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Board Member and former Executive Director Terry Shepherd died of H1N1 flu in Alaska on February 10, 2010. Here is a link to her obituary in The Times-Independent of Moab. At an informal memorial gathering in Moab, Amy Irvine McHarg gave this tribute to Terry: For Terry Alder. Aspen. Ash. Birch. Black Spruce. Boxelder. Buckthorn. Bristlecone. Cedar. Chestnut. Chinkapin. Cottonwood. Cyprus. Dogwood. Doug Fir. Elm. Engleman Spruce. Hawthorn. Hemlock. Holly. Juniper. Larch. Limber. Locust. Lodgepole. Mountain mahogany. Oak. Pinion. Ponderosa. Poplar. Russian Olive. Sitka Spruce. Sweetgum. Sycamore. Walnut. White Fir. Willow. Yew. Western Trees. Oregon Trees. Utah Trees. Alaska Trees. Terry’s trees. She amassed us as soldiers, as minstrels, to fight and to speak for these elders. She asked for very little in return. There was no ego. No CEO bonus. There were only trees. And water. And animals—from beetles to bears. Terry’s terrain. She never needed any mark or claim. She was, I believe, the most selfless environmental advocate I’ve ever known. Terry and I worked in close tandem to raise money for Red Rock Forests. For a small regional group that was just finding its wings as the economy went to hell, it was usually an uphill effort—one that often left us wondering why we bothered. But Terry’s gift to me was that of equanimity: even if she used herself up in the process, she never let the cause or the people that supported it falter. She had this quiet grace; and an uncanny knack for alchemy in the worst of situations. I was always in awe. And I was humbled, for I was always trying to push at things, make them tip one way or the other. It was the sexy drama of environmentalism that I had been addicted to, and Terry showed me an entirely new paradigm. So much that, after participating for years in the fighting over illegal roads in the La Sals and the Abajos, I stood there with my jaw on the ground as Terry very gently, very diplomatically, talked to both the Forest Service as well as the opposition about restoration. Not once did tempers flare. She pointed out on the maps places she thought “could use a little help.” Within 2 field seasons, Terry, after galvanizing an amazing staff and a lot of field volunteers, successfully closed over 150 miles worth of illegal ATV routes. When revisited recently, hardly any of those routes had been reopened. Selfishly, I would have given anything to have kept Terry in southeastern Utah. And I would give even more now to have her anywhere, anywhere on the globe, speaking for the trees and bringing us together on the forests’ behalf. On our own behalf. Talk about restoration: if she had stuck around, I am convinced she would have manifested some of the most important and effective environmental advocacy the nation has ever seen. And she would have brought us back to a profound and innate sense of civility and community. Why Dick Cheney is still here and Terry is not is simply something I cannot get my head around. Why Harold has to now live without her is impossible to fathom. And yet I know that it would have been impossible for her to continue at her maximum level of output; she may have been far more efficient than any corporation or government, but that output was also unsustainable. And in this sense, her full-throttle activism epitomized my favorite George Bernard Shaw quote—to which Brant Calkin, SUWA’s founding executive director, often referred: I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no "brief candle" for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations. She never rested. I mean I never once saw her restored. Every conversation ended with me admonishing her to take better care, to slow down, to try and not do it all. I can only imagine many of you said the same. She never once listened. She was brandishing the splendid torch and making certain that, when she handed it off, it would continue to burn as brightly. I do hope that our lesson here is part humility and part obligation: Terry is gone and we are left holding that beacon. After all that she did to galvanize the Four Corners’ communities, to further the cause of Red Rock Forests, I pray that we do not let her down. I want to imagine her now in one of her beloved forests: She is reclined in a grand and sturdy four-poster bed with Irish linens and a duvet full of the finest down. There is a small bedside table stacked with good books, a pot of chamomile tea, and a box of sinful truffles. I want to imagine the scent of lavender. Cedar. Sage. Things delicious. Things decadent. Things restful and wholesome and purifying. And on the foot of that bed, there are dogs. Lots of dogs. You know, Carl Jung believed that dogs were psychopomps, creatures sent from God to show you the way back to all that is Divine. I want to imagine this bed set under one of her favorite trees. It could be at the head of a canyon in southeastern Utah. It could be in Oregon. Or Alaska. It’s all the same—a landscape of imagination, hope and beauty. What matters is that she has her body stretched out, that she at last has the time and space to revel in the beauty. The serenity. The ancient pulse of life. In this, she is finally at ease. And in her languid angle of repose, at last she would not balk at the offerings made by the magnificent earth and all its myriad life forms as they bow to her, and pledge their service in return for all that she gave in one far too brief lifetime. ~ Amy Irvine McHarg, February 12, 2010 |
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