Trying to Save Our Farmers Market (or How a Community Is Coming Together When the Rubber Hits the Road)

This may not look like much to you, but this parking lot (and many others around my new city of Dunwoody) is at the center of a flurry of "reply to all" emails sent this weekend among dozens of people in leadership positions from end to end of Dunwoody's 12-square miles.

The topic? Trying to save our farmers market. Yes, the one with Corinna and Melissa and Poppy the Goose and Cutie the Duck. That one. You see, the location where that market has been held the past few years will become unavailable this spring because of construction. Corinna, as market manager, has been trying to find a nearby location to which to relocate the market but has been getting tepid response. I told her that "supporting a farmers market" is on the Atlanta Regional Commission Green Community certification checklist, and since we are in official pursuit of that certification, and since I am chairing the Dunwoody Sustainability Commission citizen advisory board, I would bring it the attention of the city leaders with the hope that we could probably find a new spot.

I thought it would be easy. We have tons of unused space all over the city, with so much parking that you wouldn't believe it, with sidewalks that connect everywhere. The market already has a very loyal customer base, and frankly, it's just a group of tents for four hours one morning a week. How hard could this be?

Well, the first two days resulted in a sea of emails that went something like this:

1. Here are a bunch of potential locations.

2. Here are the problems with all those locations.

I drove around in the rain and took photos of the locations under consideration so that we could immediately rule out any that were too small (or that involved pesticide lawns, in my opinion) and so that we could more easily see the potential of the ones that seem to fit the bill.

This resulted in:

3. More emails about zoning ordinances and how farmers markets are not allowed.

At this point, I realized I was starting to do the "uphill climb." And for those of you who have known me awhile, you know I only do one uphill climb, and that's the one getting out of my neighborhood on foot or bike. When I start to meet the kind of resistance I was now meeting, I realize that the community may simply not be ready or may just not deem this issue important and it is time to walk away. So I sent an email that said:

"Gosh, could it really be this hard in Dunwoody to relocate a successful farmers market? How do so many other communities across the country do this? Have we come so far that something as simple as a farmers market is so complicated?"

I then asked if I should suggest to my farmer friends that they join the farmers market that is about to launch in a neighboring community (the one where Judy of the CSA lives). I ended with a completely honest thought: I'm not looking to waste anyone's time here. If farmers markets are too hard in Dunwoody, so be it.

When I went to bed last night, I was already thinking about the new way I would need to get my farm-fresh food this year. It would involve driving rather than bike riding, as I had been hoping, but it was still "doable." It would mean that my community had become a "local food desert," but I still had options. Besides, the 7-week, 35-hour farming course I'm taking starts next week so I'm anticipating that I will be able to increase my garden yields, so that will help. And I saw Farmer D and his adorable new shop the other morning (and check out his new show on the Mother Nature Network!) and we're talking about collaborating on rejuvenating a children's garden right here in Dunwoody, so that's good . . . . Focus on the positive, I told myself. Let the city go for now . . . All in due time . . . There are plenty of other good things here . . .

And then I woke up, and received emails from all ends of our city that the farmers market is something we want in this city, and that we will find a way to make it happen.

And you know what? It is clear to me that this farmers market is now ours, all of ours, and that the power we claim to have as an independent city is not just lip action. When the "rubber hits the road," like now with this farmers market, we truly have the ability to create a more sustainable city. And you know what? I think we will!

That wet and gray parking lot in the photo (and the ones in the sidebar today)? I can already smell the basil.

Trying to Save Our Farmers Market (or How a Community Is Coming Together When the Rubber Hits the Road)

Thoughts While Chopping Beets (And A First Glimpse at Our Sustainable City Communications Materials)

It has been a solid month now since my CSA deliveries ended, and about three weeks since my garden got crippled from the cold (although the tatsoi marches on!), so it was no surprise to me how edgy I was becoming. Richard of the Worms even said to me the other day, "How long has it been since you've worked in your garden? Go outside!" For those of us who consider the daily touch and smell and bounty of that soil the elixir of life, three weeks away is an eternity.

Okay, fine, it wasn't from a local farm, but I went to Whole Foods and filled a big canvas bag with collard greens and kale and beets and the other things that I would get from Charlotte now, if now were a month sooner or later. And, as luck or serendipity or the divine forces of the universe would have it, the light streamed in just right in my kitchen that afternoon, causing me to stop, mid-sentence, mid breath, and just be in the moment. I pulled out the cutting board that had sat idle for awhile and stood there in the sun's striations slicing, the blood of the beets covering my knife and hands and counter in a glorious homage to life and death and its quiet intersection at this time of year, when all seems hopeless for ever gardening again yet magnolia buds round their furry heads and the garlic that the children of Open Garden planted on that raining day in November poke up and stretch their arms as if to say, "Time to get up!"

And I lingered there, at the kitchen sink, thinking, as I tend to do, the rhythmic slicing of the knife my soundtrack. This past week found me at City Hall (or, at least, my city's temporary rental space until we move into a space to which the City is now committed to renovating with LEED standards). I had gathered together members of the Atlanta Regional Commission, our sustainability citizens advisory board, our City Council, our City Manager and heads and representatives of our city's departments of finance and administration, community development, and public works. Commitments were made. Relationships were started. Forward progress was forged.

Yet I came home tired that day. Exhausted, actually. Mentally spent. But as I held in my hand the brochure design created by the wonderful Debbie Smith of Idbids fame (remember when she came over? How cool is that that we are now working to create something new together?!), I realized what a unique place we are at in our city. We voted for self-determination just seven months ago. We started operating as a city just six weeks ago. And we, each of us, continue to vote for the kind of city the place we call home will become each and every day, with the conversations we have, the policy decisions we impact, and the individual and collective actions we take.



Note how the flow of energy comes out of Dunwoody's location on the map. The colors represent the three aspects of sustainability: environment (green), business/economy (blue) and people (we're thinking the orange should be yellow in order to give a visual "nod" to the color of the Dunwoody street toppers that are already around our city in order to have branding cohesiveness with the City). I'd suggest the word "we" be italized so that it is highlighted more since we actually do have the power to create the city of our dreams!

I could really see something like this on a t-shirt or reusable shopping bag, couldn't you? The icon on the bottom could play out nicely as a series of icons that represent various aspects of sustainability--Walk Ability, Bike Ability, Recycle Ability, etc. Those would look great as small marks on bike racks, reusable coffee mugs, recycling receptacles around the City, etc.

Oh, and why not just do "Dunwoody Goes Green" and stick a leaf on a sketch of the farmhouse? Well, it appears to me that cities nationwide (and worldwide) have moved beyond just green to the bigger picture of three-pronged sustainability and it is my professional opinion as a marketing communicator that we would be wise to create something in line with this global reality.

What do you think? I am currently gathering examples of sustainability communications materials from cities around the world. If your city has something you think is particularly good, please post a comment that includes its link or send me the printed brochure, sticker or other materials at:

Pattie Baker
P.O. Box 88043
Atlanta, GA 30356
USA

We, each of us, can create a more sustainable city. And together? A better world. Let's do it!

Thoughts While Chopping Beets (And A First Glimpse at Our Sustainable City Communications Materials)

New Reasons to Work Together (or How the Bloodmobile Got Me Thinking)

My neighbor, Jennifer, arranged for the Bloodmobile to come right into our neighborhood yesterday, and a couple dozen of us donated blood (and yes, my vegetarian-fueled iron was way up!). The "blood people" told us that they hadn't gone to a neighborhood in as long as they can remember (they usually go to places of business and worship, schools, and community events) and I felt grateful that our neighborhood appears to be coming together a bit more lately.

As we hung out at the Bloodmobile, each taking our turns and lingering with snacks afterwards, we got to talking about how nice this was to get together like this to do something positive. How about helping build a house for Habitat for Humanity? Serving at a soup kitchen? Having an electronics recycling drive or a food bank drive? Not necessarily novel thoughts, but a new year. New connections. And new opportunities, and perhaps reasons, to work together.

I kept reading and rereading the words from the t-shirt we each received--my family, my community, my responsibility--and thinking about how much I've changed this last year. Here are the two biggest things I'm learning:

* Growth is incremental. I've noticed that each next step feels completely natural. What I wasn't capable of handling yesterday, I seem to be capable of handling today. And tomorrow, perhaps even more, if I continually allow myself to "trust the journey."

* Collaboration can be powerful. I can only accomplish so much sitting alone in my office, no matter how many technology tools I have at my fingertips. But joining with others can multiply my potential effect. However, it means letting go, trusting, and allowing group ideas to percolate to the top, in their own due time, in their own unique form. And for self-starter loners like me, that's a toughie, but I'm working on it.

So, much is happening here in my brand new city. I'm currently developing some communications tools that I hope will be scalable (with local customizations worldwide). In my new spirit of collaboration, I'd love your feedback on my "working copy" right now for a citizen sustainability brochure.

New Reasons to Work Together (or How the Bloodmobile Got Me Thinking)

Each Dancing to Our Very Own Sound of Music

We were back up at the log cabin in Blue Ridge for New Year's Eve, and early that chilly morning, I sat on the wooden swing on the deck with my younger daughter and watched the trees blowing from side to side.

"They bend, you see, so that they don't break," I told her. Flexible, I thought to myself. They need to be flexible. I need to be flexible.

"They look like they are doing modern dance," my daughter replied, standing and raising her arms over her head. Swaying to a music only she could hear.

I thought about that the rest of the day, how life is a dance and how much more beautiful it is when we move with it. And how we each hear our own music, our own inspiration to move in a particular direction, if only we stop to listen for it.

And so, that brings me to the big news I have for you. Right before Christmas, my brand new city's City Council passed the resolution for which I had been advocating these last few months--to establish official sustainability objectives. Here is the resolution. The City is now officially pursuing Atlanta Regional Commission Green City Certification and has established an official Sustainability Board. And guess who was named Chair? A blogger kitchen-gardener with a little bit of passion. Yep, me.

I've spent the last few weeks working almost non-stop on this (along with all those holidays, and had I ever mentioned to you that my kids were in twenty five performances of The Sound of Music during the month of December?!). I've been reading, researching, meeting. Establishing my committee. Setting up flexible communications tools that make being on the board more sustainable when considering the demands on people's everyday lives and schedules. (Let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start. When you read you begin with A-B-C. When you sing you begin with do-re-mi, I sang to myself.)

And as I watched those trees sway, I realized my life had changed, and that I had just been handed an enormous opportunity to make a measurable difference. I'd like to "climb every mountain" I'm facing right now. I'd like to do my very best job, and I'd like to develop my city's sustainability solutions in a way that is potentially scalable for others to use in their cities as well.

I'll be writing FoodShed Planet once a week now, on Sundays, to give you updates on what's happening here. To tell you about that farming course I'm taking (which starts at the end of January). To share insights I gain from the garden, of course. To let you know the latest on Richard of the Worms and Tracy of the Chickens (both of whom are on the sustainability board, by the way, along with my friends Ashley and Lisa and a number of folks I haven't even met in person yet) and Farmer D and Alan of the Appalachian Trail and David of the Stage and Judy of the CSA and Feliciomo (yes, we donated all those mailboxes to him to recycle for eight cents a pound) and all the others you've met along our journey together, plus the new "cast of characters" I'm about to meet.

And together, we can bend with the wind. Change with the times. And each hear our very own sound of music.

Each Dancing to Our Very Own Sound of Music