I'm taking part in No Impact Week with YES! Magazine, an attempt to minimize my negative environmental impact on the planet one day at a time, in preparation for my weekend journey to Eco-Leader training with the No Impact Experiment. The first day involved not buying anything new, today is about not creating waste, and the rest of the week entails eating locally, traveling by non-fossil fuel transport, and conserving energy and water. Below are my first thoughts on the experience so far.
Striving for low impact has been a part of my life for quite some time, so the daily challenges of No Impact Week are not unfamiliar. I compost, carry a handkerchief for blowing my nose and buy locally grown whenever possible in my wintry New England town. I didn't think this week would be much of a stretch.
Day one was a breeze. Not buying anything new came quite easily on a lazy Sunday when, truth be told, I could barely rouse myself from dozing on the couch after a weekend of New Year's festivities. Shopping? Nah. That, plus the fact that I can't think of a single thing that I actually need. I tracked my garbage production throughout the day and made a tidy list.
Actually, it wasn't so tidy. It was quite long. But in my defense, I carefully reasoned, it's not every day that I clear my desk of accumulated papers and junk mail headed for the recycling bin in preparation for my return to work. This was clearly the culprit responsible for this pile of waste. Right?
Later that night, as I flossed and thoughtlessly tossed the refuse in the bin, my thoughts screeched to a halt as I registered this simple, daily act. As my Eco-Dent vegan-friendly recyclable carton dental floss that I'd used for less than a minute went sailing into the trash can, my brain buzzed with dissonance. What was this feeling? And so it was that I began to acknowledge the holes in my carefully crafted eco-philosophy, the omissions and allowances that silently slip beneath the radar.
This morning:
Tomatoes in an over-sized cardboard carton boasting, "New England grown, not too far from here, summertime fresh every day of the year!"
A bag of black tea grown who-knows-where headed for my compost bin, behind which grows (or rather, shivers in wintry gusts) a veritable plantation of wild (though invasive) mint.
A plastic mesh potato bag that's been sitting on my counter top for days, left by a friend after New Year's brunch. It's not mine, I argue, I didn't buy it. I resist claiming it on my list of waste.
Bread. I am facing the upcoming day of truly local eating with local eggs, milk, cheese and butter in hand but without a solid plan for how to produce bread. I can bake it, and I can even buy locally-ground flour from King Arthur 70 miles up the road, but where was that grain grown? I haven't the foggiest.
So I forge ahead, surprised by these questions but relieved to be asking them, to be learning and expanding my awareness through this no impact experiment.
Striving for low impact has been a part of my life for quite some time, so the daily challenges of No Impact Week are not unfamiliar. I compost, carry a handkerchief for blowing my nose and buy locally grown whenever possible in my wintry New England town. I didn't think this week would be much of a stretch.
Day one was a breeze. Not buying anything new came quite easily on a lazy Sunday when, truth be told, I could barely rouse myself from dozing on the couch after a weekend of New Year's festivities. Shopping? Nah. That, plus the fact that I can't think of a single thing that I actually need. I tracked my garbage production throughout the day and made a tidy list.
Actually, it wasn't so tidy. It was quite long. But in my defense, I carefully reasoned, it's not every day that I clear my desk of accumulated papers and junk mail headed for the recycling bin in preparation for my return to work. This was clearly the culprit responsible for this pile of waste. Right?
Later that night, as I flossed and thoughtlessly tossed the refuse in the bin, my thoughts screeched to a halt as I registered this simple, daily act. As my Eco-Dent vegan-friendly recyclable carton dental floss that I'd used for less than a minute went sailing into the trash can, my brain buzzed with dissonance. What was this feeling? And so it was that I began to acknowledge the holes in my carefully crafted eco-philosophy, the omissions and allowances that silently slip beneath the radar.
This morning:
Tomatoes in an over-sized cardboard carton boasting, "New England grown, not too far from here, summertime fresh every day of the year!"
A bag of black tea grown who-knows-where headed for my compost bin, behind which grows (or rather, shivers in wintry gusts) a veritable plantation of wild (though invasive) mint.
A plastic mesh potato bag that's been sitting on my counter top for days, left by a friend after New Year's brunch. It's not mine, I argue, I didn't buy it. I resist claiming it on my list of waste.
Bread. I am facing the upcoming day of truly local eating with local eggs, milk, cheese and butter in hand but without a solid plan for how to produce bread. I can bake it, and I can even buy locally-ground flour from King Arthur 70 miles up the road, but where was that grain grown? I haven't the foggiest.
So I forge ahead, surprised by these questions but relieved to be asking them, to be learning and expanding my awareness through this no impact experiment.
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