No Longer Blurry

This is the very first digital picture we took, back in 2006, with the magic camera that since then broke and has been replaced by one that I have never learned to love nearly as much. My younger daughter took it of me in the garden. Things were blurry then, in lots of ways. But over more than 3 years and almost 600 posts, things have snapped into focus. Our lives have changed dramatically, and there comes a moment when the inevitable is clear. It is time to move on.

That moment is now.

I've built a new "space" for the next stage of my life, and I invite you to join me there. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.

If I somehow lose you now, please know that I have enjoyed sharing this journey with you immensely and I look forward to our paths crossing again, in ways we cannot even imagine.

With much gratitude,

Pattie

Up on the Rooftop, Ideas Pause

So I was standing there on the grass which I never really finished push-reel-mowing back in October (and, by the way, I'm now thinking of not giving up on that). I looked up at the men on my roof ripping asphalt shingles and tossing them onto blue tarps that are over my garden, which now surrounds three sides of my house. I decided it would be best to hunker down in my office and work on writing assignments so that I wouldn't see what was going on, but, curiosity getting the better of me, I slipped out when the crew broke for lunch and snapped this photo of the main part of my vegetable garden:





It had taken me about two months to get to this point. It started with knowledge that a hale storm had damaged many roofs in my neighborhood. I remembered, vaguely, my younger daughter turning some shingles she "found" into an art project. I should have questioned things then, but chose denial (which, by the way, is not always a bad strategy--my assessment of denial is that it does make about 60 percent of things go away. The other 40%, however, do get worse, unfortunately. So the to-do list is shorter, but more extreme. You decide.)

Then, my neighbor wanted a "cool roof" (which is a roof light in color intended to reflect more heat and thereby be more energy-efficient), which caused a whole brouhaha in the 'hood because I am one of the 60 million people in the United States who live in a neighborhood with a long list of covenants. Anyway, at least we did the research and it turns out that light roofs on our type of houses in our climate would streak and become unsightly with algae within two years, so the neighborhood board rejected it.

The materials are just not there yet in performance capability, and frankly, that is a real problem ( or, shall we say, opportunity for innovative businesses to address--Ray Anderson could do it--yes, I finished his excellent new book and marked up almost every page--Ray says, about the eco-turnaround of Interface--"If we can do it, anybody can. And if anybody can, everybody can.").

I am not an advocate of blindly recommending eco-options with no concern to aesthetics, cost, performance, or other qualities that are part of a thorough decision-making process. I vote with my dollar for things that work, and I challenge Big or Small Business to create them. (Here is a brand new article by Jared Diamond about how Big Business can save the earth.)

However, this opened the door to question all our non-environmentally-friendly restrictions--from solar just on the back side of the house to not allowing porous pavement in the driveway to no clothelines to that $2000 we spend every year to plant chemical-laden annuals at the front entrance, and more. The neighborhood association board prepared and sent out a survey, and almost half the neighbors responded (a shockingly high response, if you ask me, especially considering that this was over the long Thanksgiving holiday).

Anyway, so it turns out, no surprise, that the majority of my neighbors want to keep the restrictions we have. I had suggested at least researching these issues, but when my attempts to start a Sustainability Advisory Group in my neighborhood did not result in a groundswell of support, I stepped away since I am not a believer of "planting tomatoes in April" but rather in May, when the ground is ready for them, and so it is with groups going green. The time must be ripe, or else it's all uphill, filled with acrimonious for-and-against arguments often based on emotion and preconceptions rather than research and reason. I believe this eco-stuff is the fun stuff, not the stuff to be fighting over. At least that's the kind of environment in which I'm choosing to participate.

What was a surprise, however, was that a full 35% of my neighbors did support change. This is about 34% more than I would have predicted! Also, 60% want the neighborhood board to take an active role in encouraging more recycling efforts (about 32% of my neighbors participate in the curbside recycling program currently, and my Sustainability Commission efforts in 2010 will involve setting up electronics and other additional recycling events and systems).

So, back to the roof. I tried to get the asphalt shingles recycled. I thought that, at least, would be good. Some ungodly number of tons of shingles are torn off and sent to landfills every year. The ones that are recycled are turned into numerous materials, including an aggregate that can be used to fill potholes. I pitched my city on the idea of using the aggregate made from the very roofs of our citizens to fill the potholes around town. A nice closed loop sustainability story. My sustainability liaison at City Hall loved it, even suggesting the City encourage recycling the shingles when issuing roof replacement permits, and we also agreed it might qualify for innovation points on the Atlanta Regional Commission Green Community Certification checklist (we are ending the year with over 100 points towards the 175 points needed for the bronze level, by the way, and I anticipate us achieving that by mid-2010).

But then I went crazy finding a recycler. After much research that involved the top eco-people in the state, here was the clincher email:

Unfortunately, there are currently no takers for old shingles because there's a glut due to hail storms. Both the C.W. Matthews Co. and Dykes Construction & Paving have used shingles in their asphalt in the past. They're now over-supplied and road paving is down due to the economy. The State Dept. of Transportation mandates that only 100 lbs of shingles may be used in 2,000 lbs of asphalt. To the best of my knowledge there are no commercial boilers in GA permitted to combust old shingles. Regrettably the only option is a landfill.

So, off to the landfill it all went.



I felt sick about this, really sick. I reached out to my friend, Judy, who works at arguably one of the most sustainable places in the United States, if not the world, and she told me that sometimes no matter how hard we try, it just doesn't work out and all we can do is our best for today.

And so, as I stood there watching the crew teeter on the top of my roof and I thought about how risky that was, I realized how risky it was, as well, to ask questions. To involve neighbors when it would be easier and far more private to just abide by the status quo. And to commit to a joy-based journey, no matter how counterintuitive that might sound when the pursuit involves a path of change.

Then, just a couple nights ago, I brought my kids to City Hall to see a presentation by students from the Georgia Tech School of Architecture about their vision for redevelopment of our city center. I wanted my children to see that school projects could have real-world implications. Most of our city leaders were at the meeting, listening intently. Here is the presentation. If you haven't seen the United States obesity data as it has changed over the last twenty years, that alone is worth a look.

My daughters both sat in the front row, even though I was eight rows back, and they took copious notes that we discussed at dinner afterwards. When we realized that parts of our city could very well be completely different in 20 years, and how my kids will be able to show their children the changes in which they were personally involved, my older daughter said, "Mom, we have to take lots of pictures so they can see what it was like."

The reality of impending change had truly hit her. The likelihood that future generations would be affected by our actions today seemed suddenly tangible. For me, visions of roads that connected and a vibrant local business scene (where now there are mostly vacant storefronts) and extensive urban agriculture danced in my head like sugarplums all night.

As we were driving down the main road that leads to my neighborhood (with all its new dark roofs), we passed:

* Solar-powered speed signs now on the side of the road
* Crosswalk signs where there weren't ones before

* LED lights in more than half the traffic lights

* FlexFuel police cars

* A new (albeit, short) bike lane

* And an abundant school garden (which was started in mid-September) where children just harvested and made a delicious kale salad when most of them had never even tasted kale before.

My older daughter was watching the data displayed in my Prius. (And, by the way, complete strangers come up to me and say things like, "How do you like that car?" When I say I do, they reply, "You know it takes more energy to make that car than it does to make a Hummer?" and then they walk away. Listen, I know it's not perfect, but I love the feedback data that helps me teach my kids. I love that I am growing a garden in a box in the hatchback. I love that it doesn't idle. I love that I get 50 gallons to the mile, and it costs me $40 a month in gas. I love that it's bright red, not some bland maroon like that horrid minivan I used to drive.)

She said, "How does the battery in this car recharge?"

I answered, "It regenerates when you break."

Pause.

And then I added, "Sort of like people."

And that got me thinking. It's time to break. To regenerate. It's time to read and ride my bike and bake cookies and internalize everything that has happened this year, here on our FoodShed Planet. It's time to prepare for the risks I know I need to take in 2010 in order to stand on the metaphorical roof and shout out with joy about the boundless potential and power of the creative spirit to change the world, even just a little bit.

I'm not sure if, up on the rooftop, reindeers paws really alight, but I like to believe they do. I do know, for sure, that up on my rooftop, ideas paused and caused me to stop and think and consider my actions. And now I need to assess the coming risks of a brand new year, and see how I can best step firmly forward.

And so I offer my wish to you: May your harvests of happiness, peace and progress toward a more sustainable future, close to home and around the world, be abundant this holiday season. And may you find sure footing on your own rooftop of possibility.

See you on January 3.

A Volley Happening Between Mother and Daughter in the Place We Call Home

After years now of garden expansion, my backyard lawn slipping away with each new bed and border planted, lacrosse sticks have suddenly entered my home, a brand new (to us), out-of-left-field pursuit in which my older daughter is now participating. And so it was that I found myself out there among the rosemary and broccoli rabe, the lemon balm and lacinato kale, tossing a small, heavy, neon pink ball from my netted stick head to hers as far away as she could stand without falling into the compost pile.

The stillness of the late afternoon and the golden hue of the sky, the light starting to dim, was punctuated by the gentle thwump of the ball passing, a swishing cradle action holding it in place, a volley happening between mother and daughter at an age when we can't always talk, although we try. With each ball drop, I scooped up more of the fragrance of what we are all about, of the land which we have nurtured, of the very essence of our souls, in the place we call home. Oregano. French tarragon. Lemon thyme. Chives. Every smell a shared memory.

As the light faded too much for my aging eyes, and the sticks and ball got put away, although there is not yet any official "away" for these new houseguests in our lives, my daughter and I smiled and said that was fun and let's do it again another day. And as she went back to her life, her friends, her thoughts, and I went back to mine, I noticed that my hands smelled of cilantro.

2020 Vision (or What Happened When I Read About Ray Anderson's Big, Hairy Audacious Goals)

So I'm walking around with a book tucked under my arm. Staying up late reading it. And eschewing wheelbarrow-pushing for reading on a bench at the community garden.

"What are you reading that's so riveting?" someone asked me, prying my nose out of the book. No, it isn't some pot boiler mystery, and if this stranger knew me at all, he'd know that. I haven't picked up fiction in something like four years.

It's Confessions of a Radical Industrialist, by Ray Anderson, founder and CEO of the Atlanta-based company Interface, which is arguably the most sustainable corporation on the planet. Just as Anderson says he felt like he had gotten a spear in the chest after he finished reading Paul Hawken's book The Ecology of Commerce, and then went on to change his business, his life and the world, I feel like I, too, am being pointed in a more clear direction.

Big, hairy, audacious goals. That's what Anderson calls them. Big, hairy, audacious goals. That's how he eventually came up with seven goals of what he calls Mount Sustainability. But more on that another time. This post isn't about Interface. It's about how reading just the first 100 pages of this book snapped my 2020 Vision for The Little City That Could into focus. As chairperson of the Sustainability Commission for the newest city in the United States (which celebrates its one-year anniversary on December 1!), I propose this work-in-progress:

The 2020 Vision for the City of Dunwoody, GA (and, perhaps, you can adapt this for your city, too)

By the Year 2020:

* The City of Dunwoody will be carbon neutral, and will have the largest Zero Waste Zone in the United States.

* The City of Dunwoody will have a LEED Platinum (or comparable)-certified City Hall, and the highest number of LEED (or comparable)-certified buildings in the Southeastern United States.

* Every major artery in the City of Dunwoody will be a Complete Street.

* Every neighborhood in the City of Dunwoody will have a WalkScore of at least 75.

* The City of Dunwoody will have food-producing, usable green space within a half mile of every residence and business.

* The City of Dunwoody will have the largest number of locally-owned-and-operated businesses in the Southeastern United States.

* Every neighborhood lake in the City of Dunwoody will be a toxin-free, food-producing wildlife habitat.

* Every school in the City of Dunwoody, from preschool to college, will have a school garden, a Safe Routes to School program, and a No Idling program.

* No citizen in the City of Dunwoody will be food-insecure.

* The City of Dunwoody will be a designated Tree City USA, Bicycle-Friendly Community, and Atlanta Regional Commission Gold-Level Green Community.

Okay, fine. But how do we get there? Well, Anderson quotes the Scottish mountaineer William Hutchinson Murray (who borrowed from Goethe, including the quote that has hung in my office for the last 14 years):

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.

And so, I do not have a spear in my heart. I have a trowel in my hand. And I point it forward. To 2020. I commit to providing the plan that makes this possible.

Maybe We Could Do This (or How the World Changed When We Learned How to Inoculate a Shitake Log)

So I was at an all-day mushroom growing class at Gaia Gardens, an Atlanta urban farm, yesterday, when I had the feeling I have at most of these classes at one point or another.

Not for me.

When I attended a beekeeping class at the Atlanta Botanical Garden, it happened right around the time when the instructor talked about what it felt like to get bee stings on your eyelids. Yesterday, at the mushroom growing class, I started glossing over when Daniel Parson mentioned the word "chainsaw." Much detail followed, regarding the recommended diameter of the white oak and sweet gum trees for the optimal inoculated shitake logs. Phrases such as "spores are liberated," "spawn run" and "colonization of the substrate" started to fly over my head, and the whole idea of running out to Home Depot to get a 2500 rpm drill that would work well with a specialized high speed shitake drill bit had become nothing more than theory at this point.

I turned to Rebecca, the chair of the Dunwoody Community Garden (and yes, we have a space behind the cistern in mind for the "mushroom oepration"), and whispered, "The oyster mushrooms will be easier, I think."

And then, of course, they weren't. I had been hoping I could repurpose the waste stream from local coffee shops to use coffee grounds for the oyster mushrooms in my garage or that little shed in my yard, the way these Berkeley grad students do on a much bigger scale.

But the oyster mushroom part of the lecture involved phrases such as this big red-light one, "make sure you keep them away from wood because they will eat your house." Gosh, is it really necessary to tell you any of the others?

So we had pretty much ruled the mushroom growing thing out, until we went out past the community garden, the stand of blueberry bushes, the bees, the bags of leaves being saved for compost, and the rows of cover crops and lettuces at the urban farm part of the land to where we were going to inoculate shitake logs and oyster mushroom substrate (a bale of wheat straw was practically boiling in a huge wire strainer in a garbage can, if you can picture this) to bring home.

Daniel said that the process for inoculating the shitake logs--drilling the holes, inserting the spawn, and applying hot wax to seal--was best done as an assembly line but that he found at these classes that everyone likes to do their very own log, so he had set it up that way.

This is when things took an interesting turn.

Our motley group of 10 (the other ten were currently tossing hot hay to cool it and then crumbling oyster spawn to add to it) somehow, without words, proceeded to completely reject this notion. Not one person grabbed a log to claim it. No one hugged a drilled log close to his or her heart, following it through to solitary completion of the process. People drilled when (and if) they wanted to. People took turns stabbing the spawn tool in a coffee can of spawn (which looks like crumbly compost, sort of) and then inserting it in the holes (this is shockingly fun, by the way), and dipping the round puff in the melted wax and rubbing it over the holes in completion.






The logs stacked up, no one seemed to care if they got the fat one or the long one or the one they had drilled.

I stood back, looked, and listened for a minute. At all the heads leaned in together. At the conversations among strangers. The laughter. The smiles. The sharing of tools and tender patience. And I looked at Rebecca, who couldn't believe she had changed so much in the last few months that she was actually attending a mushroom growing class, as she donned goggles and grabbed that drill.



And we both knew.

This is something good.

And we both went from "no way" to "how can we do it?" And the world changed, right then, right there.

Maybe we could work with the City Arborist or the arborist who provides our free wood chips to get the logs.

Maybe Tom and Rick and Bob, who love to build, could help with the equipment and the drilling.

Maybe we could get a crock pot at Good Will for the wax, or maybe someone has a hot plate and an old pot they wouldn't mind us using.

Electricity? Maybe we could figure that out . . .

Maybe, maybe, maybe . . .

I asked Daniel how much it would cost. 50 logs. Yes, that's a good, solid number that we could do. How much would it cost to do 50 logs? He estimated that, even with the one-time purchase of two of those spawn inoculators and the high speed shitake drill bit, plus the cost of the spawn and wax, it would cost about a buck or two per log. And, guess what, each 40" log is estimated to produce approximately 5 pounds of shitakes, which have a retail value of up to about 20 bucks a pound.

Hmmm.

Maybe we could do this.

A Ton of Food, Green Globe, Zero Waste, and Terry Cunningham at the Finish Line of the New York City Marathon

So I'm outside raking leaves yesterday, or as us gardeners like to call them, "carbon," and I notice the side of my house and realize I haven't given you the final update. The lawn. Back in August, when I saw my neighbor getting trees cut down and arranged for the chipped wood to be left at my house, I ended up with a mega-pile that I then proceeded to spread everywhere, including making a web of paths on the side of my house, effectively reducing the lawn there by about 40%.

A Ton of Food

You see, I have two goals:

* One, to reduce my lawn and frankly, to get out of that manual push-reel lawn mowing chore--I hated it this year. (There, I said it.)

* And, two, to grow literally a ton of food (I think I'm just excited that I'm finally able to remember that this means two thousand pounds.)

I grew a grand total of just over 100 pounds of food this entire year. For a value of, let's say, $5 per pound (organic greens run more per pound, but that's the going rate for organic heirloom tomatoes here, so I'm going with it and am probably underestimating), that means I grew $500 worth of organic, hyper-local food this year. I spent probably, I don't know, let's say $150, although that seems high to me (but I do seem to always be tinkering at that Farmer D store) (oh, and if you go to that link, I wrote the School Gardens Guide! My friend, Mike, with whom I took that farm course back in the spring, designed it).

Anyway, so I've added a handful of beds to the side of the house (they are pictured above with a winter cover crop on them), and I removed an overgrown, bird-planted privet bush thing that was using up too much space, causing allergic reactions and blocking the sun, so I have even more grow space there.

I also removed a dozen or so overgrown, mite-infested juniper bushes from the back by the hammock and have started putting in a small fruit orchard there. It's also where I will probably put the inoculated shitake log I get next week at the small-scale production mushroom growing class I'm taking at Gaia Gardens, a 5-acre urban farm where I cornered farmer Daniel Parson one day in the broccoli. (I know that 5 Seasons Brewing Company brings their spent grain there, too, so I'm curious to see how they handle it to see if there's anything we can do differently at our community garden with it.)

I'm also eyeing another batch of juniper bushes with the same thought in mind, and the other side of my house is just about next in line. Oh, I also expanded the mailbox garden and ran a border of wood chips up the driveway. I have visions of lavender and other herbs, interspersed with heirloom annual crops, for a sort of English garden effect (but adjusted for our climate, of course). All good, and pretty already, faster than I expected.

What is possible, I wonder? How much food (including culinary and medicinal herbs) could I really grow here? Yes, yes, I know about Path to Freedom. I attended their workshop at the Georgia Organics conference. I think of their moderate slice of property every time I try to imagine what on earth the little piece of land for which I serve as steward might become.

As a result of all this change on the side of my house, I've moved my garbage can to the backyard (since I don't have that privet to hide it behind it anymore). Since I've been on this waste-reduction kick, I only put it out once a week, and now that it's in the back, I'm even forgetting to do that. So I realized it had been nine days recently, and I was still at one not-full garbage can. Considering the average American adds 4.6 pounds of material to the landfill every single day, I was curious what my family of four would be adding in nine days. How much less than the average 165.6 pounds did we produce? The grand total? 47 pounds. About a pound and a quarter per person per day. Now, I know that many of you out there are doing much, much better than this, but this is very exciting news to me, and it makes me ask that question that I love so much--what is possible?

Green Globe and Zero Waste

At about this same time, I got to talking yet again with Holly Elmore, who is the founder and director of the Green Foodservice Alliance. She helped establish the Zero Waste Zone in downtown Atlanta (here is Holly's blog), and now Zero Waste Zones have been formed in a few other parts of Atlanta as well.

Per Holly's suggestion, I met with the Green Team of the Crowne Plaza Ravinia last week (which was started by a woman passionate about sustainability named Elisaveta Dimova, who moved to the United States from Bulgaria about ten years ago). This hotel is right here in the City of Dunwoody. We discussed the sustainability initiatives that they practice that have enabled that hotel to become the first hotel in the state of Georgia to receive Green Globe certification. And yes, they compost their foodservice green waste. They are, as far as I'm concerned, the stake in the ground for a Zero Waste Zone for the City of Dunwoody, although that hasn't been officially designated (yet!). And wouldn't it be nice to package and brand that finished black gold as City of Dunwoody compost and sell it to businesses and individuals, with a percentage of proceeds going to school and community gardens?

Terry Cunningham at the Finish Line of the NYC Marathon!

What is possible? What is possible? What is possible?

This question ran through my head like a mantra this week. And then just as things tend to happen, I got an email from my old boss at Turner Broadcasting (and good friend across miles and years), Terry Cunningham, who moved to Bozeman, Montana about 15 years ago. Terry writes for several publications, and he is one of my favorite writers ever. Really. The man should be much more famous than he is. (Agents, take note.)

Anyway, while "what is possible?" has been running through my mind, Terry had been running through the five boroughs of New York City! Yes, this former smoker whose idea of a workout was riding a golf cart somehow managed to run the New York City marathon! Here is the article he wrote just prior to running it. My favorite lines are the ones about his running style being "loitering," his body shape being "snacker," and his unique ability to come in second-to-last in every race he has run requiring a rare combination of sloth and cunning.

I emailed Terry to find out exactly what happened at the race. Here is what he said:

The Marathon was a blast! It was an overwhelming experience and I still have a goofy ear-to-ear grin on my face. My time (4:31:25) was better than I had anticipated. It’s not “fast” by any stretch, but for me, it was a pleasant surprise. I used a good training program I found online and training at 4,750 feet probably helped, but it’s the NYC crowds that pull you through. When I realized at mile 21 that I was actually going to finish and have a better time than my training runs would indicate, it was quite a relief. I’m a slow guy, but I’m a happy slow guy. For the record, I think I finished in 26,187th place, and there were 43,700 finishers.

And, for the record? Terry came in second-to-last out of the three runners from Bozeman.

So, what is possible? A ton of food is possible. The City of Dunwoody participating in a Zero Waste Zone is possible. And Terry Cunningham at the finish line of the New York City marathon is possible. In my book (which has yet to be published, by the way. Hey, agents, how about a two-author deal? Oh, and add Terry's and my friend, Brad, okay?), that means just about anything is.

DeKalb County, Georgia, USA, Joins Other School Districts Nationwide That Are Restoring Children's Right to Recess

BREAKING NEWS

ATLANTA, GA--
The DeKalb County Board of Education voted last night in favor of mandatory, daily unstructured recess of at least 15 minutes, preferably outdoors, that cannot be taken away for any reason, for all students in grades K-5 in DeKalb County public schools. It also stipulated that recess would be at the principal's discretion for all students in grades 6-8.

The DeKalb County School System [DCSS] is a metropolitan Atlanta public school system located in the second largest county in the state of Georgia. DeKalb County, one of the most culturally diverse counties in the nation, has a student enrollment of approximately 100,000 students in 153 schools and centers, according to the DCSS website.

For those of you not in the United States or who think that 15 minutes is so short it's a joke, please note that year after year, more and more children in the United States get absolutely no recess at all, or they have it taken away as a punishment or for other reasons. The pressures and demands of No Child Left Behind legislation have resulted in an obsessive fixation with "teaching to the test." In the meantime, childhood obesity is skyrocketing, behavior issues are through the roof, and our kids are increasingly disconnected from fresh air and from the developmental value of unstructured play. Parents nationwide have been advocating for the return of recess, and I am proud to have been just one of the many, many voices that supported this effort.

In addition to the many benefits of unstructured outdoor play, I believe it to be a critical building block of environmental stewardship.

Here is a post with questions you can ask and actions you can take, plus some helpful links for those of you who are advocating for recess in your school districts.