I grew up in a small town in Northern New Hampshire, in an area that was once sustained by the paper mill industry. My father worked at one of the mills for a number of years, as did my uncle and many of my friends' parents. But with overseas competition being what it is, the last twenty years have been poor for the American wood products industry. As long as I can remember the mills existing, I can also remember them slowly closing down.
I saw the decline out of my peripheral vision. Mills changed hands; new signs went up. My friends' parents started losing their jobs. Mike's family moved to Texas, the Arsenaults moved to New York. My father had stopped working at the paper mill before I was born, but he was running the wooden-furniture-parts mill my grandfather had started, and they were also feeling the squeeze. A couple of years ago, my father made the decision to close down my family’s mill. And at the same time, the paper mills were sighing their last, sulphury breaths.
When I visit my parents in New Hampshire now, there's a feeling like everyone is holding their breath for fear that if they exhale, the area will collapse. I always struggle when I try to describe this feeling, because I don't want to give the impression that where I grew up is hopeless and decrepit. It's not. It's beautiful, but it's scared. The paper industry, the beast that built the area up, is now gray in the muzzle and trembling.
Perhaps it's needless to say, but it's not an area that many people pay attention to. That's why I was surprised to hear about it on NPR this morning. Amy Quinton from New Hampshire Public Radio did a piece about the demolition of smokestacks at one of the pulp mills in Berlin, which is two towns over from my hometown. In her short piece, Amy manages to capture the feeling of the area, its relationship with the mills, and its unsurety about how to move forward.
Listen here.
