Sunday morning, I awoke to the sounds of laughter, cheerful voices, and a banjo being played somewhere in the distance. I felt completely relaxed regardless of the fact that I had slept on the floor of a closet at the UMD campaign house with dozens of others (they were not in my closet...that was my own private sanctuary). Stretching out a little, I took a moment to savor the serenity and reflect on the past day and a half, as well as meditate on what was to come.

Friday and Saturday had been a homecoming of sorts; old friends returning to each other and taking intense joy in their presence. The hours had been a blend of constructive meetings, brilliant and professional non violent direct action training, gorgeous food, lively conversations, music on lawns and in living rooms, swimming in the cool, clear waters of a quarry, and mulberry wine. These moments were all building to today, but as I continued to lay on my place on the floor-not quite ready to be fully awake-I cherished what the time we had all spent together, and the bonds that were formed and strengthened.

The sound of feet running down the hallway, followed by giggles and shouts, finally pulled me out of my half-sleep state. Slowly, I got up and started getting myself ready for the Big Day. I took my time fixing my hair and getting dressed. I could feel both a sense of excitement and peace settle over me as went over what needed to be done in the coming hours. Different scenarios ran through my mind: angry protesters and miners becoming violent, things getting out of control, no one showing up, *everyone* showing up, everything going perfectly...so on and so forth.

I joined the lively crowd gathered in the kitchen, and we all devoured yet another perfect meal. As the time to leave drew close, I quickly gathered my stuff and loaded it into Dave Cooper's faithful station wagon, and settled myself next to Tiffy (the dog who adopted Dave, Patty, and MJ).

The drive to Zeb Mountain was breathtaking. After countless visits to my family's homestead throughout my life and three years of living here, I am still constantly amazed by the beauty of these mountains. And I'm continuously saddened when I realize that the beauty is fading behind layers of smog and pollution, and whenever I see a gaping scar in the side of a mountain I feel a twist in my gut as though I, too, had been stabbed. Conversation in our car was limited, and I was content to listen to my iPod and ready myself mentally and spiritually for the march.

The drive ended too soon, and we were the first to arrive. As people started to pull in behind us, I was amazed at the relaxed atmosphere. It was as though we were simply going on a hike (although I've never seen people hike in their Sunday best) and not about to stage a major protest against a major coal company. As more and more people began to pour in, the heat began to rise. Announcements started being made on a regular basis encouraging people to stay hydrated, and telling newcomers who was carrying water for all who were present. People even started carrying cold water bottles to the cops sitting in their cruisers. We were passing out water to so many and so often, I was suddenly struck by the image of someone running up to the miners on the mountain and trying to give them water, only to be arrested for crossing the line. Laughing to myself at the absurdity, I gathered my tools and began to do what I'd come onto the mountain for: to film and take pictures (oh, and protest).

I wanted to capture everything and everyone. There was such an amazingly eclectic turn out: hippies in suits, puppeteers on stilts, preachers, children, the elderly, and even Tiffy the dog. There were signs with everything from quotes by Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. to slogans for MJ and UMD. We even had our "Honk if you love mountains" sign. People started gathering in groups. We had musicians in one cluster, rehearsing the new lyrics to "Rocky Top." In another group, we had organizers going over the schedule and making sure all the key people were in place and ready. Interns passed out signs to complete strangers, welcoming them into our unique fold. And off to one side, we had the brave four who had decided to cross the line for the life of this mighty mountain. I took all their pictures, joking with the those who were excited and giving room to those who were nervous. These are the heroes of our time. Their faces and actions and words deserve to be recorded. It's the least I can do. We finally gather around the back of a pickup truck at the request of Poloma. It's started.

Chris Irwin begins, calling to all fisherman, hunters, hikers, and hippies alike. He talks about water; how we need it to survive, and yet we are wasting it by poisoning it with pollution and toxins.

Casey and Francesco rouse the crowd with their version of "Rocky Top" which keeps the mood light while allowing people to contemplate Chris's words.

Dave Cooper follows, quietly speaking about his love of the mountains. His passion is felt by all, and it is clear that there is a mighty force that lies behind his calm and passive facade.

Brandon and Sarah perform the a cappella ballad "Can't Put It Back" before a silent and stunned crowd. The emotions stirred by the words of the love and loss of a mountain brings home the reasons we are all standing here in a way simple words or statistics and quotes can never convey.

Sage, a preacher, follows them with a sermon of equal emotion. Sadness, rage, love and hope are all bundled together with Biblical verse and common sense, appealing to all people of all walks of life who were standing in unity in that little dirt lot.

Carol Judy, a long-time activist in the environmental movement whom I had the pleasure of meeting at the 2007 MJ camp, testifies to the struggle for the still growing crowd of people. When she is finished, Sage says a prayer and there is silence.

The stillness continues as the four brave souls who have made the decision to cross the line and put their lives in the hands of others publicly announce the reasons for their choices today. An mixed group of locals and travelers, they are united by their passion and determination and devotion to the mountains which they love. Their words ring clear, and even people who have just arrived and have no knowledge of these four are spellbound by their intensity and the level of commitment being displayed. When they step off the back of the truck, there are shouts and cheers from the crowd.

When Brandon returns to the pickup bed with his banjo, the lively energy increases. Everyone starts to sing the re-written lyrics to "Rocky Top." Their voices get louder and stronger with each new verse, and I can hear harmonies being sung by some. We go through various songs, all with changed lyrics and I can feel the excitement start to gather and increase. The march is drawing near.

Finally, the peacekeepers (myself included) are put into place, the enormous puppets of Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and King Coal are placed on the shoulders of their bearers, and signs are hoisted above heads. The cops move their cars into position. They've decided to ride in front of and behind us in order to provide protection to potentially angry people who may decide to run us over. The cops are polite and even wave and smile at me as I remind them that we have bottled water. One officer laughed as he raised up a mega travel cup full of water, and assured me that he had plenty, but he appreciated the offer.

As the group merges into some type of order, we slowly make our way to the top of Zeb Mountain. Songs are started: Amazing Grace, Rocky Top, and other hymns are solemnly voiced. I race ahead of the parade with my camera, desperate to capture the faces, signs, and songs of every protester. There is excitement in the air, but it is not overpowering. We are all very aware of our intent, and there is a peace and calm in every person I see through my camera lens.

Finally, I can see our destination. There are police separating us from a group of miners, both male and female. I can see anger and outrage on the faces across the line of caution tape. Everything feels slightly surreal as the images of giant puppets and protest signs and angry miners and police and signs warning of blasting are surrounded by the woods and birds and blue skies. Occasionally, there is an angry shout that is heard coming from the coal company's side, telling us to go home. We keep singing.

When we come to a stop, Sage steps forward to say a second prayer. He asks for peace and unity and blessings. Everyone, including the miners and police, bow their heads in silence and reverence. Then, the four who will cross the line step forward to say a few more words, this time for both sides to hear. One reads from the Bible. One simply states that he does this for the mountains. One says she will be the change which Gandhi speaks of in this world. And then Eric Blevins steps forward.

A sixteen year resident of Tennessee, Eric speaks of his deep familial roots in the land surrounding us. He expresses his wish for unity between miners and activists, and how together we can create jobs for anyone who wishes to work toward a better future of sustainability. His passion is stirred, and it moves through the crowd. I can feel goosebumps raise up on my skin even though I am hot and covered in sweat. He is angry, yet remains peaceful, and the wide range of emotions can be felt by all who are present. And then, he asks that everyone sing "Amazing Grace" as they cross the line for the sake of Zeb Mountain.

We start singing, getting louder and more impassioned as the four join hands and slowly walk up to the line, heads held high. The police officer explains to them quietly that they will be crossing onto private property, and then holds up the yellow tape to allow them to pass. The singing continues, rising over anything that may be heard coming from the other side of the line. I race forward to get as close as possible (without actually crossing the line) with my camera. Everyone is calm and polite. One cop takes the Bible from the hands of the young man he is arresting, but treats both the book and the person with the utmost respect. Protesters move to the side to make way for the officers and their charges as they move toward their cars, and gently place those under arrest into the back seats. It is finished.

Still singing, this time with joy and excitement over what feels like an enormous victory, we make our way back down the mountain to the dirt lot cluttered with cars. Banjo strings and kazoos blend with voices and laughter as we wave to the police, miners, and our arrested comrades. People walk around with paper bags, collecting money for their bail. Water is passed out again for those who are now starting to feel the effects of the heat and the exertion of carrying signs, puppets, and instruments. The police escort us back to our starting place, keeping us safe from any angry followers. They wave to us, smiling as we continue to laugh and sing.

Back at the cars, I continue to film. People are exhausted but exhilarated. Signs and banners and puppets are loaded back into cars, and fruit and drinks are passed out to those in need. I watch in amazement at the dozens of people before me; they are all smiling, all calm, and all brave. We have a purpose, and we work toward that purpose together, in unity. Today, we have accomplished something not often attempted: we combined forces with neighboring churches, and dirty hippies, and children, and families, and artists, and musicians, and preachers. We made our stand with smiles and songs, never once raising our voices in the anger and rage we feel on behalf of our mountains and trees and water.

In the car, curled up next to Tiffy, I felt honored to have found this wonderful group of amazing people. Such diversity, so unified, utterly accepting and tolerant. These qualities, so hard to find even on their own, are combined to define these people whom I love and long to see again soon.

~Angie Armstrong