A perceptive boy worries the landfill across the street is on the verge of collapse, forming a brave plan to save his dad who works at the top of the heap. Nathan Savage has always been fascinated by anything that moves; he sees movement others don’t notice. But what he sees now out his living room window sets off major alarm bells—the massive landfill across the road is shifting, and could be heading toward a catastrophic landslide. The landfill is also where Nathan’s dad works, on the top of the heap driving the huge compactor that crushes the garbage with its enormous metal wheels. The more Nathan watches the landfill, the more worried he becomes. What will happen to his father if he’s at work when the garbage hill collapses? A fate that seems closer and closer to happening every day if Nathan doesn’t act soon. But how does a ten-year old boy stop a force of nature? In this fascinating and fast-paced story, author Betty Culley exposes kids to lots of garbage, and the natural and environmental impact country landfills have on local towns. Praise for Landslide : A JLG Selection “Culley grounds the story in solid environmental education , explaining rural landfills’ acceptance of out-of-state waste and the cumulative dangers of exposure to environmental waste and landfill gases. The plot builds steadily, and Nathan’s voice remains absorbing throughout, capturing a kid’s determination to protect his family while grappling with complex community politics. The environmental message is clear but never heavy-handed, and Wilder’s feelings about his condition add authentic representation . An author’s note reveals the story is based on an actual Maine landfill collapse in 1989 and states that such disasters occur worldwide. An earnest, well-researched environmental tale that educates as it engages .” — Kirkus “ Landslide will appeal to fans of environmental fiction , especially those who liked Carl Hiaasen’s Hoot (2002) and Flush (2005), as well as readers interested in themes of activism .” — Booklist Betty Culley is the award-winning author of young adult and middle grade novels. As a child, she was in foster care and then adopted and read everything she could get her hands on. Before becoming an author, she worked as an obstetrics nurse and as a pediatric home hospice nurse. She lives in a small town, where she tends a garden and a growing crabapple orchard and floats in her farm pond during Maine’s brief summers. Chapter 1 The History of Garbage, According to Dad Our house on Route 4 in Crawley, Maine, is right across the road from the dump. There wasn’t always a dump there. It used to be the other half of my grandparents’ land, and in the summer we’d look out our front windows and see a big field full of tall grass and wildflowers. In the winter we’d watch deer and foxes. Mom doesn’t blame her sister for selling it. Aunt Del had no idea what would happen. But now it’s the place for everyone’s trash. Last week protestors started gathering at the entrance, under the metal sign that says homefront municipal waste management in big green letters. The sign is higher than the chimney on our roof, and it’s so tall that when we’re driving home from town, we can see it from miles away. It’s mud season and there’s only melting patches of slushy snow left on the ground, but it’s cold enough that the protestors wear coats and hats, and a few of them have scarves and gloves. Yesterday, when I was getting off the school bus, a man in a truck rolled down his window and yelled at the protestors, in a not very friendly voice, “You’re all a bunch of NIMBYs!” “What does NIMBYs mean?” I asked Dad later. “Someone shouted that at the protestors.” “ N.I.M.B.Y. stands for Not In My Back Yard ,” he answered. “Calling someone a NIMBY is a way of saying they only care about protesting because the dump is near where they live.” “But the dump isn’t in their backyard, it’s in our front yard,” I pointed out. I’ve never stood out there with the protestors, but if I did, someone could call me a NIMFY and it would be true. Not In My Front Yard. The protestors are singing a new song today. Which way for Crawley town? Which way to go? Are we a dumping ground For all the other states around? We say NO NO NO. That’s because soon the town will vote on whether or not the landfill can expand. Landfill is what they call the dump. The hill of garbage is getting higher and higher, and the dump is running out of room to put trash. Which kind of makes it a landfull . They need permission to build another garbage hill, and if the town says no, they’ll have to close. As I eat breakfast and listen to the protestors, I wonder about something I never thought of before. “Why doesn’t the dump make the protestors leave?” I ask Dad. He’s lacing up his steel-toed boots and zipping up the red wool vest he wears under his jacket. Dad has the woodstove roaring because he gets cold easy. When he worked at Fo