Are you a locavore?

From June through October, the vast majority of or dinners are 60 percent or more sourced locally—and the majority of that, hyperlocally: either our own garden, or the Next Barn Over CSA farm 3 miles up the road, or the artisan cheeses and breads we buy from area farmers markets. (In a CSA farm, you pay a membership fee and then collect the harvest all season)

Last night’s dinner, about 80 percent locavore, was typical: Of the five different dishes I prepared, four used only local main ingredients (plus very small quantities of non-local flavorings, such as olive oil, salt, and balsamic vinegar):

  1. Cucumber-tomato-basil soup. All three main ingredients from our garden, plus a touch of hot pepper from the CSA .
  2. Grilled shitake mushrooms, grown by a friend of ours one town over, and seasoned with herbs from the CSA farm.
  3. Our own green beans and onions in a nonspicy peanut sauce (locally made one-ingredient natural peanut butter thinned with boiling water—yes, I know, the peanuts, were grown elsewhere, but I ground them myself a couple of days ago, using the store’s machine).
  4. Organic brown rice (the one nonlocal main ingredient) with our own tomatoes, our own oregano and lavender, the farm’s thyme, and local Greek yogurt.
  5. Salad with our own cucumbers, the farm’s salad greens and red bell pepper, and a local artisan goat cheese, garnished with non-local walnuts.

I was in a Mediterranean mood, so I used a lot of oregano, thyme, Greek yogurt, and salt. Some meals are more Indian,  Chinese, Italian, or Mexican themed, some are a mix—and some have no theme at all.

Eating like this has been remarkably easy, frugal, and infinitely rewarding—I’ll talk more about that tomorrow.

This time of year, our menu planning revolves around what’s in the crisper. I cooked what I cooked because we had two big bags of green beans in the fridge,and one of them was harvested three or four days ago and was not going to last too much longer, by our standards. I’d originally thought I’d make a mixed-veggie dish with our garden broccoli, zucchini, and eggplant—but when I saw the large number of beans that had to be used, I shifted the plan. The rice was left over from Dina’s cooking Thursday night, and we’re still inundated with cucumbers, so I built both the soup and salad around them (all-told, I used eight cukes and four tomatoes plus another seven or so for a batch of frozen sauce I made this morning).

Last night’s feast was a typical meal in the Horowitz/Friedman household. It’s how we eat in the summer and fall. In the winter, we often still manage to eat 30 to 50 percent locavore, drawing heavily on what we’ve frozen and dried during the harvest.

It’s still August, and our freezer is already crammed with corn, kale, green beans, three kinds of our own berries, tomato sauce, garlic scapes, basil pesto, and I forget what all else, and our pantry is lined with jars of dried zucchini and tomatoes—all of it local and organic, and processed while still very fresh.

Growing up in New York City apartment buildings in the 1960s and 70s, “locavore” was an unknown concept. The “fresh” vegetables  we ate were trucked from California and had been sitting for weeks and most of our my friends ate their veggies out of cans. So the way I eat is a radical departure from the way I ate as a child. I knew ONE family with a garden: friends of my mother who lived in suburban Westchester County.

Tomorrow, please check back—we’ll look at the impact of eating locally and organic—how being a locavore is good for you, your wallet, and the planet.

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Entergy’s Vermont Yankee nuclear power plant has been operating illegally since March 2012 and unsafely since its opening in 1972. It is the same design as the plants that failed at Fukushima.

Although continued operation past the original license expiration date has been illegal under the plant’s agreement with the state of Vermont, the federal government has allowed the plant to keep operating, and even renewed the license for another 20 years.

The economics have been questionable for much of that time, and today, Entergy announced that it will close the plant no later than the end of 2014. (That link is the coverage by the Wall Street Journal.)

Now, if we can just baby it along without a major accident until then…

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In Part 1, I looked at my own history as a bicultural who is at home in my native New York City as well as in the farm village of 200 people where I live now. Part 2 looked at the context of going no-impact in present-day NYC, and how in some ways it’s easier now, and outlined Colin Beavan’s choices in attempting to live a year with no net negative impact on the environment.

In this final part, I close the circle and direct my bicultural lens on Colin’s choices.

First, I have enormous respect for what he and his wife did. They telescoped into a matter of weeks lifestyle choices that took us decades to evolve, and with considerable personal sacrifice. No  movies, no eating out, no curling up with a great book long after the lights are out.

Second, I understand why they took it to the extreme they did. Their lives were so far out of balance that it took radical surgery to set it right, and it was clear at the end of the movie that as the cycle ended, they would reintroduce some of those comforts, starting with electricity.

But I don’t go quite that far. I’ve always had a goal of low negative environmental impact, rather than no environmental impact.

When I lived in Northampton, I walked or biked constantly—but I could get to town in three minutes by bike, or eight on foot. Now, I live in a place that is not served by public transit. And while I’ve been biking more frequently to Amherst or Northampton, I don’t always have the two hours to bike round-trip, versus 30 to 40 minutes by car.

On the other hand, I eat very locally. In the summer and fall, about 75% of our diet is hyperlocal, either from our own garden or from the CSA farm three miles away (and yes, we often pick up our veggies by bike). Another big chunk comes from local farmers markets eight miles away, whose vendors are mostly within 20 miles. But that still leaves us eating plenty of stuff that doesn’t grow around here.

And I’ve had a consciousness about local food for 30 years—something that’s very common here in the Valley even among the most mainstream people. Living here, I see the cycles of food in a way that’s difficult to experience in New York City.

I live in a single family home that could be better insulated, and now that the kids are grown, it’s a lot of space for two people. Certainly more than we absolutely need.

On the other hand, we’ve added solar hot water and photovoltaic, and the house, built in 1743, long ago amortized the carbon footprint of its construction.

Colin chose to give up toilet paper in favor of rewashable cloth, because he didn’t want to be responsible for cutting down trees. I am not sure that’s actually the most eco-friendly option. First of all, toilet paper NOT made from virgin wood is widely available. In New York City, at least four brands of recycled toilet paper are easily available, including Marcal, which actually uses New York City’s junk mail to manufacture its paper goods, and has for 63 years. So using that solution actually reduces landfill impact. And second, in order to avoid a BIG problem with germs, the water to wash those cloths has to be really, really hot. And hot water, unless it’s solar-heated, is an emormous draw-down of energy and user of fossil fuels.

If were to be eco-purist, I could find 100 little inconsistencies to carp about—but that’s not the point. The point is that this experiment transformed Colin and Michelle’s lives, and actually had a large impact on the way people think—particularly people in large cities.

And what do YOU think? Please leave your comment below.

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With the personal history I described in Part 1, our viewing of “No Impact Man” reflects both our urban past and our rural present: two very different worlds. Although we were never hyperconsumerist like Michelle, we certainly absorbed the message of that mindset. Growing up, we lived in a culture that gave very little thought to where its food or clothing came from. Even though I was already environmentally conscious, I was not aware of a single farmers market in New York City until shortly before we moved away, when I learned about the market in Union Square. I bought my veggies at a minuscule, locally owned, independent produce store that paid attention to freshness and quality; I even had a job there for a while.

New York City Is More Open to No Impact Lifestyle Now

On the other hand, New York City is one place where it’s considered normal not to have a car. And since our day, the city has evolved not only much more of a consciousness around local and green, but an infrastructure. Colin Beavan and Michelle’s Manhattan residence is walkable from the massive 4-times-a-week farmers market in Union Square (up to 140 vendors). The market was their major food supplier for their year of localism.And they could  shop often enough that living without a refrigerator was not that big a problem (though there was at least one spoiled milk incident). When I lived in the city, the Union Square market actually did exist—it was founded in 1976)—but it was tiny, much less frequent, and not widely publicized. These days, there are at least 107 farmers markets in the city, 54 of them under the umbrella of GrowNYC.

Colin Beavan’s Choice

Colin Beavan, co-star with his wife, Michelle Conlin, of “No Impact Man,” decided to phase down most modern conveniences. No plastic packaging, no food from farther than 250 miles (goodbye, olive oil, coffee, chocolate, and black tea—and goodbye to nonlocal wheat, rice, and most other grains—though there is a small amount of wheat being grown here in Western Massachusetts, well within Colin’s 250-mile limit), no vehicles that had a carbon impact (so long, buses, cars, taxis, and even the subway), no elevator to their 9th-floor apartment, even no toilet paper (using washable cloth, instead). Eventually, no electricity in their apartment, except for a solar panel that charged Colin’s laptop. And somehow, he managed to convince Michelle, a self-described nature-loathing fast-food, designer fashion, and television addict, to go along.

What Happened

Colin and Michelle (and their toddler, Isabella), changed pretty abruptly from total immersion to near-total withdrawal from the conveniences associated with the yuppie New York City professional lifestyle. But they didn’t withdraw from society. They still had their old friends—and made new friends through the farmers market, a community garden, and Colin’s volunteer work. And they got tons of press, with major features and appearances from the New York Times to Good Morning America and the Colbert Report. More importantly, they both found a deeper connection with the world around them, and to their daughter. The lifestyle that at first felt like a hardship actually became liberating—even to skeptical Michelle. And both noticed a health improvement, moving from a sedentary lifestyle to one involving a lot of walking and bicycling, and changing from processed industrial foods to a locavore vegetarian diet. Michelle even reversed a prediabetic condition, while Colin joked that the New York Times article, with its headline about giving up toilet paper, should have been called “How I Lost 20 Pounds Without Going to the Gym.”

My Bi-Cultural Perspective on the Experiment

I promised you that I’d bring my mixed NYC and rural perspective to analyzing this movie. And I will do so in Part 3, tomorrow, and actually conclude this series.

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I’d been wanting to see “No Impact Man” since it came out a few years ago. It’s a documentary of a family who tries to live for a year with zero net impact on the environment, phasing down gradually from the conveniences we take for granted.

Last night, we watched the movie. What I had never realized is that Colin and his at-first-skeptical wife Michelle are doing this in New York City—in the capital of consumerism, in the belly of the beast. And Michelle in particular came from a superconsumerist lifestyle, a self-identified shopping addict who purchased lots of designer clothes and either ate out or got take-out almost every night.

The Bicultural Perspective

Dina and I were both raised in New York City; we were both living in Brooklyn when we met. But 32 years ago, we moved from Philadelphia (we’d lived there for nine months) to Greenfield, Massachusetts, population 20,000 and the hub town for farmy Franklin County.

Six months later, when Dina got a job 40 miles south of us, we moved 20 miles south to Northampton, a hip, urbane small college/arts town of 30,000, also surrounded by farmland.

And then, after 17 years in Northampton, we moved across the river 15 years ago to Hockanum, a tiny village of about 200 souls. We live on a working farm that’s been in our neighbors’ family since 1806; they raise 400 cows as well as hay and corn to support the cattle.

Our farm neighbors sold us a house that was built in 1743, and they were only the second family to own it. Mount Holyoke (the mountain, not the college) is literally right behind our house; Mount Tom is just across the Connecticut River.

It’s pretty darn different from the 26-storey apartment building in a 35-high-rise complex where I lived during high school, or from the noisy urban melting pot neighborhoods of my earlier childhood and Dina’s entire upbringing.

For many years, we’ve called ourselves “bicultural.” We can still function well in the fast-paced, loud, crowded setting of New York. But after 32 years in the Pioneer Valley, we’re actually more at home with our country neighbors—talking about our gardens, hiking the hills, and sharing an ethic that values the land. Frugality and green choices have always been a part of our lifestyle, even before we left the city.

With this history, our viewing of “No Impact Man” reflects both our urban past and our rural present: two very different worlds. (to be continued tomorrow)

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My 19-year-old niece, Miriam Clayman, made aliyah yesterday. In other words, she emigrated to Israel and as a Jew, instantly became a citizen.

Unlike the US, which seems to be hostile to immigrants these days, Israel actively recruits and encourages Jews from around the world to make aliyah, and honors them when they arrive. Unlike the US, where immigrants must find their own community and must struggle silently with homesickness and unfamiliar customs, in Israel they get language immersion and the resources of a grateful government.

As a marketer watching part of the welcome ceremony in Israel (on replay), I was struck by how well Israel does its marketing and branding for this project.

Instant Community

It’s quite remarkable to me that this group of 127 olim (people who have made aliyah)—strangers when they arrived at the departure ceremony in New York just a day earlier—had clearly formed a community as they flew through the night to their new lives. And this was deliberate.

Israel’s government and business community joined to make sure the olim felt welcome; you could see it in a dozen little touches, such as:

  • The special “aliyah plane” with its festive logos
  • The super-symbolic disembarkation on to an old-fashioned stairway to the tarmac, instead of a soulless mechanical jetway to an anywhere airport lounge
  • The ceremony with numerous dignitaries, including the minister in charge of resettling immigrants
  • The video feed of the entire event, plus commentary, footage from inside the plane, footage as the olim stepped off the plane, etc.—broadcast live to the eager family and friends around the world, and available for replay as a powerful persuasion tool

The two olim selected to represent the group and receive their certificates in front of everybody, shake hands with and hug the dignitaries, etc. happened to be my niece and  her boyfriend, Ben Yablon, who met  as gap-year-in-Israel students last year. Their love story is apparently quite appealing to the media; they had already been featured in a big article in a major Israeli newspaper and a radio interview last week.miriam and ben Yediot Achronot

Imagine starting life in a new country as an honored and welcomed community member whose new country is excited to receive you—imagine your own perception, and the perception of your friends and family back home, that you’ve finally “come home.”

Marketing by forming communities is certainly nothing new. Companies like Harley-Davidson and Apple  have built their whole brands around it. It’s part of why social media marketing has taken off. It’s part of why smart marketers often stage events. But rarely does a whole country say, “we’re so glad to have you as part of our community.”

The Wider Context

Of course, Israel’s welcoming committee has a lot of the groundwork already done. The new immigrants have already embraced Israel and the idea of an ancient Jewish homeland that has risen again. Diaspora Jews of European origin often feel a stronger pull to Israel than to the actual country where their parents or grandparents grew up. Jews in the US, at least, are often raised with intense loyalty to Israel; the idea of being pioneers building a new country is very strong even among American Jews who have no intention of actually moving. Even the Passover seder ends with the words, “Next year in Jerusalem.”

And let’s not forget the wider regional context. Israel is not popular with its neighbors. Many in the region and around the world consider it a pariah state. And unfortunately, acts of violence and oppression on both sides of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict have fanned the flames of this hatred. Both sides have rejected real opportunities for peace over and over again. Israel was founded in 1948, in the aftermath of the Holocaust, as an almost utopian society, full of rhetoric of optimism and equality—and some of the people who were present at its founding are still alive. But the reality has not always lived up to the rhetoric.

It is worth asking what kind of reception do non-Jewish immigrants receive in Tel Aviv. But it’s also worth looking at the whole concept of building community, not just for a brand, but for a nation, as some of the most powerful marketing possible.

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My friend Tad Hargrave wrote a great post about magnetic marketing, in which he claimed:

There are only three types of potential clients you will ever experience: responsive, neutral and unresponsive.

  • Responsive people will come across your work and light up. They’ll get excited and want to sign up and hire you after learning a little bit about you. They’ll be curious, want to know more and ask you a lot of questions. These people are a ‘yes’ to what you’re up to in your business.
  • Neutral people will listen to what you have to say but they won’t react much. They’ll sit there in your workshop politely and take it in. But they won’t sign up for much. They may be cordial and listen respectfully but they for sure won’t seem ‘into it’ like the responsive people do. These people are a ‘maybe’ to what you’re up to in your business.
  • Unresponsive people will actively pull away, show disinterest, might even be rude. These people are a ‘no’ to what you’re up to in your business.

I think there’s a big difference between those who are unresponsive and those who respond with hostility. So I posted this comment:

Let me “bend the magnet” a bit more and take your analogy to its logical fourth category: those who are actively opposed to what you’re doing. You and I as marketers in the green/socially conscious/cool and groovy/progressive activist space will not only attract the cool and groovy people–we’ll repel the Hummer-driving, cigar-smoking, GMO-loving executive at Monsanto or the local nuclear power plant to the point where they might actually speak out against us–just as WE have spoken out against THEIR actions.

And I’m fine with that. Quite frankly, they are a way to gain the attention of those people in in the uninvolved category, who may be within their orbit but have never thought about these issues. They’re a doorway into media coverage, and give us legitimacy in the eyes of reporters (and their readers) because these big important corporations are actually acknowledging and discussing out issues. And every once in a while, lightning actually strikes and some of them start examining the issues and taking action on our side of the fence (as Walmart has—for its own profit-driven reasons—on sustainability, for instance).

I think of my experience as one of 1414 Clamshell Alliance members arrested on the construction site of the Seabrook, NH nuclear power plant, trying to keep the plant from being built, back in 1977. New Hampshire’s governor at the time, Meldrim Thomson, and William Loeb, publisher of the largest newspaper in the state, the Manchester Union-Leader, called us “the Clamshell terrorists.”

Yet not only had we all pledged nonviolence, we had all actually undergone training in nonviolent protest and joined small, accountable, affinity groups (which continued to function after our arrest); it was a precondition for participation.

Governor Thomson kept the Clamshell prisoners incarcerated in National Guard armories around the state for about two weeks. When we emerged, we found we’d:

  • Birthed a national safe-energy movement based in nonviolent civil disobedience
  • Rapidly and throughly raised consciousness about nuclear power plant safety (and the lack thereof)
  • Created a climate where, unlike previous accidents that had gotten little or no coverage, the Three Mile Island meltdown in 1979 (and later catastrophic failures at Chernobyl and Fukushima) became front-page news.

Seabrook did go online, so we failed in our immediate goal. BUT in an era where former President Richard Nixon had called for 1000 nuclear power plants in the US, Seabrook was the last nuclear power plant to go on line in the US other than Shoreham, NY, which was shut down after preliminary low-power testing and never supplied the electrical grid. I believe the opposition of Thomson and Loeb to our movement helped make it a mass movement, just as the overreaction against civil rights and anti-Vietnam War protestors helped those movements gain strength.

What do you think—do we need our enemies as much as our friends? Can we “ju-jitsu” their hostility into a benefit for our cause? Do you have a great example, either form your own work or something you’ve heard about somewhere? Please leave your comment below.

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Guest post by John Forde

[Note from Shel: I agree with Jack on this. In my 30+ years in business, I’ve been asked to write many complaint letters—and my track record in getting results for my clients and for myself is pretty darn high. I’ve been a subscriber to his newsletter for many years. If you’re a copywriter, I suggest you subscribe as well. He’s both entertaining and useful. Signup info follows his post.]

There was something else that got me thinking about today’s topic. I saw a post over on Copyblogger.com (an amazing site, by the way) about using our copywriting skills to get better customer service.

Their tip focused on help tickets for tech services. But it’s a great insight and one I’ve tapped myself, more than a few times. In fact, I’m a little famous for getting results, among friends and family — enough that I’ve been asked to write “complaint” letters for others.

Not only does a good customer service get problems fixed, it can lead to even more perks. And, I find, all you have to do is follow a simple formula. For instance, I don’t really “complain” in complaint letters. Nor do I get mad or use all-caps or threaten lawsuits or the like. That’s almost always a waste of time.

Instead, I start out with a quick tale of praise and expectation. After all, I say, I bought with the belief that this was the best there was. Almost always, by the way, this is true. Sometimes, I share a little story about why we were excited to make the purchase, too — a birthday, a special trip, to give as a well-deserved gift, and so on.

I’m thinking here, for instance, about a letter I once wrote to Canon, when a video camera failed. It wasn’t just a camera to me. I bought the thing to take video of our son, in his first few days. But the lens jammed so we missed it. From there, I let the seller know that I’m more let down and disappointed than I am angry. I trusted the provider with something important. I believed. And they didn’t deliver. Surely, I allow at this point, it was a one-time mistake… unintentional… and something they could easily fix. Then I tell them how I’d like to see that happen.

In the close, I repeat how much I’m sure they meant to do better… and remind them once again how to go about fixing things, including how to reach me with their solution. I’m not someone to take advantage, but when things have gone wrong, this has almost always worked. For instance, with the Canon camera, I got several personal calls from the head of technical support (yes, he called me) with apologies and attempts at a fix. When we couldn’t get it to work, he gave me an address to send it in. Days later, I got cc-d on a personal email — in Japanese — from the President of Canon, written to his brother in New York, asking him to personally oversee the repair. I kid you not.

I’ve also had the Gap send me $200 in gift certificates and vouchers for four pairs of free pants (this was in the early ’90s) after I bought a defective pair of jeans… We’ve gotten free flight vouchers from two different airlines and courtesy upgrades… Apple has asked me to be on their confidential, early-release program for beta versions of their software… and the list goes on.

Never, ever do I make up a problem where there isn’t one… or pretend it had an impact it didn’t… but when something does go wrong, you’d better believe that copywriting can help solve it.

 

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