DIRGIN, Texas (AP) — Ida Finley smiles wistfully,recalling how she used to cook for an entire East
Texas community —nearly all descendants of slaves. The children would grab cornbread,greens and cookies from
her kitchen while their parents grew vegetablesin a tiny creekside village hidden among pine
forests."It’s been so long," she muses, gazing at old photos that dot the walls of her nursing
home room some 30 miles from Dirgin.Now,just weeks from her 102nd birthday, Finley faces the prospect of
losingthe land worked by her husband and his parents, slaves who toiled for amaster.For three years,
Luminant Mining Co. has tried topurchase this 9.1-acre plot, which is currently owned by a bevy ofrelatives
spread across the country. The company owns more than 75percent of the parcel but can’t mine it because of a
complex inheritancearrangement and the refusal of some family members to let go or acceptLuminant’s
offer.Luminant says it has negotiated fairly with theowners, offering them more than the land’s appraised
value, plus fullcompensation to Ida Finley and her granddaughter for homes they have onthe land, which the
company says they do not legally own. For the firsttime in its history, Luminant has sued some of the heirs,
asking a courtto equitably divide the land or force a settlement.And some of the Finleys are gearing up for
a fight."Idon’t want to sell my family’s land. If I were to sell it, they wouldhave to offer me a huge
amount of money," said Kay Moore, a Fairfield,Calif., woman who says Luminant offered her $3,000 for
her piece ofproperty, which the company says is 1/20 of the remainder."It belongs to me, and I’m not
willing to part with that," she added, recalling horseback riding trips and meals at Aunt
Ida’s.Thecompany has acknowledged the family’s emotional ties to the land andsaid in a statement that it
"strived for consistency from owner to ownerto maintain our credibility. Most people found our offers
to be morethan fair."In many ways, the family’s story is about a way oflife that disappeared long ago
and a town 150 miles east of Dallas thathas vanished into modernity.Brushing the wispy white hairs fromIda
Finley’s forehead is her granddaughter, Jacquelin Finley — a forcebehind the battle against Luminant and for
preserving something fromthose long-gone days. Still living on the property in a decaying trailerwith
patched siding, Jacquelin remembers Dirgin before Luminant’spredecessor built the nearby reservoir. This is
where Ida Finley, knownto her family simply as Big Momma, raised her children and grandchildrenand buried
her husband.In the early 1800s, Dirgin, like much ofEast Texas, consisted of large cotton plantations worked
by slaves. In1865, when the Civil War ended, Union soldiers entered Texas for thefirst time. The slaves were
freed, and some masters sold or gave themland.Ida Finley says "Old Man Martin," the master, gave
herhusband’s parents more than 100 acres. Luminant says its records showthe family bought the land from two
Confederate Army veterans. Eitherway, sometime in the late 1880s, the Finleys came to own land in
Dirgin.Living alongside them were other former slave families: the Menefees,Humphreys, Petersons, Barrs and
Reeses among them.When thoseFinleys — Dick and Puss — died, they left no will, and the parcel wasevenly
divided among their five children, including Ida’s husband,Adolphus.Ida and Adolphus lived in a small white
house with afront porch and a backyard dotted with fruit trees and a basketballhoop. After the crops were
harvested, the children played baseball inthe cleared fields. On Sundays, they went to church — either in a
wagonor by foot."It was the best of times," said Jacquelin Finley, whowent to live with her
grandparents in the early 1960s, when she was ababy.In the 1970s, life changed.Just as Jacquelin Finleywas
bused from Mayflower Elementary to a newly desegregated school innearby Tatum, Luminant’s predecessor moved
into the area. It had its eyeon a multimillion dollar prize hidden deep beneath the green grass andpine
trees: a low grade of coal known as lignite. To profit from it, thecompany had to uproot trees and build a
power plant.The companybought land. Ida Finley remembers the pressure applied on her husband,who finally
sold 9.5 acres for $1,000 — the equivalent today of justover $4,300.Feeling duped, he spent his final years
sitting onhis front porch gazing bitterly at the nearby reservoir that had floodedhis land. Barely two years
later, he died."That bothered him allthose years until he died," Jacquelin Finley said.
"That’s my anger. DoI have a right to be angry? Yes. I want to see them go down."Lifewent on,
though. The power plant was built. People moved away. Thechurch congregations shrunk. Some of the Finleys
remained, including Idaand Jacquelin. The crops were gone, but Ida’s little white housebustled.Then, about
three years ago, Luminant came knocking. Thecompany needed to expand the mine to meet Texas’ growing energy
demands.Thecompany said that because Ida’s husband died without a will, theirchildren owned the land, and
they had sold it to Luminant.UnderTexas law, when a landowner dies without a will, a surviving
spousereceives the right to live on part of the land, but ownership passes toblood relatives, usually
children.Ida Finley, Luminant said,owned only the house, its porch now hanging forlornly near
overgrownweeds, the steps broken and rotting. The quaint siding is broken andcracked. Looters scattered
pictures, stuffed animals, Christmasornaments, letters, shoes and clothing across the dusty floor, makingoff
with more valuable items, like a refrigerator. Luminant says itoffered Ida money for the home, but she
declined.Jacquelin Finleysaid Sunday that initially the company only offered her a new trailerbut in recent
days, through her mother, also offered an acre of land.Luminant denies that account, saying she only owns
the trailer she livesin and that the company offered her a new trailer and an acre elsewheretoward the
beginning of the negotiations. Either way, Jacquelin hasdeclined to accept it, and doesn’t want to move. And
for now Luminantcan’t force her.Looking recently at the dirt patch and pile ofrubble that remains of the
Methodist church she attended as a child,Jacquelin said Luminant would have to give her at least $1 million
toleave — enough, she estimates, to fix her grandmother’s house and carefor her there."It’s like I’m
going against the world, and they’re the world because they own everything," she
said.___Plushnick-Masti can be followed on Twitter at https://twitter.com/RamitMastiAP .Copyright
2013 The Associated Press. All rightsreserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten
orredistributed.