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University of Montana ScholarWorks at University of Montana Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers Graduate School 2001 Selected chapters from : Behind the rocks Mattie H. Allen The University of Montana Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.umt.edu/etd Let us know how access to this document benefits ou.y Recommended Citation Allen, Mattie H., "Selected chapters from : Behind the rocks" (2001). Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers. 5803. https://scholarworks.umt.edu/etd/5803 This Thesis is brought to you for free and open access by the Graduate School at ScholarWorks at University of Montana. It has been accepted for inclusion in Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks at University of Montana. For more information, please contact [email protected]. Maoreen and Mike MANSFIELD LIBRARY The University of Montana Permission is granted by the author to reproduce this material in its entirety, provided that this material is used for scholarly purposes and is properly cited in published works and reports. **Please check "Yes" or "No" and provide signature** Yes, I grant permission _________ No, I do not grant permission \/ Author's Signature: OJJÜ l a J Date: 1 ^ /3 ^ ^61 ___________________ Any copying for commercial purposes or financial gain may be undertaken only with the author's explicit consent. 8/98 Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. Selected chapters from: BEHIND THE ROCKS by Mattie Allen B.S. St. Lawrence University, 1998 presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Science The University of Montana December 2001 erso: Dean, Graduate School \- s. -Q2_ Date Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. UMI Number: EP36604 All rights reserved INFORMATION TO ALL USERS The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy submitted. In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. UMT Oiaawtation AiblMhing UMI EP36604 Published by ProQuest LLC (2013). Copyright in the Dissertation held by the Author. Microform Edition © ProQuest LLC. All rights reserved. This work is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code uest ProQuest LLC. 789 East Eisenhower Parkway P.O. Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346 Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. Allen, Mattie H. M.S., December 2001 Environmental Studies Selected chapters fromBehind the Rocks Director: Don Snow This is a collection of chapters from what I hope will be a full-length book one day. Although the story is not complete here, I selected these chapters with the idea of leaving readers with a sense of beginning, middle, and end. This very personal story is organized by the headings found in scientific papers because, so often, the only story we take as Truth is that of Science and the language of the intellect. But Science is only one story and there are others just as vital. The warm, artful, and emotional language of intimate stories is just as academic and credible, only it teaches us in more fully engaging, sensual, and adventurous ways. My story of abortion and the story of Utah Wilderness are organically and ideologically united because the boundaries imposed on women's bodies so closely parallel the boundaries imposed on the body of the land. Similarly, the language of the abortion debate is analogous to the politics of Wilderness designation, because although these are discussions concerning moral and philosophical questions, we mask the complexity of these inquiries in order to distill the abstract and the mysterious into sterile equations and precise definitions. Many of us seem to believe that if we could scientifically define at what instant Life begins, our struggle with the morality of abortion would rest. We think we can calculate Wilderness with an equation of a piece of land’s size, how “roaded” it is, its scaled beauty, its uniqueness, and its proximity to an urban area. Our attempts at simplifying only trivialize larger, more important inquiries while simultaneously refusing the very personal elements that are often at stake. Although this may be the price of pluralism, I believe that when we are satisfied with definitions and equations alone, when we believe in continuity without difference, we are tinkering with Freedom. The challenge in writing such an intimate story is trying to find the magic that exists between the Universal and the particular or personal. That magic, I think, is where the medicine is found; the creation of this written story has been a healing, sacred gift to myself, and I hope the future revisions and additional chapters will result in a gift to others seeking forgiveness, solace, and wildness. 11 Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. Maybe the problem lies with the ease. People are like tea bags, goes the old nostrum. They have to be dipped into hot water to reach their full strength. —Peter Wild, The Opal Desert Before I read this poem, 1just need to say that I know there are a lot o f incredible men out there, and that this poem may seem to exclude them—it doesn’t. And I want to say to all the men out there, honey—you got to write your own poems! -Maya Angelou, before reciting “Phenomenal Woman” at Herb St Theater in San Francisco 111 Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. TABLE OF CONTENTS I. Abstract II. Introduction III. Materials A. The Secret B. The Tits C. The Cleavage D. The Deflowering E. The Womb IV. Purpose V. Methods A. The Homecoming B. The Ceremony C. The Vow D. The Purging E. The Blood From a F. The Solitude G. The Finish Line VI. Results (or, Rebirth) IV Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. ABSTRACT Consumption is the fulfillment of oppression, the annihilation of will, o f separate identity. -Carol Adams, The Sexual Politics of Meat When I was eighteen, I had an abortion, and I stopped eating eggs. I didn't understand it, at first, why an omelet induced dry heaves, or why an egg popping and spitting on the fry pan drove me to tears. I ate eggs only to toss them back up, an interrupted life scrambled and wasted in my vomit. “You’ll learn to like eggs,” people said. “Just keep eating them.” One cool, pink, spring afternoon, I cracked an egg into a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough. A double yolk slithered out of its shell. “Twins. " I whispered. And then I understood my heart’s ache and my belly’s upset. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. I could keep the abortion secret, but not my aversion to consuming dead eggs. “Are you a vegetarian, or whatever you call it?” people asked me. “No,” I responded. “I just don’t eat eggs.” Prepared food was rife with aborted eggs. Cake, salad dressing, waffles, potato salad. It all made me sick. “Who am 1 to eat an egg?” I sobbed. Civilized beings tried to console me. “This is what you were born of, and this is where you’ll end,” whispered the concrete squares of sidewalk, “Just eat.” “It’s eat or be eaten,” breezed the fertilized and pesticided trees, exotics in ornamental grass lawns. “Just eat.” “To be fed vittles from a bag is to forget about the world and its messiness,” reasoned my housecat, hunting birds at the feeder from behind the glass windows of our home. “Just eat.” Then I stopped drinking milk. Whole, two-percent, skim, half and half. It coated my throat in the cream of a cheated mother’s sustenance—I choked on the milky sheath wrapped around my tongue like dead skin. Next, the cheeses. Mozzarella, sharp Cheddar, Parmesan, Monterey jack. Stolen baby food coagulated and aged—it tasted like death’s mold. And butter! Oh, the butter. Just touching it with a knife gave me heartburn—a mother’s breast settled and churned, chilled and melted, cubed and spread. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. Finally—shocking, I know—I couldn’t eat meat. Sirloin steak, Thanksgiving turkey, herb-crusted salmon, lamb chops, fried chicken, and veal. Especially veal. “Are you a vegan, or whatever you call it?” people asked me. “No,” I responded, “my teeth just don’t chew anything that had babies or laid eggs, and I don’t swallow anything destined for infants.” I couldn’t consume motherhood. I couldn’t drink childhood. I refused to nibble on death. “I want to eat you,” said my boyfriend, the father half of the unborn baby. “What?” I asked. “You’re so sweet, I just want to eat you up,” he repeated. I gagged. I made him an ex. My life wrinkled like skin, splintered like bone. All the juice dribbled from it. Food gave me a toothache all over; I sparsely ate. Dry toast, plain fruits and vegetables, nuts, pasta with red sauce, soy. But it only got worse. I could feel my body rotting, a cavity with dead food inside it. Apricots bled down my chin. I wept when my teeth ground spinach to a thready pulp. Potatoes had eyes. Pecking at each kernel of corn on the cob was torture.

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