morning snow

coming into my kitchen this morning, where the lone LED that we own floats over the sink, playing sentry all night, I noticed that the light of the morning snow and the light of the LED match, blending indoors and outdoors in a soft, seamless realm. We are, it reminds us, always, equally, out there, even as we sometimes imagine that when we sit, we are only in here.

modern-day rags

a quick observation: in the early years of American Jewish life, many Jews made their living, and some their fortunes, on waste. in those days, waste was mostly scrap metal and rags.

today, one hundred years later, more and more Jews seem to be entering the waste management field. not a sexy field, it nonetheless will form the foundation of a new environmental economy. someone is going to have to pick up, reclaim and recycle all that stuff that we no longer want to throw away but no longer want to keep either.

and hopefully, there are many of us also at the other end of the spectrum, creating materials and processes that allow us from the very beginnings of a design of a product to build in an environmentally sound method of recylcing, reclaiming and re-using.

and there is no question that many of us are there in the big middle: buying and using all this stuff.

e-books

Once upon a time, I loved books. What is more romantic than floor to ceiling bookshelves, lining entire walls stocked with a universe of books. Big books, little books, fat ones and slender ones, bright ones and dark ones. Sliding ladders that promise access to the elusive upper levels, step-stools that enable you not only to reach up for a book just out of reach, but to sit down to browse books toeing the edges of the floor. While I am not lucky enough to enjoy the extravagance, or gift, or indulgence of a high-storied, brimming home library, I do have bookcases in my foyer, my office, our den (both of them) and even our bedroom. I would venture to guess that we have more built-in bookcases in our bedroom than most people have in their entire homes.

And yet, today, after yesterday's adventures in housecleaning, I find myself with four bags of books I will be toting around. Two bags of books I hope to give away to general used-book fairs (if anyone will take them and use them), one bag to Jewish libraries (if they will take them) and one bag of books to return to a university library. So, on a sustainability count: how do we best handle old, unwanted books (you cannot recycle hardbound books)? I have to hope that all that paper will somehow be recaptured, although most likely the used books will be thrown away. And no matter where I take them, I have to plan a most efficient route to limit the amount of gasoline I use to redistribute these books.

As much as I love owning books (and when put on bookcase on an outer wall - they serve as great insulation!), I have begun to yearn for an aesthetically pleasing, easily portable, all-purpose e-book. How great it would be if I could hold a sensuously designed "book" and read any paper, any magazine, and any book from any library anywhere in the world at a place anywhere I am in the world. Downloadable both via the internet AND via satellite anywhere that satellites work.

Used books - indeed all currently existing books of any value - would increase in value as this old technology of paper became a way of the past. We would save enormous amounts of resources from trees, to waste in producing paper (even recycled paper) to transportation of the raw materials, the paper from the mill, the books from the printer and the trip to the used-book fairs or the dump.

Not only that, access to knowledge would increase - for I could both graphically, and affordably, get many more publications and books than I can both physically and financially afford now.

Perhaps if I live long enough I will see it. For that day is coming - and even us early nay-sayers or doubters will come to see that the act of reading can remain sensually satisfying and intellectually fulfilling, and still be enviromentally sound.

Hurry! We are waiting.

if someone asks you...

If someone asks you, "okay, what can I do to help the environment?", start them with easy steps.

here are five:

Reduce your water heater temperature setting by 5 degrees

Buy five canvas bags and use them wherever and whenever you go into a store. (Not just at a grocery store. Any and every store where they would otherwise give you a disposable bag.)

Drive five less miles every week. (And if they can, ask them to drive five less miles three days every week!)

Keep showers to under five minutes.

Change five light bulbs to energy efficient ones. (If they have changed all of theirs, have them go to work on their parents, children, friends.)

Oh, and one more. Talk to five friends about the importance of changing personal behavior to be more environmentally sustainable.

proper orientation

I am basking in the blessings of passive solar heating. The thermostat is set for 67. The air outside is 25 - the coldest day of the winter by far. And my office feels like 71 or 72 (more in the part where I did not pull down the shade). On the brightest days, the glory of the sun bleaches out my computer screen so completely that I have to move (or read a book instead!). In the summer, the towering beech, elm and poplar trees block the rays so the room is bright but not blinding.

We were not so wise as to orient the house this way. It was like this when we bought it: front facing south framed by large, gracious trees. But we did build this room. And it is the one I spend most of my time in at home. Daily I am reminded of the subtle ways we can work with the earth to enjoy its rhythms, and blend them with ours.

Which leads me to believe that those of us who are living with pre-existing structures and therefore limited abilities to make them totally sustainable nonetheless have options and opportunities to upgrade them to green. When we renovate, buy furniture, replace windows or a furnace, we can do our bit. Even before that, we can plant trees, wear great sweaters. (We can even learn how to make them and simplify yet enhance our gifting. Start with scarves -much needed and much easier.)

And then there is our stuff. I cleaned bookshelves and clothes closets today. I will ache tomorrow, I know. But I now have bags of things to give away. That is the good part. The thing I wonder about is - why and how did I get all that stuff? Did I really need all those tops when I bought them? Were those books and gifts all necessary? Wouldn't I have been just as pleased if a gift had been given to a good cause in my name? My brother has begun giving to Jewish Women's International on Mother's Day in the name of all the women in his life. So instead of wasting money on hothouse flowers or candy or tchotchkes - all of which seem sweet until they die, get consumed in abundance or need to be dusted or moved - he uses this opportunity to do what he would not have done otherwise - help battered women put their lives back together.

We don't speak enough about conservation these days. And certainly not about our consuming habits. It is downright dangerous to the American economy to promote buying less. But what kind of long-term healthy economy can we have if it is predicated on digging more stuff out of the earth, or even recycling and making more than we truly need (that too creates production waste, transportation waste, packaging waste, etc). What if we built an economy on the minimum of goods consumption and the maximum of service consumption: paying teachers more; recruiting more nurses; getting more social workers to watch after children-at-risk; hiring more home health aides to care for the elderly who choose and are able to age-in-place with a little help from some friends and aides.

What if we shifted our GNP from counting mostly stuff produced to counting hours people actually helped and worked with each other?

What would happen then?

advocacy and ethics

Advocacy and Ethics

Advocacy and ethics are the two poles on which environmental activism rests. They are the opposites that drive and fulfill each other.

Advocacy is public; ethics, personal. Advocacy is behavioral; ethics, attitudinal, essential. Advocacy is what you do; ethics define who you are. Advocacy is about winning (appropriately so); ethics about being.

Without ethics, advocacy has no guide, no imperative, no claim. Without advocacy, ethics has little expression, remains sterile, wanders homeless.

Advocacy is specific (one fights for the trees or CAFE standards). To be effective, advocacy must be selective, linear: choose a particular issue, develop arguments to gain fellow adherents, create coalitions and work toward its passage or approval. The question advocacy asks is: how do we get from here to there?

Ethics, on the other hand, focuses not on the specifics but on the whole; not on the externals of an issue, but the internal aspects of beliefs, behaviors and personal commitment. The question ethics asks is: who am I; and therefore what should I do?

When guided by environmental advocacy, we must choose our battles. Pesticides, global warming, the cattle industry, local food. But when guided by environmental ethics, these battles are all of a piece. When guided by environmental ethics, we know that the environment cannot be carved up into causes, bills and organizations; it is whole, inseparable. We know that we are not apart from it but one with it; that while our appetites and designs may be infinite, the stuff of the world is finite. That we are not gods who may with impunity strut and thrust our whims upon the globe, but transient beneficiaries of the earth's bounty. And that just as we have been blessed to enjoy the fullness of the earth's gifts handed to us by our ancestors, so we must bless those who come after us.

Though advocacy may exhaust us; ethics inspires us. And while ethics motivate us, advocacy gets the work done.

Ethics is the mind; advocacy the hand. We need them both.

today I am a fountainpen

Fountain pens used to be the iconic gift of the bar mitzvah bourgeoisie; a stiff symbol of manhood handed down at this rite of passage from one generation to the next.

But that was 40 and 50 years ago. Who talks about fountain pens now? Sure, you can find outrageously priced writing implements in the advertising section of the New York Times or Levengers catalog, but no real people we know use fountain pens anymore.

Well, um, not exactly. See, today, I was running out of my favorite (need I add: disposable) pen and went to order another pack when I realized that over my lifetime I probably was throwing away enough pens to build a foot-bridge over a 10' wide river.

It astonishes me that even as I try to live sustainably, there remain these stealth consumables that I do not even flag.

When and why the dawning comes remains a surprise - but tonight, I determined that even better than a disposable retractable point pen was a fountain pen. I in fact own a fountain pen that I inherited from my father, a beautiful grey pen with his initials. However, I resist taking it out of the house, doing so only on special occasions, such as my children's wedding so we could use the pen to sign their ketubot, their wedding documents.

I should probably buy an inexpensive fountain pen - the body of the pen can be used for a lifetime; several lifetimes if we are mindful. And the ink comes in a glass, recyclable container. But that might not happen for a while. Meanwhile, runner-up to the fountain pen, is a cartridge pen I bought years ago. Even if the cartridge is disposed of, at least the body of the pen is re-used. For now, I will take my marbled green cartridge pen with me wherever I go and hope that I do not lose it. (Popular advice tells me that the more expensive the pen, the less likely one is to lose it. I am skeptical, but willing to give it a try.) If that works, I should probably get one for home - and keep it at my desk. Imagine all the space I will gain when I use up and don't replace all my disposable pens. And even if my diminution of the landfill is miniscule, handling my re-usable pen on a daily basis will, like keeping kosher, remind me of the greater values that I hope will infuse the deeds of my life.

wood burning stoves

I spent New Year's eve tucked away in a little log cabin in the eastern bulge of West Virginia. It was cold and windy outside, but, with the help of our wood burning stove, warm and toasty, inside.

There are so many things to love about wood burning stoves. This one is cast-iron black, bobbed with bright brass knobs on its sundry doors and openings. Best of all, it has a tempered glass window that allows you to peer into the magic happenings in the otherwise hidden inside. Watching the white-hot logs, the fire soar, and the embers glow is mesmerizing. Better even than an aquarium. Best of all, perhaps, is when the flames dance on the air, unattached to the wood below. This happens when the temperature in the stove (really an oven) kicks up to 500 degrees and we close the flew. This turbo-boosting causes the heat in the oven to rise precipitously, from 500 to 700 degrees or so in the matter of one or two minutes. On a good run, we can get the temperature up to 1200 degrees. Which to us city slickers seems pretty good, but only 3/4 the way on the dial. Our stove, and thermometer, are built to go up to 1700 degrees, standard.

No doubt you wood burning stove aficionadoes are laughing at my novice experiences and limited success in getting the most out of this amazing machine. That's okay. I am sure I will learn. And I do welcome all advice and encouragement, and grand stories about your adventures with your stoves.

But what is most amazing of all, is how it grounds you in the relationship we have with this earth. I felt, literally, the immediacy between the trees in my forest, and the comfort of my home. I collected the wood that fell outside the cabin and brought it in for tinder and warmth. Throughout the cold New Year's, the only source of heat we had was this 30" x 18" or so metal box, and the wood it consumed.

Put in a log, shut the door, be enveloped by the gift of light and warmth and comfort. Two days and 20 some logs later (I am sure that as novices we were a bit profligate and wasteful in our use of the logs. I am eager to learn how to use less for the same amount of comfort and heat.), we emptied the ashbin. All the grandeur of that wood that once grew in the forest around me was reduced to a gallon of powdered vapors, so light it flew into the air as we poured it on the frozen ground.

And in the transformation from log to ash, we were warmed, and tended to, entertained, and delighted. We could see what we consumed, and what it cost, and how we benefited. And we could not help but be grateful, and humbled.

We need to consume the earth's resources if we are to live in this world. The question is: how much need we consume? How do we return it to the earth, for eventually everything we use is returned, for better or for worse. And how evident, even to us, is our appreciation of these gifts?

Everything we possess and hold and use is a gift from the earth, just like the warmth from that wood burning stove. The challenge for us is: how can we remember?