Eight Cents a Pound

Our HOA board is possibly about to replace all our mailboxes so that they are uniform, and to change the covenants to reflect this (if 90% of homeowners agree). I asked about the recycling of those mailboxes and volunteered to find a way to do it. Many are metal, a couple are plastic and the rest are wood. This project is only at its beginning (letters must be sent, agreement must be reached that this is our neighborhood's pressing priority), so I have time.

Yet, yesterday morning as I was walking down my driveway with my red bucket full of little bouquets of herbs and flowers to leave for passersby to take, a young family in a truck drove up and stopped next to the wheelbarrow I had left out by the curb. The man pointed to it and I told him it was broken, that I had tried to make it work, first to haul stuff and then I actually planted lettuce in it, but it was falling apart.

"May I take it?" he asked, his brown eyes soft and warm. "I don't have a job, so I am selling scrap metal."

"Yes, take it," I told him, as his young wife got out of the car and tenderly helped him put the wheelbarrow in the back of the truck. I peeked in the vehicle and saw a little girl, maybe four years old, with long dark hair and big, almost-black eyes. I reached into my red bucket and handed her a bouquet of zinnias and French tarragon and rosemary. Her smile filled the truck in a way I hoped scrap metal would soon.

"How much do you get for it?" I asked the man, standing there on the side of the road with me.

"Eight cents a pound," he answered, his eyes dropping slightly but his shoulders holding firm and strong and proud.

Eight cents a pound. And I could only imagine how much he was spending in gas, in a metro area that currently has a gas shortage (read my Sustainable Dunwoody post about this here) and escalated prices when you can find a gas station that has it.

I told the man about the mailboxes, that there might be more metal soon. He wrote down his name, Feliciomo, and phone number on a piece of notepad paper from Marriott, where perhaps his wife worked cleaning rooms, that had imprinted on it the words "Leave a trail of genius."

As Feliciomo and his family drove away, I stood there shaking, feeling perhaps that somehow the appearance of this family in my life was not a coincidence. As the world financial situation teeters on the edge of collapse, as my city continues forward another day without gas or rain, as Haiti drowns and Africa suffers and homes foreclose and contaminated food kills and prices rise, I have looked into the eyes of honor and felt the pride of a family taking a small step to save themselves. I have seen love between a couple and heard the laughter of a little girl. And I will never look at eight cents the same way again.

Yes, this simple, humble family that happened upon my life in the most unassuming of ways, on a day when they were needed as a reminder of the resiliency of the human spirit, most definitely left behind them a trail of genius.

Don't Get Mad. Get Together.

As I dug and hoed and transplanted little baby radish, carrot and lettuce seedlings around my back and side and front yard gardens, I thought about the literally thousands of Americans who are not allowed to grow food because of their homeowners associations. Not allowed to grow food. What on earth has become of us?

Almost 60 million Americans (about one in five, but four out of five who live in homes build since the mid-to-late 90s) live in neighborhoods that restrict things that are being proven to be environmentally-sound decisions that make a difference in the health of this world. Examples of these restrictions include no solar panels or devices (including the drying of clothes outdoors), mandated pesticides on monoculture lawns, mandated dark roof colors (even though a white roof in a southern city such as Atlanta could offset the growth in carbon dioxide emissions, cool the city by several degrees, and reduce air conditioning costs by up top 20% in warm months, which, in Atlanta, could be up to seven months of the year), mandated square footage of homes, restrictions on visible rain barrels, banned compost piles, and of course the ole' "no live poultry" clause (but bark away, dogs).

As I switched out my mailbox garden from summer to fall crops (I wouldn't have changed it so soon as the okra and tomatoes and basil were still producing in that wild end-of-season way plants have, but I didn't want it to become "unsightly"), I realized that many neighborhoods simply adopted the boilerplate covenants handed to them by their builders, intended to keep the neighborhood looking uniform year in, year out, with no room for individual expression, local color or customs, or change in what is turning out to be the demands of an environmentally-fragile world. And I realized that therein lies the opportunity.

If you live in a neighborhood with a homeowners association, take a look at your covenants and see if they are out-of-tune with today's evolving realities.

* Are they restricting your ability to increase the energy-efficiency of your home? Energy efficiency is one of the most important attributes home buyers evaluate, so these restrictions actually hurt home values.

*Are they impeding your ability to provide for your family as incidences of water shortages and contaminated food increase?

* Are they restricting your ability to reduce toxins in and around your home? What price health, my friends?

* Are they restricting your ability to teach your children about living in an ecologically-responsible way? What other job do we have as a parent but to raise our world's future citizens, with the skills and awareness they need to survive in a changing world? Also, by not teaching eco-literacy in our daily lives, we are putting our children at a distinct educational and occupational disadvantage in today's highly competitive world.

* Are they silent on some disturbing trends, such as the increasing incidence of inappropriately-sized landscape equipment which spews enormous amounts of pollution into our neighborhoods and children's lungs? (the photo above shows the typical lawn equipment coming into my neighobrhood every single day. This man cannot even turn this thing around on the tiny lawn he is attempting to mow--he simply goes forward and back, forward and back, spewing, spewing, spewing, lawn after lawn after lawn).

* Are they depriving our children (and ourselves!) of pleasures that we grew up taking for granted, such as the distinct joy of sleeping on sun-dried sheets or playing barefoot on the grass?

Don't get mad. Get together. Join your neighbors in revisiting your covenants and perhaps adjusting them to reflect the needs of today's residents and realities--and tomorrow's security.

And while you're at it, consider starting a neighborhood watch program and devising an emergency preparedness plan for your neighborhood. Knowing your neighbors, working together with them, and preparing for a wide variety of possibilities increases your safety, your sustainability, and yes, even your home values.

To Jamie Oliver: Bravo!

Jamie, I hope you don't mind that I nestled you in the lemon thyme and French tarragon for this photo. But, my goodness, if you are going to bring me into your outrageously gorgeous and inspiring garden featured in your new book, Jamie at Home, then I think it's only fair for me to bring you out into mine!

First let me back up a bit, Jamie. I don't have any of your cookbooks. I have never watched your shows. But you have been on my radar since 2004 when you started that restaurant, Fifteen, which was staffed completely by young people who were not in full-time school or employment. I loved that story, and I am happy to read now in your bio on The Food Network that:

The Fifteen Foundation charity now owns Fifteen London and continues its work, recently recruiting the sixth year of students for training in London. The first Fifteen franchise opened in Amsterdam in 2004 and subsequent Fifteens have opened in Cornwall, UK and Melbourne, Australia in 2006.

I also didn't know about your commitment to improve school lunches, and how through your efforts (including raising gobs of money), you have had a significant impact on change in the United Kingdom. That's an issue close to my heart, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

All I know, Jamie, is that your very efficient publicity team sent me your book and it appeared on my doorstep yesterday. All I know is that I opened the envelope and literally felt my knees go weak. Being someone who reacts fairly strongly to excellent design:

* I'm not sure if it was the particular weight and size of the book, reminiscent of all my favorite textbooks back when textbooks were manageable sizes and suggestive of an uncharted journey of discovery within their covers.

* I'm not sure if it was the font, so friendly and homespun, along with the uncoated stock on the cover, or the tipped-in color photograph with hints of your beautiful garden right behind you.

* I'm not sure if it was the gasp I let out when I opened the pages, first the emotion I felt at your simple dedication to Steve Irwin, and then at the combination of the breathtaking photographs (again on uncoated stock--a look I adore), riveting copy about a wide range of garden and farm-industry related topics, and the simple and inspired recipes.

All I know, Jamie, is that I shoved all other reading material aside last night and stuck my nose in Jamie at Home for the long-haul, consuming it, from cover to cover, in one indulgent sitting (okay, as a vegetarian, I skipped over some of the "fur" pages!)

I love that you only started gardening a few years ago, and how totally and completely head-over-heels you have fallen in love with it--both the peace you get from working in the garden and the joy and inspiration you feel cooking from it. I know how you feel. In fact, last night was one of those evenings for me, when the changing light of early fall fell over your open book by my kitchen sink as I washed greens and end-of-season tomatoes and saw the sky turn pink, then orange, and knew even if all wasn't well in the world, it was well both in my garden and in my kitchen.

So, Jamie, I see this book is a companion piece to your show, Jamie at Home (see a snippet here). Where have I been?! I had no idea. I can tell you where I will be from now on for a little bit each week--watching your show (that is, if I can keep my nose out of your book and my toes out of my garden long enough).

As for readers of FoodShed Planet, this is it. This is the book to get (or put on your holiday wish list). Take all the other book recommendations you receive out of the library, or share them, if money is tight (and when isn't it). This one is pricey, but, as they say, priceless. Not only does Jamie have these garden-fresh recipes (divided seasonally, by the way, so it has that whole local, seasonal vibe thing going) but he writes concise pages of how-to-grow advice about a variety of fruits and vegetables. Very helpful stuff, especially to those of us who are still on the upward learning curve.

And to Jamie, I say one thing and one thing only. Bravo.

The Boundless Joys of Breaking Down in the Middle of a Carwash

So after riding my bike to and from school and then to and from the farmers market (which was my farthest ride yet), Corinna's eggs nestled carefully in one pannier and another farmer's heirloom tomatoes on a bed of arugula in the other, I drove to pick up my younger daughter at school to take her to get her hair cut. On the way home, I decided to overshoot my neighborhood by just a half mile or so to get the car washed, a car that still had dirt on it from our trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains back in May on it since we are not allowed to wash our cars at home because of the drought (car wash locations recirculate the water). My daughter loves to do this and I wanted to wait until she was with me and we had time. And yesterday we had time.

As soon as I got to the gas station where the car wash is and saw it empty of cars, not a drop of gas in any of the pumps as our odd Atlanta gas shortage barrels on, I was glad to be patronizing it in this small way. Little did I know that this was probably the best day to be there, because the two guys who worked there and had nothing at all to do probably needed me as much I ended up needing them!

We pulled into the car wash and I turned off my ignition. The water and heat rolled over the car, restoring it to a sparkle it had forgotten it ever had. And then when I went to turn the car back on, nothing. Dead. Just that horrible clicking noise that tells you you're not going anywhere anytime soon. And there we were, in the middle of the carwash.

The humor in it hit me at once, as well as gratitude that I was somewhere safe, on a pretty day, not far from home. I climbed out, lifted my daughter over the metal bars and we enlisted the help of the two guys in pushing the car out of the carwash. I called AAA (which is a roadside assistance program here in the United States) and we waited for the tow truck to arrive, my daughter wrestling with what to do for her "Wow"-themed photography project at school. I called my mechanic and had him laughing and promising to take care of the car first thing in the morning, including changing my oil and air filter since I'm not getting the miles per gallon that I should be getting with this gas-guzzling monstrosity.

And then Reese arrived. If you ever want to make a child's day, forget Disney World. Have them ride up front in a tow truck with a very nice man who turns out to be a "Holy Hip Hop" recording artist, specializing in spiritual rap! I kid you not.

He dropped us off at the top of our neighborhood and removed my daughter's bike from the back of my car. She disappeared down the hill, the sound of her singing filling the air like the air-borne fluffy weed flowers she threw all over the yard the other night announcing, "Look! It's snowing!"

I walked down the hill, backpack and lunch bag and purse and bike lock all slung over my shoulders, having a rare lazy conversation with my husband on my hardly-ever-used cell phone.

My neighbor picked up my other daughter, a bouquet of herbs and zinnias awaiting her at my house as a thank you, as my younger daughter made a collage of photos she took of the tow truck after she exclaimed "Wow!" and realized she had solved her school project problem.

And I popped a big, fat fig in my mouth which I had gotten caught picking from a tree at what I thought was an abandoned house on my bike ride home from the farmers market (a man came out and glared at me--I told him I had picked some of his figs and asked if he wanted me to return them. He stepped forward, reached into the tree, picked more and handed them to me!)

"You've had a tough day," my friend said as I handed her the jelly jar full of garden cuttings.

"Tough? No, this wasn't a tough day!" I remarked. "This was one of the best days yet."

Honestly, I don't remember the last time I met so many helpful, kind strangers in one day. Thank you to all of you for reminding me, once again, about the boundless generosity of the human spirit, and our ability to work together, and to have fun, in the most unexpected ways.

And look how clean my car is!

A Dirty Shame--UPDATED

I noticed it Saturday morning when the biggest gas station in my soon-to-be-city had literally no gas. I checked out a few other stations, and lo and behold, no gas, apparently from oil refinery problems in the Gulf of Mexico following Hurricane Ike.

By Sunday night, most of Atlanta was gas-less. Having still three-quarters of a tank from more than a week before (thanks to bike riding, walking and the bus), I wasn't too worried. I was sure that gas deliveries were coming Monday morning and all would be back to "normal" here in the city with one of the longest average daily commutes in the United States.

Some gas was delivered, and Atlanta earned the designation of having the highest gas prices in the contiguous United States (that means everywhere in the country except Hawaii and Alaska). Turns out that the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has been requiring for a few years now that metro Atlanta gas have super-low sulfur as well as low evaporative emissions (apparently because of our terrible smog problems and poor air quality--lovely, huh?) This requirement has actually made a positive difference.

So by last night, with the gas shortage making national news (amidst the other headlines about the stock market, politics, war . . .), what solution do you think presented itself?

"Dirty gas." Yep, that's right. Governor Sonny Perdue has received a waiver from the EPA on the requirement for low-sulfur gas for metro Altanta. And, it appears as if this gas shortage will continue for about another two weeks. Two weeks! We've barely been able to make it a couple days!

No call for telecommuting, riding MARTA, biking, walking, carpooling, conserving. Not one article since Saturday in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution about these options. Just panicked reports about how many hours drivers waited in line, and where to find gas. Now, I'm not saying that's not important--getting around this city is hard without a car and many (if not most) people depend on their cars for work and life. But if there were ever an opportunity to say, point blank, "How we are living is clearly not working," this would have been it. Yet nothing.

It's a dirty shame.

UPDATE (Later the same morning)

Ah, finally. I just saw today's AJC article about the gas and it includes this:

Perdue spokesman Bert Brantley urged metro Atlanta drivers to conserve gas by teleworking, combining trips, carpooling and taking public transportation. Reducing demand seems to be the only quick fix, experts say.

Now, let's talk more about commute alternatives being more than a "quick fix"!

I Stand On Your Shoulders

It started with Alice Waters, I suppose, so many years ago when I first ate that glorious unadorned peach at her Berkeley restaurant, Chez Panisse, and knew that whatever else I did to support local organic farms, I stood on the shoulders of Alice.

And then there were amazing producers and artists that I met when I worked at Turner Broadcasting who were creating programs about Native Americans and the Rio Earth Summit, and more, and I knew that whatever else I did to support indigenous cultures and saving the environment, I stood on the shoulders of Tom and Peter and Vivian and Pat.

And then, of course, I met Richard, who originally got involved with energy conservation, alternative means of transportation and vermicomposting back in the 1970s, and I knew that whatever else I did to free myself from petrochemicals, I stood on the shoulders of Richard.

And then, last Friday, my friend Ashley asked if her parents could come see my garden, and of course the bell inside me sounded and I realized I was once again being sent shoulders to stand on. Sure enough, Molly and Joe burst into my life with a lifetime of not just gardening experience but hands that had spent the last 40 years making homemade whole grain bread and voices that had advocated for the healthy options I may sometimes take for granted today. And I knew, yet again, that whatever I did to advance the cause of living simply (even when it's hard), I stood on the shoulders of Molly and Joe.

And finally, I attended a tree dedication ceremony yesterday for Kay Packard, the woman responsible for rallying the City of Chamblee, Georgia (another Atlanta suburb) to become a Certified Community Wildlife Habitat with the National Wildlife Federation. We planted a wax myrtle, all of us, shovelful after shovelful, because it is an evergreen with berries that feed the birds and roots that go deep to hold streambeds secure, like Kay in the way she has nourished and nurtured this community. And yes, I realized that no matter what I did to try to create a more sustainable city, I stood on the shoulders of Kay.

To Alice and Tom and Peter and Vivian and Pat and Richard and Molly and Joe and Kay, and to everyone else out there who has been working tirelessly for years, often alone, on causes that their friends and families and neighbors and governments may not have understood or cared about--I want you to know that your work, especially in the 1970s, mattered, even though it has taken younger generations all these years to grow up and notice and appreciate it. And I want to say a very heartfelt public thank you to you. For believing in yourself back then, and for believing in us now.

I stand on your shoulders.

Jingle, Jingle, Jingle

So I'm jingling through the kitchen on my way to the garden and my husband says, "What is making that noise?"

"My buckles on my sandals," I tell him. They are sort of loose, and nothing I can do tightens them. And so they jingle. Constantly.

"And why did you get those sandals?" he asks, forgetting.

"Because they are the only sports sandals I could find that didn't have pesticides in them," I remind him, which leads us into a whole conversation about the pesticide triclosan in shoes and clothing, and how the new Go Green operations manual for the Dekalb County School System, being pilot-tested at 50 county schools this year (including my younger daughter's school) has a specific mention of triclosan and how hand soap that includes it (as an antimicrobial agent) should not be used in the schools.

We shake our heads and off I jingle into the garden where my bee and butterfly friends proliferate. I sometimes feel that if I stick my arms out like a Disney princess, little chirping birds will land on them.

Yet, of course, the sight of the bee reminds me of the whole Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD), something not much in the news anymore even though it is a mysterious condition that has killed off about 35% of the world's honeybees so far.

Turns out that four European countries--France, Germany, Italy and Slovenia--have banned two pesticides (imidacloprid and chothianidin) that have been implicated in these massive bee die-offs. In the United States, there is currently a lawsuit against Bayer CropScience for information regarding required studies about the company's clothianidin product's impact on bees, yet the EPA apparently refuses to release the information ( or doesn't have it).

Close to home, the University of Georgia has been awarded $4.1 million to lead 17 colleges and universities in researching CCD. According to Georgia Organics' always-interesting monthly enewsletter, The Dirt, the study's objectives are broader than identifying causes of honeybee decline. It aims to also focus on breeding bees with increased resistance, rather than chemical solutions. Interestingly, Georgia is the United States' leading producer of queen bees and packaged bees east of the Mississippi River. Who knew?

And so I plant flowers and veggies and use no pesticides (of course) and create a haven, a home for bees and butterflies and rabbits and birds and children. And, as always, especially on a Monday morning, I look beyond news of the toxins and troubles of this world and I hope to find yet more small ways that I can make a little difference this week on our FoodShed Planet.

Jingle, jingle, jingle.

Simple, Simple, Simple (Or Why I Want Nothing to Do with "Nutraceuticals")

I read a pretty shocking article in The New York Times' Dining section a couple days ago about superfoods, or what is being called nutraceuticals. This involves taking a nutrient from one food and rendering it in powdered or capsule form to add to another food and then claiming the health benefits of both. For instance, adding pomegranate to dark chocolate or sardines and anchovies to orange juice (which Tropicana is currently doing with its Healthy Heart juice--and there is no labeling to alert vegetarians that there is fish in it, a point not mentioned in the article).

The capsule versions of these "nutraceuticals" are apparently delivered via nano-particles, encased either in fat, protein or plastic, so small that your tongue can't detect them. Fat or protein? From what source? If this is animal-based, again, there is a vegetarian problem that is not being labeled as such. And plastic? Am I reading that right? Is plastic being added to food?

Oh, my, my. I have much more research to do, and I encourage you to do the same before ever buying one of these "wonder foods" that are starting to take over supermarket aisles.

As for me, I'm committed even more so now to simple, simple, simple, like this whole grain bread, kneaded with my own hands and baked in my own oven. Try buying rolls in the supermarket here in the United States--every single variety has high fructose corn syrup, plus a whole long laundry list of chemicals and preservatives, except the frozen sprouted grain ones in the organic section. Do some of them have nutraceuticals as well? I don't know. I don't even look anymore.

My perimeter-sweep of the supermarket has become faster and faster, simple things like rice and dried beans and tofu and raisins and nuts and whole grain pasta and fruit finding their way into my cart. Maybe one day I'll go down those other aisles again, just out of curiosity, and read those labels, and see if I can figure out what's in that "food."

Maybe not.

Some Latent Human Instinct

They say once you taste the fruit of the passion flower, you will crave it the rest of your life. It is no surprise, then, that I waited and debated for three days before I tasted the hen-egg-sized green treasures I found on a wild vine that serves as the host to the Gulf fritillary butterfly (I heard the outrageously beautiful and ornate passion flower described that it looked as if it were designed by a group of six-year-old girls who were told not to stop until all the glitter and paint was gone). Do I need to be craving forever something that I had as of yet never tasted or wanted?

A seemingly silly, stupid thing in the face of ever-concerning daily news. A fourth baby in China has died from tainted baby formula (more than 6,000 babies are ill), rising gas prices, falling stocks, death, famine, war, not to mention the apocolypse.

And yet, there I go again. Trying to maintain some little semblance of control. Trying to keep a lid on food prices (buying no meat has made an enormous difference, yet last year's 99-cent tofu is already up to $2.49), and trying to feel like I don't need to be at the mercy of the market in all aspects of my life. And that leads me back to the wild, to the weeds on the lawn and the seeds in my just-turned-for-fall garden beds.

The foods of the wild (or as wild as suburbia gets) convince me that we have all we need, right there, in nature. It is provided for us, and there is no denying that there is a rhythm of constant supply--the chickweed, then the blackberries, then the figs, the pears, the apples, the muscadines, and now the passion flower fruit (also known as maypops).

The small, tender dandelion leaves are back, and I found myself calling out the kitchen window to my younger daughter yesterday, "Honey, play somewhere else! You're standing on dinner right now!"

The steady supply of greens is back in the garden, the suddenly cool air of Atlanta (going from 90 degrees to 60 degrees in a day) made the arugula and lettuces and kale so happy I could swear I heard a party going on outside my office window while I worked yesterday.

And yet there they were, the maypops, staring me down. I waited until my younger daughter was home from school and we sliced them all open, some latent human instinct knowing intuitively which ones were the ripe ones for eating. Crunchy little seeds encased in pulpy little pods, reminiscent of pomegranates, delivered an entirely different experience than I expected. No explosion of flavor. No incredible sweetness like the one perfectly ripe tangy-orange native persimmon I was brave enough to eat last year (for global readers of FoodShed planet, persimmons native to the southeastern United States are nothing like the persimmons you find elsewhere--they are highly astringent when not ripe and lead you to think you are suffering from anaphylactic shock!) No incredible sensation that would stay with me forever. In fact, I've already forgotten the taste. That's how subtle it is.

Is it subtlety that we as humans crave? The delicacy of discrimination that enables us to notice the way the light falls or the touch of a hand or the realization that all we need to live is here, right now, seemingly hidden but in reality right in front of us?

The news is anything but subtle. Perhaps that's why you'll find me so often out there, in the garden, on the lawn, in the wild corners I had overlooked for many years. Just looking, searching, gathering.

Building a Beautiful World

This past July, the residents of my Atlanta suburb voted to become a city, as regular readers of Foodshed Planet know. Right then, right there, I decided to launch Sustainable Dunwoody, because I had nothing better to do than get up even earlier and write even more as part of my ever-growing commitment to advocating for sustainability close to home and around the world. It felt like something I just had to do, without questioning, mostly because I had made that list of things kids need to learn that they are not learning at school or in society anymore. Remember that? Here it is:

* How to grow your own food (and how to store it)
* How to ride a bike
* How to swim
* How to take care of where you live
* General etiquette/manners (and awareness of how it differs across cultures)
* How to access resources (physical resources as well as information)
* Basic "earth skill" survival knowledge
* Basic self defense
* Basic car maintenance
* How to use a variety of tools
* How to earn, manage, invest and share money
* How to recognize and follow your passion
* How to navigate a mass transit system
* How government works, and what influences it, both now and historically
* How to be a good citizen
* How to continually challenge yourself to broaden your mind and not settle for complacency
* The first-hand experience of volunteering
* How to sit still for two hours and read a book
* How to ask questions and not just give answers
* The pride and joy of memorizing a beloved poem. My personal fave is The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost, especially since I memorized it while hiking in the woods.

And so, this city-at-our-doorstep opportunity became my passion. I collected all the advertisements candidates sent so we could read and compare them. I attended a candidate forum and stayed to meet several candidates. I emailed candidates, interviewed some on the phone, and met another in person to specifically discuss sustainability in our soon-to-be-city. I followed one candidate's blog religiously, and I displayed another one's sign on my pesticide-free front lawn, moving it to mow. I talked about all of this to my family, friends and neighbors obsessively. And yesterday, when my younger daughter and I rode our bikes in the dark, with our little lights on, to the voting place, she knew every single candidate and what he or she stood for. When we left, we ran into one of the candidates and it was as if we had run into a celebrity. She knew his name. She knew his platform. She knew his kids.

She knew his kids because they attend her school. And here's the thing that I suppose shouldn't have surprised me, but did. Even though her class is learning about democracy, even though they are specifically studying the difference between rural, suburban and urban, even though candidate signs are spinkled on lawns all the way to and from school, and even though several of those candidates are parents of children at this school, this right-here-in-our-backyard election was never once mentioned in school. It was never used as a learning opportunity. Civic responsibility was never discussed. The fact that government is made up of regular people that we know and pass each day at supermarkets and sporting events was never highlighted, enabling these young impressionable minds to imagine themselves one day making a difference in their own communities. Granted, I know the teachers have their own lesson plans and state and national requirements and I'm not asking them to change them. I'm just pointing this out as a crack that needs to be filled, apparently outside of school.

And so, my feelings about our "Things Kids Should Learn in Life" list above grow even stronger. The kids are not going to learn these things unless we teach them. Period. (I know that schools should not be responsible for teaching everything, but in the past kids would pick up lots of the knowledge above just from daily life. In today's world, they don't.)

In the meantime, our city council has been elected (and, by the way, only one person threw his hat in the ring for mayor, a 39-year-old man who is now the mayor of a 40,000-citizen city, without ever having to take out an ad or send a postcard or attend a forum. Kind of amazing). (Another fun fact--the person who won with the largest percentage was someone who accepted ZERO contributions and did NO advertising. How did he communicate? A blog!)

Our city starts operating December 1. And I continue to meet new people each day interested in sustainability. Yes, we can build a beautiful city. But, more importantly, we can develop knowledgeable children who will have the tools they need to build a beautiful world.

Time to Declare Victory

So I was out in the garden yesterday morning, pulling up weeds, coming to terms with the fact that that enormous, gorgeous tomatillo plant is simply not going to bear fruit (I think it needs a partner in order to pollinate), and reflecting yet again on the passage of seasons, the movement from life to death to life again. On September 11, just last week, I opened my kitchen door and took the above photo. I turned to my mom, tears in our eyes at the significance of that morning, and said, "None of this was here seven years ago." As I've shared often on this blog, 9/11/01 was the day I decided to plant the seeds that changed my life.

And so, yesterday, as I tediously transplanted baby lettuce seedlings, I wondered what was happening in other little plots of dirt in other parts of my state, my country, my world--specifically, in the gardens of my four companion planters, where four new sets of hands dug in fresh soil this year and hoped for an abundance of crops or wisdom or spirit by the end of it all.

Lissa in New York has posted photos of her garden on her blog with a caption that reads "Not as forlorn a I had feared it might be," and sure enough, she has created something where there was nothing. Yet, within a week, she will leave it all behind as she has made the decision with which she had been wrestling the last six months, as she dug and thought and put down some sort of roots that she knew were perhaps only temporary. She has decided to make the big move to New York City. Lissa, I had a big clay pot of geraniums on my fire escape when I lived in NYC. I can't wait to see what you do!

Hannah had been afraid a few months ago that her landlord would not approve of the changes she had made. The landlord loved it! Take a look and see what you think.

David did a front-yard raised bed that was a definite success. He met neighbors, impressed his daughter and harvested many crops. See photos on the sidebar of his blog. I think we may have a vegetable gardener for life here.

And then there's Liz. Oh my, where to start? Liz is the woman who, along with her husband, Tim, ditched their upscale suburban life and started a farm. Liz and Tim have been corraling cows and hand-feeding baby pigs and trying to find water to keep all the animals alive during an extraodinary drought. She planted a very large vegetable garden--and then pretty much lost control of it. As she stood in the supermarket the other day, faced with the poor quality of produce available and reflecting on the seeming-failure of her garden, a flurry of feelings exploded and realizations became crystal clear about our messed-up food system (read what happens to local heirloom tomatoes delivered directly from a farmer to a nearby Whole Foods store). Read Liz's post here and please offer her some encouragement to try, try again!

As for everyone else who started their first vegetable garden this year, it is time to declare victory. You took a small bit of control by planting a seed. You learned about your soil and the sun and the rain and a wide variety of crops and how they grow. But more likely, you learned about yourself. How you grow. And what your garden looks like now and what it will look like next year is probably different than what you imagined when you started. And if you take a moment and look at yourself in the mirror, you most likely look different, too.

Congratulations.

"Hold the Oxybenzone, Please"

So here's a great example of the Environmental Working Group's Skin Deep Cosmetic Safety Database at work. I bought these two products: Dr. Bronner's pure castile peppermint soap, and Trader Joe's version of the same. I looked them both up on the database and they both scored a 2 out of 10. Yet, the laundry list of chemicals in the Dr. Bronner's product was short and all were scored 1 or 2 except for one 4. The Trader Joe's product had 30 chemicals, which broke down to one that scored an 8 (oxybenzone), one that scored a 6 (diazolidinyl urea), six 4s, a 3, and the rest were 2s and under. A bunch of zeros brought its average down to the comparable 2 of Dr. Bronner's. So, in short, the Dr. Bronner's product is clearly a healthier product for my body.

I just finished reading a truly remarkable book about the safety of chemicals in personal car products titled Not Just a Pretty Face; The Ugly Side of the Beauty Industry, by Stacey Malkan. I hate the title. In fact, I almost didn't pick up the book because of the title because I don't wear cosmetics. But I wash my hair and body and use sunscreen, deodorant and toothpaste, and I'm guessing most everyone does that, too, and this book tells the story of how the Cosmetic Safety Database came into being and how dramatic the achievements of the Environmenal Working Group have been and continue to be in the increased transparency of product safety information to which we has consumers have access.

The audience for whom I give this book my greatest recommendation is teenagers since they are the ones who will be making so many product decisions of their own in the coming years and they can literally change the market by the consumer decisions they demand. (This book even has a chapter dedicated specifically to teens. In addition, it talks about the growing need for scientists to explore principles of biomimicry and green chemistry in product development, career directions that teens may want to consider.)

Speaking of demand, here's the thing that, quite frankly, makes me downright angry. The European Union has adopted the "do no harm" precautionary principle in the approval of chemicals that are used in products manufactured within or imported across its borders. As a result, global corporations that supply products to the EU have had to reformulate their products to meet the EU restrictions. Therefore, currently, many companies have one product formula and production line for wood products (without formaldyhyde), toys (without phthalates), personal care products such as hair care, cosmetics, nail polish, and more (without a whole list of banned chemicals) for the EU, and a separate one (with all the EU banned chemicals) for the United States.

Japan has adopted some of the EU standards. The United States needs to follow suit. Those of us who are American consumers must demand products that meet the EU standards or refuse to buy them. Our babies are born with dozens of environmental toxins already in their bodies. Our breast milk is tainted. Our endocrines are disrupted. Our infertility rates and cancer rates are soaring.

I hate the title of this book. I hate the cover (I'm not even going to show it it you). But, out of all the books I've recommended to you in the past few years, I give this one my highest recommendation. It is eye-poppingly fascinating, very well-written, and extraordinarily important. And it has empowered me to say, with confidence, "Hold the oxybenzone, please."

Most Valued Possession

Last February, I fell upon a book titled Hungry Planet: What the World Eats, in which photographer Peter Menzel and writer Faith D'Aluisio visited 30 families in 24 regions of the world and photographed them with all the food they would eat in a typical week. Some of the photos from that book are indelibly imprinted in my every day consciousness, especially when I read news stories about families in Africa who are eating mud pies just to survive right now (the clay in the pies has necessary trace minerals).

And so, I cleared off the kitchen table when I got a look at another book by the fabulous creative team of Menzel and D'Aluisio: Material World: A Global Family Portrait. In this truly remarkable book, Menzel and D'Aluisio "attempt to capture, through photos and statistics, both the common humanity of the peoples inhabiting our Earth and the great differences in material goods and circumstances that make rich and poor societies."

Choosing 30 countries from the U.N. member nations, the team selected a family in each that was considered statistically "average." In addition to a "Big Picture" that required photographing all the family's possessions outside, each family's section includes numerous daily-life photos and commentary, statistics about each country, and a selection of answers to the 66 qeustions asked of each family.

My favorite question asked is "What is your most valued possession?" Interestingly, the answers seem to fall into three distinct camps: (1) some sort of heirloom passed down from generation to generation, (2) nothing at all, or (3) the family's bicycle.

The bicycle really moved me, so to speak, not only because I'm riding my bike so much but because I know that almost every single garage in the United States holds at least one unused bicycle. If there is one thing you can donate to a family in need around the world, I'm guessing this is the one that will make the biggest impact. With a bicycle, a poor family has access to a wider range of work opportunities, a bigger market for any crafts they make create or crops they may grow for sale, a safer way to travel on lonely roads, and a higher chance of attending school. To find out more about donating your bicycle to a family whose life it can literally change, see Bikes for the World and Bicycles for Humanity. Especially now, as so many of us are getting new bikes to embrace the challenge of rising gas costs, why not do a double-dose of good?

The other thing that jumped out at me from this book is the presence of beds with mosquito nets in so many of the photos. As you know, I just donated to Nothing but Nets, but I had not actually seen what these nets look like. I called excitedly to my children when I saw the first photo that included one, and we just stood there, hunched over the book, feeling some sort of odd connection with families halfway around the world, with a ten-dollar net that was saving their lives each and every night as they slept.

Material World is an astronomical accomplishment, yet Menzel and D'Aluisio didn't stop there. They actually went back and revisited 19 of the 30 families featured in Material World and focused exclusively on one woman in each family to come up with a new book titled Women in the Material World. I have just started reading that one, and I can tell you that I'm about to be blown away yet again.

I know today as I ride my bike, I will be pondering that question, as perhaps you may want to as well. What is your most valued possession?

Step One in Getting the Rosemary from the Garden to the Shirts

So my older daughter and I are spending lots of time talking about her batik t-shirt business. We 've agreed that I will give her a micro-loan, like Grameen Bank, for $100 with a two-bucks-plus-slight-interest-a-week 50-week repayment contract. Although she has already turned out some beautiful designs, she wants to source her materials more responsibly--organic t-shirts (or perhaps t-shirts repurposed from Good Will) and non-toxic paints are materials about which she feels very strongly. Plus, she wants to give a portion of proceeds to charity and is researching which would be the best fit (so to speak!).

The non-toxic paints are a particular challenge. We believe that, ideally, it would be great to make our own dyes from materials in our garden. However, we've never done this and trying to find the all-important "fixing agent" alum has been difficult. So we took the bus to Michael's craft store to see if perhaps we could find a suitable dye. Even though the dyes in the store say they are non-toxic, there's just not enough information on them and they seem suspicious to us.

BUT, as I wandered through this vast store looking for anything, anything, that was "eco," I fell upon this oasis in the desert--a display by the company Loew Cornell of its art supplies for the "Earth Friendly Artist." Featuring paints free of VOCs and solvents, recycled and recyclable materials like wood, resin and paper, organic fabric, non-animal hair brushes, and less packaging, Green Art takes the leadership position right now in this category. It even has a website with eco-art tips such as reusing canvases, painting items found at thrift stores and other things like stones and recycled-wood bird houses, and donating art supplies you no longer want.

The Green Art packaging is particularly attractive. In fact, we found ourselves discussing how nice the t-shirts would look tied with a piece of twine, like the Green Art package handles, and a sprig of rosemary. Now, if we could just get the rosemary from the garden to the shirts . . .

(Since rosemary is the herb of remembrance, I would like to offer a quiet moment of remembrance to the victims of September 11, 2001.)

Big Goals for a Pizza Joint

So the pizza thing continues in my house, with a new, seasonal organic pizza pie popping out of my oven each week. I even toyed with the idea of doing a book titled A Year in Pizza, featuring each week's pizza, but more importantly (to me, at least), featuring a FoodShed Planet-like reflection on how that week's pizza captures each week's sense of place and time. Heavy on stream-of-thought consciousness. Low on sauce recipes.

No one (my husband, my kids, my friends) liked the idea. That didn't stop me from continuing my exhaustive researching of pizza, however. And thank goodness for that because look what I found! Pizza Fusion! (This photo is of a Pizza Fusion pie, not mine).

Pizza Fusion is a restaurant created by a couple college buddies in Deerfield Beach, Florida just two and half years ago that then began offering franchise locations after one of the guys' father-in-laws got involved. There are now Pizza Fusion locations in 13 states, with a new Pizza Fusion opening in Atlanta next week.

Here's the thing about the Pizza Fusion guys. When they started the restaurant, they decided to make it a truly sustainable business. We're not just talking some organic cheese and a recycling bin. We're talking a commitment to the preservation and improvement of the environment with all aspects of their operations and existence as they strive to improve the social, economical and environmental well-being of the world. Whoo. Big goals for a pizza joint.

I know this is a long list, but I wanted you to see what this restaurant company does that is different from just about every othe restaurant out there. Its environmental initiatives include:

* Delivering its food in company owned hybrid vehicles

* Offsetting 100% of its energy usage with the purchase of renewable wind energy certificates

* Recycling and giving customers discounts for bringing back their pizza boxes to recycle them

* Using only eco-friendly cleaners to sanitize its stores

* Using 100% post-consumer recycled paper in its collateral

* Selling and providing its employees only with eco-apparel made from 100% organic cotton

* Serving its food in plastic-like containers made from 100% corn starch that decompose in landfills in only 50 days

* Using only eating utensils made 100% from potatoes that biodegrade in 50 days

* Using 100% post consumer toilet paper and paper towels in all its bathrooms

* Printing its in-store graphics on a banner material made from 100% recycled plastic soda bottles and printed using non-VOC inks

* Hosting a free organic kids class every third Saturday of the month that educates children on the importance of eating organic and recycling

* Donating money to environmental causes in and around its communities

* Building its restaurants according to LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) certification standards set forth by the United States Green Building Council by utilizing a variety of unique energy efficient tactics and eco-friendly products (see the very interesting list of these details here)

So, maybe I'm onto something. Maybe pizza is more than pizza. At least in the hands of Pizza Fusion. And perhaps, in mine, too.

I'll be down by Deerfield Beach next month and hope to swing by the original location of Pizza Fusion (I'm also staying at an eco-hotel!), so stay tuned. In the meantime, I'll keep those One Local Pizzas coming!

Something Telling About Me as An American

The basil abounds, and I use it recklessly. Piled on top of pizza and rice and eggs, so much that I can barely see the food below. Full-leafed as a garnish. Fistfuls of it in vases. There is no cherishing of this basil, no doling out of it in small quantities, no sense of conservation about it. Oh, sure, I've frozen some for the dead of winter, but not near enough. And I share it quickly and willingly with anyone who wants it. And, although I am fully aware that the first frosty night in October will take it all from me, blackening it and ending its reign in my garden, for now I have more than I could ever use and I use it as if it is endless.

And it occurs to me. The United States is a vast country. Our resources have always felt plentiful, before the realization that they are not, and that we as Americans are using more than our share. Yet we keep on using them knowing they are finite, knowing the day will come when they are gone. We use them like basil, recklessly, piling them on, garnishing our lives, grabbing fistfuls and displaying them.

I know it is merely a green herb in my garden. A crop that did well, like you may have tomatoes or zucchini. But perhaps it is something more than that, something metaphoric, something telling about me as an American. And perhaps it is time for me to change how I view the gift of this resource. And what I do with it.

Intricately Entwined in the Rhythms of Nature (or What's Happening with the Drought)

So I'm out mowing the other morning (I posted about it on Sustainable Dunwoody this time) and I see Alan of the Appalachian Trail washing his car. Keep in mind that our ongoing drought means no driveway car washing, so, intrigued, I walk over to observe how a resourceful man who has hiked over 2,000 miles from Georgia to Maine washes his car.

With that little container of water and soap that he is holding. Period. He sprays, he wipes, he sprays, he wipes. The entire car.

The next day, a visiting parent of another neighbor saw me dumping kitchen water from my red buckets onto my mailbox garden and said, "So that's how you keep it looking good."

My younger daughter had a friend over and instead of playing in the sprinkler, as they haven't been able to do in two years now but which used to be a normal thing on a near-100-degree day after the community pool has closed for the season, they played a game of chess on the front lawn in the shade. At least for as long as they could stand it.

Atlanta hasn't gotten a drop of rain since Hurricane Fay two weeks ago, which raised Lake Lanier about two inches. It is still 18 feet low, however. The other recent hurricanes, Gustav and Hannah, bypassed us, and the projected path for Ike has it heading toward New Orleans yet again. I am grateful, of course, not to be in the path of a hurricane, but a slow, steady rain once a week would be welcomed.

My rain barrel is dry. My crops require hand-watering each night, now that the fall seeds are in. Despite the years-long drought, I don't know of any new reservoirs, wetland areas or extensive rain harvesting systems around Atlanta. In fact, I believe I still have the only rain barrel in my neighborhood. I've read talk of our interstate "water wars" extending to South Carolina now, but otherwise, the drought is barely in the news.

Yet we have changed. Slightly, but definitely. We carry buckets of water. We wash cars with little tiny containers of water, or not at all. We sweat in the heat instead of cool off in sprinklers. We turn off faucets. We fix leaks. We look the other way when lawns turn brown and flowers droop. We plant more native, drought-tolerant species when we do give a thought to landscaping. And we hope for a good rain instead of endless sunshine, like the millions of people before modern plumbing whose lives were intricately entwined in the rhythms of nature, and whose very survival depended on it.

The Butterfly Wings of Passion (or What Farmer D Has Been Up To)

This is a passion flower. It is the host plant of the Gulf fritillary butterfly, those orange butterflies with the three white dots on each wing that are constant companions to my zinnias. I found this vine growing in the children's garden at my nearby community center and they remind me, every time I see them, of Farmer D, who started this garden years ago. More importantly, they remind me of just how far passion can take you, because, lo and behold, while we've been sleeping, Farmer D has done it again.

Here is the latest, a story on the front-page of the Living section of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, highlighting Farmer D's successes:

Billionaire entrepreneur Sir Richard Branson wants him to develop an organic farm at his exclusive New Jersey spa. Actress Jennifer Garner thinks his turnips “rock.” Rolling Stones’ keyboardist Chuck Leavell and Atlanta adman Joel Babbit just signed him to a deal on their environmental Web site, Mother Nature Network.

Whole Foods markets sell Farmer D’s compost through a partnership in which Joffe (and colleague Mike Smith of Longwood Plantations) recycles the chain’s scraps into rich organic matter. Oh, and he’s inspired thousands of people across the country to grow organic food through his work with nonprofits and community gardens.

Nice story, Katie Leslie. And nice to see you again out there, Farmer D. Oh, and did I mention, stay tuned for even more Farmer D news? Something really close to the heart of FoodShed Planet! Coming soon . . .

Passion. What is it that you are passionate about? And where will the butterfly wings of passion take you?

The Future Is Looking Fruitful

I've taken to leaving my bike at my daughter's school so I can walk home and back again in the afternoon because I read when I walk (and I'm in the middle of several very good books). Yesterday, however, I forgot my book, which turned out to be a blessing (as things usually do) because I fell upon a large patch of muscadines, fat and purple and ripe.

Muscadines are a thick-skinned grape native to the southeastern United States (where I live). A green variety, equally delicious, is called a scuppernong, a truly fun word to say. When you eat a muscadine, the skin pops and an explosion of the very best grape juice, as if from some magical childhood memory, cascades into your mouth, the fragrance of the backyard of every home winemaking neighbor you've ever had filling the air. Each muscadine I eat is as memorable as a first kiss, a first snowfall, a first dive off the diving board each new summer.

And so, of course, I called Richard. I gave him the coordinates and he, good sport and fellow obsessed urban gleaner that he is, agreed to meet me immediately.

"And bring your ladder," I suggested, in hushed tones, at the end of the conversation, making both of us laugh.

I guess it will come as no suprise to you what has become of this year-long discovery of local fruit trees and bushes in the community where I live. As part of my Sustainable Dunwoody initiative, we have just launched Fruitful Dunwoody, a fruit tree project similar to the one in Portland, Oregon that I wrote about recently. We're spending the next nine months simply building out the database of private fruit trees that homeowners would be willing to let a team of volunteers harvest (after their own personal harvest is complete). Then, the harvest parties happen, starting with blackberries and then on to blueberries, figs, pears, apples, muscadines, and maybe even pawpaws and pomegranates, if we can find any (and dare we add persimmons?) Half of all harvested fruit will then be donated to food banks, preferably ones already supported by places of worship within my soon-to-be-city.

And guess who has volunteered to head up this effort? Yes! Richard of the Worms and Figs and Pears and Apples and now Muscadines! Here's my Sustainable Dunwoody post about it.

As with everything lately, I'm not sure where we're going, but we're on our way! The future is suddenly looking very fruitful.

One Curiosity Leads to Another

Outside the Dekalb Farmers Market, (technically, awkwardly, called "Your Dekalb Farmers Market"), an enormous indoor place in Decatur that sells food items from here, there and everywhere, is a large corner of the parking lot dedicated to a recycling center. My younger daughter and I drove in and saw the mound of cardboard and the bins of separated recyclables everywhere, but it wasn't until we saw what happens next that both our jaws dropped.

"Wow!" she said, perhaps at the very same nanosecond that I did. And then, in shock, we both proclaimed, "It's . . . beautiful!"

We were referring to the blocks of compacted plastic bottles that were stacked up like Legos, their twisted hunks of blue and green and orange and red and white and clear catching the sun like a color oasis in a sea of brown cardboard.

We parked the car and walked closer to look at this sculpture of sorts, and then I noticed the large blue machinery in the back where three men were pouring huge bins of plastic bottles. We walked over and quickly realized that none of the men spoke English (and, we, unfortunately, speak only English, except for an embarrasingly small handful of words in other languages). Yet, in the next ten minutes, our interest obvious to these men, they managed to explain to us fully the process that takes empty bottles to compacted art cube (okay, we know they are not intended as "art cubes," but rather just uniform size for efficient transit), and positioned us so that we had the best view of the bottles running up the conveyor, dropping down the shoot and ultimately ending up perfectly rectangular, wrapped in wire. Never doubt that a smile is a universal communicator!

So we spent the entire dinnertime that night talking about how we could make these blocks (actually referred to as bales by the compacting machine company) at home, with the plastic of everyday life that we never seem to be able to eliminate, as well as what we would build with them. We're leaning toward a chair for the yard, which we've already figured out how to convert into a bed as well, but then my older daughter wondered about the leach factor of plastic bottles. Will they "drip" into the lawn? Do they only leach with liquid inside? How does the whole leaching process work?

Much to research. As usual, one curiosity leads to another.

In the meantime, my friend Judy of the CSA just sent me an update from the creator of The Story of Stuff, that "20-minute, fast-paced, fact-filled look at the underside of our production and consumption patterns," and fantastic things are happening. Here is the updated FAQ page for The Story of Stuff. An international site with numerous translations is launching this month, by the way. Maybe I could learn a few new words . . .

From Idea to Implementation in Less than an Hour

On the way to the Oakhurst Community Garden yet again this weekend, I stopped at an architecturally-beautiful school I pass but had never explored. Named the Cliff Valley School, it is a private, 300-student preschool-through-5th grade school. As I walked around the inviting outdoor space, every single turn revealed something extraodinary to me, such as:

* The most developed school garden I have seen yet, with a primitive rainwater harvesting model (in addition to a series of rain barrels), a bluebird nest box spy cam, a time capsule, a butterfly garden, a fenceful of ripe native muscadines, a pond, a gorgeous garden shed, and much more.

* A recycling center with an enormous, four-sided recycling bin on which students had painted endangered animals as a class project.

* A trailer that was called the "music cottage" that included a wooden stage in front of it (as opposed to all the other school trailers I have seen that are not integrated with their outdoor space at all).

* And a giant chessboard made out of large, square pavers and oversized chess pieces, situated conveniently by a bench and covered picnic tables.

I don't think any of this was particularly expensive. The amount of outdoor space was no different than you would find at many schools. But its use was so much more intentional. Pre-meditated. Strategic.

And so I found myself driving to Oakhurst and thinking, "We all have the same space. But look at how differently it can be used."

The chess board, in particular, stuck in my head all day. I found myself thinking, "If I buy half the squares in pavers and if I filled in the others with pebbles, like Cliff Valley did, and if we use chunks of painted wood instead of chess pieces . . ."

The next morning found me at Home Depot, pricing pavers. The least expensive square was a buck, meaning my chess board would be a minimum of 32 dollars. Too much.

I walked around the store and finally found a square foot of small tiles for about $2.50. If I got a sheet in one color and a sheet in another, plus a bag of dark crushed rocks for less than 2 dollars to go underneath, I could do a small chess board for 7 dollars and it would use the pieces I already have at home.

I found a small spot on the front lawn, where the kids could stretch out on the pesticide-free grass to play, not far from a blue bench in the shade. I grabbed a shovel and removed a 28-inch-square piece of lawn. Okay, so it may not be as dramatic as what Roger did recently on his front lawn, but it was very exciting for me to take a concept from idea to implementation in about an hour, to reduce my lawn even just a little bit, and to create another place for kids to play and grow and learn outdoors right here at my home.

Take a look: