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One More Small Change: Walkabout

Sometimes my walkabout view looks like this, and we get to cruising at a nice fast clip, getting all sorts of things done.

Other times my view is more like this. And I realize there really wasn’t anywhere we needed to go, after all.

My goal for this month’s change is to keep the car parked. Not always. We won’t miss playgroup. We’ll keep driving to the mountains whenever possible. Inevitably I’ll make at least one big trip to the grocery store with the car. But I do want to cut back and see how life opens up when I don’t just pop into the car all the time.

Here’s the plan: If it’s within a mile and a half of home, I’ll walk. If it’s farther afield, I’ll try to find a closer alternative, shrinking my orbit when possible. And when I want to go farther than I can walk, I’d like to take the bus. For a variety of reasons (it’s super lame, being the main one) I’ve only taken public transportation once in ten years of living in this town. But life has changed a great deal for me since that ill-fated outing. And if a stay-at-home mama with a little one enamored with busses can’t make it work, who can?

I have already noticed how this requires a whole new relationship to going out and getting things done. Often it means doing much less, not letting too many errands build up, making fewer stops, and sometimes just not getting things done with my usual efficiency. But since having a child, this is what I’ve been doing, anyways.

The last piece of the puzzle is to get the baby seat on my bike instead of E’s, and actually learn to comfortably and safely ride with a passenger and panniers so that me and my little compañera can get our bliss on all over town.

A new month, another new beginning. How are your small changes going?

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Change of Heart

(photo by E.)

Again and again this is my fear: not so much of our being judged in the future as having been the last generation to possess the potential and the possibility–even if hugely diminished by the trajectory, momentum, and infrastructure of all the generations that preceded ours–to effect change of the most profound kind: not a change in knowledge, but in entire systems of logic, or even further, changes within the heart.

–Rick Bass

A change of heart or of values without a practice is only another pointless luxury of a passively consumptive way of life.

–Wendell Berry

When people ask me why we are taking this plastic fast, the easiest answers to articulate are the surface things. There’s our concern about the pollution associated with plastic manufacturing, the ocean’s plastic soup, the ramifications of a disposable consumer society, and the risks posed by plastics to human and environmental health.

But the truth is, I’m not doing this because of my concern about hormone disruptors leaching from the linings of tin cans (though I still think this is a good reason to avoid plastics, hormone disruptors are, sadly, so prevalent as to be unavoidable). It’s not because I think forgoing tortillas in plastic bags will save the lives of a marine turtle (my concern about the gyres is very real, but my contribution to it from New Mexico, where our rivers hardly make it out of town, let alone all the way to the sea, is negligible.) I am concerned about our plastic filled landfills contaminating ground water, but when we have plutonium waste up and down the other side of the watershed, it seems a bit nitpicky. So why plastic? Why bother?

Until I read the lines quoted above, it wasn’t easy for me to articulate the real reason behind our plastic fast. But it’s simple: We had a change of heart. Which changed our lives.

Yes, certainly — of course — we are undertaking this action as a symbolic protest and act of solidarity with the earth. But, as one of my pragmatic friends pointed out, plastic is not really the problem.

We are.

The reason we are doing this is because it was time to do something. Something more than we ever had before. Something we didn’t think was possible. Something that reflected our desire to live with less convenience and more intention. As in, intention that our grandkids will know we started waking up, and started changing our ways. Even in symbolic ways. Or especially in symbolic ways.

I know it is enormously overwhelming when we start thinking of all the things we think we should be doing, that we want to do. Where to begin? Where to end? (Is there an end point?) For us, plastic was the starting place. It could have been anything, really. But it was this. A small, simple action that nevertheless felt like a powerful way to change our lives. And it has, friends. It has.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground, Rumi said. Same goes for living more lightly. All we need to do is touch our hearts, and begin.

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February Reckoning

Goodness, is it already time to tally up our monthly accrual of plastic waste again?

More milk caps, a lollypop wrapper, a plastic lined macaroni and cheese packet, some wrapping from something or other, rubber bands and plastic tags from produce (you can safely bet that there were a few more of these that got swept away during dinner cleanup).

Now is as good a time as any to bring up the butcher paper quandary. It’s surely plastic lined. We’re eating a lot less meat these days, but still, it’s not something we’re ready to give up completely (and no store will let me bring home raw meat in my own container). So that’s one area where I’m compromising. You don’t see that here because saving paper with raw meat juice on it would be a health hazard.

One other slip I had this month was buying fresh local lamb at the farmer’s market before I realized it came in a plastic vacuum sealed bag. Did I already tell you about that? It was a bummer.

Other than that, and the mail ordered yarn with plastic labels (it was wholesale!),  we seem to be doing well.

Now this pile is from our CSA. It has been an ongoing challenge for me to find ways to make the CSA experience a waste free one. This winter our CSA, which we otherwise love, has gone a little plastic bag crazy, pre-bagging just about everything. I end up carefully emptying the food from it’s plastic bags and putting it into my cloth ones. The plastic ones I give back, but sometimes they aren’t reusable–torn or dirty. Yes, it’s wasteful-ish. But I want to make the point that this is unwanted. The plastic shown in this picture is from things I couldn’t do that with — they had frozen veggies or fruit in them. I could have turned the food down, but I’d already paid for them and it’s a strange grey area for me. Would you say no to pomegranate apple juice with your name on it? On the bright side, a CSA is a great place to actually have an influence about changing wasteful practices. My voice has been heard and they are slowly making changes. And the benefits of the local, seasonal fare are worth fighting for. Besides, each of those baggies will get re-used about a hundred times around here, so they aren’t really trash yet.

Please note: This doesn’t represent all the plastic we threw out this month, only new items we purchased post 1/1/10 and have already used up. Not included are pre 2010 yogurt containers used to freeze food, many times re-used bread and produce bags that are just too funky to keep around, toothpaste caps, and other things from our pre-fast days that are just now leaving the home. Also not included are things given to us by friends–if someone brings a pint of fresh olives or a bag of chips to the house, we follow No Impact Man’s lead and enjoy the generous gesture and camaraderie, and take a break from tallying.

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Kicking Corporations Out of the Kitchen

Recently my friend Jenny and I were waxing poetic about cooking from scratch. We covered the joys of self-reliance and creativity, frugality and reduced waste, and then she reminded me that many health food brands are owned by corporate food companies. So I added “act of protest” to my list of reasons why the Lost Kitchen Arts matter so much to me.

Curious to know more, I did a quick search and found this interesting chart that breaks down ownership of brands that would be familiar to anyone who shops at health food stores. Hmm. Food for thought, indeed. I’m not going to try to interpret this information. Just putting it out there in case you, like me, want to know just what you are supporting with your grocery money.

I will say, though, that I now have one more reason to celebrate the beauty of mixing a few simple ingredients into as pure a form of edible love as I might ever find, all the while reclaiming my role as a provider of true sustenance.

And no, that’s not for sale.

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Homemade Crackers

(Oops, I accidentally posted this while still in draft form. Here’s something more coherent.)

I had an epic day in the kitchen this week, mostly involving my big sack of New Mexican whole wheat flour. As the snow swirled down outside, I puttered away, making bread and yogurt, then two cherry-peach tarts (with frozen fruit from last summer), then egg noodles and goat milk ricotta for ravioli. I figured while I had the big sack of flour out and getting all over the place, and the oven roaring, I should make some crackers, which after our long deprivation, we seem to inhale by the dozen. It was a day of creativity and sustenance, the steady rhythms of measuring and mixing fueled by inspiration and an adventurousness that used to find its powder day outlet in the mountains rather than in the kitchen with flour flying everywhere.

::

Maybe crackers seem like an obvious thing to make from scratch, but to me they were a final frontier. So necessary, and yet so…impossible. Or did I think them boring? But they’re lovely and oh so simple (how could they not be given that so many other things that have no business acting like crackers often do?). Best of all they contain only the ingredients I actually want to put in, rather than all the white flour and cane sugar and what all the store-bought ones contain. It should also come as no surprise that they are cheap. This recipe is a simple foundation, a blank canvas for your culinary genius. No part of it is set in stone, and everything is up for adaptation.

Whole Wheat Crackers

Sift

2 cups whole wheat flour, or flour of choice. (I like to add in at least a 1/2 cup of cornmeal or rye. Adjust accordingly.)

3/4 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

blend

1/2 cup melted butter or oil

1 spoonful (you decide which spoon!) honey or molasses

2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar

About 1 1/2 cup of water, but not all at once.

Note: The right moisture content is key to happy rolling–add water in small amounts until the dough is smooth and elastic. My flour seems like a sponge, it takes in so much moisture (we’re all a little dry here in the high desert) so what works for me might be way too much for you. Do not attempt to roll out crumbly dough. It might make you cry in frustration and curse my name. If the dough becomes too sticky, sprinkle with flour.

Roll dough out thinly, and cut out with cookie cutters or into strips or squares.

They can bake at 400 degrees for 8-10 minutes, until golden. They might come out a little soft, but will turn crispy when cool.

Variations:

~ lightly press poppy or sesame seeds into top of rolled dough–we call these birdseed crackers

~replace water with apple juice and add a few dashes of cinnamon

~brush with olive oil and sprinkle on dried herbs and parmesan

~brush with egg and top with raisins and sliced almonds

~replace 1/4 cup butter/oil with 1/4 cup nut butter

~add a dash of  your favorite curry spices, and granulated garlic or onions

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money bags: making more out of less

Since leaving my job as a nurse two years ago (on the cusp of giving birth to my daughter), I’ve become keenly aware of the fact that our family lives in a more earth friendly way on one income. Partly this is because I have time to do all the “green” things that one has time for as a hausfrau, and partly it’s because we plain don’t have money to spend on travel and new stuff and all the other things that are decidedly unhelpful to the planet. Either way, we are getting the hang of the whole live simply so others may simply live concept. And liking it.

The only trouble with was that we couldn’t afford it. Every month since Cora was born we’ve slowly but surely gone into the red, dipping into our small savings just to cover our most basic expenses. It was, you see, green and earth friendly, and yet ultimately unsustainable. I was looking down the road and seeing blue scrubs in my future.

For the record, I loved working as a nurse. But if I had to choose between the high stress of the hospital to a day of nursing my girl, soaking beans, walking to the store, and living fully, I’d take the latter. Hands down. If only the latter could make economic sense. Which I became determined to make happen. In essence, my job was to figure out how to make staying home pay. Clearly, just making yogurt and shampoo, while helpful, wasn’t enough. I had to get a firmer grip on our budget.

Funny enough, it took me awhile to see the answer sitting right in front of me. Here we were, discovering the richness of a life with less plastic, and I was still using my debit card for just about everything. So, I extended the no plastic rule to that magic little card. Thats right: less plastic, more cash. As with most of my brilliant discoveries, lot’s of folks have been touting this method for…ever. This post on the envelope system is quite helpful, and it’s basically what I’m doing now. For the first time since I said goodbye to a paycheck, we’re fully in the black. Just like that we were living within our means.

Shortly after I started divvying up cash for our different expenses, I found these tempting little cloth money envelopes. Don’t they just make you want to be frugal for the sake of cuteness? I wanted them so bad. But you guessed it: not on the budget. So then I thought, I could make those. And then I thought, no I can’t because I can’t buy (plastic) zippers.

Welcome to my world, folks.

I might have been able to find metal zippers, and might even have figured out how to install them. I’ve learned that there’s almost always an alternative to plastic. In this case, it happened to be a couple little wooden buttons from my sewing box. And a bit of improvisation. Perhaps I’ll get to embroidering little labels like “gas” or “comida” on these purses, but for now I just like to pretend all the money in them is for yarn.

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The pledge

When I first agreed to this plastic free scheme (despite my ever growing enthusiasm, it was my husband’s brain child) I thought we’d be lone eco-freaks filling our muslin bags at the co-op. To my delight, we are far from alone. So, so many of us are looking for ways to live less wastefully, inspiring each other to ever greater heights of eco-freakiness. Witness this here pledge from the Plastic Pollution Coalition. I like it. Especially the first bit about just saying no. That’s all it takes, folks. I promise you won’t go hungry. It might even be kind of fun. Try it for a day, a week, or as long as you like.

Single-Use Plastic Emergency Response (S.U.P.E.R.) Hero Pledge

I will follow the “4 Rs” of sustainable living in the following order of preference:

Refuse:

Just say NO to single-use and disposable plastics like bags and bottles, straws, cups, plates, silverware and razors. Instead, bring your own shopping and produce bags to the market. Carry a reusable bottle with you for drinking on the go. Bring your travel mug to the coffee shop. Pack your own utensils. Skip the straw. (Plastic straws are for suckers!) Bring your own containers for take-out or ask for non-plastic disposable packaging.

Reduce:

Reduce waste: buy in bulk, choose products with the least packaging, look for products and packaging made from renewable resources, and avoid plastic packaging and containers. Choose products that have the least amount of disposable parts, like razors with replaceable blades and toothbrushes with replaceable brushes.

Reuse:

Reuse preferably nontoxic (glass, stainless steel) containers and goods to make less waste. Bad habits are disposable, containers are reusable.

Recycle:

Recycle what you can’t refuse, reduce or reuse. Recycling is a last option because it uses energy, and there may not be a market for the refabricated materials.

Oh yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Ready to sign on? Click here to take the pledge.

If you’re still not convinced that your actions can make a difference

you might enjoy this post from Fake Plastic Fish on Why Personal Changes Matters.

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a moment of silence at the playground

I was at the park with my girl Cora talking with another parent. It was a brilliant day, cripsy with snow but warm in that way that New Mexico at midday in January can be. We were in good spirits, our talk bubbling with passion and humor while the kids played. We covered politics and parenting, restoration efforts on our local river, and, you know, Everything Else.

And then I blithely mentioned the gyres, the “patches” of floating plastic that are like loosely formed continents in all the world’s seas. My friend hadn’t heard about them before. He grew quiet. So did I. A moment of silence at the playground for the world’s oceans.

I remembered how I felt when I first learned about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch and others like it: Horrified. Overwhelmed. Helpless. Sick. It is a tremendous realization, that one, on par with understanding that we are in the midst of the Sixth Great Extinction, that climate change will not be reversed (sorry, the supreme court has me down), that we have caused irreparable damage on a scale we still don’t fully understand.

“Makes you realize that there’s so little we can do,” my friend said at last. I nodded. I’m no stranger to that feeling. For years I didn’t really do much at all because of how vast the problems seemed and how small I felt. So in addition to doing nothing beyond the small things I felt were enough–the convenient, affordable, and not requiring any compromise things like recycling, changing light bulbs, and hanging clothes on the line–I did one rather unsurprising thing.

I turned away from the suffering of the world. I turned away from my fear. I accepted that my smallness was valid, and let it hamper not only my thoughts but my actions. I blamed the government for its lack of will. I blamed the corporations for their insane greed. I blamed my fellow citizens for being what our culture has made us. So long as I maintained the story that I was helpless and passive, I felt safe from the blame.

I mean, I’ve known about the gyres for years. Years! When did I decide to do something about it? Three months ago. Will what I’m doing make a difference? Probably not. All along I’ve called our choice to learn to live with less plastic a symbolic action. An act of solidarity with the ocean. With the fish and turtles and birds. With the world’s poor who simply don’t have the choice to over-consume. With my grandchildren. It’s all of those things, but most of all it’s the best way we could think of to break out of our cycle of inaction, our belief that because there’s so little we could do, we didn’t really need to do anything.

It doesn’t matter, ultimately, if this small step can heal the oceans. What matters is our attempt to live in a way that is conducive rather than obstructive to that healing.

So I nodded understandingly to my friend. “There aren’t any easy solutions,” I said. “Just lot’s of good places to start.”

::

To learn more about the gyres, and find out what you can do, visit 5 Gyres or Rise Above Plastics, read an article or two, or check out the documentary Addicted to Plastic.

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Plastic-free Homesteading

(Feeling pretty capable back in September. Oh, to be young and innocent again.)

A while back a friend asked me how the plastic-free homesteading was going and I said, “Great, between the dismal failures.” Yup, sometimes the pressure cooker stew burns or the bread comes out dense (or mutant, see picture) or the goat milk yogurt does whatever it does that doesn’t involve thickening. Maybe you are already thinking that none of these are failures – they are the signs of a fearless housewife embarking into an unknown country (the Olden Days, remember) and learning much along the way.

That’s right, I am. After a few months of figuring things out as I go, of occasionally melting down and wailing “this is supposed to make me happy,” of serving dal all week for dinner because I just couldn’t think what else to make (I know some of you do that on purpose, but gee whiz, enough’s enough), and of somehow persevering anyways because I made a vow but also because I had a hunch that less waste really could equal more joy, things are looking up.

These days, my bread is coming out positively artisanal thanks to the fabulous and foolproof no-knead method. My dinners are a triumph of creative simplicity (right, honey?). I’m saving the goat milk for cheese making, and using cow milk for the yogurt  because it’s tear proof (and cheap and comes in returnable glass bottles). All of this makes it a lot easier to have warm fuzzy feelings about “doing the right thing.” Which every day becomes less and less novel, and more and more just the way we live.

I know, I know, it looks like I’ve got things under control. But not to worry. I’m sure I’ll burn the soup again soon.