Latest news with #Appalachia
The Independent
4 days ago
- The Independent
Parts of the Appalachian Trail are still damaged after Helene. Volunteers are fixing it by hand
In a rugged patch of the Appalachian Trail in eastern Tennessee, volunteers size up a massive, gnarled tree lying on its side. Its tangled web of roots and dark brown soil, known as a root ball, is roughly the size of a large kiddie pool. The collection of volunteers and staff from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy and local organizations, doesn't plan to move the tree. Instead, their job is filling the gaping holes left by it and many other downed trees along iconic East Coast trail. Almost a year since Hurricane Helene tore through the mountains of the Southeast, restoration is still ongoing. In places like the Appalachian Trail it's powered primarily by volunteers, at a time when federal resources are strained and uncertain. That labor, made up of people spanning several generations and continents, aims to not only return the trail to its former glory but make it more resilient against future inclement weather. 'Volunteers are the lifeblood of the Appalachian Trail,' said Jake Stowe, a program support specialist with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. Stretching more than 2,000 miles (3,200 kilometers) miles from Georgia to Maine, the trail attracts more than 3 million people every year, according to the conservancy. Some committed hikers traverse its entire length to cross it off their bucket list. Others visit sporadically just to indulge in its scenic views. Last September, Helene killed more than 200 people and wrecked entire towns. Many rural businesses have struggled due to the drop in tourism, Stowe said, such as in places seeing fewer trail hikers. Directly after the storm, more than 430 miles (690 kilometers) of the trail were closed, the conservancy said. That's down to 5 miles (8 kilometers) today. Hikers still have to take detours around two damaged sections of the trail, both in Tennessee, according to the conservancy. One spot where a bridge collapsed requires a 3.6-mile (5.8-kilometer) walking detour. The other location is near the destroyed Cherry Gap Shelter, where an Associated Press journalist accompanied volunteers this week making the area passable again for visitors who currently have to take a 6-mile (10 kilometer) detour. Fixing trails is hard work Local groups typically take on day-to-day trail maintenance, such as hacking back plant overgrowth, Stowe said. Larger organizations like the Appalachian Trail Conservancy step in to assist with severe damage, although in Helene's case, safety concerns delayed restoration. 'At the time, we weren't really in the position to put people in the woods,' Stowe said. 'It was such bad damage that it was just- you couldn't safely do that.' The area near Cherry Gap has already been 'sawed out,' meaning downed trees that blocked the trail have been cut and moved out of the way. But root balls are still a major problem because of how labor-intensive it is to deal with them. When a tree tips over, the root ball lifts a big chunk of earth with it. Filling that hole can sometimes take a week, said Matt Perrenod, a crew leader with the conservancy. The trail runs along the spine of the Appalachian Mountains, and that rough terrain means crews must rely on hand tools like shovels, rakes and pruners to do the job, rather than heavy equipment. The conservancy also has to consider more sustainable improvements to the trail, such as building steps or features like water bars, which are essentially little ditches that divert rainfall off the side of the trail. It's a slow process, Perrenod said, but a worthwhile venture to improve the experience of hikers. 'You don't actually want to think about the thing you're walking on very much. You just want to walk on it," said Perrenod, who hiked the Appalachian Trail's entirety about a decade ago. 'Well, if we don't do the work, you won't be able to do that. You'll spend all your time climbing over this tree and walking around that hole." Volunteers travel the world to help out Partnering with the U.S. Forest Service and the National Park Service has long been a critical component of preserving the Appalachian Trail. Through contracts, Perrenod said the agencies fund equipment, gas and the wages of some Appalachian Trail Conservancy staff members like himself. The Forest Service also helps the group lug their gear up to the trail, he said. That's why Perrenod says it's imperative the federal government does not slash those agencies' budgets and workforces. Disrupting support for volunteers could be detrimental for the trail's restoration, as volunteers provide 'a lot of muscle' to complete the vast majority of its maintenance, he said. In Helene's aftermath, volunteerism across the region was 'super high' because everyone wanted to help, Stowe said. This year, interest in volunteering has dipped, Stowe said, but he's heard from people all over the country — and the world — who cited Helene as a major reason they wanted to come out and help. Among the volunteers on the July maintenance trip were three visitors from Japan who work on long-distance trails back home. They were enthusiastic to learn about best practices for improving trail longevity and take those ideas back to Japan. The trio was also motivated by their own experience with natural devastation. After Japan's massive 2011 earthquake and tsunami, volunteer Kumi Aizawa said people from across the globe came to rebuild. By restoring part of the Appalachian Trail, she's returning the favor. ___ Seminera reported from Raleigh, North Carolina.
Associated Press
4 days ago
- Associated Press
Parts of the Appalachian Trail are still damaged after Helene. Volunteers are fixing it by hand
UNICOI COUNTY, Tenn. (AP) — In a rugged patch of the Appalachian Trail in eastern Tennessee, volunteers size up a massive, gnarled tree lying on its side. Its tangled web of roots and dark brown soil, known as a root ball, is roughly the size of a large kiddie pool. The collection of volunteers and staff from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy and local organizations, doesn't plan to move the tree. Instead, their job is filling the gaping holes left by it and many other downed trees along iconic East Coast trail. Almost a year since Hurricane Helene tore through the mountains of the Southeast, restoration is still ongoing. In places like the Appalachian Trail it's powered primarily by volunteers, at a time when federal resources are strained and uncertain. That labor, made up of people spanning several generations and continents, aims to not only return the trail to its former glory but make it more resilient against future inclement weather. 'Volunteers are the lifeblood of the Appalachian Trail,' said Jake Stowe, a program support specialist with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. Stretching more than 2,000 miles (3,200 kilometers) miles from Georgia to Maine, the trail attracts more than 3 million people every year, according to the conservancy. Some committed hikers traverse its entire length to cross it off their bucket list. Others visit sporadically just to indulge in its scenic views. Last September, Helene killed more than 200 people and wrecked entire towns. Many rural businesses have struggled due to the drop in tourism, Stowe said, such as in places seeing fewer trail hikers. Directly after the storm, more than 430 miles (690 kilometers) of the trail were closed, the conservancy said. That's down to 5 miles (8 kilometers) today. Hikers still have to take detours around two damaged sections of the trail, both in Tennessee, according to the conservancy. One spot where a bridge collapsed requires a 3.6-mile (5.8-kilometer) walking detour. The other location is near the destroyed Cherry Gap Shelter, where an Associated Press journalist accompanied volunteers this week making the area passable again for visitors who currently have to take a 6-mile (10 kilometer) detour. Fixing trails is hard work Local groups typically take on day-to-day trail maintenance, such as hacking back plant overgrowth, Stowe said. Larger organizations like the Appalachian Trail Conservancy step in to assist with severe damage, although in Helene's case, safety concerns delayed restoration. 'At the time, we weren't really in the position to put people in the woods,' Stowe said. 'It was such bad damage that it was just- you couldn't safely do that.' The area near Cherry Gap has already been 'sawed out,' meaning downed trees that blocked the trail have been cut and moved out of the way. But root balls are still a major problem because of how labor-intensive it is to deal with them. When a tree tips over, the root ball lifts a big chunk of earth with it. Filling that hole can sometimes take a week, said Matt Perrenod, a crew leader with the conservancy. The trail runs along the spine of the Appalachian Mountains, and that rough terrain means crews must rely on hand tools like shovels, rakes and pruners to do the job, rather than heavy equipment. The conservancy also has to consider more sustainable improvements to the trail, such as building steps or features like water bars, which are essentially little ditches that divert rainfall off the side of the trail. It's a slow process, Perrenod said, but a worthwhile venture to improve the experience of hikers. 'You don't actually want to think about the thing you're walking on very much. You just want to walk on it,' said Perrenod, who hiked the Appalachian Trail's entirety about a decade ago. 'Well, if we don't do the work, you won't be able to do that. You'll spend all your time climbing over this tree and walking around that hole.' Volunteers travel the world to help out Partnering with the U.S. Forest Service and the National Park Service has long been a critical component of preserving the Appalachian Trail. Through contracts, Perrenod said the agencies fund equipment, gas and the wages of some Appalachian Trail Conservancy staff members like himself. The Forest Service also helps the group lug their gear up to the trail, he said. That's why Perrenod says it's imperative the federal government does not slash those agencies' budgets and workforces. Disrupting support for volunteers could be detrimental for the trail's restoration, as volunteers provide 'a lot of muscle' to complete the vast majority of its maintenance, he said. In Helene's aftermath, volunteerism across the region was 'super high' because everyone wanted to help, Stowe said. This year, interest in volunteering has dipped, Stowe said, but he's heard from people all over the country — and the world — who cited Helene as a major reason they wanted to come out and help. Among the volunteers on the July maintenance trip were three visitors from Japan who work on long-distance trails back home. They were enthusiastic to learn about best practices for improving trail longevity and take those ideas back to Japan. The trio was also motivated by their own experience with natural devastation. After Japan's massive 2011 earthquake and tsunami, volunteer Kumi Aizawa said people from across the globe came to rebuild. By restoring part of the Appalachian Trail, she's returning the favor. ___ Seminera reported from Raleigh, North Carolina.
Yahoo
6 days ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Gulfport Energy Schedules Second Quarter 2025 Earnings Release and Conference Call
OKLAHOMA CITY, July 23, 2025--(BUSINESS WIRE)--Gulfport Energy Corporation (NYSE: GPOR) announced today that it will host a teleconference and webcast to discuss its second quarter 2025 financial and operating results beginning at 9:00 a.m. ET (8:00 a.m. CT) on Wednesday, August 6, 2025. Gulfport plans to announce second quarter 2025 results on Tuesday, August 5, 2025, after market close. The conference call can be heard live through a link on the Gulfport website, In addition, you may participate in the conference call by dialing 866-373-3408 domestically or 412-902-1039 internationally. A replay of the conference call will be available on the Gulfport website and a telephone audio replay will be available from August 6, 2025 to August 20, 2025, by calling 877-660-6853 domestically or 201-612-7415 internationally and then entering the replay passcode 13754847. About Gulfport Gulfport is an independent, natural gas-weighted exploration and production company focused on the exploration, acquisition and production of natural gas, crude oil and NGL in the United States with primary focus in the Appalachia and Anadarko basins. Our principal properties are located in eastern Ohio targeting the Utica and Marcellus formations and in central Oklahoma targeting the SCOOP Woodford and SCOOP Springer formations. View source version on Contacts Investor Contact Jessica Antle – Vice President, Investor Relationsjantle@ 405-252-4550 Sign in to access your portfolio
Forbes
22-07-2025
- Health
- Forbes
Closing The Distance: Fixing Access To Care In Rural America
Part 2 of the Rural Health Resilience Series GRUNDY, VIRGINIA - Optometry students administer vision tests to patients for a free pair of ... More eyeglasses at a Remote Area Medical (RAM) mobile dental and medical clinic on October 7, 2023 in Grundy, Virginia. More than a thousand people were expected to seek free dental, medical and vision care at the two-day event in western Virginia's rural and financially struggling area. RAM provides free medical care through mobile clinics in underserved, isolated, or impoverished communities around the country and world. (Photo by) Bridging the Gaps That Separate Care from Communities In the first essay of this series, I described the rural health crisis: how it affects nearly 60 million Americans and why its resolution should be a national priority. But if we want to fix it, we must first understand what 'access' really means in rural America. It's not simply a matter of miles. It's a complex web of economic, structural, cultural, and technological gaps that separate people from the care they deserve. As a physician, I've cared for transplant patients who came to me in Nashville from coal towns in Appalachia, from the Mississippi Delta, from isolated ranchlands in the West. I've treated veterans at VA hospitals and seniors from small towns served by Medicare. I've helped build companies like Aspire Health, Monogram Health, and Main Street Health that now deliver care to patients in their homes across rural America. And for years I had a front row seat on the explosion of telemedicine as a board member of Teladoc, which has served millions of rural residents. What I've seen, again and again, is this: geography is only the first barrier. The deeper challenge is designing care that rural Americans can reach, afford, and especially trust. Care that understands them. The Many Faces of 'Access' At its simplest, access to care means being able to engage a health provider when you need it. But in rural America, this ideal runs into five major roadblocks: According to national polling by KFF, 58% of Americans believe rural residents have a harder time accessing care than urban ones. And rural adults themselves overwhelmingly agree that their communities lack primary care, mental health providers, and specialists. This is not a perception problem; it's a systems problem. And this needs to be addressed as such. When the Nearest Hospital Is Hours Away Since 2010, over 130 rural hospitals have closed. In my own state of Tennessee, over this period 15 rural hospitals have either fully closed or ceased inpatient care, the second most of any state and the highest in the nation on a per capita basis. In many areas, emergency rooms, surgical units, and maternity wards have been eliminated, with nothing to replace them. Remaining facilities increasingly operate under severe financial strain. As Dr. Keith Mueller of the University of Iowa notes: 'In rural America, we haven't just lost hospitals. We've lost healthcare ecosystems.'¹ Doctors and nurses move away. Supporting clinics close. Pharmacies disappear. The closures don't just threaten lives. They impact the economy, jobs, and social cohesion. The loss of a hospital often signals the slow unraveling of the community around it. One analysis found that for every 100 rural hospital jobs lost, another 35 jobs disappear due to declining local spending. This is not an argument that all rural hospitals should necessarily stay open, because they may be too inefficient and may not be the best way to deliver care when resources are limited. But it is a call to explore newer models of care delivery to fill the gaps caused by the failure of traditional, legacy-type delivery of inpatient care. It is a call to explore more creative, rural-focused payment mechanisms that adequately support modern value-driven care. A Workforce Crisis—and an Opportunity More than 60% of federally designated Health Professional Shortage Areas are rural. Nearly 80% of rural counties lack a psychiatrist. Many have no dentist or OB-GYN. Some have no practicing physician at all. These are the hard facts we must work around. We know that the best predictor of whether someone will practice in a rural area is whether they grew up in one. This truth means we should more actively invest in rural high school health career programs, community college training, and rural-focused medical education. In Nashville, we're working to open a Nurses Middle College, a public charter high school where students receive a rigorous college-prep education infused with nursing content, including nurse mentorships and firsthand experiences in medical workplaces. Introducing medical career paths early in students' education, particularly in rural regions, is key to growing the workforce. A proven rural physician training model is East Tennessee State University's Quillen College of Medicine in Johnson City. With the clearly stated mission to prepare physicians for underserved and rural communities, Quillen consistently ranks #2 nationally for graduates practicing in underserved areas. Through programs like its Rural Primary Care Track, Quillen provides early and sustained clinical exposure in community settings. The results are compelling: over 63% of its graduates practice in medically underserved areas, and more than half enter primary care, many returning to serve in their home regions.⁵ Another example of a training institution addressing this challenge head-on is Meharry Medical College in my hometown Nashville. A historically Black medical school with a long-standing mission to serve the underserved and in particular rural areas, Meharry has produced generations of physicians who return to practice in rural and economically marginalized communities. Through rural-focused pipeline programs and partnerships designed specifically for rural health like its accelerated training track with Middle Tennessee State University for rural primary care, Meharry is helping build a future workforce rooted in the very communities most often left behind. In recent Senate testimony, Dr. James Hildreth, Meharry's President and CEO, stated: 'We have been training health care professionals who are really competent and skilled—connected to their communities—for decades.' He added, however, that 'our challenge is the infrastructure we have to do that.' Equally important is expanding the role of non-physician providers. Nurse practitioners, pharmacists, EMTs, and community health workers are the care infrastructure in many places. States should continue to examine how to best allow health personnel to practice 'at the top of their license' to maximize workforce reach. And the shortages are not just traditional health providers. In many rural areas, broadband technicians and community health workers are as critical to healthcare access as doctors and nurses. Telehealth: Promise and Pitfalls Telehealth surged during the pandemic and demonstrated real promise for rural care. Behavioral health visits, routine check-ins, and consults have all benefited. We've likely just touched the surface of its potential; to be fully realized will take newer alliances among providers and more modern flows of payment to reimburse where value is added. Farmer uses telemedicine to access remote care. Teladoc Health, on whose board I served for eight years, provides a good example. During the COVID pandemic, Teladoc Health emerged as a vital lifeline for rural Americans, illuminating how virtual care can break through geographic barriers. In early 2020, total visits soared. Teladoc nearly tripled its capacity, rising from handling around 100,000 virtual visits per week to nearly 2.8 million visits per month at mid‑year. While telehealth growth was nationwide, Teladoc's platforms proved especially valuable in rural, underserved regions with few nearby providers or limited public transportation options. As a board member, I saw firsthand how Teladoc's operations not only expanded reach into medically underserved counties but also reduced travel time, alleviated strain on fragile local health systems, and provided critical continuity of care where in-person follow-up was unfeasible. Telehealth has proved especially beneficial for mental health treatment, with some patients actually preferring a virtual visit due to persisting stigma around mental healthcare. And its value goes beyond connecting a rural patient to a provider in another zip code. It can be a lifeline for isolated rural providers who want to connect with specialists on cases and procedures they are less familiar with – becoming a medical force multiplier. But telemedicine engagement generally requires broadband, and millions of rural Americans don't have it. The FCC estimates at least 19 million Americans lack high-speed internet, the majority in rural areas. Even where broadband exists, it may be unaffordable or unreliable. Inconsistent access means rural residents are being left behind in a system increasingly reliant on digital care. Without broadband, rural communities can't participate in modern healthcare. Behavioral Health: The Sharpest Edge Behavioral health care is arguably where the rural access gap is most dangerous. Many counties have no licensed mental health provider at all. And yet, as pointed out in our first essay, rural communities face some of the nation's highest rates of suicide, overdose, and depression. States are in the best position to facilitate local solutions. In neighboring Kentucky, peer counselors, primary care teams, and churches have come together to form informal behavioral health safety nets, especially in rural areas where clinicians are scarce. One powerful initiative is Recovery Kentucky, which operates eight rural residential recovery homes offering peer-led support, life skills training, and transitional housing. An independent evaluation found it serves up to 2,200 people annually with measurable improvements in substance use, housing stability, employment, and health outcomes.⁵ Another innovation, the state's Crisis Co-Response Model, pairs trained mental health professionals with law enforcement in rural communities to provide in-the-moment intervention and post-crisis follow-up, bridging gaps where conventional crisis services are hours away. These grassroots models reflect the power of trust-driven, community-rooted care that meets people where they are, both geographically and socially. In rural America, the most effective health infrastructure is sometimes the church basement, the school gym, or the farm supply store bulletin board. Something common to all of these rural models: they are built on trust, often from the community level up and not from bureaucracy, top down. WISE, VA - Early-morning screening takes place in a barn during the Remote Area Medical (RAM) clinic ... More at the Wise County Fairground in Wise, Virginia. Rural families, most with little or no insurance, lined up for hours to receive free health care from hundreds of professional doctors, nurses, dentists, and other health workers. (Photo by, 2007) Culture, Trust, and Local Voice Many rural residents hold deep skepticism toward government-led systems, ironically even when they benefit from them. According to KFF polling, many residents on Medicaid or Medicare say they 'don't rely on the federal government' for health support.⁴ That belief is not hypocrisy; it's identity. Self-reliance, pride, and cultural values shape how rural residents interact with healthcare. For many rural Americans, healthcare is much more than a service; it's a cultural encounter. It intersects with deeply held values of personal independence, skepticism of bureaucracy, and strong community ties. Health programs that emphasize entitlements or top-down aid can clash with this ethos. But solutions that build trust, use local messengers, and frame care as earned or community-rooted are far more effective. That's why programs like culturally aware Main Street Health and peer-led behavioral health models work: they feel local, personal, and dignified. As one rural stakeholder said, 'What matters is whether this person knows us, not what their credentials say.' Reaching rural America means respecting not just the need, but the values that shape how care is received. Effective models don't dismiss that; they honor it. They empower trusted messengers. Main Street Health: A Working Solution At Main Street Health, a company on whose board I serve that delivers value-based care exclusively to rural populations, we're seeing what's possible. The company has placed 'health navigators,' trusted individuals drawn locally from their own communities, into hundreds of rural clinics across the country. These navigators, who are personally known locally, help seniors manage chronic conditions, access care, coordinate medications, and navigate the healthcare system. The program now operates in more than a thousand clinics across the country. Its rapid growth is not because of marketing. It's because it is built on community-centered relationships and trust, and it works. Access isn't a fixed obstacle. It's a challenge of systems design and one we are capable of solving. What's Next In the next essay, we will explore how technology can be a transformative vehicle for health in rural America, and why we need to make these investments now to bring aging systems into the 21st century to help eliminate the 'rural health penalty.' It just may be a model for the rest of America. Footnotes
New York Times
21-07-2025
- General
- New York Times
What Does Your Mailman Know About You? More Than Your Address.
MAILMAN: My Wild Ride Delivering the Mail in Appalachia and Finally Finding Home, by Stephen Starring Grant The worst thing about delivering the mail, Stephen Starring Grant says in 'Mailman,' his warm and oddly patriotic new book about being a rural carrier in Virginia for a year during Covid, isn't dogs, although some 5,000 carriers are attacked each year and a few die each decade. To fend them off, postal workers learn to carry multiple cans of Halt! dog training, they're told to take nothing for granted: 'Spray it till the can goes dry. Get them in the T zone: eyes and nose, eyes and nose.' The worst thing isn't the seething bees and wasps (also spiders) that lurk in neglected mailboxes. It isn't the awkward and painful stretching required to drive stock vehicles from the passenger seat, which one must do when, as often happens, a rural carrier supplies his or her own car. It isn't how heavily armed people are now, so that there is a 'continuous nonzero chance of someone shooting you.' It isn't rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail nor extreme heat in un-air-conditioned postal trucks. It isn't the 69-pound packages (the U.S.P.S. declines anything over 70). It isn't the high injury rate, especially for rotator cuffs. The worst thing about delivering mail is the 'casing' that's required before you head out each morning. To case the mail is to painstakingly set everything (envelopes, boxes, magazines, postcards, parcels, you name it) in order, so that you can easily retrieve it while on the road. 'The fact is that every day, each letter carrier effectively builds a library, loads it into a truck and then disperses that library in route order,' Grant writes. Casing takes patience. Many rubber bands are involved. It's a hassle. Doing it poorly can add misery and hours to your day. Grant found himself grudgingly delivering the mail in middle age (he was 50) because he'd lost his job as a marketing consultant. He had a wife, two teenage daughters and a tiny but worrisome nugget of prostate cancer. He needed the job for health insurance and to ward off the biggest dog, depression. Several years earlier, he'd moved his family from Brooklyn back to his hometown, Blacksburg, Va., in the Blue Ridge Mountains, so that his children would grow up with grass under their feet. Until he was laid off, he still commuted regularly to New York and other major cities. Delivering the mail was harder on Grant, physically and mentally, than he'd expected, he tells us in 'Mailman.' But he offers insight and cheer about the upsides. He liked being able to check in on lonely people and do good turns. He often felt he delivered something more than just the mail: 'Continuity. Safety. Normalcy. Companionship. Civilization. You know, the stuff that a government is supposed to do for its people.' He enjoyed the rich pageant of offbeat products that flowed through his truck. 'If you think your carrier doesn't notice when you order a sex toy,' he writes, 'you're wrong.' He liked the days when orders of baby chicks came in, though delivering the heavy bags of chicken feed that followed was a bummer. People gave him cookies; he often got free coffee at Starbucks. He got a lot of steps in, often 15,000 a day. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
