The most important thing I ever did in my life was to give birth. Bridgett, Nathan, and Sarah would be my gifts to this life.

I was only 16 when I became a Mother. The only aspect of motherhood that I did not take serious, was the fact that one day I could possibly lose one of my children .......... Inconceivable!

When my children were little, their safety was so important that I was accused of over protecting them and making them fearful of the world. You tell them, "Don't talk to strangers. Don't get out of hearing range when playing. Don't ever get in a car with anyone". You never ever say to them, "if you go to the redwood forest, beware of angry loggers."

Once Nathan almost drowned at a family reunion on a Sunday. The very next day I enrolled my kids in swimming lessons at the YMCA. I would NOT lose one of them to drowning! They all three became good swimmers. I felt secure again.

The night Bridgett came to tell me of Nathan's death, I will never forget peering out my front door window and seeing the look on her face. Even then she was trying to conceal the news she was about to tell me. She had to wait until she could be within touching distance because she knew, what she was about to tell me would make me drop to my knees in a desperate attempt to not let it be so. But I knew that one of my gifts had been taken.

My little son, who was the pride of my life, was gone. I have since gone over and over in my mind all the precious memories from his childhood even up to the last time I saw him. Everything has played in my mind like a movie. The sweetness and joy which came from this child I will hold forever. This memory now becomes the gift.

"When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart and see in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."

My relationship with Nathan has changed now, but I am his mother forever.

Cindy Allsbrooks

January 17, 1999

I am often overwhelmed with emotions concerning my memories of Dave's life, his tragic death, and the knowledge that I will have to go on without him. I am happy and then sad, angry and motivated, compassionate and full of contempt at times. I am so proud and then so lonely and confused when I allow myself to question WHY?

When I was three and a half this goofy looking little guy came home from the hospital with my mom. He was sweet and tender and got all of the attention. (What about me? I remember feeling.) My jealousy soon faded into pride and love. I was a big sister, a role I have had a difficult time letting go of. A big sister is supposed to protect the others from the dangers of the world. (Okay, I took my job a little too seriously at times.) We aren't kids anymore and my job now is to protect my own children, who remind me so much of Nathan and Sarah. As a sibling, I've had to learn the hard way to step back and let them do their own things. I guess it is difficult to turn off that maternal instinct that comes with being an oldest child, because I have always worried about Dave and Sarah much like I do my 3 children now.

Now I find I am the big sister of a fallen hero. How is this possible? I can still see that tender, sweet little guy who longed for big muscles and to play with the big kids on the block. I'm still supposed to look out for him. I can't help feeling a sense of helplessness. I know he was a grown man of 24 years. He was an intelligent, strong, handsome man who made his own choices and followed his heart. I know my role as his defender ended long ago. Actually, he took the role of protector for Sarah and me as he began to mature. Then he became defender of nature and the forest. He did his job well. Too well. He did not do things half-heartedly. He didn't just fight for the ancient redwoods, he gave his life for them.

"He gave his life." "He laid down his life." He died for what he believed in. All of these statements are true and yet they leave me wondering. Did he give it freely or did someone take it from him? I really struggle with statements like "laid down his life". Did anyone ask him? Was he given a choice? I don't think so. One of the songs that we heard in California, which was written for Gypsy said " What does it mean to lay your body down for what you believe in? What does it mean to be a warrior of Earth?" This song asks questions that I cannot answer. I know that David's soul is rejoicing. He is smiling and proud of his achievements. I doubt that he had any regrets. (How many people can say that?) I am incredibly proud of him. But I also would like to believe that given the choice, Dave would have chosen to go on as a warrior for the Earth rather than to lay his body down. He would have chosen to continued the fight, to flex his muscles and to be there, in the flesh to see the victory that is sure to come for his cause, thanks, in part, to his efforts.

I hope one day I will look back and see things clearly. Right now they are obscure and unsettled. I miss him more than I could have imagined. I miss him so much at times that it physically hurts and I wonder how the pain will ever subside. I long to see him laugh and see him smile and hear his voice and touch his face and smell the forest on his hair. I have pictures and videos and memories but I don't have my baby brother. Again, I selfishly ask the question "what about me?" I find myself randomly crying in my car, in my bed, at my job. My happiest times are laced with sadness wishing he were here.

My youngest son made up a story about a really strong guy named Rocky Dave. He says Rocky Dave fights in the forest to save the tall trees. If a logger cuts one down, Rocky Dave is so strong, he can hold that tree up and never let it fall on him like Mimi's son. He says Rocky Dave is funny, and strong, and he sings Rock-n-Roll music, and he has really big muscles.

Mathew will not know the real Dave very well unless I keep him alive through my own stories. It is so important to me that my kids remember my brother. Not just my kids - EVERYONE. He was a hero and no one should ever forget who he was, what he was fighting for or how he died.

I love you Dave.

Bridgett

there is a (mostly) straight line where the city lights end and the ocean begins... on a plane, remembering my only brother.

my brother. when he arrived at my aunt Pam's house on thanksgiving, almost a year ago, back from the forest, he was different. there was a glow between his newly formed dreadlocks, a new peace in his smile. he was happy. he was beautiful - dirty clothes, ratty hair, funny smell - beautiful. i sat with him and bridgett, as he rolled a drum cigarette in the backyard on the swing, and reminisced. we laughed. we argued. we silently acknowledged that we had each grown a bit, while the other two weren't looking.

we were so curious about each other. you could see the stories behind dave's eyes, stories that i would gratefully hear again and again, each time more thrilling than the last. "My forest name is Gypsy," he began. oh brother, do tell...

he came to stay with us in austin - he became the 5th roommate, the couch boy. he and i would play out childhood dramas, and argue over silly things. i always said we would be much better friends than roommates. i imagined that when he returned to california, we would become fabulous pen pals. his letters would be full of his cartoon-like adventures in the forest, and i would smile and be proud of him, i thought.

dave was never without an opinion - he knew a little bit about everything. it was fascinating to listen to him go off on a tangent. he was an amazing bullshitter - perhaps the best i have ever known.

the last conversation i had with dave was a few days before he left for california. he was enjoying a cookies-n-cream shake. i reminded him of a time when we were little and the den window slammed on his finger, slicing it open. my parents rushed him to the kitchen sink, leaving behind a trail of blood. he was bawling. so was i. i hated to see him in pain. i could feel it in my fingers. it broke my heart. i reminded him of this because that feeling stayed with me my entire life. i hated so much to see him suffer. it still breaks my heart. he told me that he thought i was an amazing, beautiful, strong woman, and that he loved me very much. we cried and hugged. it felt final.

there is a continual shock. not ME, not MY family, not MY brother. sometimes i am proud.
sometimes angry.
always incomplete.
My beautiful brother is missing. and he is dearly missed.

sister sarah

9/98

A Song for Gypsy written by Rob Carney

IN LOVING MEMORY OF
DAVID NATHAN "GYPSY" CHAIN
BORN JUNE 17, 1974
DIED SEPTEMBER 17, 1998

No sunhats for their shade,
No umbrellas against the rain,
Not on a funeral day.
Until the axe gets put away
We are going to stay,
With David "Gypsy" Chain.
Come on take a walk with me,
Through the church of the Redwood trees,
Climb up above the canopy,
Far as the eye can see.
Shadows dance for what used to be,
Come see why a Gypsy grieves.
Come put on his eyes of pain,
See where wild things go,
When they can't come back again.
White Rhinos and Whooping cranes
Where artists go to get their paint,
And poets go to earn their way,
And Gypsies give themselves away.

Thoughts From Jennifer Ripple ....... January 14, 1999

There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about my "Big Nathan." I think about our childhood and I remember all the good times we had growing up, the fights, the laughs, the cries. I would never change anything about it for the world. I looked up to him, he was like my other Big Brother.

The camping trips were the best and I don't think I can recall a time that he was not with us. He always seemed to make things fun, I mean like really fun. We would go hiking up and down the hills of Perdernales Place and to the Water fall. God he loved the Water fall we called it Dead Mans Hole. If you saw it you would know why.

As I look back it is very clear to me how much he loved nature and this earth. I know he has had a big effect on my life and I call it "The Gypsy Effect."

It amazes me that David was so close to understanding this earth and being at peace with it at the age of 24.

He knew and felt more about this world than people that go their whole life without ever having a clue. This man, my cousin, my friend is a man that has taught myself many things about life and giving. He fought for something untouchable to some and unexplainable to others. I love to think that he was doing this for the good of others, people who didn't believe in what he stood for and people that do. He made a difference!!

I want to give my love out to all of our family and friends that I know we don't always see and talk to.

I Love You Big Nathan!

Love, Jenny

Song for David Chain

by Dr. Richard Scheinman
September 21, 1998

David Chain was killed by a falling tree,
He wasn't where he was supposed to be
Protesting out at Grizzly Creek
He wasn't supposed to die.
A brave young man with the light in his eye
Looking up he could see the sky
He loved the forest like you and I
Now he's under the ground

David Chain was just twenty four,
From Austin, Texas, he'd fought before,
A veteran of the forest wars,
In battles 'gainst Company greed.
He'd just arrived to heed the call
To save the forest from Maxxam's saws,
For the fish and the future for us all
Since the government wouldn't enforce the law
Now he's under the ground.

The faller wished he'd had his gun
For these protesters, these environmentalists, these activist scum
Kept him from work he'd just begun
Cutting down all the trees.
Then he cried out and fell to his knees
And he said a prayer for poor Gypsy
He knew that things had changed, utterly,
A man was dead on the ground.

The sheriff (who works for The Company
And not for you, and not for me),
First said, "It looks like an accident"
The woods are dangerous, we all know that
And falling trees go where they will
(And he thought, Anyway, he was terrorist
And trespassing on the Company's land
He had no right to take a stand
He got what he deserved)

John Campbell of Maxxam said they thought no one was there
He lied to protect his investors' shares
Five hundred million's a lot of risk to bear
And his boss is a hard man to please.
For truth to tell they'd been aware
For weeks that this was happening there
That fallers were aiming their logs to scare
The protesters who climbed high in the air
To keep the trees from falling to the ground.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
And we all have promises to keep
And words to say and tears to weep
For the forests and David Chain
For they're killing the land and now killing man
To stuff their pockets, they don't give a damn,
How come they don't understand,
And now he's under the ground.

So come to the woods to say a prayer
And stay to fight in Gypsy's name
Carry on his work until it's clear
The forests will have nothing to fear
From greedy or ignorant men.

David Chain was killed by a falling tree
He was where he was supposed to be
Fighting the fight for you and me
He was where we are supposed to be,
And now he's under the ground.

 

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David "Gypsy" Chain killed! To read more about the story of David Nathan Chain, please pick up the book, "A Good Forest for Dying" by Patrick Beach. Synopsis Early on a September morning in 1998, David "Gypsy" Chain and eight fellow Earth First! activists went into the redwood forests of Scotia, California. Their loosely organized plan to protest the destruction caused by the logging industry almost immediately turned farcically tragic. A. E. Ammons, a logger for Pacific Lumber, confronted the group, threatening them in an obscenity-ridden diatribe: if they didn't leave "I'll make sure I got a tree comin' this way!" The group retreated, moving deeper into the wilderness. A short time later, just as they were attempting to confront the logger yet again, Gypsy was dead, crushed to death by a tree Ammons felled. A Good Forest for Dying traces the long history of bitter clashes between environmental concerns and economic interests in the American West and shows why these tensions came to a head in northern California in the 1990s. It tells the story of how Pacific Lumber, once an environmentally friendly, family-owned business, became part of a conglomerate whose business practices made it a ripe target for environmental activists. But A Good Forest for Dying is also the story of Gypsy Chain, a troubled young man raised in a loving family. A social misfit in his small Texas hometown, he died in a faraway forest before he had a chance to come to terms with himself and his family. His mother never lost faith in her sometimes wayward, idealistic son. After his death, and helped by a team of shrewd, leftist lawyers, she mounted a fight for justice in the name of her son and the cause of saving the redwoods. A balanced, highly readable examination of complex, emotionally charged issues, A Good Forest for Dying will appeal to a wide audience. Its insights into the inner workings of the radical environmental movement and its dissection of corporate greed and misdeeds are reminiscent of such provocative exposes as A Civil Action and Erin Brockovich. The story of Gypsy's strange odyssey and the disturbing circumstances of his death?seen primarily through the eyes of his mother?is as powerful and as moving as Jon Krakauer's classic Into the Wild.

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