Starting From Scratch

I thought about titling this post "Total Disaster Gardening," but that sounded a trifle hysterical.

The yard needs work. That's an understatement. After demolishing one garage, building a new one, demolishing an old stone wall and rebuilding it (stone by stone), taking down an old misshapen silver maple and planting a new "Red Jewel" crab apple, our tiny backyard looks like a bomb went off. The iron fence is in pieces. The lawn is compacted in places and non-existent in others. The pavers used for bordering the old flower beds are laying around like shrapnel. And without the canopy of the old tree, everything feel exposed, like a new scab.

Last summer's straw bale garden, plus rubbish.

Ick.

Since the weather was fine yesterday, I decided to go out and sweep. Which led to shoveling the rotted straw bale garden into a pile. Which led to stacking pavers for a new compost area. 

Ironman (husband Tim) came home after a ride around Lake Max with his training buddies. He looked over the renovations and said, "Are you trying to shame me?"

"Yes," I said, rubbing my left hip. (Bursitis. Fantastic.)

The new compost pile. Note the tilting fence section and
sad-looking viburnum. Both will be replaced, someday ...

This morning, looking over my work from yesterday though, I'm pleased. We recently tossed our garbage disposal, which did nothing except fund the plumber's son's college fund, so I'm thrilled to start this new pile after a winter of guiltily tossing my scraps in the trash. I'm also thrilled to find a use for the pavers, which always seemed too big for such a diminutive space anyway.

And I saw two earthworms and a centipede yesterday, very much alive and wiggling despite the frigid winter of 2014. Time to get to work, fellows.

Get On the Bus, Gus

We often take the train to Chicago, when
we need a taste of city life to remind us
why we live in a small town.

I was heartened to hear this good news from the New York Times this morning: 

"More Americans used buses, trains and subways in 2013 than in any year since 1956 as service improved, local economies grew and travelers increasingly sought alternatives to the automobile for trips within metropolitan areas, the American Public Transportation Association said in a report released on Monday."

We have the millennials to thank, perhaps. This is one generation who seems to want a quality of life beyond just accumulating a lot of stuff. It sure takes a load off the atmosphere when people stay out of their cars and trucks. 

Where I live in rural Indiana, we don't have much in the way of public transportation. Or do we? Now that I think about it, we do have a town taxi service (which my husband has used to get from here to there once in a while) and we have a public bus service run by the Life Enrichment Center (which most people think is just for old folks, but anyone can ride). 

One of the reasons my family moved downtown was to be close enough to walk and ride our bikes to most destinations. And we can, mostly, though it's still a bit of a haul by bicycle to pick up a gallon of milk or a couple of nails. I would love to see a five-and-dime downtown, a place to pick up those sundries.

We have a Mexican grocery downtown that I patronize, but the last time I checked, they didn't have milk or eggs--er, leche o huevos.

In a few weeks, my daughters and I are going to take the South Shore Line to Chicago for a day or two over Spring Break. In eighteen years of living in Plymouth, I've only driven to Chicago once. Taking the train is one of my favorite things to do with my kids. We get on in Chesteron, IN. They read, knit, listen to music, take naps, and I watch the landscape go by in between the pages on my Kindle. We manage to find public transportation whenever we've traveled to the city--Washington, D.C., Boston, Chicago. Our greatest vacation ever was taking Amtrak's Empire Builder to Glacier National Park. 

Alas, we can't take the train to Indianapolis or New Albany, the town where our parents live--there's no convenient rail system going that way. Ironic, eh? 

How about you? Do you take public transportation when you get the chance?

The Right to Refuse

Can you fit your yearly output of household trash in a quart-sized jar?

Bea Johnson can.

Recently I spoke by phone with Johnson, author of a book entitled Zero Waste Home, which details her family’s life of voluntary simplicity. She told me that after years of living a “big American life,” her family decided to move closer to town (they live in a California coastal community).  While they house-shopped, Johnson, her husband, and two young sons rented an apartment and stored everything but the basics. To Johnson’s surprise, living with less was easier and more enjoyable. They shed 80% of their stuff and now live in a house one-third the size of their previous one. “Living more simply is so rewarding,” she says. “A simple life has allowed our family to travel more, to have more experiences together. Life should be based on experiences, not things.”

 

Bea Johnson lives by this mantra: “refuse, reduce, reuse, recycle, or rot” (compost). “Refusing” comes first for a reason, because it stops clutter at its source. For instance, imagine the pile of junk mail that arrives in most mailboxes weekly. Johnson prevents junk mail delivery by opting out of mailing lists. Stop it, don’t just recycle it. “If you accept junk mail, then turn around and recycle it,” Johnson says, “you are basically telling that company, ‘Send me more of your stuff!’” Contact the Direct Marketing Association to opt out of unsolicited commercial mail.

Johnson also refuses freebies or giveaways—the t-shirts, pens, and gewgaws she is offered at trade shows, conferences, or events. “Once you pick up a freebie,” she says, “it becomes your problem. Then you have to figure out what to do with it.”

Packaging contributes a huge amount to household waste, so Johnson refuses it by buying her food and household supplies in bulk, bringing her own jars, reusable bags, and baskets for items such as deli meat and produce. By providing her own containers, buying whole foods, and choosing loose or bulk items, she has no plastic bags or containers to dispose of. Occasionally a grocery store clerk will question putting deli turkey in a Mason jar, but Johnson says, “I just tell them I don’t have a trash can.”

What about refusing family heirlooms? “I have told my family that I don’t want more stuff in my life,” says Johnson. “Stuff is not irreplaceable.  I prefer to remember loved ones by the things I did with them versus keeping the stuff they lived with. I’m sure my grandmother would not want me to have something I don’t want or can’t use.” She does own heirlooms, she told me, but she uses them every day instead of storing them like museum pieces.

Johnson told me that her family’s zero waste lifestyle has been a gradual process, and that there are some things she will compromise on. However, she would never return to her life before she downsized. She’s having too much fun.

I'm reading Johnson's book now, and I'm totally inspired. Here's another place to find it:  Zero Waste Home: The Ultimate Guide to Simplifying Your Life by Reducing Your Waste. Follow Johnson on Twitter (@zerowastehome).