Tag: locavore

By Posted on Posted in Abundance and Prosperity, Eco-friendly, Frugality/Frugal Fun, localism/locavore, Shel's Personal Life Tagged with , , , , ,

When I get a good apple or pear, I eat it “right down to the bone.”

Apple core

This is an actual core from a wonderful Macoun apple that I picked myself. It was fresh, juicy, crunchy, and that wonderful combination of sweet and tart. An apple right from the tree is one of the great pleasures in life. When we go apple picking, I get home and immediately start drying them and making apple sauce, because even one day later, it won’t taste quite as good. And three weeks later, it’ll taste only a little bit better than a store-bought apple shipped from the other side of the country.

As a locavore, a green business profitability expert, and someone who attempts to live a very green, yet very comfortable life, I feel each of us has a responsibility to minimize waste. Eating every last bit of a tasty apple is one of the ways that minimizing waste can actually be fun. And of course, the few grams remaining go into the compost, to be recycled by Mother Nature into something else.

And those are the two principles of waste reduction: use things more efficiently so you generate less waste, and figure out what that waste can be turned into to create something else. Better than pollution, I’d say.

Please comment below about how you are—or how you could be—generating less waste or setting that waste up as raw material for something else.

 

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By Posted on Posted in Abundance and Prosperity, Eco-friendly, Energy & Sustainability, Environmenl, Frugality/Frugal Fun, Green Living/Green Lifestyles, Shel's Personal Life, Uncategorized Tagged with , , , , , ,

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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By Posted on Posted in Abundance and Prosperity, Energy & Sustainability, Frugality/Frugal Fun, Shel's Personal Life Tagged with , , , , , , ,

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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By Posted on Posted in Energy & Sustainability, Entrepreneurship, Green Business Tagged with , , , ,

A brief explore of Montpelier, Vermont, tiny capital of a sparsely populated and very progressive state. More brief than it would be, because it was minus 4 F as we were walking around last night.

Based on a very small sample—two restaurants and one Bed & Breakfast that we tried, and a few more whose windows we peered into (including the local cooking school and the artisan bakery it operates), this town may have one of the highest percentages of people who pay attention to the food they eat—to its provenance, the craft of growing and processing it, as well as to the taste and nutritional qualities. And I didn’t even visit the food co-op.

But it’s amazing. All three establishments—a creperie called Skinny Pancake and a bagel/burrito coffee shop called Bagitios, both in the center of town, and High Hill Inn, a B&B in East Montpelier up on a hill—had menus emphasizing local foods, even in a frigid Vermont January. Fair trade beverages, local greens and meats, artisanal approaches to bread, beer, wine…on the menu, and heavily marketed, along with appeals to waste reduction, energy conservation, and other good green principles. High Hill was even more remarkable because the proprietor, Ann Marie, is from the American South (an area where I’ve found it very challenging to eat decently, let alone well).

I’m sure

Go team!

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By Posted on Posted in Abundance and Prosperity, Shel's Personal Life Tagged with , , , ,

I finally got up the courage to visit our garden, which had been swamped by Hurricane Irene.

Our Garden and Barstow's hay and cornfields, 8/29/11
Our Garden and Barstow's hay and cornfields, 8/29/11

The Friday before the storm hit, we busied ourselves hauling out tomatoes, soybeans, basil…anything that was ready to pick. Sunday, when the rain stopped, we thought we’d come through unscathed—until Monday morning, when we got up and saw that the Connecticut River, normally in that area at least 500 yards from the state highway, was lapping at the edges of the road. The entire corn and hayfield surrounding our garden was under water. The gate, about three feet above the ground, was at the water line.

While the water receded within a couple of days, we were strongly advised NOT to eat anything else from the garden—and once we found out that Greenfield, farther upriver, was not treating its sewage after the storm, we weren’t all that interested in harvesting anything else anyway. and I couldn’t bring myself to even go down there to view the wreckage until now.

On the good side, the hayfield is coming back. Fresh green growth has come up over the silt and if you don’t look too closely, it looks normal.

But the garden was another matter. All the corn, sesame, tomatoes, some of the broccoli, some of the beans, and nearly all the eggplant was dead. The whole place stank. About the three of the broccoli plants and one eggplant had survived, and the broccoli actually looked quite good (not that I was going to take any). One eggplant had grown on the surviving plant.

While I recognize that we got off very easy compared to neighbors just a few miles north, or the farmers whose farm we live on who lost 30 acres of cow corn and hay, it still made me deeply sad.

Next year, perhaps, we’ll start a small garden up by the house, which is on a hill and stayed totally fine during the storm.

It made me thank about how lucky we are to have essentially unlimited supplies of food; when our garden fails, we do not starve. We can go buy some just a few miles away. Many people in the world are not so fortunate, and if their crops fail, they face starvation. As a society, we should set up distribution networks to eliminate that kind of threat.

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