The Big Move

The Green Lens has grown up and moved out of it’s dusty, old, flamingo pink mobile home and into a renovated, sparkling clean, LEED platinum certified, downtown apartment. Despite changing it’s name to The Emerald Lens and avoiding walking through or near the trailer park, it still can’t escape it’s roots.

Check out http://theemeraldlens.wordpress.com/ for all future posts!

The To Write List

Scapegoat Mtn in the Bob Marshall Wilderness

     It's been a crazy couple of weeks, couple of months, and year in general. I'm done with my semester, I'm home with family, I'm just starting to get a bit bored with no responsibilities or obligations, and holy crap do I have a lot I want to write about. WRFI was an amazing experience. I wont pretend I loved every moment or wanted it to go on forever. But I did visit some beautiful places, become friends with some kickass people, and get 12 upper division credits in two months flat. I was home in time to be with Dad during his last couple days, something far more important to me than I had previously thought. Now, I have two glorious months of emptiness stretched out in front of me, and as tempting as it is to do nothing but sit around, eat, and watch 30 Rock reruns my goal is to write about the following:

• Dad's Death (and more importantly, life)

• The Bob Marshall  (Wilderness designation, The Bob Marshall Foundation/Montana Wilderness Association)

• The Missouri River (BLM management, Lewis & Clark/Native Americans, National Monument Designation)
• Thrift store-ing in small town Montana
• The Big Snowies (Wilderness Study Areas, the effects of cows on riparian areas)
• Cooking in the backcountry
• The Yellowstone River (Riparian Health, Private Development)
• The Northern Cheyene Reservation (Coal mining/burning, the sweat ceremony, the BIA)

     The Bob Marshall entry will come tomorrow! Or maybe the next, if I get too wrapped up in consuming vast amounts of turkey and cranberry sauce...

Kayaking the Missouri River

Wild Rockies Field Institute

Two days and I am headed out on my field course. My brain feels as scattered as a chiuhaha on meth. There is gear to pack, readings to print, people to call, laundry to do, food to organize, more gear to buy, more gear to pack... I'm looking forward to being in a van driving towards our first destination instead of perpetual preparation limbo (Oh shit! Don't forget this, or that, or wait, do I really need it? Guhhh).
As it explains on their website, WRFI is "An independent, nonprofit educational organization that offers affordable, high quality, academically rigorous field courses in some of the most beautiful and interesting landscapes in North America."

My course, called Montana Afoot and Afloat, will start with an 8 day backpacking trip in the Bob Marshall, then move to a 14 day kayak trip on the Missouri River, then another 8 day backpacking trip in the Big Snowies, then a 13 day kayak trip on the Yellowstone. We also visit ranches, Native American reservations and coal plants. By the time the course ends on November 7th I will (hopefully) have twelve credits of upper division environmental studies, Native American studies and geography credits. (Check it out here)

I am excited for the academic portion of the trip, but I am also excited for the recreational aspect. While I consider myself an outdoors goin', tree huggin', dirt lovin' northwestern girl, I have never extensively backpacked or flat-water kayaked (and something tells me it might be slightly different from an eight day rafting trip...). I have also never seen the large majority of Montana. I will be living in this state for at least the next four years, and I'm looking forward to becoming aquainted with more than just the Missoula area.

I can't ignore that the trip comes with rough timing. Dad is still doing relatively well, but no one can really know when things may start to deteriorate. The last week has presented some tough decisions. Is it really responsible to leave right now? When should my family contact me if something goes wrong? How wrong do things have to be? Am I running away from reality? Quite possibly yes. But I'd rather run into the backcountry than simply mope around Missoula, drinking too much beer and eating too much chocolate cake. In the last year (almost a year to the day) I have cut myself off from many adventures and opportunities under the pretense of "being there for my family". Some of those decisions were well founded and necessary, and some were just my way of avoiding pushing my comfort zone and stretching myself.

I can't avoid it anymore, It's time to just say "shit happens" and go.  They will call me home if I need to be home, and we will make each decision a day (or week) at a time. Dad and I have always felt closest when we are skiing, biking, hiking, or otherwise exploring, and I don't think this trip will be any different. Throughout the next two months my family will always be at the back of my mind and the front of my heart. They understand why I am going and support me. After all, they are the ones that planted this damn adventure bug to begin with.

The family biking in Moab

Summer

Apologies, this blog has been rather silent for the last couple months. Mentally, I try to give myself a break in the summer. I lived in Riggins, raft guided when there was work, spent long afternoons on the beach when there wasn't, backpacked in the seven devils, ate breakfast at Cattlemens, drank beer in boat stacks with good friends, soaked in hot springs, danced to bad 80s music at Summervilles and skinny dipped off the boat ramp.

 (photo by Mark Curry)

There were times when I forgot about climate change, world hunger, biodiversity loss, water scarcity and terminal brain cancer. There were times when I just felt like a regular nineteen year old girl. There were times when I was completely and genuinely happy. Selfish? Probably, but now, back in Missoula, I feel refreshed. I am ready to jump back into the real world, however harsh and hearbreaking it might be.

On Friday, Dad came down to Riggins and went rafting with me. He is not doing well. He is tired, the tumor is growing, and we are out of options for treatment. While we ate dinner he asked me to tell him one thing I would do (just for me) if I could do anything in the world. I thought about it for awhile. And then I realized, I am doing everything I want to be doing. I raft guide in the summer, I go to school in a town I love, I am spending the fall semester backpacking and kayaking for my credits. I have people in Moscow, Riggins and Missoula who I love and who take care of me. I have enough money to eat well, sleep in a warm (ish) house, and drink good beer. What more could a girl really want or need?

Serotinous by K.A. Hays

I found a print of this poem as I was cleaning out my closet last week... I think one of my mom's friends gave it to me in a card for graduation last year. Poetry is something that I am not very good at and don't read a lot of, but every once in awhile one catches me.

Serotinous
K.A. Hays

We should learn from them: the copse
of pitch pines leaning into a mohawk, all needle
and warted twig. If someone lit a blaze

out here, they wouldn't blink; they have,
in fact, grown dormant buds made

to open in such terror. Good idea for us
to fashion, like them, root collars - so the body
cooked to the nub, buds gone, another self

might climb out cough, unfold greenly -
though safer still, for the populace, to be schooled

in serotinous cones, to learn to lock our seed
in a resin that melts off only in fire
so if the bud and root and trunk are cooked,

the seeds are saved, and spring from the charred earth
after the dumb maples and oaks, with their studied

aesthetics of leaf and even shade, samaras
and acorns have gone. The pitch pines welter,
clawed on ledges with their roots in near-rock,
fed by the ground's toxic metals. Remember -
if not for the arbitrary crash that startled off

a piece of the planet, forming moon and tilting
the earth off-kilter, there would be no us. How dull
that would be, the hardier insects moping about

without our drama, limp and uninspired, no religion
or politics to stir the blood. Convenient

that we have this creator latent in us
erratic, poised to start a burn

In-Your-Face Environmentalism

Last week I visited my friend Genia in Seattle. Sometimes it feels good to change scenery and get caught up in the hustle of four million people. It's nice to experience the certain comfort of being almost completely anonymous.  I spent the week going on runs in the rain, harassing Genia at the coffee shop she works at, dancing, watching documentaries in run down theaters, scouring second hand and vintage stores on the ave, people watching, bike watching, and eating obscene amounts of delicious ethnic and pastry/coffeeshop food. The trip was relaxing, fun, and made me realize (as usual) how much I enjoy NOT living in a city full time. It's good to visit, but there sure isn't any Rattlesnake Wilderness a five minute drive away.

Of course, being in the university district in somewhat decent weather meant that the canvassers were out in full force. This particular week it was Greenpeace, traveling all the way up from Portland, Oregon (surprise) to tell us why BP was shit (another surprise) and why joining Greenpeace (complete with credit card information) could make BP clean up their shit and start taking responsibility for their screw up.

The thing is, in theory, I do support what Greenpeace is trying to do. I DO think BP should take responsibility for the Gulf spill. I DO want our government to invest in sustainable energy. I DO think we need to be more careful with our country's natural resources, I DO agree that by banding together, regular people can make effective and beneficial change.

However, I DON'T think the way to go about this is by harassing shoppers on the street. If they can barely get an environmental studies major to stop and talk with them, how effective can they be with the frat boys, soccer moms and bussiness people rushing to their next appointment or engagement? When I finally did stop to talk to one of the reps, he was a perfectly nice, intelligent human being (if not a bit robotic in delivering his monologue on the evils of big oil... I wonder how he got to Seattle from Portland? Perhaps in a gas guzzling vehicle?).

I agreed with almost everything he said. However the only way for me to get involved was to fill out all my information (address, phone number, e-mail, full name) and give a donation. If he had given me a flyer with information, added my name to an email list, asked me to sign a petition, or given me a letter to send to my senator I would have willingly complied. But letting someone on the street talk me out of my credit card information, no matter how urgent or legitimate the issue, just wasn't going to happen.

I think many Americans are trained to be skeptical. I know that personally, I would like to research and have experience with an organization before I give my money to them. I understand that they probably have issues with people smiling and nodding, saying they will get involved, and then promptly forgetting all about the issue (hence trying to push on-spot signups). But I also think in order to have a successful business, non-profit or campaign you have to appear trustworthy and conversational. Greenpeace has a history of being somewhat radical and in your face. When someone bombastically tells me why their way is the right way, it doesn't make me want to join or help them, it makes me want to argue with them. Even if it is an issue I am completely sympathetic to. While I may not know the ins and outs of the issue, I want to be conversed with, not lectured at.

The whole experience makes me question, what is the best way to get people involved with environmental issues? How do you make a nineteen year old in Seattle care and take action regarding a oil spill in Louisiana? Is it possible to educate people without attacking them? Can donating $15 to an organization make up for the fact that I filled up my gas tank twice to get to Seattle and back? How do you keep people from going into tragedy overload and simply becoming apathetic?

When I tell people I want to work with the social side of environmentalism, I am talking about answering these types of questions.

Home

This week, I said goodbye to Missoula. I spent time with the remaining friends who hadn't yet left for various summer jobs and international excursions, stocked up on microbrew in cans (no PBR on multi-day river trips for me!) packed my life into my blue subaru and drove over Lolo Pass back towards home.

In many ways Missoula feels like home now too. On Tuesday, I walked along the river at dusk, watching the pearly pinks and oranges of the sunset over the river and the almost full moon rise behind the "M". I thought about how much Missoula has seen me go through, how many new connections and friendships have been created, how the seasons have cycled back to almost the same point as when I first met Missoula, back in August. Instead of just being there by default, Missoula is a home I have created. I went from knowing no one and nothing to feeling like I have a community and a niche.

Yet Moscow will always be home too. I arrived to my mom and brother seated around our red formica kitchen table and a very, very excited head butt from my dog.  It was good to sleep in my old room (second story and east facing, a stark contrast to my Missoula basement), catch up with high school friends, hear Josh Ritter on the stereo and go for runs around the neighborhoods I know by heart. Moscow is a place where I can't go downtown without seeing someone I know. Most of the people in Moscow have seen me grow from toddler to hyper elementary school kid, to bratty pre-teen, to semi-normal young adult. There is a certain comfort in everyone knowing your life story, and also certain limitations. Definitely no anonymity here, especially when Mr. La has become the "teacher/mtnbikeguy/renfairking/raftguy/etc. with brain cancer".

Dad is on a Middle Fork trip and is completely out of cell and internet service. It is strange coming home to three (I include the dog as a family member) instead of four. Home isn't quite home without him here making phone calls, reading the newspaper at the kitchen table and kissing my forehead goodnight before I go to bed. When he is gone, even when I know it is just a five day raft trip, I can't help but thinking "This is what it might be permanently".

I don't know how to discuss this topic delicately.

The reality is, my Dad may live for another 6 months, 6 years, or 30 years. There is no way to know. I am not ready for our family to shrink from five to four, but then again, there is no way I ever will be. I guess the best I can do now is be thankful for the present, knowing he IS just gone on a week long trip and that I probably have plenty more goodnight hugs, chance REI encounters, and phone conversations about dry suit features and CFS to come.

In a truly Unitarian Universalist, agnostic-y way, I know that even if my Dad isn't just a cell phone call away, he is still with me. He is in the rivers I raft, the powdered slopes I ski, the swaying pines on Moscow Mountain, the messy morning hair of my younger brother, the laugh of my mom, and the tail wag of my dog. My Dad has taught me how to love and recreate in the natural world, to stop and watch a swirling rapid, to find spirituality in wild places, to climb just one more ridge over, to bike instead of drive. He has taught me to love the home we all share in common: the earth under our feet.

And he will always reside somewhere within me, letting me know I am loved and will be okay. Even when he simply 200 miles away in the Frank Church wilderness, this is a consolation.

1000 New Gardens

My volunteer project last semester was with a group called 1000 New Gardens. Wait, just ONE volunteer project? What happened to the days of high school when I had four or five? What happened to weekends jam packed with event after obligation?

Irregardless. The mission of 1KNG (get it?) is "to revitalize Missoula's legacy as the Garden City by promoting household organic vegetable gardening by sharing resources, techniques and information throughout the community. The objective of 1,000 NG is to create one thousand new organic vegetable gardens in Missoula on land that has been underused or planted as lawn." It was started last year by a UM student and a Missoula community member.

New gardeners are a mix or community members and college students interested in starting a garden and almost all of our Dig Day volunteers are students from the University of Montana.  Volunteers for Dig Days meet at a park by the river where we give instruction, sign liability forms, and form into groups. These small groups then disperse to different garden sites around Missoula. Once at a site they remove sod, reclaim the dirt from the sod, create a compost pile, and work composted manure into the soil. New gardeners are given resources such as access to the IKNG website (where they can blog, ask questions, and connect with other new and experienced gardens) and information about gardening resources around Missoula.

I was drawn to IKNG because I was looking for environmentally minded volunteer work that was tangible and quantifiable. As important as education and “raising awareness” is, I think it is also very important to have work that shows direct results. There is something empowering about starting with a backyard full of grass and five hours later leaving with a garden that is ready to be planted full of vegetables.  Further, food production in today's industrialized society is incredibly inefficient and harmful to the environment. What is more local and sustainable than your own backyard? The lawn that was there before wasn't doing much good as species habitat, carbon sink, or food producer.

Yet, honestly, in February when I started volunteering with the group, I knew nothing about gardening. The garden at my parent's home is beautiful and produces huge amounts of vegetables, fruits and flowers. The extent of my experience helping out was the occasional weeding or buying starters and the farmer's market. So my involvement with the group was also for somewhat selfish reasons. I consider myself a "new gardener" as well. And no better way to learn than to jump right in.

Between weekly meetings and the three Dig Days in April/May I learned a huge amount about backyard gardening and met a whole lot of truly interesting people. I never once heard a person complain about the hard physical labor and most receiving gardens were incredulous that the service was free. We started almost thirty new gardens this spring. That is thirty people that may not have to buy their lettuce and tomatoes from California, thirty people who are excited about gardening and getting their friends involved, thirty people eating less food from the industrial, chemical and petroleum heavy food system.

And because I was only committed to one volunteer project instead of twenty, I had time to grow a garden of my own. I planted a couple rows of spinach, lettuce and snap peas, hoping they would mature before I had to leave Missoula. There was something pretty satisfying about watching what looked like a boring brown patch of dirt erupt with green (and not just grass and dandelions).

Check out the IKNG website here
Read the Montana Kaimin article about IKNG here
Read the Missoulian article about IKNG here
And a video...

The Lochsa River and the Kearl Oil Sands

I'm pretty sure I love the Lochsa River more than I will ever love any man. It is a gorgeous, slender but powerful, bubbling, frothing river that cuts through the Selway-Bitterroot Forest on the east-central side of Idaho. In spring, snow melt from the mountains surges into it's tributaries and the river begins to flood, making it one of the best stretches of whitewater rafting the Northwest knows. The water, so clear it looks deep emerald green,  is cold and clean, supporting a variety of plant and animal life. Narrow and winding Highway 12 that runs beside it is also a scenic byway, attracting it's fair share of adorable elderly couples ("Sweetie, are you sure that boat can get you through that water down there? It looks awful dangerous. Does your mother know you're here?") and picnicking families.

There have been times as I punch into a rolling wave or lay on the rocky river bank, letting the sun sink into my bones, that I feel completely and utterly content, connected, and loved by the landscape around me. The Lochsa River has an air of the sacred. The water whispers truths I only wish I could understand. It is a place that terrifies me, not only for the sheer power of the flowing water but also for the dependence I feel towards it. Having it destroyed or manipulated would break my heart. I don't say that in exaggeration or as a cliche. When I place my feet in the swirling, numbingly cold water, a feeling clenches my chest that can only be described as head-over-heels love.

Which is why my stomach sinks when I hear Exxon Mobile is planning to ship oil refinery equipment from the Port of Lewiston, along Highway 12, and up through Missoula to Canada. The Korean built machinery is huge (24 feet wide, 30 feet tall and 162 feet long) and construction has already begun along Highway 12 to expand the road so it has the capacity to accomodate the oversized vehicles. The road will be widened to create pullouts and wider turns with who knows what effect on river flow and riparian vegetation. Quiet, star studded nights along the Lochsa River may soon be replaced with the rumble of thousand ton trucks. Development will likely set a precedent for the cooridor to be opened to industrial shipping. Yes, Highway 12 as it is now is a dangerous road with blind corners and little turn out space. And I think that's how it should stay. If you need to get cross country at 80 mph, take 1-90. Even in a car, traveling along the Lochsa makes you slow down a bit, think about where you are going and why.

I have problems with every part of this process. The four dams along the Snake River that make it a "port" (In central Idaho? Really?) have had huge negative effects on salmon runs and regional ecosystems. The shipment process from Lewiston to Alberta will have negative effects on tourism, traffic flow, riparian ecosystems and the general peace and quiet of Idaho and Montana. The Kearl Oil Sands have their own set of issues, from open pit mines to water use to habitat loss. Oh, and the fact that the oil will run out. The project will eventually become too expensive or there simply will be no resource left. If Highway 12 was being developed to ship wind turbines or materials to build sustainable low income housing I may feel differently. But this is Exxon Mobile. Look at their track record, the history of how they have treated the environment and the problems they have created. Their representatives say that they have had no major accidents in the last fifteen years. But wait, wasn't that what BP was saying about offshore drilling just a few weeks back?

Of course, the grand irony of it all is that when I head down to the Lochsa this weekend to meet my parents, camp and raft, it will be in my gas guzzling car. Yet I would rather pay $6.00 a gallon for gasoline than see anything happen to a river I love. Or even better, what if we put our tax dollars towards developing green transportation such as hydrogen and electric so I can ditch the gasoline guzzler all together? I'm tired of watching big oil exploit communities and landscapes that belong to all of us (or none of us? How can land like this be owned by a human?) for their own profit. I'm tired of hearing of oil spilling into the ocean, destroying once thriving maritime and wetland ecosystems and the tourism and other livelihoods associated. I'm tired of wondering if I will be able to share the places I love with my children and my children's children.

Enough already.

More info at the Lochsa River Conservancy facebook page

Spring Farmers Market

This is the first Moscow Renaissance Fair I have missed in a long, long time. This morning as I drank my cup of coffee I swore I could almost hear music from the main stage, see Tye Dye Everything t-shirts and dresses fluttering in the wind, smell Filipino food and sugary elephant ears, feel the muddy straw twisting under my shoes, watch the smiles of the community I know so well as they meandered by. I could almost hear Mom and Dad (elected King and Queen this year) laughing and joking, Dad deciding to put a down jacket and windstopper hat over his tunic, Mom's red converse (I hope!) peaking out of her long velvet dress.

But here I am in Missoula, Montana.

So to quell the tinges of homesickness I was feeling I  headed downtown to the first Missoula Farmer's Market of the season. Actually, correction: I headed down to the Clark Fork River Market AND the Missoula Farmer's Market. That's right, there are two. I'm not quite sure the reasoning or the politics behind it all (maybe just not enough space in one location?) but as far as I am concerned, two is even better than one.

I'm pretty sure I could have wandered in circles for hours, looking at the damp and fluffy lettuce, deep green spinach, brilliant yellow and red chard, speckled eggs, fragrant baked goods, hand-made crafts, and smiling faces...but three final essays waiting at home called me to get a move on. I bought a few leafy greens here, some swiss chard there, a bunch of rhubarb, some petite carrots, a dozen eggs from an adorable little girl who told me about her family's 40 chickens (and their pooping habits), and a scone for the trip home.

As I walked along Rattlesnake Creek, (breathing in that beautiful rushing water, riparian vegetation smell I love so much) I realized something. Going to the Farmers Market was the first time this semester I had bought food and felt truly good about it. I didn't have to battle traffic on Russell St to escape the Good Food Store parking lot. I didn't have to wonder if what I was buying was just an overpriced "organic!" gimmic. I got to see the faces of the people almost directly involved in growing the food. I carried my purchases home in a bag slung over my shoulder instead of the back of a station wagon. There were no flourecent lights, bar codes, or thick plastic packages.

Have I mentioned how thankful I am recently? Well, I will say it again. I have no idea how I got so lucky as to live in the thriving, vibrant communities of Missoula and Moscow.

 

Labels

It's amazing how many different branches of environmentalism there are. You can declare yourself a follower of

• shallow ecology
• deep ecology
• preservationism
• conservationism
• ecofeminism
• environmental justice
• environmental [insert religion here]
• radical environmentalism
• environmental anarchy
• "OMGCameronDiazIsDoingItSoItMustBeCool" ism
• etc, etc, etc

The list goes on and on... and I am coming to believe that is a good thing. The more multi-faceted our work towards mitigating environmental issues the more likely we are to succeed. We need people fighting to stop pollution as much as we need people fighting to change the way our culture views the planet. We need to protect large areas of Wilderness as much as we need to find a way to use natural resources more sustainably. We need to fight for the rights of the humans (often those already in poverty or otherwise discriminated against) negatively affected by environmental degradation as much as we need to fight to protect endangered species. We need to change national and global policy as much as we need to participate in local, community based service days.

Maybe I am being an idealistic college kid, but I truly think it all helps and is all making a difference. Even in environmental sci 101 you are taught that diversity strengthens an ecosystem (or a bioregion, or a species, or the earth as a whole) by making it less susceptible to disaster. It seems the same principle should apply to the environmental movement.

So why all the arguing? Why the either/or decisions? Why not be some crazy combination of everything (excluding ecoterrorism perhaps...)? Perhaps there is more work to be done emphasizing all the ways the different frames connect instead of tearing apart why one or another is "wrong"...

Half Empty of Half Full?

An either/or question: Are you an optimist or a pessimist?

Immediately, pessimist is ruled out. I try to find the good in life, people and shitty situations. Yet it feels naive to declare myself an optimist. The world has so many dark aspects (most of which I am lucky to have never encountered) that blatant optimism feels like a luxury of the uninformed.

Yet today I am feeling grateful.

I am grateful that is it 70˚ and brilliantly sunny. I am grateful that I am a 5 minute drive from beautiful, uncrowded trails that wind through pine forests.  I am grateful for a strong (enough) body that does what I ask it to without complaint. I am grateful to have the  luxury of taking a morning for myself to just be in the outdoors.

I am grateful for my new veggie garden, however lopsided and unproductive it may be. I am grateful for my cute lil' Swedish roommate who gardens with me (in her pink polka dot gloves). I am grateful for all the other amazing, intriguing people I seem to continually meet all across Missoula. I am feeling so thankful I even have fuzzy feelings for my cranky neighbor who yells at me for turning my car around on his property.

I am grateful to live in a country where I have the opportunity to be in college. I am grateful to be studying something in school that I am passionate and genuinely interested in. I am grateful for clean water flowing from my faucet and good food in my fridge. I am grateful for a community that values sustainable agriculture, local farmers, slow food and backyard gardens.

I am grateful for my parents and the way they raised me. I am grateful for all the doctors, nurses, researchers, and community members who have ensured Dad gets another spring on his mountain bike and summer on the river. I am grateful to answer a phone call from home without my stomach tying into knots. I am grateful that I have a younger brother who is growing up to be a funny, intelligent, genuinely interesting person (and can have a half hour phone conversation without being painfully awkward).

I know, I know, I sound like a cheesy Hallmark Channel movie.  But when I go outside, listen to the birds chirping, feel the sun on my bare shoulders and take a whiff of that beautiful, wild, warm, vibrant, SPRING smell I can't help but realize... whether half empty or half full, there is water in the glass. And on a day like today, that is all that matters.

E-I-E-I-O

Over spring break I headed to the Flathead Valley to spend a week at Swallow Crest Farm, owned by an old family friend.  The farm is located in a beautiful spot on the northeast side of Flathead Lake, nestled in the foothills of the Swan Mountains. One of the first things to strike me when I arrived was the complete, utter quiet. There is no interstate, no trains, no Family Guy blaring from the television. Neighbors dot the hills, but the setting feels decidedly rural. I left my computer at home. I had a guest cabin and wood stove all to myself. It was a welcome break to the hustle and bustle (c'mon, let me pretend) of life in Missoula.

Julian, the owner, provides around 150 CSA (community supported agriculture) shares to families around the Flathead Valley. After three solid months of school, it was a treat getting to paint trim, plant starters (basil, cabbage, head lettuce, swiss chard...), transplant starters into bigger containers (tomatoes, peppers and eggplants), build a hoop house frame, water plants in the already standing hoop houses, create soil mix (two parts peat, 1/2 part perlite, 1/2 part soil, 1/2 part compost) and help out with other chores around the farm. It was an even bigger treat to spend long meals and afternoons talking with Julian and the two full time apprentices, Amanda and Kevin.

Talking with Julian and watching him work I was struck by the amount of knowledge it takes to run an organic farm. From soil chemistry to weather patterns to growing schedules to carpentry to animals to dealing with weeds to business to public relations... I could barely keep up. I was also stunned by the amount of labor that goes into producing food. And as Julian pointed out, "A farm isn't particularly sustainable if the farmer burns out, now is it?"

I wonder, how can we make sustainable agriculture more accesible to people as a career choice? How can we make sure it is economically profitable to those who farm (whether it be through government subsidies or individual consumer choices)? How can we make this work on a large scale (even if that means multiple localized food systems)? These are things I would love to study and focus on in school...

In the meantime I am working on starting my own garden in my own backyard. It's no CSA, but a couple rows of peas, lettuce and spinach seem as good a place to start as any.
 

Progress

Today, in celebration of spring break, I did my favorite three gulch hike in the Rattlesnake. It was your typical inland northwest spring walk. Cloudy, spitting a few raindrops, muddy in some places, snowy in others. The wind whispering through the pines and the ground just thawed enough to smell like dirt and leaves. Cold enough to make your cheeks rosy, just warm enough to stick your shirt to your back on the uphills.

I went alone, because sometimes there is something special about being in the woods without friends. You walk whatever pace you want. You don't worry about making conversation. You make decisions depending on exactly what you want to do, not what your partner decides. You give yourself room to think. And think again. And think some more.

At the start of the hike, my thoughts were pointless bullshit, for lack of a better phrase. As I wound up the switchbacks of Sawmill gulch I let the chatter pass through my brain, in one ear and out the other. It sounded something like this:
"Ohmygod I'm so out of shape, this hurts. But really, think of what it felt like last August when you tried to hike. You are in great shape right now! Jesus, Emerald, you can't let yourself drink that much beer again this summer. But maybe I needed to drink beer so I would have enough mass to push the oars. That is bullshit Emerald. I know, I'll go to the seven devils more. Ooh, the seven devils, I miss the seven devils. Ha! Remember camping with Ian and Tango and she drank wine out of the tin can? Ridiculous. I should call her. SHIT I need to call Mom. I wonder how she is? I wonder how Dad is? He is probably doing the same thing as me right now. I need to go buy carharrts this afternoon. Wait, does that make me a poser? No! I just need some sturdy work pants! Whatever, you just want to be the cute girl that wears carharrts. Mmm, man butts in carharrts..."
 And blah, blah, blah. Around Curry gulch my mind had started to exhaust itself. I started noticing trees and the way their gray trunks rubbed against each other, squeaking in the wind. I noticed the color of the mud, the texture of the trail underneath my feet. I felt my legs pushing into the soil, and the soil pushing back.

By the beginning of Spring gulch a slow, clear, voice began to emerge. It was asking me (as usual) "What are you doing with your life? What is the purpose? Why bother?"

We are taught from an early age that we must progress. Learn your arithmetic so you can progress to calculus. Get good grades in high school so you can progress to college. Develop new technologies and ideas to progress civilization. Devote your life to your career so you can progress to a higher paycheck. However, with all this progression, I still can't find the end point. What am I progressing towards? The Bible would tell you God or the garden of Eden. A scientist might tell you ultimate empirical truth and understanding. I'm not sure if I want any of these.

I wonder, what if we throw out the idea of progress all together? What if we take that giant red arrow pointed towards the sky and curve it back towards itself? What if I try to make my life a quiet, tree-studded, backcountry loop instead of a four lane interstate highway? Ideally, I want to live my life in a way that is sustainable with the planet, kind to my neighbors (humans and otherwise) and fulfilling to my soul (or whatever you want to call it).

This doesn't mean I am going to disappear into the woods or surrender myself to apathetic pessimism. There is no way (with the possible exception of disappearing into the woods) that will allow me to live my life in a circle instead of an arrow. But maybe there is a way to find a life value in working to restore myself and the people around me to a way of life that can continue on forever, that doesn't shoot off into the lala land of so called progress.

Yet, in the words of Ed Abbey, "I could be wrong about this."

Bread

I love the earthy smell of the yeast as it mixes with lukewarm water. I love watching the sponge change from water, yeast, honey and flour into a frothy, bubbling, bowl of life. I love working the gooey mess first with a wooden spoon and then with my hands. I love the way the dough transforms into a smooth, fragrant ball, simply because I knead it back and forth across the counter. I love the way flour dusts everything I am wearing. I love the way it makes me stay at home for an afternoon, instead of rushing off to here or there. I love the smell that consumes the kitchen as I pull the tray from the oven. Most of all, I love eating, eating, eating.

As many before have pointed out, creating bread is a type of meditation. I am hopeless at sitting still and thinking. Kneading bread gives my hands something to do while my mind wanders. My thoughts, as they usually do, started drifting towards Dad. He, Jasper and Mom called me from a sunny park in San Francisco this afternoon. Tonight Dad has an MRI, tomorrow morning a meeting with a neuro-oncologist. It feels strange to not be with them. I'm not sure I have ever missed a major family vacation, especially spring break (usually filled with mountain biking, skiing, or rafting). Yet I have class and tests this week, and in two weeks when I have my own spring break I'm heading up to an organic farm.

It sometimes feels like living a double life. On one side, I am your typical almost 19 year old college student. I go out and get drunk on St Patrick's Day when I really should be studying. I get angry at "the man", frustrated with the government, and complain about boring gen eds. I love the town I am going to school in and want to try everything and do everything I possibly can. I still believe I can change the world in some way, however small. I worry about boyfriends. I worry about friends in general. I'm trying to figure out what I want to do with my life and who I want to do it with.

On the other hand, I'm a daughter and a sister.  On the logical level, I know I am doing the right thing by being in college out of state and doing what I love. Yet I don't want to miss a moment of my family as four. A small part of me feels guilty and selfish for staying in Montana and having fun when I could be going home for the weekend and spending time with Dad. I am trying to create a new life in Missoula and sustain my normal family life in Moscow, and sometimes it is all just too much.

So I turn off the cell phone, log out of facebook, put on sweatpants, and bake bread. And you know what? It helps.

Carrotmob

They are trying to start this up in Missoula. I'm not sure if I will get involved with the group, but I LOVE the idea. I'm a sucker for win/win situations...


Carrotmob Makes It Rain from carrotmob on Vimeo.

Goldfish & Good Food

Tonight my roommate and I made a trek to the Good Food Store (Missoula's version of a food co-op) to stock up on a week of groceries. I wandered through the bulk section, filling up containers brought from home with popcorn kernels, olive oil, and rice. I caught the eye of a cute male employee, thought "nice butt" then started to move on. And then I did a double take. He was ripping open a carton of parmesan goldfish crackers and pouring them into a bulk dispenser.


C'mon Good Food Store... really?


To begin with, I have a hard time believing goldfish crackers qualify as "good food". Yes, they are better for you than Cheetos or Doritos, but they are still owned by Campbells, produced industrially and covered in cheese powder. I could buy them at any grocery store in Missoula.


I'll admit it, I like the taste of goldfish crackers. I'm sure many other shoppers (and their children) do too. However, one of the big reasons I shop in bulk is to reduce the amount of packaging associated with my food. Tearing apart a carton only to use another package (often a plastic bag) to take the product home with me seems counterproductive. Why not just stock it and buy it in the carton to begin with?


Overall, I think the Good Food Store is great. In seasons when farmers markets and CSA's are nonexistent in Montana, it offers local, regional, and sustainably produced food. It is a relatively mainstream way for Montana consumers to move toward food consumption that is more connected to the farmers, healthier for the planet and healthier for their bodies.


However, just because the title says "Good Food" doesn't mean you can turn your brain off when you walk in the doors. It is important to ask yourself, "why am I willing to pay more for this food?" Maybe it is for environmental reasons. Maybe it is to support local and regional food producers. Maybe it is for health purposes. Maybe it is because it simply tastes better.


I have been trying to go through a mental checklist before I put food in my grocery cart. I ask myself

• Where was this made or grown? Who am I supporting by making this purchase?
• How much fossil fuel did it take to ship it here?
• How much packaging does it have? What type of packaging is it? Is it reusable or recyclable?
• How much has this food already been processed?
• What is the nutritional value?

...and then I reach for the bag of Sweedish Fish anyways.  I'm not suggesting that I eat like a (Missoula living, environmental studies majoring, patagonia wearing, subaru driving) saint. However, it is fascinating to slow down in the grocery store enough to really ask yourself, "what am I eating, and what are the consequences?" It has affected my choices as a consumer, and also, my appreciation of truly good food.

Thousands of Pearls Spilling Onto a Glass Plate

Perhaps I should refrain from trying to understand "God" or the universe or the human condition. Maybe I should spend less time agonizing over why life can at one moment be so beautiful and the next moment be so damn unfair. Maybe I should simply focus on understanding the sound of spring rain on the river at night. 
Or maybe not.
(Thanks to Donna Parks for sharing this poem with me)
______

Night Rain at Kuang-K'ou
by Yang Wan-li

The river is clear and calm;
a fast rain falls in the gorge.
At midnight the cold, splashing sound begins,
like thousands of pearls spilling onto a glass plate,
each drop penetrating the bone.

In my dream I scratch my head and get up to listen.
I listen and listen, until the dawn.
All my life I have heard rain,
and I am an old man;
but now for the first time I understand
the sound of spring rain
on the river at night.

The Mom Post

Last night, in a kitchen overflowing with 10 friends, 2 sizzling pans of oil and 3 lbs of veggies (soon to be stirfry) my old roommate Erika made an announcement.
"Emerald is writing a blog, and you should read it! Because... it is good!"
If you ever need any PR work done, I'm pretty sure she is your girl.
Inevitably, someone posed the question. "So, what is the blog for?"
I shrugged, thought about it for a couple seconds, and answered (semi-sarcastically), "It's for my mom. Facebook stalking isn't quite enough... she wants to know what I am learning too".

At the time I was joking, but as I sped down 1-90 en route to Moscow (my hometown) this afternoon, I started pondering it more. My mother, for reference, happens to be an extraordinary woman. She is sweet, spunky, intelligent, kind, and has the muscled body of a twenty five year old. She is one of the strongest (physically and mentally) women I know, but she is also only human.  I like having a mother with her own set of flaws, however, because it demotes her from "superherowhocanfixeverythingplease...NOW!" to my friend, someone I can relate, laugh, cry, problem solve and fight with.

In class we have been talking about our ecological identities, or how we construe ourselves to the natural world and where these values come from. A huge amount of my environmental ethic comes from my parents. One part is from my dad and his unrelenting pursuit and love of being outside (he is, hands down, my best rafting, skiing, and hiking partner).

However, my mother has taught me a lesson equally important: how to be passionate about a career. My mother works as a physical therapist with children with disabilities. It is a stressful, exhausting, relatively low-paid job. Yet when she talks about helping a child learn to walk, or problem solving with a school to put in a handicap entrance, or rearranging an insurance form (this is when I generally start zoning out...) she has an undeniable spark in her voice and face. She is genuinely excited about what she is doing. And it only takes talking to a parent of a child she has worked with to see that she is making a small but beautiful difference in the world.

A huge part of my ecological identity and motivation is an underlying feeling that my lifework should effect some sort of positive change for the world. I am just one person, and I know I wont be able to reverse the damage already done to our planet, slow down global warming, or convince the world's leaders to set aside their greed and work towards sustainable economies. However, my mother has taught me what that spark of passion looks like, and it makes me determined as hell to give this "saving the world" thing a try.

This blog, as a whole, is dedicated to her.

Planned Parenthood

"Where are you going, Emerald?"
"Oh, I have a Planned Parenthood meeting."
"Uh, what?"

I have had this vaguely awkward conversation every couple weeks since school started. Each time, I explain (as they nervously glance at my lower stomach) that no, I didn't get a bit too happy on PBR last weekend and jump into bed with some random dreadlocked rock climber. I volunteer with the University of Montana's Planned Parenthood Leaders & Advocates.

Many immediately associate Planned Parenthood with killing, poor, sweet, innocent unborn fetuses (insert vague sarcasm here). However, the majority (over 90%) of Planned Parenthood's services are not abortion related. PP offers both men and women's health and STI screenings, affordable birth control, pregnancy screenings, sex education, and helps fight for pro-women legislation at both the state and federal level. 

But what does any of this have to do with environmentalism? World population is skyrocketing, jumping from 1.6 billion at the beginning of the 20th century to close to 6.1 billion in the year 2000. The earth is running out of the land and resources to support us, especially at the developed world's current consumption rates. To me, population growth is one of those overarching mega-problems that has many solutions yet also has consequences that could render all other environmental work ineffective. In order to create a sustainable human populations on earth, we have to curb population growth. Women's education and empowerment, creating available and safe birth control, and assuring a human's right to their own body (be it male or female) are all incredibly important.

Handing out condoms in the University of Montana commons is a small step. However, I figure it is a good first step to becoming aquainted with an issue that I could possibly turn into a career. And if you can't get college students in Montana to practice safe sex, is it really fair to expect the rest of the world to do so?

[Get more info on Montana Planned Parenthood here]

Ishmael

One of the required courses for all environmental studies majors is a class called Nature & Society. The syllabus describes the course as one that "explores how the relationship between human societies and the natural world has been influenced throughout history by various thinkers and ideas. We also consider how nature itself and our ability to manipulate it has influenced society, and in turn, environmental thought."
Our first major reading assignment and essay was the aforementioned Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. If you haven't yet read this book, go borrow it, buy it, download it illegally off the internet, whatever. It is probably faster and more clear to actually read it than to try and interpret a summary. And agree with Quinn's argument or not, Ishmael raises fascinating questions about our culture in relation to the planet. Published in 1993, it is also interesting to compare what was then "radical environmentalism" to the environmental movement of today.
Quinn, in a perhaps oversimplified manner, separates the world into Leaver Cultures ("primitive populations") and Taker Cultures ("civilized populations"). Taker culture, beginning with the widespread acceptance of agriculture, tells us "the world was made for man, and man was made to rule it". Leaver culture, on the other hand, is based on the premise "man belongs to the world". Quinn argues that those in Taker culture are trying to enact a story that puts them at war with the world. To stop destroying the planet (and ultimately destroying ourselves), we have to create a new story to take part in.
I will spare you the six page critical essay. However, one point towards the end especially struck me. The different forms of life aren't done evolving, including humans. If allowed to progress naturally, other forms of life could attain the level of intelligence we think makes us so special. The book reads,
"All sorts of creatures on this planet appear to be on the verge of attaining that self-awareness and intelligence. So it's definitely not just humans that the gods are after. We were never meat to be the only players on this stage. Apparently the gods intend this planet to be a garden filled with creatures that are self-aware and intelligent."
"So it would appear And if this is so, then man's destiny would seem to be plain."
"Yes. Amazingly enough, it is plain -- because man is the first of all these. He's the trailblazer, the pathfinder. His destiny is to be the first to learn that creatures like man have a choice."
As I first read this passage, I think my jaw may have actually, physically, dropped. How had I never thought of this before? I believe in the science that backs up Darwinian evolution. I think the earth is billions, not thousands of years old. I do not have fundamental Christian religious views. So why have I always just assumed that humans would ever be the only creatures to make moral choices and self-aware decisions? If humans evolved to develop intelligence, culture, and reason, why should we be the only species to do so? Without even realizing it, I had been assuming that creation had culminated with humankind.

It makes me wonder how many other revelations are out there, just beyond my periphery. What else is "Mother Culture" (as Quinn calls it) hiding from me?

Life Through a Green Lens

What's a blog anyways? Yet another piece of self-centered, technologic bullshit shot off into cyberspace for the world to (likely never) see? A tool for self-reflection? Just another fad?

My writing professor would tell you that one is always writing for an audience, even if that audience is imaginary. While a journal is useful, my own generally spiral downwards into rants, raves and grocery lists. Perhaps I need more pressure to fully formulate thoughts, opinions, and even semi-coherent sentences.

A blog is an audience.

So why do I still feel slightly weirded out by the whole thing? In a century of facebook, twitter, and shameless self promotion, a blog shouldn't be out of my comfort zone. My Swedish roommate Sofi (who I thank and blame for motivation to do this at all) assures me that everyone in Sweden has their own page they update regularly.

Therefore, a blog is also "acoolthingtheydoinEurope", a social justification in and of itself.

I should really be writing a five page essay on the (excellent) book Ishmael by Daniel Quinn right now.

A blog is (yet another) form of procrastination!

I had never really read a blog regularly until my Dad was diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme, an aggressive type of brain cancer. My mom set up a CaringBridge website to keep everyone informed. The posts began as medical details, thank yous to friends and family for meals and support, and quick logisitical updates. In the five months since, it has morphed into a beautiful narrative that shows their day to day struggles, celebrations, and questions.

So a blog is also a connection.

"Life through a green lens" has different meanings. As an environmental studies (evst) major, I want to explore the way that we interact with the earth that sustains us. How does one eat, travel, recreate, and work sustainably? What does the 2010 evst student read/write to educate themselves? Is it possible for a student to live an environmentally conscious lifestyle on a limited budget? What are other people, organizations, governments and countries doing in the environmental arena?
In a broader sense, the writing here is life filtered through an Emerald screen. Family, friends, love, hate, cancer, travel, skiing, rafting, exploring, music, culture, life in the coolest college town in the US... inevitably it will all find it's place.

Bloggerific. Blogtastic. Blog on, dude.