California Urban Lumber

A huge volume of our nation's green waste is from trees, taken from populated areas, felled and shredded. Some quick searching led me to believe it could be as much as one-third. And yet, we log along stream-beds and in environmentally sensitive areas, shipping logs and lumber great distances, burning up more fuel.

Companies such as California Urban Lumber remove logs from municipalities and incorporated areas (Never a log from the Rainforest! is one of their mottoes) and mill them into lumber. The wood is used locally for furniture manufacture and for construction. The lumber is air-dried rather than kiln-dried (because it is more sustainable). To become even more "green," they might be getting solar-electric panels soon, further helping to make urban forestry a 21st century solution.

As we move into a future where energy costs more, I really admire people who are learning how to make cities more self-sustaining. Cities are already pretty efficient at distributing resources, but there is room for improvement. I hope urban planners are becoming more savvy to ways we can close resource cycles. They could look to urban forestry for an example.

Owning Being a Meat Eater

I can't get a handle on what's going on inside me right now.

I killed a chicken today. I chopped her head off, and while her body went through its death spasms, I held her head until her light left. "Thank you, sweetie, bless you baby, thank you sweetie," I whispered to her, stroking her feathers, blood dripping down my wrist.

I'm a meat-eater now, and so I figure that I ought to have the fortitude to take the life of a creature that I will eat. I see this as part of un-making the diseased suburban lifestyle. Job specialization is wonderful, but being so divorced from our food supply that the slaughterer is the only one who ever sees meat as an animal is sick. Wrong. Worse than not knowing what kind of tree pickles grow on.

This chicken was the most loved one in the coop. She was the last one slaughtered. I am very honored to be the one that took her life. "I feel you definitely showed the most love, out of anyone today, for the chicken as you killed it," Betsy told me. That feels nice to hear.

I'm also very undone at the moment.

Typical. Other People's Good Deeds Boost My Mood

Karl, Nini, Liz, Betsy, Jori, Crafty Girl, Puppy Girl, Aaron and Jess are packed and off to Yosemite for a quick visit. Xena, Nick and I could have gone, too... except Xena left me here while she goes up to Seattle on a work trip and Nick is feeling not-so-well in his throat and chest, and the upstairs toilet is starting to leak through the ceiling of the downstairs when it gets flushed, and I wanted someone to go with to see my friend Lisa dance tonight, so I sat down to write a poor-lonely-me post--

But instead, in my email, is a message from Village Harvest! Next weekend, the 15th, they'll be harvesting fruit from homeowners' over-burdened trees in the Palo Alto area. Volunteers get first dibs, and the rest of the fresh fruit feeds the hungry. NBC Nightly News will be filming them that day, too! More info is at Village Harvest. Or call (888) FRUIT-411 to join in.

Someday, after I've fixed the drain and toilets and doors and walls and floors and relationships I will have the energy to spearhead fruit harvests in my area. Until then, I can get vicarious joy from this truly sustainable practice that brings community, local food and social justice together.

Movie Night

I am recovering my real identity.

Lat night was gorgeous. Warm, gentle, a little muggy but not too bad.

Betsy and Xena were cooking in the kitchen, getting it hotter, and Abbers sat in attention on a chair enjoying the smells of curry and sweet and sour.

"Would it be fun to have a movie in the backyard, tonight? It's so lovely out this evening," I asked.

"That's a really good idea," said Betsy. "Especially if it starts soon so we can still get to bed at a reasonable time."

I tracked down the projection screen, and Nicholas lent his speakers. I got it all set up just as it got dark enough to not see what I was doing.

"A movie? Under the willow? Sounds great," said Jess, as I went around inviting the community.

We all giggled our way through The Royal Tannenbaums. I am so glad my life path is trending towards being more connected, so I don't have to undertake heroic measures at the end of my life the way Gene Hackman's character felt he needed to. Life is long, but there's no reason to wait for it to be full.

Riding through the Webster Tube

I'm riding my bicycle more. I'm a pretty aggressive rider; my eyes are always looking around making sure the cars aren't running me down as I weave my way through traffic. I wear my helmet. The really only scary thing I do is ride through the Webster Tube: up to 50 mph on the downhill on a slick strip of concrete narrower than a sidewalk bounded by a railing on one side and a tile wall on the other.

You can literally scrape both your elbows at once while holding the handlebars.

Okay, so I guess the scariest thing I do when riding my bike is riding with one hand through the Webster Tube so I could take this picture for you.

I've the strength of Lot's Wife, not Job.

"I'm thinking of leaving the area, finding a different place to raise my kids."

My white neighbor and one of my housemates are talking, and I'm eavesdropping as I work.

"Oh? Why is that?" My housemate is looking at the man's daughter, playing sweetly with kids from our community.

"It's this neighborhood," he says. "I mean, you have it good, right here, you're sort of secluded. But we get the bad neighborhood boys all the time. And what are you going to do about it? So yeah, I'm looking for somewhere else to live."

I recall seeing this man encouraging his son to beat up another boy less than a month ago. I didn't hold my tongue then, but I make a choice to hold my tongue now, and I move on by, out of range of the conversation.

Here's what to do about it, sir: you take a stand for what is right and just. You engage with the youth in positive ways. Those "bad neighborhood boys" he whined about came to our party, and didn't break anything, joined in to the playtime, didn't cause an undo amount of strain and behaved pretty well. Yes, yes, I had to really lean on them somewhat a couple of times, to make sure they knew what sort of behavior I expected of them. But I sure didn't encourage anyone to beat up anyone else. I am not feeling powerless and feeling the neighborhood is filled with violence towards me and mine. Gah, look at me, lecturing off-line from the real world. My kids are familiar with this side of me. It is unpleasant, yes?

I found black boys from our street throwing rocks yesterday, at each other and sometimes towards cars and houses. Caitlan has experience with the ways different cultures handle behavior modification, but I don't. I went out and told the boys to stop throwing rocks. They ran, and hid, and denied they were doing anything. "I'm not asking you about what you did," I told them. "I'm telling you that throwing rocks at each other, and maybe breaking windows or damaging cars, isn't allowed. You are not going to do this. Now, take the rocks out of your pockets and put them back in to that yard."

They complied.

Just about then, one of the older black men walked by. "What are you rotten kids up to? Throwing rocks? You're bad kids! Not a good one in the bunch of you! You're all no-account! I'm going to tell your poppas, and you'll all get whupped! Bad, bad, rotten, no-good, good-for nothing rotten boys! You'll never be anything!"

Is this the message we send? Where is the wisdom of elders? Is this how we raise people in my neighborhood? Do we want to teach our youth that they are worthless? Then as they grow in age but not stature, and have children of their own, they will only know how to fight or flee.

Why can't my neighbor see that our "sort of secluded" area, where his daughter can play in comfort, is the result of our hard work? We made this oasis, this refuge. We've been welcoming him in over the last several months. He seems to believe that we "lucked" into something, and that it isn't available to him. He could put in some effort and have a part of this, too.

I watch him creating his reality of misery and hardship, and while my heart goes out to him, I'm not some Gandhi, some Ella Baker. I feel too weak and talentless to pierce his pride and inspire him to greater harmony.

Forgive me, Lord, I can see the need, hear the need, feel the need, but I'm so close to my own edge that I don't see how I can act to apply Your will here.

Hm. And so my own learning place confronts me and challenges me and is let slip by yet again.

Uproot the piles and "plant" intentional space

Before the fence came down, there was a constant pile of yard debris leaning against it. Our neighbor Linton got especially crazy over it. He'd clear it out, and a few days later someone would trim up a tree, be wandering about the property, and apparently think to themselves, "Aha! here's a perfect, empty spot to pile yard waste!"

After the fence came down, the debris pile migrated to our side of the yard. It's out of the way, and I appreciate the biomatter accumulation. I'm weird that way.

However

A new pile developed in a different corner of the yard. Yep, piles breed piles. I had tried somewhat gently to get it gone and moved, but there were some bits of it that had some charge and I didn't have the oomph to deal with the charge and with the pile.

Long story short, we unmade the pile. Much of it wasn't ours. As I looked around the property, I came upon a baby pile. "Aha! A perfect spot to pile this stuff!" So I moved the broken, "Someday we could fix this and use it," stuff and helped the pile grow.

Knowing that piles have roots as deep and as hard to pull out as fennel, in the new empty spot we made in our yard, we put up a yurt. It's important to be proactive to keep the piles at bay.