My Grandma, the Fracking Matriarch

Climate Desk: This summer, James West and I hopped in our mud-caked rental sedan and followed the oil tankers out of Williston, ND. On my notepad was a scribbled address, a spot deep in the North Dakota prairie, just off the shores of serpentine Lake Sakakawea, twenty miles from the nearest town. As we drove oil rigs cropped up in every direction, each indistinguishable from the last. But somewhere out there was the one we were after: The one with my name on it. In the most recent issue of Mother Jones, we......

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