I compost. Not because I garden and not because I want to use the fertile soil I will be creating to make my Eden bloom.
I compost so that I can return to the soil that which came from it. And having no meat in the house makes composting a breeze.
(Warning: if you are an avid composter, do not read on. What follows may be disturbing.)
This is how I compost: I gather the remnants of foodstuffs in a plastic container on my kitchen counter. Pre-cooked food; post-cooked food. Peels, scrapes, leftovers that are otherwise inedible. I then, when the container is sufficiently filled or otherwise looking, uh, ripe for the heap, I take it outdoors and dump it on my compost pile. (I told you this would look coarse and disturbing to trained and committed composters.) Sometimes I cover it with the leaf debris that is lying around; sometimes I don't.
This was working rather well, I thought. But my son and husband thought differently. They were unhappy, shall we say, viewing the compost bowl heap up right in front of their eyes.
Okay. To shield their delicate spirits and sense of cleanliness (dirt is more a cultural definition than a natural one), I tried closed, non-transparent containers. Tin ones with lids seemed promising but rusted. Casseroles seemed too ornate for my needs; and a mis-use of kitchen artifcacts. Other containers didn't have lids.
Then, I had an idea. I was going to Annapolis to participate in the annual Environmental Action Day, where we learn about that year's major legislative agendas, as set by the alliance of Maryland environmental organizations, and meet with our legislators. The good thing about going to Annapolis, besides doing this good work, is that right across from the entrance to the Governor's mansion is the best little pottery shop.
What if I found a great pot with a snug fitting lid that was not too heavy or too expensive or too big that could hold 2-3 days worth of compost, all the while sitting beautifully and stealthily on the counter, hiding the detritus within?
Well, pottery is, as you may imagine, expensive. So none of the wares on display worked for me. But I approached one of the workers, who is part of the coop and thus also a potter, and asked if perchance there were any seconds, rejects, in the back that I could buy for this less-than-presentable purpose. Indeed, she said, there were. So into the back we went. I found a 10 inch high, five inch diameter cylindrical post, resembling a utensil holder that would sit comfortably on any kitchen counter. For the life of me, I could not find the flaw. Except, it didn't have a lid.
No problem. My friendly potter disappeared in the far back from whence pottery rummaging noises came. She emerged, beaming. She had found a lid (they had a whole box back there of orphaned lids, that is, lids whose bases had broken) which she thought might just fit perfectly onto the top of this beautiful but cheap pot. We both held our breath as she gently slide the lid across the mouth of this pot. Voila! A magical, if a bit over-hung, lid nestled smoothly onto the pot.
So I got a cheap but lovely compost container which duplicitously sits beside my flour cannister with a slightly over-sized lip on its lid and a swirl of a handle to ease access to the earthly dankness going on inside.
No one fusses anymore about my composting. And I get double pleasure in its storage and on the trek to return it to its rightly home.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
folded green paper
A confession: I use Kleenex. Yes, I have heard that Kleenex brand tissues are not good for the environment. I even tried buying Seventh Generation tissue instead, when I could find it. But it wasn't soft enough. So, I continued to buy Kleenex. And then this morning, this happened:
I was in my car and reached down to open the new box of Kleenex tissues that I had placed there a little while ago. Upon enjoying that delightful little zzhhipp-ing sound the cardboard makes as you rip off the closure, I saw peeking out at me a folded slip of deep green paper.
Thinking, whoa, what a lovely surprise. What sort of gift could this be? A coupon for my next purchase? Had I unsuspectingly bought their billionth box and now would enjoy a lifetime of free tissues? Delighted at this unexpected joy, I opened the accordion-folded 3 x 5 inch paper.
It was none of that. Instead, it was a creative act of guerilla advocacy waged by Greenpeace. Now, I am not always a fan of Greenpeace. Their tactics often offend more refined (not to mention civil) political sensibilities. But I have to tip my hat to them when they are this inventive.
They had figured out that they can slip this folded piece of paper into the very slot left for you to insert your thumb to open the box. And on this neatly folded paper, they tell you what you didn't want to hear:
Kleenex is made from 100% virgin fiber, which, in Greenpeace's words, "has a devastating impact on ancient forests."
They have approached Kimberly-Clark (the parent of Kleenex) and asked them to use recycled materials for their tissues. Kimberly-Clark, according to this insert, has declined, saying that we, the customer, don't care.
Clearly, we do. And we need to tell them so.
Here is what I plan to do:
1) Visit www.StopKleenex.com and see what I can find there.
2) Call Kimberly-Clark (1-888-525-8388) and tell them that I care and will no longer buy their product until they change their tree harvesting and manufacturing ways.
3) Buy handkerchiefs. I know, I know. Tissues seem so much more aesthetic and sanitary. Who wants to carry that stuff around in their pockets? But now that I think about it, my father used handkerchiefs his entire life. Maybe if he was bed-ridden with the flu or bad cold, he might have used tissues, but otherwise, a white handkerchief. For messy colds, for guests and cars, I will continue to buy appropriate tissues, whenever possible. In the meantime, I am on the hunt for a nice handkerchief.
I was in my car and reached down to open the new box of Kleenex tissues that I had placed there a little while ago. Upon enjoying that delightful little zzhhipp-ing sound the cardboard makes as you rip off the closure, I saw peeking out at me a folded slip of deep green paper.
Thinking, whoa, what a lovely surprise. What sort of gift could this be? A coupon for my next purchase? Had I unsuspectingly bought their billionth box and now would enjoy a lifetime of free tissues? Delighted at this unexpected joy, I opened the accordion-folded 3 x 5 inch paper.
It was none of that. Instead, it was a creative act of guerilla advocacy waged by Greenpeace. Now, I am not always a fan of Greenpeace. Their tactics often offend more refined (not to mention civil) political sensibilities. But I have to tip my hat to them when they are this inventive.
They had figured out that they can slip this folded piece of paper into the very slot left for you to insert your thumb to open the box. And on this neatly folded paper, they tell you what you didn't want to hear:
Kleenex is made from 100% virgin fiber, which, in Greenpeace's words, "has a devastating impact on ancient forests."
They have approached Kimberly-Clark (the parent of Kleenex) and asked them to use recycled materials for their tissues. Kimberly-Clark, according to this insert, has declined, saying that we, the customer, don't care.
Clearly, we do. And we need to tell them so.
Here is what I plan to do:
1) Visit www.StopKleenex.com and see what I can find there.
2) Call Kimberly-Clark (1-888-525-8388) and tell them that I care and will no longer buy their product until they change their tree harvesting and manufacturing ways.
3) Buy handkerchiefs. I know, I know. Tissues seem so much more aesthetic and sanitary. Who wants to carry that stuff around in their pockets? But now that I think about it, my father used handkerchiefs his entire life. Maybe if he was bed-ridden with the flu or bad cold, he might have used tissues, but otherwise, a white handkerchief. For messy colds, for guests and cars, I will continue to buy appropriate tissues, whenever possible. In the meantime, I am on the hunt for a nice handkerchief.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
why I like my house
In "The Symbolism of Habitat," a book that is both slendor and fascinating (the best of all worlds!), Jay Appleton teaches me why I like my house. Landscapes, he explains, whether natural or built, shape our emotions as well as our space. They entice us or repel us; draw us in or keep us out; enchant us, lure us and scare us, often all at the same time.
Specifically, he speaks of views and symbols that evoke feelings of prospect (the future - with its promises and hopes, and titillation of adventure) and refuge (safety, comfort and the reassurance of home).
As you might imagine, distant horizons, mountain ranges and valleys, even rivers or trails rounding a bend, offer us a sense of prospect. The open space between us and them, the remove from our daily burdens that they suggest, a new world beyond our wildest imagination, invite us, sometimes even taunt us, with their beckoning.
On the other hand, we are drawn to castles. Towers on lofty heights, citadels, peaks, high roofs that stand defiant above the surrounding landscape. They promise physical superiority, strong walls around us, security against an onslaught of attacks from the outside.
Cozy houses capture this sense of safety wrapped up in a nested space. With their well-fitting roofs slung comfortably low on solid foundations, a wreath or knocker on their well-worn doors, they symbolize the place we want to be. (An enchanting treatment of such buildings, and the disappearing community they create, can be found in the charming, little-known book: Passing the Time in Ballymenone, by Henry H. Glassie.)
My house, Appleton led me to understand, has both prospect and refuge built into its silhouette. The entryway, the most vulnerable place in any house, rises 15 feet from floor to roof. I never understood why we needed this height - it certainly makes changing the lightbulbs in the foyer a nuisance. But in view of Appleton's book, I see that it is reminiscent of European castles, citadels on the hill, projecting their impenetrability and might, and protecting those within from unwelcome incursions from without.
And as the entryway swaggers, our rooms embrace. They offer comfort and healing from within. So - we have rooms with low ceilings, echoed in the roof-lines above. Our rooms offer hearthy feelings in earthy tones, with overstuffed chairs that are large enough to curl up in, yet small enough to feel swaddled and cuddled, coddled and protected.
Learning to read the symbolism of the landscape is like learning a second language. Or better, a language we have been speaking all along, without knowing it. Reading landscapes helps us better understand our reactions to the spaces around us, be they streetscapes, malls or the rooms of our own home. And it helps us to better inform our city planners how to build places that nourish our spirits, and strengthen community, in a world where sharing well is becoming increasingly important.
Specifically, he speaks of views and symbols that evoke feelings of prospect (the future - with its promises and hopes, and titillation of adventure) and refuge (safety, comfort and the reassurance of home).
As you might imagine, distant horizons, mountain ranges and valleys, even rivers or trails rounding a bend, offer us a sense of prospect. The open space between us and them, the remove from our daily burdens that they suggest, a new world beyond our wildest imagination, invite us, sometimes even taunt us, with their beckoning.
On the other hand, we are drawn to castles. Towers on lofty heights, citadels, peaks, high roofs that stand defiant above the surrounding landscape. They promise physical superiority, strong walls around us, security against an onslaught of attacks from the outside.
Cozy houses capture this sense of safety wrapped up in a nested space. With their well-fitting roofs slung comfortably low on solid foundations, a wreath or knocker on their well-worn doors, they symbolize the place we want to be. (An enchanting treatment of such buildings, and the disappearing community they create, can be found in the charming, little-known book: Passing the Time in Ballymenone, by Henry H. Glassie.)
My house, Appleton led me to understand, has both prospect and refuge built into its silhouette. The entryway, the most vulnerable place in any house, rises 15 feet from floor to roof. I never understood why we needed this height - it certainly makes changing the lightbulbs in the foyer a nuisance. But in view of Appleton's book, I see that it is reminiscent of European castles, citadels on the hill, projecting their impenetrability and might, and protecting those within from unwelcome incursions from without.
And as the entryway swaggers, our rooms embrace. They offer comfort and healing from within. So - we have rooms with low ceilings, echoed in the roof-lines above. Our rooms offer hearthy feelings in earthy tones, with overstuffed chairs that are large enough to curl up in, yet small enough to feel swaddled and cuddled, coddled and protected.
Learning to read the symbolism of the landscape is like learning a second language. Or better, a language we have been speaking all along, without knowing it. Reading landscapes helps us better understand our reactions to the spaces around us, be they streetscapes, malls or the rooms of our own home. And it helps us to better inform our city planners how to build places that nourish our spirits, and strengthen community, in a world where sharing well is becoming increasingly important.
Zalul - cleaning Israel's waterways
I had the pleasure of meeting with Yariv Abramovich this past Friday, along with Amos Levy (from the Associated). The purpose of the conversation was to talk about Zalul (which in Hebrew means "clear"), the environmental organization that Yariv runs. Zalul, which is devoted to cleaning up the waterways of Israel, its rivers, seas and ocean, was founded in 2000 by Benjamin Kahn, a wealthy businessman who has a passion for coral reefs, clean water, and a healthy Israel.
Abramovich, the organization's director, is a fascinating fellow, who guides the work of Zalul with a combination of good science, legal fights and street smarts, or what might be gently called, guerilla theater. The organization's targets are big industry and public works that dump sewage and pollutants into Israel's rapidly diminishing and degrading waterways. Not easy adversaries to defeat, or change.
Yet Zalul has, through its creative efforts, enjoyed significant success. Still, there is so very much to do. Abramovich comes to the states often to garner support and funding (although much of his budget continues to be covered by Kahn). While the organization's office is located in Ramat Gan (a suburb of Tel Aviv), Abramovich himself lives in Ashkelon, which happens to be the site of the Lachish river, one of Zalul's targeted rivers to clean up, Yariv's hometown and the sister-city of Baltimore - both for the Associated and Baltimore City!
We are exploring options of how Baltimore might "adopt-a-river", in this case, the Lachish, and work to help Zalul clean it up. We are expecting that Yariv will come back to Baltimore for more discussions. It would be great if folks from BJEN and the broader community had the chance to meet him. He tells great stories. In the meantime, we will keep talking with him, and we will keep you posted.
Abramovich, the organization's director, is a fascinating fellow, who guides the work of Zalul with a combination of good science, legal fights and street smarts, or what might be gently called, guerilla theater. The organization's targets are big industry and public works that dump sewage and pollutants into Israel's rapidly diminishing and degrading waterways. Not easy adversaries to defeat, or change.
Yet Zalul has, through its creative efforts, enjoyed significant success. Still, there is so very much to do. Abramovich comes to the states often to garner support and funding (although much of his budget continues to be covered by Kahn). While the organization's office is located in Ramat Gan (a suburb of Tel Aviv), Abramovich himself lives in Ashkelon, which happens to be the site of the Lachish river, one of Zalul's targeted rivers to clean up, Yariv's hometown and the sister-city of Baltimore - both for the Associated and Baltimore City!
We are exploring options of how Baltimore might "adopt-a-river", in this case, the Lachish, and work to help Zalul clean it up. We are expecting that Yariv will come back to Baltimore for more discussions. It would be great if folks from BJEN and the broader community had the chance to meet him. He tells great stories. In the meantime, we will keep talking with him, and we will keep you posted.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
the price of gold
Here is an astonishing bit of information - culled from today's Baltimore Sun: in open pit gold mining operations, 76 tons of waste and debris are produced to retrieve 1 ounce of gold. One ounce for every 76 tons. The mind almost cannot compute that obscene ratio, especially when 80% of all the gold mined in the United States is used for jewelry! That is why some of the top flight stores are opposing such practices.
a world aglaze
Although the ice is making travel and even walking dangerous, and public schools are closed for the day, from inside a warm house the outside looks alluring. It is as if the whole world had been gently dipped in a soft white sugar glaze, coating the ground, the grass, the roads, the trees, the twigs. It is as if people were dolls placed provocatively, engagingly on the top of a decorated cake, evoking fantasies of enchanted places and lives and meetings - licit and not. Beauty and danger - what an irresistable mix.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
the one that didn't get away
If the cheapest power plant is the one that you don't have to build, then the best carbon dioxide is the amount that doesn't get released - and that you don't have to capture and store.
The Dept of Energy's Secretary Samuel Bodman pulled the plug on its $1 billion plus boondoggle with Futuregen that would build a plant in Illinois to explore the large-scale feasibility of burning coal without releasing CO2 into the atmosphere. Instead, the CO2 would be captured and stored underground. The expanding and unforseeable expenses in that technology blew it out of contention, but it should also be nixed forever because of the questionable safety of the gas being sequestered securely (it could leak and escape or blow up and escape), and the inability of the earth to reabsorb that carbon in a stable fashion (the way oil and coal and gas have been for millions of years). These concerns alone should put a cabash on CCS (carbon storage and sequestration, or storage) as a viable alternative to renewable energy.
And let us not forget that the coal has to be dug up first, which not only causes the loss of 1000s of lives world-wide in harvesting the stuff, but also destroys the land that harbors it.
The best CO2 is the stuff that stays in the ground. Sun and wind, and perhaps other possible sources that we have yet to discover, do not create CO2 so we don't have to worry about capturing it or storing it or even reabsorbing it. Or paying huge costs to clean up a mess we did not need to create. (CSS means that we pay twice for our energy: getting it and using it, and storing its waste forever.) We should take our billions of dollars and put them into research and development of those truly clean fuels. We need to harness the energies of power sources that no one can own, and that cannot be put at the mercy of one grand industry or cluster of nations. (How interesting that the least researched energy sources are the ones that cannot be owned and thus sold at market fluctuating prices!)
Secretary Bodman did the right thing but for the wrong reason. Let him - and others - know that R&D in the right places can get us where we want to go if we would only invest wisely and well and abundantly in them.
The Dept of Energy's Secretary Samuel Bodman pulled the plug on its $1 billion plus boondoggle with Futuregen that would build a plant in Illinois to explore the large-scale feasibility of burning coal without releasing CO2 into the atmosphere. Instead, the CO2 would be captured and stored underground. The expanding and unforseeable expenses in that technology blew it out of contention, but it should also be nixed forever because of the questionable safety of the gas being sequestered securely (it could leak and escape or blow up and escape), and the inability of the earth to reabsorb that carbon in a stable fashion (the way oil and coal and gas have been for millions of years). These concerns alone should put a cabash on CCS (carbon storage and sequestration, or storage) as a viable alternative to renewable energy.
And let us not forget that the coal has to be dug up first, which not only causes the loss of 1000s of lives world-wide in harvesting the stuff, but also destroys the land that harbors it.
The best CO2 is the stuff that stays in the ground. Sun and wind, and perhaps other possible sources that we have yet to discover, do not create CO2 so we don't have to worry about capturing it or storing it or even reabsorbing it. Or paying huge costs to clean up a mess we did not need to create. (CSS means that we pay twice for our energy: getting it and using it, and storing its waste forever.) We should take our billions of dollars and put them into research and development of those truly clean fuels. We need to harness the energies of power sources that no one can own, and that cannot be put at the mercy of one grand industry or cluster of nations. (How interesting that the least researched energy sources are the ones that cannot be owned and thus sold at market fluctuating prices!)
Secretary Bodman did the right thing but for the wrong reason. Let him - and others - know that R&D in the right places can get us where we want to go if we would only invest wisely and well and abundantly in them.
Friday, February 8, 2008
ownerless energy
Imagine if the world's power source was not located in any one state or nation; not owned, controlled or abused by any one company. Imagine an energy source that did not have to be dug up or blown off or piped across any expanse of land. Imagine an energy source that did not have to be transported in tankers, or trunks; whose distribution was managed by the forces of nature and not the whim of CEOs; whose harnessing was tamed by the creativity of the human mind and not the brute, crude force of destruction. Imagine an energy source that could not be blown up or blown down by terrorists or storms.
Imagine an energy source that did not make any one wealthy, but that made everyone rich.
Such is the nature of wind and solar energy - and who knows what other decentralized, readily available, on-site, safe, sustainable, no waste energy sources.
No wonder the energy companies are fighting it. There is no profit in the stuff of sun or wind. They can't hold or own or control the sun's rays or the wind's force. But there is profit in the machines that capture their energy; and in the green economy of manufaturing through recycling and the ever-expanding need for a service economy that can meet the infinite needs of the human spirit for care, companionship, and culture.
A new era of economics and spirit will have to dawn for us to save this planet, and ourselves. We will have to move from a disposable economy to a renewable economy; and from an economy of stuff to an economy of service. We can do this - and even more, we will be a better people, a happier people, if and when we do.
Imagine an energy source that did not make any one wealthy, but that made everyone rich.
Such is the nature of wind and solar energy - and who knows what other decentralized, readily available, on-site, safe, sustainable, no waste energy sources.
No wonder the energy companies are fighting it. There is no profit in the stuff of sun or wind. They can't hold or own or control the sun's rays or the wind's force. But there is profit in the machines that capture their energy; and in the green economy of manufaturing through recycling and the ever-expanding need for a service economy that can meet the infinite needs of the human spirit for care, companionship, and culture.
A new era of economics and spirit will have to dawn for us to save this planet, and ourselves. We will have to move from a disposable economy to a renewable economy; and from an economy of stuff to an economy of service. We can do this - and even more, we will be a better people, a happier people, if and when we do.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
one percent non-solution
I often wonder how much energy it takes to make a bag that I may use for 10 minutes. Let's say I go to the drug store, get shampoo, vitamins and make-up and check out. The cashier puts that stuff in a bag. I drive home - 2 miles - take the stuff out of the bag and then throw the bag away. That return trip, with the brand new bag, took about 7 minutes. So, this bag that took oodles of resources and energy to make and get to me, went from treasure to trash in 10 minutes.
Okay, so let's say it don't throw it away, but recycle it. I put it in my "bag of bags" and take it to Giant next time I go, and put it in their bag receptacle. Now, there is a difference of opinion as to where this Bag-of-Bags goes. Some folks - including workers at Giant - say it is thrown in with the trash. But even assuming it gets recycled, I am still not so happy.
After all, there are, we are told, five [linear] stages of merchandising and consuming: extraction (getting the materials out of the earth), manufacturing (making the resources into the stuff we use), merchandising (selling it to us), consuming (using it) and disposal (getting rid of it somehow). In between, by the way, is all the transportation and trucking and shipping and driving that moves the stuff from place to place.
Recycling only affects the first and last. Manufacturing, merchandising, consuming and transportation remain. Which is why we say the first step in limiting pollution and waste is Reducing what we use. So even if all the plastic bags were biodegradable, we should still make it a habit of shopping with cloth, reusable bags.
But there is more. I just watched a piece on the lifecycle of stuff - you can see it at http://www.storyofstuff.com/
There is an astonishing, horrifying, piece of information there: Guess how much of the stuff that is made today will still be in use six months from now. The number is horrifying: 1%.
Now, even if she - the narrator of the Story of Stuff - is off by a factor of ten, and even if "in use" is a big vague as a category, it is still an astonishing figure. But think about it: all the food we eat, and the packaging it comes in. The candy, the tchotchkes we buy, the paper and ink and pens and napkins; the cups and covers and other disposables we use at McDonalds and Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts. The batteries, the cleaners, the oil. The newspapers, cardboard boxes and styrofoam peanuts. So much more than I can even imagine right now.
And it points to a great truth. We use more stuff than we need to. Imagine if all that money we spent on stuff went to fair wage salaries and rebuilding our nation's infrastructure. (I have written of this before so I will spare you now.)
We focus so much on recycling, and that is not bad. But we also need to focus on the other two "R's": reducing and reusing.
Maybe that should be our next big push. The world seems to have begun with reducing (or banning) plastic bags and water bottles. Let's keep the momentum going!
Okay, so let's say it don't throw it away, but recycle it. I put it in my "bag of bags" and take it to Giant next time I go, and put it in their bag receptacle. Now, there is a difference of opinion as to where this Bag-of-Bags goes. Some folks - including workers at Giant - say it is thrown in with the trash. But even assuming it gets recycled, I am still not so happy.
After all, there are, we are told, five [linear] stages of merchandising and consuming: extraction (getting the materials out of the earth), manufacturing (making the resources into the stuff we use), merchandising (selling it to us), consuming (using it) and disposal (getting rid of it somehow). In between, by the way, is all the transportation and trucking and shipping and driving that moves the stuff from place to place.
Recycling only affects the first and last. Manufacturing, merchandising, consuming and transportation remain. Which is why we say the first step in limiting pollution and waste is Reducing what we use. So even if all the plastic bags were biodegradable, we should still make it a habit of shopping with cloth, reusable bags.
But there is more. I just watched a piece on the lifecycle of stuff - you can see it at http://www.storyofstuff.com/
There is an astonishing, horrifying, piece of information there: Guess how much of the stuff that is made today will still be in use six months from now. The number is horrifying: 1%.
Now, even if she - the narrator of the Story of Stuff - is off by a factor of ten, and even if "in use" is a big vague as a category, it is still an astonishing figure. But think about it: all the food we eat, and the packaging it comes in. The candy, the tchotchkes we buy, the paper and ink and pens and napkins; the cups and covers and other disposables we use at McDonalds and Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts. The batteries, the cleaners, the oil. The newspapers, cardboard boxes and styrofoam peanuts. So much more than I can even imagine right now.
And it points to a great truth. We use more stuff than we need to. Imagine if all that money we spent on stuff went to fair wage salaries and rebuilding our nation's infrastructure. (I have written of this before so I will spare you now.)
We focus so much on recycling, and that is not bad. But we also need to focus on the other two "R's": reducing and reusing.
Maybe that should be our next big push. The world seems to have begun with reducing (or banning) plastic bags and water bottles. Let's keep the momentum going!
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