Category Archives: environment

Why I Buy Organic Food

05 Wednesday Sep 2012

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Every spring we wait in breathless anticipation for our local organic farm to open. In late May, the bounty starts to roll in, beginning with lettuce, arugula, and spinach.

By late June we start to see strawberries, and as the season progresses, the shelves become more and more crowded with gorgeous, local produce.

Meet Liza Bemis, my local organic farmer.

Now that it’s September, watermelons are on the wane, tomatoes are still in full swing, potatoes are coming in, and squash is beginning to fill up the bins outside.

There is nothing more tasty than a roasted potato that was pulled out of the ground that very morning.

I love my local organic farm.

So when I saw “Organic Food Benefits Doubted,” trumpeted in the index on the front page of yesterday’s New York Times, my blood began to boil. The article, prominently placed in the front section under National News, did nothing to calm my ire, “Stanford Scientists Cast Doubt on Advantages of Organic Meat and Produce.” 

Both headlines were deceptive. The study found that organic meat and produce are no more nutritious than conventionally grown meat and produce. But that’s not why I buy organic food.

I buy organic food because it isn’t grown with pesticides or injected with hormones. And because organic farmers don’t use pesticides and other chemicals, they aren’t harming the environment. According to Liza, that’s the reason organic farmers do what they do.

They love growing healthy food, and they respect where it comes from.

Maine = Vacationland

27 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in art, environment, friendship, inspiration, mid-life transition, travel

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When it comes to technology, I can be a bit shy. And, yes, shy is the right word here. Whenever I get a new piece of equipment, I don’t dive in and immerse myself by either experimenting with all of the buttons, or by cozying up with the manual on the couch for a few hours.

I like to circle, develop a feel, and take my time. Even the unpacking should be a bit ceremonial.

But as I mentioned in a previous post, our camera died. The new one arrived just as we were about to drive up to Maine for a few days. We had been invited to spend some time with friends on Little Cranberry Island, across the water from Acadia National Park.

You travel to the island via the mail boat. And once there, you don’t feel stranded, but life does proceed at a calmer, more sedate pace.

The view from our hosts’ front door is spacious.

And here’s what you see when you walk around the island.

One of the best things about the trip was spending time with our hosts’ 10-year-old son. I love that he is in our lives. And I’m so glad he came along when he did. It has been a privilege to witness his development from baby, to toddler, to a thinking, feeling human being. He is whip smart and funny. 

He’s not shy about technology, oh no. He asked if he could use my camera while we were on the mail boat. His nimble fingers made short work of finding the special effects button.

Photo by Nick Howe

Photo by Nick Howe

Once on the mainland, we took a walk around Jordan Pond inside Acadia National Park.

Photo by Nick Howe

So, dear readers, may your remaining summer days be both slow and sweet, and may their memory keep you warm during the shorter, cooler ones ahead.

As for me, my “shyness” should dissipate soon and I expect I’ll keep busy and warm by poking, prodding, and giving this new camera the third degree.

I hope you’ll stay tuned !

On Luck, Gratitude, and Wild Turkeys

13 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in adult children, environment, friendship, inspiration, pets, travel, writing

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Last week I joined 5000 other women at the 2012 BlogHer conference in New York City. To make the event more affordable, and to have a little family time, Paul and I drove down together and stayed with our son in Brooklyn.

The thought of rubbing elbows with people I’d only known through online exchanges was pretty thrilling. And I was looking forward to making some new connections and taking home some helpful tips and inspiration from the sessions.

But I was also nervous. There’s nothing to make me feel more like a country bumpkin than a trip to the Big Apple.

Because I generally travel with my extremely competent male entourage, finding my way from Brooklyn to the conference on my own would be a new experience. In fact, when my son heard my plans, he joked about making me the kind of placard that kindergartners wear while on a field trip. “My name is Judith, if lost, please call….”

Jokes aside, his excellent directions enabled me to arrive at the conference without a hitch.

Well almost.

Sadly, he didn’t give me any fashion advice that would enable me to survive a 45- minute subway ride without looking like I’d slept in my clothes.

I’d agonized for days over what to wear. And I chose my two favorite summer dresses, both with fabulous belts. The problem was that one was cotton, the other linen, and no matter how well they traveled when carefully folded in a suitcase, they both became a wrinkled mess after I’d sat in them for any length of time.

But my dress worries vaporized when Paul and I came back to Brooklyn after meeting for dinner in the city. Our car was not where we left it. It had been towed — a front wheel was allegedly outside of the legal space. When we got it back, it was making an ominous new noise.

Which leads me to the string of bad luck we’ve had over the past couple of weeks. A few days before our New York trip, Paul was driving his van home from a job. It was raining hard and his windshield wipers suddenly went dead. He had to pull over and wait for the storm to pass.

After our trip and the second car fiasco, my prescription sunglasses and then my swim goggles disappeared in quick succession. Like the car, they were suddenly gone from where I surely had left them. Apparently there’s a black hole for eyewear.

Then, when it seemed like we’d lost or broken everything we could in one week, I saw a family of turkeys crossing our yard. “Get the camera!” I whispered to Paul. He brought it over, turned it on, and announced, “It’s dead.”

Luckily, my iPhone was handy and still working (for now at least).

I was transfixed by this momma and her five babies as they made their stately way across our yard and into the garden.

Karina was transfixed too.

So here’s the current tally: two broken cars with one very expensive repair, two pairs of lost eyewear, and a deceased camera (did I mention that the electric toothbrush is also on its way out?).

So yes, we’ve had a run of bad luck. But the fact that it’s the everyday, garden variety kind of bad luck and not real trouble makes me enormously grateful.

Grateful that my husband can fix a lot of things.

Grateful that my friends are willing to step up and provide help and advice. (Thank you Jane and Heather for the camera recommendations. And huge hugs to Kathleen who made sure I attended the conference with nice-looking business cards.)

Grateful that lost items, unlike people and friendships, are easily replaced.

And grateful that we arrived home safely and can sit on our deck and enjoy Mother Nature’s daily parade.

Vase by Elizabeth Cohen (http://elizabethcohenpottery.com/)

“P.S. Today Is One Hot Scortcher.”

19 Thursday Jul 2012

Posted by in environment, health, mid-life transition, politics

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The spelling is imperfect, but the card and note inside are priceless. My grandfather sent the card to me while I was away at overnight camp. Somehow, I have managed to hold onto it and other letters from home (more about those in another post) throughout several moves and numerous decades.

But my Poppy’s P.S. on this card comes to mind whenever we have a heat wave.

Other than his interesting spelling — which I’m just now noticing — I am also focusing on his choice of words, especially the word “one.” Back in the early- to mid- 1960s when the card was sent, we’d have the occasional oppressive day here in the Boston area — a real scorcher. It almost always cooled down at night and the extreme heat rarely lasted more than a day or two.

This week has been one of several this summer when we’ve had a whole string of days with high humidity and temperatures reaching well into the 90s. A few mornings ago, I walked into our kitchen to find that the outdoor thermometer read 80 degrees. “One day soon we’ll be waking to 90 degrees,” I commented gloomily to my husband. Indeed, I am dripping as I write this from my non-air-conditioned home office.

Many of you know that I write about climate change, air pollution, and their effects on children’s health for Moms Clean Air Force. But while I think everyone should understand the facts about climate change, I also want them to know that we can design, build, and act smarter so that future summer mornings don’t have to be even more oppressive than the ones we are living through now.*

I am fascinated by the idea of understanding and planning for the environmental impacts of what we do. While we must continue to demand that our representatives in Congress crack down on corporate polluters, and that both of our presidential candidates address this issue, I also find it comforting to talk about how we can do better in the future.

That is why I recently interviewed my former high school classmate, writer and historian Catherine Tumber, about how small cities may hold the answers for greener living.

“Renewable energy requires land for solar farms and wind turbines,” she told me. “And next generation hydropower requires special waterways. These smaller cities have those resources, making them a great asset to environmental health. Coal energy is a big polluter. These places have the resources to develop the alternative if we just have the political will.”

You can find Cathy’s book, Small, Gritty, and Green here.

My grandfather would be just as proud of me for writing about these issues as he and my mother were of his big fish in the photo below.  And he would be horrified to know that there would be a question about the safety of eating any fish I catch today.

He adored his grandchildren as I will my own if and when they materialize. And I’ll want to make sure they have the extras like he did (note the “Enclosed $1.00 for the cat’s milk”), but I also want them to have something that isn’t an “extra” at all: A planet where they can play outside, breath easy, catch—and even eat—a big fish or two.

*In this week’s New Yorker, Elizabeth Kolbert explains that global warming works on a time delay, writing “Behind this summer’s heat are greenhouse gases emitted decades ago.” She also notes that “Both President Obama and Mitt Romney have chosen to remain silent on the [climate change] issue, presumably because they see it as just too big a bummer.”

Now and Then: A Visit to Cape Ann

13 Friday Jul 2012

Posted by in adult children, environment, friendship, inspiration, meditation, pets, travel

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Last week my friend Erica announced on Facebook that she was hankering for a lobster — with lots of drawn butter. “Anyone want to join me?” she asked.

It sounded good to me, and before you could say “summer day trip,” Paul, Karina, and I were in the car driving north to meet her in Rockport.

The lobster was a bit small and a little disappointing, but it was followed by a memorable walk in Halibut Point Park. The park is home to a quarry, which borders the ocean.

While I held onto Karina’s leash, Paul took aim with the camera. His photos show why I think Cape Ann is one of the most beautiful and unique places on earth.

(That’s me in the blue hat.)

Karina handled the rocks like a mountain goat, and she surprised us all by lying down on a bed of green seaweed at the bottom of a tidal pool. I wasn’t quick enough to catch her La Dolce Vita moment, but the seaweed was more patient.

The waves were mesmerizing and I stood rooted to the spot, just watching and listening (that’s Paul and Erica discussing cormorants in the background).

When we got home, I remembered something I’d seen while scanning some old photographs. We’d been here before.

These were taken on a September camping trip circa 1990, when the boys were still boys, my hair an unfaded red, and Paul wore ’80s sunglasses before they were considered “retro.”

Happy weekend everyone!

Karina’s Walk

17 Sunday Jun 2012

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When I wasn’t working at the store this week, I was writing a book review and a piece on air pollution.

And then there was that password-protected Father’s Day tribute. Sorry, but I didn’t want to  a.) gross you out with my sentimentality or b.) bore you with cute pictures of my kids, who most of you don’t even know. But husband loved it and that’s what counts.

Just so you don’t think I’m lying about all the busyness, here I am at my retail job. See? Busy, busy, busy.

Anyway, because I didn’t have time to write a post this week, Karina has graciously agreed to give you a tour of “her” woods.

Click on the arrow and she’ll lead you in.

Contemplating a Mid-Life Migration

04 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in adult children, aging, environment, friendship, mid-life transition, travel, writing

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Last weekend we shared homemade pizza with friends on our back deck while a great blue heron sailed overhead. Throughout the course of the meal, we heard orioles singing and saw flashes of orange as they flitted across the yard between their nest in the willow tree and the fruit trees in our garden. A grosbeak, hummingbirds, and various other winged residents also made appearances as they went about their evening business.

When you aren’t confronted by the ticks, poison ivy, and mosquitoes, and don’t have to cut the grass, weed the garden, or shovel the driveway when you’d rather be doing something else, this place can feel like paradise.

We moved to Concord almost 20 years ago, and Paul and I still remember a day that first spring when we looked out a window to see our 10-year-old son trailing a pheasant across the back lawn, nearly stepping on the end of its long, sweeping tail.

Our pheasant-follower and his younger brother grew up here. They went to school here. And now they have both moved on to make their own homes and create their own exciting adventures. And as hard it will be to leave this house and yard behind, Paul and I are ready to move on too.

At least we think we are.

In an ideal world, we could create an oasis like this one in the middle of some city. A city that has sidewalks, public transportation, and a rich cultural life —all things that are missing and are sorely missed in our current location.

I want diverse neighbors, a corner store, a local cafe, and a bit of nightlife. I’d love to attend a movie or a concert and then walk home afterward while discussing what we’ve just seen or heard.

In his recent op-ed piece for The New York Times about New York City’s new bike-share program, David Byrne captured my idealized version of city living as he described the different routes he takes on his bike to pick up groceries, commute to work, or visit friends. And he talked about making his home in the big city.

“I just turned 60 and have no plans to retire to the suburbs,” he writes. “I love it here.”

“That’s what I want,” I thought. “A place I can fall in love with, a place that stimulates my intellect and fosters my creativity.”

But then, just below his paean to urban life was another op-ed by his daughter, Malu, who described the optimal environments of young artists like herself who have left the city because of its high cost and many distractions.

“I might have to escape New York to keep my artistic spirit alive,” she writes.

Somewhere between Byrne’s viewpoint and that of his daughter lies the crux of my dilemma. I want the bustle and excitement of the city but not the noise. I want to be able to move around freely even when—especially when — I am too old to drive, but worry that the constant press of people will grate on my introvert soul.

While any place that Paul and I are together will feel like home, I also want to find  my own niche. I want to write in my office and then meet friends for coffee at a neighborhood cafe, or spend the afternoon wandering around a nearby museum.

I know that there is no ideal place, there are only places that you make idyllic. Paul and I will take a few trips, and maybe someplace will click for both of us. Maybe no place will, and we’ll decide that this is the only home we want.

In the meantime, it’s fun to weigh our options and examine the possibilities. That’s the joy of being middle aged. Even with financial restrictions, we are as free as we’ll ever be to do what we want.

I will be sad when/if we leave this house and town that has become so familiar and where we have lived so much life. And I’ll miss those birds. But I’m also ready to follow their example. Yes, they return every spring, but in the fall they leave that empty nest without hesitation. They move forward.

Giants, Fauna, and Flora, Oh My!

06 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in environment, inspiration, pets

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It was a busy week in the woods for Karina and me. On Monday, she was chased by a giant. (Apologies in advance for the poor filming. Think “The Blair Witch Project.”)

(Next time I’ll hold the camera horizontally.)

Then on Thursday, when we reached the spot where I usually let Karina off her leash, she suddenly lurched forward. There was a rush of wings and a bird I’d never seen before flew up onto a nearby tree.

It looked a lot like my old friend Woody Woodpecker. I wondered if I was hallucinating. How could something so fabulous be here?

I wasn’t quick enough with the iPhone to get a photo. In fact, I wish I hadn’t tried, because by the time I’d dug it out of my pocket, the bird had silently disappeared.

When I got home, I learned that it was a pileated woodpecker, fairly common in these parts, even though I’d never seen one before.

Photo courtesy of National Geographic

On Friday, we went back and gathered evidence.

And then this morning, I was reminded that in addition to giants and woodpeckers, fabulous things are turning up in these woods all the time.

Lady slippers are one of my favorite harbingers of spring. They are something I have seen my entire life. Some years they spring up all over these woods. Theirs is a delicate beauty.

I want my grandchildren to come here and see them some day, and I want them to feel the thrill that I felt when I saw my first pileated woodpecker.

That’s a big reason why I write for Moms Clean Air Force. We all need to protect our Mother Earth. In addition to this week’s woodland adventures with Karina, I also wrote a post for them about why Concord’s ban on plastic water bottles is a step forward for clean air.

Happy trails everyone!

Looking Beyond the Weeds

30 Monday Apr 2012

Posted by in aging, environment, friendship, inspiration, meditation

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In gardening, as in life, it’s easy to get stuck in the weeds. It’s easy to focus on the unwelcome clumps of grass and dandelions, the bugs, and the Hostas behind the garage that aren’t coming back.

We gardeners have to remind ourselves that the garden is there to enjoy. It’s a place to bathe our eyes in beauty; inhale the scent of the ground, the trees, the plants and their flowers; and absorb the steady thrum of nature all around us.

It’s true that sometimes what we have doesn’t live up to our vision, but what in life ever does?

So after spending these past weeks lingering in life’s doldrums, I decided to back away from my desk, pick up my camera, and admire what is growing all around me.

Here is a wide view of our back garden, painstakingly dug out of an established lawn.  It took a couple of seasons to remove all the grass, (which continues to fight its way back in). I love it best in spring when it is a sea of blues and greens, punctuated with a smattering of winey red.

Just look at these Bleeding Hearts. Doesn’t their amazing shape and pure color make your own heart go pit-a-pat?

So many shades of ivory.

And here is some Solomon’s Seal getting ready to unfurl its string of pearls. These plants, along with some May Apple came from Marilyn, my neighbor at the Hawthorne Inn. These plants were already 50 years old when she first brought them down from Maine 35 years ago.

Oooh and there’s my Painted Fern! I always keep my fingers crossed that it will return each year.

The longer I’ve gardened, the more I’ve come to value the foliage as much as the flower. The leaves have to be interesting, because they are what you see for most of the growing season.

These Japanese Anemones are one example. They provide texture all summer. Then in the fall, they sprout their deep pink and white flowers. A lovely surprise when everything else in the garden has started to fade.

Lady’s Mantle leaves love to cup rainwater and dew, but they are experiencing an unusually dry spring. These plants came from Kathleen’s garden.

Like the Lady’s Mantle, this Yarrow from my friend Connie will eventually sport flat hats of yellow flowers. But it is already giving off its own musky scent. In fact, that aroma stopped me cold the first spring after I’d planted it, when I took it for a weed and almost pulled it out.

My friend Beverly, gardener extraordinaire, who lives in a little cottage down the street, shared some European Ginger with me a few years ago. It won’t bloom at all, but the sight of those crisp, shiny leaves can really cool you down on a hot day.

It’s so much easier to get stuck in the weeds/doldrums than it is to pull oneself out. But as any gardener knows, growing a garden takes persistance, care, and a bit of faith. You have to plant seeds, water, and pay attention. Eventually roots will form and something wonderful will emerge from the soil.

This sign is a gift from Carol, one of our oldest friends. Whenever I feel as though no one else gets me, she always does.

Taking Care of the Ground Beneath Our Feet

16 Monday Apr 2012

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Last week, while writing about environmental mindfulness for Mom’s Clean Air Force, I began reading Cradle to Cradle by William McDonough and Michael Braungart.

One an architect, the other a chemist, the two authors challenge the belief that human industry must damage the natural world. “Why not take nature itself as our model for making things?” they ask.

They assert that it is possible to design manmade objects that maintain their usefulness throughout their lifespan and even give back to the planet upon their demise.

Such design would include what they call “technical nutrients” as well as biological ones. Whatever the product, it would start its life without the use of hazardous materials. The design for a commercial carpet, for example, would include a plan to ensure that its life span will be safe and useful from beginning to end.

“… carpeting designed as a true technical nutrient would be made of safe materials designed to be truly recycled as raw material for fresh carpeting …,” write McDonough and Braungart.

The more I learn about environmental hazards, the more I realize how much my daily activities impact our planet. I’m not suggesting that we all go back to the land and become luddites. But I do want to be more aware of what I’m taking away from our planet and what, if anything, I am giving back.

I also want to keep the pressure on Congress to support mercury standards and on business to adopt environmentally safe practices. Their bottom line won’t amount to much if they destroy the planet.

Mother nature provides us with daily miracles. See how she is?

Even in death our weeping willow tree continues to sprout new leaves.

And her rich, loamy core continues to nourish other plants and micro-organisms.

Like this dear old tree, our Mother Earth will keep giving and giving until her great heart finally gives out. I want to do the same for her. I’m not being particularly altruistic here. My survival, my children’s survival, their children’s survival — and their ability to thrive— all depend on her continued health.