient sides. Its coves and points 

 were once heavily timbered. In the spring wild flowers rioted in its 

 black loam. In the autumn after the first dash of frost its forests 

 flamed in every color of the rainbow. The farmers who cultivated 



