Use Edges and Value the Marginal
by
Deena Wade
Founder
of the Transition movement, Rob Hopkins, taught permaculture—design
principles in agriculture that mimic sustainable patterns found in
natural systems—when he and his students decided to apply these
same principles to social culture. Out of this experiment, Transition
Towns went viral across the world as a model for building thriving
local communities. Permaculture is guided by 12 principles and
several slogans, or maxims. This is the 11th in a series of articles
exploring the principles of permaculture within the landscape of
relationship, both personal and community.
Some years ago in my early thirties, I earned a
degree in environmental studies. Of all the odds and ends we studied,
one of the bits of information that stuck in my memory was about
edges, and I was reminded of it again while pondering this month’s
permaculture principle #11, Use Edges and Value the Marginal. In
ecological systems, the edges between two biogregions—lakes,
forests, marshes, grasslands, etc.—is called an ecotone. Ecotones
are extremely diverse and rich, as different flora and fauna and
their habitats overlap. Since we’re as much an expression of nature
as a forest or a stream, it makes sense that humans share many of the
same patterns and find them to be apt poetic metaphors, as well.
For
example, what are the edges and transitional zones in our
relationships with each other? One way to look at edges in a
relationship is to consider those places that feel uncomfortable or
unfamiliar. Those edges of comfort can be opportunities for great
expansion and discovery, both about our self and each other. This
could be as simple as taking on new unfamiliar tasks in our household
to share more equitably in chores, or it could be as vulnerable as
giving our partner more freedom to express dreams and talents even if
it means sacrificing some of their time or attention at home. And
even further, are we willing to amble beyond the borders of our own
familiar beliefs—the most fundamental of all, who am I?—in order
to discover new potential and possibilities? The edges of our comfort
zones provide fertile soil for growth and unexpected bounty, along
with opportunities to transition into new ways of relating.
In
David Holmgren’s book, “Permaculture: Principles and Pathways
Beyond Sustainability,” he writes, “Design that sees edge as an
opportunity rather than a problem is more likely to be successful and
adaptable.” Edges are the interface between self and other, where
we cross boundaries and challenge ideas that may have limited our
perception and conditioned us to behave in certain ways. Edges can be
seen as invitations to flourish rather than limits that bind us.
Another quote worth consideration along these lines is “Don’t
think you’re on the right track just because it is a well-beaten
path.” Edges are dynamic areas in our relationships, those places
where you and I meet, where exchange takes place and innovation
happens.
On
a broader scale, edges can also be what we consider marginal
neighborhoods, communities with very little fiscal resources or
political clout. More and more we see examples of these marginal,
low-income neighborhoods taking a stand for resiliency and
community-building, showing what’s possible when people embrace
change and reclaim the power of neighborliness and generosity.
Residents build community gardens in abandoned lots and give
neighbors work and foster a sense of pride. They inspire us with
courage and resourcefulness, and they play an important role in
demonstrating what is possible.
The
Transition Movement, at least in part, is designed around crossing
borders of race, ethnicity, wealth, religion, and even politics to
discover the common ground we all share. Last year when my colleague
Lisa Jones and I organized the Rondout Valley Common Ground
Celebration, our vision was to bring people from all corners of the
valley together for a day to celebrate the bounty of our shared home.
The Signs of Sustainability Awards, curated by Lisa and a few others,
did a beautiful job of reaching out to people across the board, from
merchants to farmers to teachers and beyond, to honor the
contributions they’ve made to our community’s local resilience in
a variety of ways.
From
one perspective, you could say we are nothing but a series of edges,
borders and boundaries—one thing after another appearing in this
world of multiplicity. You and me, sky and earth, rough and smooth,
love and hate. From another perspective, you could see that all of
these apparent edges do not truly separate us from each other but
prove us inseparable. They show us how interdependent we are, or as
Thich Nhat Hahn calls it, “interbeing”. By seeing our edges as
opportunities and by valuing the margins, we can build stronger, more
creative, innovative relationships and communities, crossing borders
that once seemed to divide us and now bring us closer together.
(Next
month we’ll explore Principle Twelve: Creatively Use and Respond to
Change.
Deena
Wade is a local massage therapist, freelance writer, Living Inquiries
Facilitator, and dog mom. Her websites are sensiblebliss.com,
theradicalinvestigation.org, and her blog is easeofbeing.org.
Principle
#12 – Creatively Use and Respond to Change
Founder
of the Transition movement, Rob Hopkins, taught permaculture—design
principles in agriculture that mimic sustainable patterns found in
natural systems—when he and his students decided to apply these
same principles to social culture. Out of this experiment, Transition
Towns went viral across the world as a model for building thriving
local communities. Permaculture is guided by 12 principles and
several slogans, or maxims. This is the twelfth in a series of
articles exploring the principles of permaculture within the
landscape of relationship, both personal and community.
This
month’s permaculture principle #12, Creatively Use and Respond to
Change, couldn’t be more timely. You see, this is the last in my
12-part series exploring social permaculture. This may also be the
last article I’ll write for Country
Wisdom News,
and this just may be my last summer as a resident of Ulster County.
You could say I’m standing on the cusp of a lot of change but let’s
face it, this whole human experience is nothing but change, one big
experiment in impermanence. We just pay attention to some changes
more than others but if we tell the truth, life is an unfolding,
unfurling, endless flow that is always simultaneously weaving
together and unraveling everything.
We
all have different conditioned responses to change. Some people try
to deny it, others make a drama out of it, and still others use it as
an excuse. And maybe we all do a little of everything depending on
the occasion. But almost everyone likes to think they have some
control over change—that we are in charge of the waves of the
ocean. We busy ourselves with plans and then feel betrayed or guilty
for not trying hard enough when it doesn’t turn out like we thought
it should. We try to get out ahead of change, as if that were really
possible. We even try to take ownership of change, especially the
changes we like, the ones that bolster our sense of identity.
In
David Holmgren’s book Permaculture:
Principles and Pathways Beyond Sustainability,
he writes, “Be flexible, adaptable; allow the process to emerge
rather than rigidly adhering to a plan.” By relaxing and simply
recognizing that change happens, we can experience the fluidity of
which we are made. A lot of our suffering comes from the belief that
we are one thing separate from this other thing called Life and we
have to manage it somehow. However, we are not separate from the
ocean of life; we are the very water itself. When we fully realize
this, then there is no need to try to be flexible or adaptable
because those qualities come naturally. And in this relaxation, life
gets so much simpler, even in the face of change.
And
when did rigidly adhering to a plan really work anyway? Life goes the
way it goes. Sometimes it appears to follow our plan, and most times
it doesn’t. More often than not, we are mentally adjusting our idea
of a plan to adhere to life. Yet when we recognize that our true
nature is the flow of life in all its unexpected detours and
divergences, our ability to respond to change is naturally enhanced.
The creativity that we are becomes more accessible and detours become
doorways leading us to something unexpected and full of wonder. On
the other hand, try to insist that life should follow our ideas, and
we suffer. It’s pretty simple.
I’m
not saying that change always feels good. Sometimes it brings
exhilaration and sometimes it brings grief; sometimes it brings love
and sometimes pain. Sometimes change seems to take everything from
us, emptying our hands and our pockets of what we thought we could
save. Sometimes change leads us into dark alleys and sometimes to
high peaks, but it never leaves us there because that is the nature
of change, to keep flowing and moving and unfolding. And even in
confusion and grief, there is an ongoing invitation to open to the
fluid poignant beauty of being.
It’s
been a privilege to write this column for Country
Wisdom News
and to be part of such a visionary community paper. Thank you, Chris
Hewitt. This little drop of water called Deena in this vast
uncontainable ocean called Life is grateful to you and to all of the
readers. Peace be to all.
Deena
Wade is a local massage therapist, freelance writer, Living Inquiries
Facilitator, and dog mom. Her websites are sensiblebliss.com,
theradicalinvestigation.org, and her blog is easeofbeing.org. She is
moving to the beautiful barrier island of Beaufort, South Carolina
sometime after the summer—that is, unless life changes course
again.
Renewable building material offers energy savings and longevity.
by Anne Pyburn Craig
Straw bale building got its start on the plains, where timber wasn’t easy to come by. What was available—straw and mud—stood the test of time. The invention of the mechanical baler in the mid-19th century meant that there was a handy supply of these nifty sustainable building blocks, and more than a few of the resulting structures still stand today.
Those early pioneers probably never imagined that straw bale construction would ultimately inspire a wave of innovation. The 1930s saw a decline in straw bale building as cement took over for a while. But the technique’s advantages remained hard to top, and it began to be reintroduced as late-20th-century humans sought energy-efficient and nontoxic ways of building nests.
“A couple of people out in the southwest found an article about it and decided to build one, and started a whole movement without particularly trying to,” says natural builder Ben Simpson of Rosendale. “People who saw it wanted one, the idea spread, and pretty soon it was being written into building codes.”
Something about the common-sense nature of straw bale construction—using a material that would otherwise be burned as waste and provides a built-in R-factor of over 35—seems to bring together traditionalists and zero-energy fans in a happy convergence. One of Nebraska’s latter-day creations, a bar built in 1996, is christened Angels’ Straw Bale Saloon and features the story of its eco-friendly construction prominently on its website (“a time-consuming process as all labor was provided by the owners and funding was minimal”) next to the links to Bikefest photo albums. One tough place, you might say, built by the children of the original proprietors after the earlier incarnation was flattened by a tornado—take that, Three Little Pigs.
In the Hudson Valley and Catskills, straw bale building has been the mode of choice for several showplace structures and a good sized handful of green homes, though still rare enough to garner feature write-ups in Chronogram and the New York Times. For every frequently raised question, straw bale folks have a ready answer: the structures are, if anything, more fire-resistant (and far less toxic) than typical post-and-beam fiberglass-insulated ones; and clean, dry, dense straw is extremely resistant to vermin and insects. More than one local building inspector has begun as a skeptic and come away a convert.
There are two distinct methods in straw bale construction. Straw can be used as infill and insulation for traditionally framed stick-built houses, or serve as a load-bearing structure (“Nebraska style”) in its own right. Once the walls are built, some sort of mud mixed with straw is used to create the sheathing.
When they needed a multipurpose agricultural building on Four Winds Farm in Gardiner, Polly and Jay Armour hired Simpson to build it of straw. It was only the second such structure that Simpson had created, but his sense of purpose as a builder dovetailed beautifully with Four Winds’ mission of sustainable agriculture. In about two years, the farm’s community supported agriculture (CSA) operation had an office/greenhouse/root cellar space to be proud of.
“We’re very satisfied with it,” says Jay Armour. “It’s super well insulated, no auxiliary heat needed. We have a CSA that operates here, and they distribute there in the heat of summer; you walk in, you’d think there’s AC. And as we harvest it’s nice to have a cool space to bring it into. A lot of people think in terms of reducing the energy they need for heating, but cooling is also a big factor, especially in agriculture...We’re looking at trying to reduce our carbon footprint as much as we can, and I know that building has helped. It’s eleven years old now, and aside from the dust—which has nothing to do with the straw bales—it looks as good as new.”
“A lot of people get the silly idea in their head that straw will rot or fall apart,” continues Armour. “No. Packed really tight and covered with stucco, it’ll last indefinitely—probably longer than stick-built.”
Simpson came to his calling in sustainable, collaborative construction via a somewhat roundabout route: a geography major and cartographer, his fascination with the Earth and its places led him to wanting to build environmentally sound and human-friendly dwellings on it. Straw bales are one of several materials he uses as sole proprietor of Your Growing Places.
“I love working with straw and earth plasters, blending those with more conventional techniques whenever I can,” Simpson says. “It’s really nice material and lends itself to curves and creativity. I think that’s part of what people are attracted to, besides the energy advantages.” In addition, he says, it’s fun and more user-friendly than conventional piles of sheetrock and two-by-fours. “On the Four Winds project, we had a bunch of high school kids from the Bruderhoff come down with trowels and hawks and just jump up on the bales and jump in. A lot got done, a lot got learned, and we had a blast…Clients can invite their friends to come out and help out, which isn’t something you can really do on a stick-built home.”
“Straw bales are a natural, safe, locally available and annually renewable material,” Simpson wrote in an article he authored on the subject during the Four Winds project. “Homes built using this technique offer insulation values of up to R-45 and can be constructed using unskilled labor. This technique also helps to support local farm economies, reduces fuel dependence, is economical, can last 100 years or more, and creates beautiful and comfortable spaces. When combined with a passive solar heating design and super efficient appliances and lighting, it’s possible to move towards a zero-purchased-energy home.”
Since Four Winds, Simpson has worked on a wide variety of other projects including a load-bearing house in Kerhonkson. “Load-bearing is less common in wetter climates because all of the bales need to be placed before the roof goes on, meaning there is more risk of the straw getting wet during construction. It can be a challenge in our climate,” he says. “I spent 45 minutes a day tarping and un-tarping. But hey, they heated the whole 1,400-square-foot house with three-quarters of a cord of wood—I’d do it again if someone asked.” Other projects have included a straw-bale recording studio and an 800-foot addition on a house in Rosendale. “It’s all polished logs and local hardwoods and a great big earthen fireplace surround. I think it may be the nicest one yet.”
Perhaps there is something inherent in the compressed blocks of vegetable cellulose and the wheelbarrows of clay mud that will keep the rules looser and more flexible going forward. Simpson collaborates at length with his customers through every phase of design, permitting and building, as does North Catskills straw bale wizard Clark Sanders. Sanders, a former veterinarian, has been building with straw since the 1970s; one of his better-known projects was a house for his ex-wife. She’d divorced him, but still hired him; reports suggest she’s never regretted it.
"Ultimately if we (the client and I), have done our job well, we will have sculpted a home which embraces, soothes and protects the occupants while providing refuge from the inherent stresses of life,” says Sanders on his website, sounding a lot like Simpson. One suspects that the denizens of Angels’ in Nebraska, though they might not put it that way, enjoy a similar sensation—as do the Habitat for Humanity clients who’ve helped build their own straw bale houses in the Southwest. Simpson and his fellow sustainable builders would like to see the method employed in impoverished parts of the city of Buffalo, too.
The rules are still being written, but the limits may never be found.
Modern homesteading movement grows from desire, not need.
by Tod Westlake
There's a great scene in the Ron Howard film Far and Away, in which the protagonist and his wife become part of the great Oklahoma land rush. Sitting in their covered wagons and buckboards, a large group of settlers is literally poised as if they are about to start a race, only in this case the prize will be the best chuck of arable land—assuming they can get there "sooner" then anyone else. When the time comes, these settlers take off as if their lives depend upon it. And, as history will attest, in many cases it did. Well over a century later, the name "sooner" still resonates with Oklahomans (especially as applied to college football), as it's a bittersweet reminder of the state's pioneering spirit.
The scene is a familiar trope when it comes to how we envision the homesteader, those gritty and determined individuals who carved a new life out of the raw materials of the West. And while the government is no longer giving away free land, homesteading remains a strong force, especially among those of us who are working toward creating a sustainable way of life. Modern homesteading incorporates the values of self-sufficiency and getting back to the land, while at the same time working to build community and share ideas and resources. Perhaps more importantly, it's a way in which our communities can take control of their own destiny.
So, what does modern homesteading consist of? Let's take a look at some of the simple things we already do that would fall under this rubric. For example, the composting of our organic waste has a number of different benefits. We reduce the amount of refuse we put into the waste stream, while at the same time our gardens benefit from all of that lovely humus the process creates. Composting turns detritus into a desirable commodity.
Municipalities are even getting into the act. The EPA estimates that as much as 65 percent of yard trimmings and leaves are being composted annually. But approximately 60 million tons of organic waste still ends up in landfills every year. This is an area in which many of us as individuals can make a difference. Even if you're not into gardening yourself, you likely have a neighbor nearby who would benefit from the composting you do. If this person raises vegetables, then a nice quid pro quo might be possible. Your neighbor gets your compost, and you get some fresh veggies during the season. And the community-building aspect is the healthy byproduct of the endeavor.
Another way to become more self-sufficient, and a practice many people are returning to, is the raising of poultry, chickens in particular. If this is something you've been thinking about doing, the first thing you should do is check with your municipality regarding zoning restrictions. You can't raise chickens, even if it's just a few birds, anywhere you like. Some municipalities, and even a few cities, however, are starting to wake up to the fact that many people are interested in having the fresh eggs every day, thus some of these restrictions are being loosened. If you live in the right zone, however, this is something you might want to consider. Fresh eggs, and later fresh poultry, are the payoff. And all that chicken waste—the droppings, bedding, etc.—can be added to your other compost, thereby helping to boost its nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium content.
From an historical perspective, it's interesting to note that the back-to-the-land movement of the mid-20th century was inspired not by desire, but by necessity. One of the proponents and active members of this movement was agrarian theorist and native New Yorker Ralph Borsodi. Having been born and raised in Manhattan, Borsodi became fascinated by the idea of agrarian, self-sufficient communities. He even went so far as to establish a School of Living in Rockland County that was instrumental in helping thousands of people to learn how to survive during the Great Depression. Borsodi was also one of the earlier proponents of local currency. In the mid-‘70s, he established a currency in the town of Exeter, New Hampshire, even going so far as to mint half-ounce and one-once silver coins called "Globes".
With such a proud local history when it comes to homesteading, it only makes sense that the Hudson Valley and its local environs should once again be in the vanguard of this timeless movement. With the weak economy likely to continue for some time, applying the principles of homesteading to your own life is one small way in which you can retake control. So, raise your chickens. Can your veggies. And compost, compost, compost. In the long run, you, and the planet, will be much happier for it.
by Rebecca Shea
The suburbs have their lawns, the countryside has firewood. Firewood is important and expressive business here in the country. Both suppliers and buyers are busy all year long handling this valuable resource.
Suppliers are constantly managing woodlands, felling trees, splitting wood, stacking wood, making deals, and transporting wood here, there, and everywhere. This is why it takes them a so long to return your phone calls. Don’t stress that much, it’s not too personal. They are busy people.
On the other side of the transaction, firewood buyers are just as busy assessing and managing their wood piles. Do I have enough firewood? Should I get more? Is now the right time to buy? Is this wood ready to burn? That firewood needs to be split and stacked!
But to the important—finding a “wood man.” Firewood suppliers can be located through newspaper advertisements, hand written announcements posted on community boards and by word of mouth. Your neighbor with all that firewood may have a great supplier.
It is necessary to be aware that New York State regulates transporting untreated firewood to protect trees from deadly invasive pests. It is illegal to bring untreated firewood into the state. Untreated firewood cannot be transported more than 50 miles from its source and within that 50 miles, firewood must carry proof of source (such as a receipt). Treated firewood which has been heated to eliminate pests can be moved without restriction.
Another important issue firewood buyers face is understanding the quantities of wood that are actually being offered for sale by firewood suppliers. The simplest measure to deal in is the cord. A cord of firewood is a measure of volume of stacked wood that is eight feet, by four feet, by four feet, or 128 cubic feet. Of course, there is the face cord, pick-up truck load, dump truck load and or the "Picker Load" that you could order, but the cord is a legal definition that carries in most states. Make your life simple and deal in cords. A minimum order for delivery is usually 2 cords.
The price for delivered firewood depends on the quality of the firewood, the quantity you buy at any one time, your location, and the time of year. If you’re buying wood late in the winter, prices are going to be higher. If you buy in the off-season, prices are discounted.
You want hard wood or mixed wood. Maple, oak, ash, beech, birch, etc. are all good. You'll get more heat per weight with hard wood than you will with softwood. Soft woods like popular burn up fast and don't produce as much heat. Pine, spruce, fir and other evergreens produce large amounts of creosote and are not good for burning in the house. However, they are great for using as kindling, if properly dried.
It is important to learn the difference between dry wood and green wood. After wood is cut, some time is needed for the sap to dry out of the wood before burning it. This process is called seasoning. Six months is about minimum and 1-2 years is much better. Seasoned wood is dry wood. Green wood is unseasoned firewood.
While the wood is seasoning, or being stored for later use, it needs to be organized and kept dry. Stacking wood is the public and expressive part of firewood management. Since firewood is omnipresent in the country, it is hard not to compare, contrast and wonder. So it seems a hardworking and reliable man stacks his firewood square and straight, while a lazy or let’s be kind, just a busy man leaves the wood in a covered pile or “rick”. A Scandinavian tradition has the firewood pile arranged in a round. Either round, straight, or thrown in a pile to give the wood as much wind and sun exposure as possible for seasoning.
After responding to all that firewood demands, it is the fire and smoke that thrills and nourishes this time of year. Burn smart and enjoy!