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I have always wanted to be a Hulsey.  There, I said it.  I was nineteen when I first met Sierra, Ashley, and Shane Hulsey.  I was in the midst of a summer comprised of endless nights fueled by too much coffee and too many cigarettes -- a summer where I imagined I could actually feel my adult life beginning, even as I raced to avoid it.  This summer was marked by a rush of new friends whose creativity and sense of adventure restored me after an initial collegiate miscue and subsequent suburban withdrawal into my parents' home. 

I met the Hulseys through a mutual friend, with whom I had reconnected only a few weeks earlier.  Even at first encounter I was impressed by them.  To a person, they were funny, creative, and passionate -- so contagiously passionate for life I thought I might burst.  Walking into their family's home seemed to me like walking into a house where PBS and NPR had exploded.  It was a household that seemed on the brink of embarking on some crazy Emersonian experiment.  The living room walls were lined with bookshelves filled novels and travel journals, books dedicated to history, to science or to self-suffiency.  In their backyard, the extensive garden was ruled over by a rooster.  Their Five Points Neighborhood backyard.  Rooster.  Man, I was in love with that family.  They were like one of John Irving's quirky families, minus the Greek tragedy level dysfunction and New England reserve.      

As ridiculous as it is, Shane, at that age, embodied for me what "cool" was.  He knew how to tell a story, had great music taste, and was funny and sarcastic while never seeming mean-spirited.  At 19 these were -- wait, even at 34! -- these are still ideals for which I strive.  While I was always closer to his sisters, Shane was just so damn cool.      

One early fall afternoon, our friend, and Sierra's future husband, Jimmy was leading a small group of us on a hike through Oak Mountain State Park, where he worked as the naturalist.  The group included a very young child that Sierra had been babysitting and a very seasonal allergy-affected Shane.  Late in the hike, the child had grown tired and was riding on Shane's shoulders when Jimmy accidentally disturbed a water moccasin nest.  Jimmy gestured us still and quiet while he maneuvered a branch under the bundle of As development of the Eastern Rim outside the preserve began to increase, threatening the view and watershed, Shane was often heard saying that something needed to be done.snakes, breaking the silence with the command to run as he flicked the bundle away to the creek winding a few feet away.  After we had gone a safe distance, as I tried to catch my breath and calm my heart, I looked over at Shane, who was grinning ear to ear, giggling and sniffling.  While I love to camp and spend time outdoors, I always feel a bit like a tourist, so it has always been with envy that I regard people so at ease with nature they are undisturbed by such potentially dangerous situations.  Shane was beyond undisturbed.  He had loved the snake encounter.  This love and connection with the natural world was part of what led Shane to become such an avid kayaker, religiously hitting waterways at the first opportunity following a good rain.  

 On October 20th 2006, Shane lost his life in a boating accident on the Little River.  The Little River flows for much its length atop Lookout Mountain before rushing through a canyon with 500 to 600 feet walls to eventually empty into Weiss Lake.  As well as being a kayaker, Shane was a passionate environmentalist who had a special admiration for Little River Canyon's unique beauty as much as the adventure afforded by the river itself.  As development of the Eastern Rim outside the preserve began to increase, threatening the view and watershed, Shane was often heard saying that something needed to be done. Inspired by his passion, the outpour of love following his death and looking for a way to honor his life, his friends and family formed the Hulsey Little River Trust (HLRT) in late 2006 with the mission to help protect the areas surrounding the Little River Canyon. 

A land trust is more than a simple land purchase.  In addition to the direct purchase of land, land trusts also work to negotiate mutually beneficial conservation easements with neighboring landowners.  The goal is to build patnerships combining unique efforts towards a common goal of conservation.  The HLRT seeks to be the local face of efforts to protect the Little River Canyon and its watershed, serving as a hub for activities affecting the region.  The understanding here is that the coordination of a full and active community's work brings a greater impact than solo efforts.  At this phase of development HLRT has not yet purchased land in the watershed, instead they have focused efforts on building partnerships with groups such as the National Land Trust Alliance and the Alabama Rivers Alliance, who awarded the HLRT with the 2008 Best New River Group Award.   To contribute to the HLRT is to become part of this family who reminds us all through their vision that death is not the final word in this life -- love is.       

 Since their formation, the HLRT has regularly held two to three fundraisers each year including a professional disc golf tournament, several art auctions and two music festivals (the Raindrop Music Festival.) Meanwhile, membership grows and HLRT continues to raise awareness of their mission.  In the upcoming year, there are plans to expand efforts as the music festival has outgrown previous venues.  Part of what makes all of this so exceptional is the fact that HLRT still retains the spirit of a family effort even as they grow.  To contribute to the HLRT is to become part of this family who reminds us all through their vision that death is not the final word in this life -- love is.       

So, yeah, I still want to be a Hulsey.  Through the HLRT, I am able to be a part of that family.  It is as though they have flung the doors open on their great Emersonian experiment and invited us all to participate.  Man, that is so damn cool.   

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