Green Options

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For this Fourth of July, I chose to celebrate a day of independence by stressing out to prepare for a holiday party, nor by figuring out which fireworks show to go to, nor by basking in the presence of President Bush during his visit to Monticello here in Charlottesville.

No, for this Fourth of July, I tapped into the American spirit of freedom by going wild and getting out into the wild: I went out foraging for wild berries.

Luckily for me this was pretty easy, given the fact that I live in the country and have been walking by a seemingly endless stretch of wineberry bushes (and a few blackberry bushes) growing conveniently along the gravel drive. Oh, the tension of temptation has been building for so, so long now as I have watched the bushes form their little fuzzy pods, the pods pop open with the unripe berries peeping out, the berries growing redder and redder like little organic rubies building up their brilliance….

So on this day, at long last, I declared my independence from self-restraint and heroic patience by diving into the (thorny!) berry patches and going wild…and pickin’ pickin’ pickin’ away.

With Fourth of July just a few days away, I bet that many of you are getting all geared up and stocked up for a celebration of some sort. Be it a barbeque, a trip, a fireworks display, or some other means of declaring your independence from work, the long weekend ahead will likely require gathering adequate provisions to keep the festivities lively and the revelers happy.

With this certain demand, our faithful suppliers are getting geared up and stocked up as well. So as you head down the aisle of your local grocery store or supercenter or what have you, you are sure to encounter lots of possible choices for what to spend your money on. And I can guarantee that most of them will be disposable. Plastic or paper plates, plastic cups, plastic utensils (including the beloved spork), paper napkins and tissues, plastic garbage and grocery bags, styrofoam or plastic coolers, etc., etc., etc. The list is endless…and this is only for party favors!

I do as much as I can to conserve resources and live sustainably. I remember at one family holiday smorgasbord, I believe it was Thanksgiving, I cunningly hid all of the plastic plates, cups, and utensils in a trunk in the closet in order to force my family to use the real, washable ones instead. No one was very happy with me, though I did convince one aunt to play along and stand up in my defense, but by using the normal stuff we reduced the amount of trash that day significantly compared to usual holidays. (And yes, for you cynics out there, I did indeed help out doing the dishes!)

Despite my ecological consciousness and consumer conscience, and despite my stratagems to thwart the forces of disposability, I cringe at the many disposable items that I still use in my own home. For example, disposable razors. These oh-so-convenient, many-to-a-pack, everything’s-a-dollar mainstays of male grooming seem rather benign at first glance (unless you nick yourself shaving, of course). Yet each one consists mostly of plastic, which is made from petroleum, and after a few shaves that plastic and the metal goes into the trash…and so on then to a landfill where it sits amidst all the other non-biodegradable garbage into perpetuity.

If you do not think me a bit nutty already, then be warned: the following may have you calling the men in white coats.

Nevertheless, intrepid lover of living creatures little and big that I am, I risk perpetual solitary confinement in a padded room or, even worse, the reputation of an idealist and extremist and romantic by offering to my fellow humans the following advice on how to be compassionate even to those things we normally disdain. That is, I offer this tip on how you can save the life of that dreaded interloper and symbol of all that is icky: the fly.

Here is how you do it: Move really, really, really slowly and catch the fly in a jar or cup or even in your hand (if you do it gently).

Yes, I said that right. Forget the Karate Kid and the lightning-quick chopsticks! Use a slow hand instead.

Apparently, flies can only see things moving if they move quickly. By moving like a slug rather than at mock speed, you can “sneak up” on the fly, which is essentially blind to your movement as you approach. I have found it most effective, and safest, to catch them by the wings rather than the body. But however you do it, do it slowly. And once you catch said fly, you can then kindly and happily take it outside–practicing the insect version of “catch and release.”

The idea of a sabbath, a period of rest from work or whatever, is something no longer exclusive to Jews and Christians. However, in its original biblical context, the ancient Hebrews also extended this idea of a period of rest to their farming practices by letting their fields “go wild” every seventh year. The precedent for this, a direct command from their God to Moses on Mount Sinai, is recorded in Leviticus 25:2-7:

Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, When ye come into the land which I give you, then shall the land keep a sabbath unto the LORD. Six years thou shalt sow thy field, and six years thou shalt prune thy vineyard, and gather in the fruit thereof; But in the seventh year shall be a sabbath of rest unto the land, a sabbath for the LORD: thou shalt neither sow thy field, nor prune thy vineyard. That which groweth of its own accord of thy harvest thou shalt not reap, neither gather the grapes of thy vine undressed: for it is a year of rest unto the land. And the sabbath of the land shall be meat for you; for thee, and for thy servant, and for thy maid, and for thy hired servant, and for thy stranger that sojourneth with thee, And for thy cattle, and for the beast that are in thy land, shall all the increase thereof be meat.1

Like the people and even their God, then, the farmlands were given time to rest from their productive toil, to rebuild their strength in order to be fruitful again after the period of rest so that they might yield bountiful harvests for years to come. As the ancient Hebrews restrained from working their fields, they honored their God and the land itself.

I mention this practice of a “sabbath of the land,” almost entirely forgotten in modern farming (and especially in agribusiness), because it provides a potentially useful paradigm for more than just agriculture. It also provides a good model for us today, for how we might live sensibly and sustainably in a time when natural resources are threatened and the Earth is endangered, at least to some degree, by human actions.

One recent example of honoring/acknowledging the (imperiled) state of nature is in California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s call to Californians not to use, heck not even to buy, fireworks this Fourth of July. Gov. Schwarzenegger made this plea for sensibility with wildfires numbering in the hundreds throughout the state and with state resources to fight those fires as threatened as the homes, lives, and habitats themselves.

Throughout my life, I have had the extreme good fortune of having a close relationship with my paternal grandmother. She is one of the kindest, most caring individuals I have ever known, and I owe her so much–for practically raising me, for helping me out in multiple ways, and for just being a guiding spirit by her simple presence in my life.

But even more fortunate for me, my grandmother grew up on what you may as well call a “farm” in Waynesboro, Virginia, which is (well…”was” may be more accurate nowadays) a small town in the Blue Ridge Mountains. She was born in the mid-1920s and lived at home with a big old Appalachian family until she married my grandfather in the ’40s.

I mention all of these biographical tidbits (sorry to reveal your age, grandma!) to provide the context and background for my main point. Having grown up in this sort of an environment, my grandmother has enriched my life with countless stories of what life was like for her and her family in a time without the modern conveniences we rely on and take for granted–including electricity!!! Yes, people actually survived, even thrived without that wonderful force that magically comes out of the wall outlets when you plug something in, that brightens your room when you flick a switch, or that makes driving a little bit safer with traffic lights and so forth.

But I digress. From my childhood up to my last visit, I frequently sit with her as she reminisces, for she has some outrageous and amazing stories to share. My interest has grown ever keener, though, as I have become more involved in environmentalism and have tried to live as sustainably as possible. So I have prodded her to open up her mental treasure trove of memories and dig out lovely items for me again and again…which always proves as enjoyable for her as it does for me.

Why does any of this matter to you, dear (green) reader? Because many of those knee-slappin’ stories from the home-place contain absolute jewels of sustainability, things that glimmer like emeralds (you know, the green gems) waiting for us modern treasure hunters to pick up and put to use. Here are a few things I found most useful, hilarious, and/or praiseworthy:

For the most part, my grandmother’s family produced all of their own food. They had cows and pigs and chickens and what have you, along with the usual (and unusual–it was the country, after all!) pets. There was a fruitful family garden, which served for all the seasons thanks to canning and preserving–that is, not freezing or refrigerating, but old-fashioned canning and preserving. There was plenty of wild stuff to use for foodstuffs, too, such as apples and pears and berries. They did buy a few things that they could not grow or make–coffee, sugar, salt, flour, etc.–but overall they pretty much fed themselves…and it was a big family.
No electricity meant no refrigerator or freezer, but they kept perishables good with a rather ingenious, yet utterly simple, device called a “spring box.” This was a box that stayed submerged in the stream nearby, with a rope securing it to the bank. Since the water was always relatively cool, the box served as a refrigerator and helped milk, butter, and so forth from spoiling. The cellar was good, too, as a cool place for veggies and fruits.
They even managed to make some of their own clothes. My grandmother informs me, with evident chagrin, that they were mostly the family drawers, so no designer dresses or anything like that. She even shared, with evident chagrin, that she once made a dress for my aunt out of a feedbag…and she swears that “it looked good!” Talk about reduce, reuse, recycle: Feed the chickens, clothe the kids!!!
Forget low-flush toilets and low-flow shower heads. Try outhouses and baths in a tub full of stream water (heated on the stove if you were lucky) that had been lugged up to the house.

Have you ever been outside, maybe working in the garden, soaking up rays by the pool, or snoozing in the hammock, when suddenly a flying, sparkly green centurion with pointy black spear charges up, out of nowhere, dangerously close to your face?

This thing, whatever it is, seems simply to pop into existence with no more than a strange humming buzz, challenging your presence for a moment, and then popping back into the ether with a nigh-unperceivable tirade of twittering squeaks. You may be tempted to swat at it, thinking it is some monstrously mutated mosquito.

But then your stupor breaks and you realize the truth: You have just had a close encounter of the hummingbird kind.

These winged warriors are fantastic wonders of nature. Hummingbirds know not of fear and will faceoff with just about anything, curmudgeons that they are. They can perform feats of motion that almost defy the laws of physics, that seem to create G-forces strong enough to shatter the strongest material. And yet there they are, again and again, twirling and twittering and teleporting through the air nearly faster than the eye can see.

(And, if humans could understand them, they are probably cussing each other, us, and every other thing that is not sweet nectar. For Sheri Williamson of the Southeastern Arizona Bird Observatory has to be right in thinking that “the hummingbird vocabulary is a hundred percent swear words”!1)

With my feet propped up, an open book in my lap, and the morning sun baking me in my skin like a potato, I certainly was not an intimidating presence. A young squirrel certainly did not find me so, at least, as it came scurrying up to where I sat. It would slink forward a few feet, stop and extend its nose to sniff my way, slink forward a bit more, stop and sit up on its haunches to get a better view, before finally it circled around my feet and looked inquisitively up at me repeatedly. I seriously suspected it would jump up in my lap (and kind of hoped it would!), perhaps to check out what I was reading and discuss literature with me, maybe ask for a cup of tea and something to nibble on.

But no, it finally scuttled away again, returning once more a bit later with its friend/sibling for another reconnoitering mission. It is still hanging around, eating fallen birdseed and doing various other mischievous things.

While this unusually friendly squirrel was clearly wary as it investigated the baking human, I would not say that it showed a whole lot of fear…even if it did not jump up in my lap and surely would not have let me pick it up.

Later, in a bit of synchronicity, my father told me on the phone about how friends of his had saved a baby raccoon from a tree that was being cut down. It was no more than the size of a mouse when they originally rescued it, and they were raising it as a pet. So now it was sort of like your typical rambunctious kitten or puppy, playing with toys and perfectly content interacting with its owners/rescuers. In saving the baby raccoon’s life, then, these kind people had also domesticated it (along with practicing a bit of “adoptive stewardship”), turning it from wildlife to family pet–with all the familiar behaviors.

Incidents like these where wildlife do not flee from the first sign (sight, smell, or sound) of humans always make me wonder about the nature of animals’ fear of us. I wonder if it is something instinctual, a natural reaction to us and relationship with us, something perhaps developed for survival through the ages. Maybe the ancestors of modern wildlife had bad experiences with our ancestors, who were likely looking for anything to serve as food and clothing and what have you. Maybe those animals saw one too many of their companions captured and turned into workers and/or pets, and so they learned to distrust and avoid us in order to live free.

My first post on green walking provided some hopefully handy tips for you to go walkabout, to get out in nature and do some green walking. In the age where any travel that is not sustainable is terribly costly in many, many ways, it is more imperative than ever for each of us to become a peripatetic.

But here is the good news: Green walking is not just “nature walking” per se, not just walkabout. Green walking is also ideal for city travel…helping cut down on many kinds of pollution, smog that obscures the lovely natural views everywhere, travel expenses, resource consumption, and driver rage, just to name a few things.

In order to facilitate your transition from commuter to sustainable commuter, from walker to green walker, I offer here a few more tips on green walking in a city environment…on going urban walkabout.

1. Like walkabouts in nature, urban walkabouts should be as sensual as possible. Although some urban settings have been deliberately “greened up” with strategic flowerbeds, parks, and eco-friendly architecture, many cities are truly urban jungles–forests of concrete. But even here you can listen to the cooing of pigeons or find some green things struggling for life in the cracks of sidewalks. And there are often flower shops, produce stands, and pets to be encountered. So enjoy these instances of nature-here-and-now whenever you can. Of course, the sun is almost always shining–or if not, then rain is falling or wind is blowing–so you still can likely get some sensual stimulation on your urban walkabout if you pay attention.

Inspired by Caroline Savery’s great post on bicycling in the city, I wanted to comment on yet another alternative mode of transportation: walking.

Walking? C’mon.

Yes, walking. Seriously. Walking is not only easy to do and inexpensive (unless you go all out and make it complicated and costly), but it is also a wonderful way to go green–to travel without using up one fuel source or another, to keep the planet and yourself healthy, and to enjoy the health-giving splendor of nature.

If you want to go green, then just go walkabout!

Green Walking? C’mon.

Yes, green walking. Walkabout. Seriously. And in order to facilitate your transition from normal, mundane, boring old walking to green walking, to walkabout, I offer here a brief introduction and field guide, a short vade mecum of tips for all the walkabouters.

1. First and foremost, for walking to be green walking or walkabout, it must be entirely sensual. Your walking should stimulate every sense in some way, and you should appreciate the stimulation and the sources with full reverence and revelry:

Call me crazy, call me crude, but I have to say that there is nothing quite like the smell of cow manure.

That scent is so rich, so savory, so earthy, so pungently sweet that just one whiff seems to bury you in an olfactory pleasure dome. And if you keep basking in the aroma, you may well feel driven to grab a pitchfork, plop a straw hat on your head, stick a blade of grass in your mouth, and head on out to the fields. This is especially true on those oh-so-humid mornings in the peak of summer, when the air is so moist and dense that you almost have to put on scuba gear. But any old day is a great day for cow poop.

I confess that I am no connoisseur of creaturely caca, but I would bet that none can compare with the quality of a cow’s. Horse manure comes close, but it pushes pungency at the expense of sweetness, plus it is not very good for fertilizer. The feces of fowls is not even in the same league; it is far too acrid, not to mention slimy and sticky and all around offensive. Elephant excrement is similarly versatile (for example, it makes a great alternative source for paper), yet so far it lacks the time-tested dependability and widespread availability of cow dung; pachyderm pooh is thus still an exotic delicacy rather than a common staple. (I cannot speak to its odoriferous character, alas.) And nobody would sing paeans to dog and cat poop. Look at how tenderly people carry those telltale plastic bags when walking their dogs–usually with one arm extended as the dog pulls the leash and the other arm, hand, and pinching fingers extended as far away as possible with the bag bobbing in the air. When it comes to the felines, we have managed to train them to go potty in specified places, cover it with “fresh scent” granules, and graciously shake off anything sticking to their paws. I suppose “domestication,” in part, means proper toilet training…or “house training,” as it is called. And as for “humanure”…I am not even going there.