Remember when green was just a pretty color? The color of leaves, of grass, of money? It's no news to any of us that green is now a politically loaded, guilt-ridden, call-to-vague-action word. I have been thinking a bit lately about carbon footprints, locally sourced goods, and sustainable living (white people like to think about these things; see numbers 1, 5, 6, 32, 60 . . . oh hell, read them all). Phil sent this link today, an interactive map showing everyone in the U.S. what food is available fresh in what areas of the country month by month.
What if we ate truly locally? Who wins? Who loses? Is it even possible, let alone practical? Is fair trade fair enough? Is shipping food fifty miles too far? What about 100? What about 1,000? What do we do to global markets, and what is our responsibility to them, if we change our eating habits? What about those who can't afford to shop at the Wedge? And spare me the, "If you shop carefully and only buy fresh, nutritious foods it's quite affordable" line. It's dang expensive to shop the co-op. We know; we shop there.
That tasty barbecued pulled pork I made last weekend got much of its good flavor from the smoked paprika that Penzey's imports from Hungary. Squab, was that delish Cottleston Pie made with ingredients all plucked from markets within walking distance? Sweetie, loved your strawberry rhubarb tart, and the rhubarb was picked from a neighbor's yard (with permission). But the strawberries? Good ol' Driscoll berries from not so nearby California. And everyone loves my fancy cakes, mmm-hmmm. Hello, Mr. Cocoa Bean! How was your boat ride?
I've got Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life on my nightstand, we fork over several hundred bucks each summer for produce from our CSA, and gosh that Hope Creamery butter at Lucia's is great. But what about the crabcakes from Oceanaire, which are like manna from heaven, or my beloved tater tots at the Bulldog? For that matter, what about our breakfast cereal, our bread (well, your bread; Eric bakes ours), our bananas?
This sounds preachy and whiny, and I don't mean it to. Perhaps the problem is not even so much what we consume, but that we do consume. And consume. And consume.
I need to go pick up our new Volvo now.
6 comments:
Reflections from on top of my soapbox, in West Africa.
Right now I'm in one of the poorest countries in the world. The Gross National Income per capita here is $530 per year (if you need a point of comparison, annual GNI per capita in the U.S. is a little over $44,000). I'll spend more than $530 here for 6 nights in my hotel room (which is roughly equivalent to a Comfort Inn).
Is the value added of the work I'm doing here worth more than the cost of my trip and my salary for the week? I have no idea. What about the environmental impact of my plane trip; the a/c and long showers I just "can't" live without; the car (with driver) at my beck and call? Again, I have no clue.
I'm working to try to help improve the design of a $10 million project, which, if it's successful, could improve the incomes and the standards of living of ten of thousands of people in this country. Does that make up for my environmental sins and American salary? And what if the project turns out to an utter failure, as so many of these kinds of projects do?
There are no easy answers.
Basically, I think we should just do the best we can, and what we believe to be right. Americans, more than any other people on earth, use and waste every kind of resource in unbelievable amounts. We know that's wrong. So we should think about what we buy and use. Buy and use less. Buy and use more responsibly.
Walk to nearby places when it's nice out. And when it's too far or too cold or we have too much to carry, we should enjoy the ride in our lovely new Volvos, without guilt. We just need to remember to count them among the many blessings that we have, living in the richest country the world has ever known.
And if we like bananas, we should continue to buy them. Maybe some of our blessed money will end up in the pockets of the women I saw trying to farm in roadside ditches today, in one of the poorest countries in the world.
This is something I think about a lot. People have always traded for stuff from far away. Salt. Spices. Fancy fabrics. It just used to take a lot longer and be way more dangerous. How different would our world be today, culinarily and otherwise, if people in the past hadn't explored? Columbus looking for a shorter route to India, blah blah.
I always think about in one of the Little House on the Prairie books where Laura and her sisters each get an orange as a part of their Christmas presents, and the description of how much they enjoyed that. One orange, once a year, not hundreds of oranges, ready to purchase at any grocery store.
You guys are just lucky the Ford plant over in nearby St. Paul closed ... otherwise you COULD feel guilty 'bout not buying a locally produced Ranger pickup.
Minimizing one's impact on the earth ultimately suggests ending life early and leaving more for everyone else ... but I'm not that generous just yet. (And yes, my meds are working just fine.)
phil
oh, yeah ... and I'm GRATEFUL I'm a rich American, but the U.S. is rich because we're lucky, not because of any moral superiority (which is painfully obvious to all of US!)
I think the questions are worth asking, but I'm not expecting any clear-cut formula to calculate out my real impact on the planet anytime soon. Some days I'm just a waste of breath, other days I'm kinda useful. I think I've quit trying to keep score. :-)
phil
Ummm ... I think the cream I used was Land o' Lakes. And the eggs were local, organic, and free range. But just having ham in there pretty much cancels everything else out. So yeah, I feel your pain. I second what Stephanie said, though - I think having the awareness is really a great start, and as with any eco-choice, you gotta remind yourself that small changes (losing the plastic bags, going to the Farmer's Market, joining the Co-op, etc.) really *do* make a difference. At least I have to keep reminding myself of that, or I get totally overwhelmed and just want to say "fuck it" and go eat an endangered baby whale burger. Well, maybe not that. But you know what I mean.
I've been thinking all day about how I can come here and justify my desperate need for air conditioning. Desperate. Need. Or how I like meat products to come all wrapped on a styrofoam tray, with a side of hypocrisy.
Dammit.
PS I think that suicidal guy who posts as "anonymous" up above needs a vacation. Wanna get in a big silver can and burn some jet fuel with me this weekend?
Post a Comment