The price of a cup of coffee

What does a cup of coffee cost? Maybe around $1.19 at a convenience store... and even less than that when we brew it at home. Coffee is cheap, and pretty much any of us can drink it any time we like. But, as with most agricultural production, coffee production entails many more costs than consumers in industrialized countries are compelled to consider when we lay out our cash. What is the real price for a cup of coffee? This is what I have been trying to figure out for quite some time now. Here is what I know.

Coffee has traditionally been grown, at least in the Western Hempsphere, in tropical forests under the shade of a diverse understory. These areas by nature are centers of extreme biodiversity, and they provide critical wintering habitat to many species of North American migratory birds. These forests, in addition, are powerhouses where carbon dioxide is removed from the atmosphere and converted back into oxygen--a process our planet depends on to keep levels of greenhouse gases in our atmosphere down to a safe level.

As the demand for coffee has grown, coffee producers have turned to new farming methods to achieve a more large-scale crop. More coffee can be produced in the open sun than beneath the understory cover of these tropical forests, so forests have been clearcut to make way for agricultural land that can be cultivated to meet the growing demand for coffee. Farming this way increases the need for fertilizers to artificially enhance the soil and for pesticides to protect the crop from new threats. The implications are severe: Crucial habitat for exotic and migratory birds, as well as other species, has been lost, leading to rapid extinction--very often killing off species that humans had not yet even discovered. The loss of the flora which naturally enriches the soil with minerals has led to the dumping of chemicals all over the land. Basically, these lands that were once forests with rich and healthy soil are now barren, dry, and on life support. These chemical fertilizers cannot keep the land arable forever; one day that land will become useless, unable to support any green life. The chemicals from the fertilizers and the pesticides have to go somewhere--so they eventually end up poisoning the water supply. Not to mention that every lost acre of forest is a loss for the atmosphere; carbon dioxide builds up, as fewer trees are around to convert it.

The human labor cost is dire as well. When people of industrialized nations demand lower prices on coffee, the true cost of producing that coffee does not change. Since we, the consumers, are no longer bearing that cost, then we know that someone else must be--the laborers on these large-scale coffee farms. They work long hours in the hot tropics, receiving an inequitable wage for their labor. They have no choice--somehow they must earn a living for themselves and their families. We in America thought that slavery had been abolished long ago. Yet we consume products like coffee, whose artificially deflated prices make it easily accessible in large quantities to everyone (coffee was considered a luxury not so long ago), and we do so without any regard for the labor conditions under which it was produced for us. That sounds a lot like slavery to me.

When consumers make ethically sound decisions in their purchases, that action speaks very loudly to those who operate in the production of commodities. If we choose coffee that is organic, fair trade certified, and shade grown, we are supporting a return to environmentally sound agricultural practices as well as a fair wage to those whose livelihoods are linked to our coffee consumption. Sure, you pay a higher price for coffee when you make these decisions--but the price you pay is much closer to the "real" cost of coffee than the artificially deflated prices that we see on most mainstream brands. Just as meat would be far more expensive to consumers if it were not subsidized by the government (another reason to go vegan), other luxury items like coffee, and even chocolate and cane sugar, wear attractive price tags today that do not reflect their true cost.


I have made a switch to buying only organic coffee that is fair trade certified. It can be difficult to find coffee that is explicitly guaranteed to be organic, fair trade certified, and shade grown. What is the interplay between these three elements? I have been doing some research to find out, and I came across this excellent site called Coffee and Conservation. Take a look at this link for some practical guidelines on how to ensure that your coffee is truly produced in an ethically sound and sustainable manner, from an environmental and a social viewpoint. I encourage you to explore this site some, as it is packed with valuable information about what is sustainable and what is not, and what we as consumers and concerned citizens of this planet can do about it. The cost of producing a cup of coffee may be far removed from us, but we will all inevitably bear the cost of our choices in the end.

It's easy eating green

Many people who are disgusted by the world climate crisis do not realize that one of the top contributors to greenhouse gas emissions is connected with their diet. Eating vegan or vegetarian does more to reduce emissions than does driving a fuel-efficient, hybrid car. Unbelievable? Check out the following articles:

Vegetarian is the New Prius

Kathy Freston, in this article dated 18 January 2007, cites the findings of a recent report released by the UN, which points to livestock production as "one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems, at every scale from local to global." She also reports on the results of research conducted at the University of Chicago, in the following statement:

[Researchers] noted that feeding animals for meat, dairy, and egg production requires growing some ten times as much crops as we'd need if we just ate pasta primavera, faux chicken nuggets, and other plant foods. On top of that, we have to transport the animals to slaughterhouses, slaughter them, refrigerate their carcasses, and distribute their flesh all across the country. Producing a calorie of meat protein means burning more than ten times as much fossil fuels--and spewing more than ten times as much heat-trapping carbon dioxide--as does a calorie of plant protein. The researchers found that, when it's all added up, the average American does more to reduce global warming emissions by going vegetarian than by switching to a Prius.

You can read more about the UN report in the following article on the website of the Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations:

Livestock a Major Threat to Environment

How about this article by investigative journalist Jeffrey St. Clair, which points to cattle production as a top threat to the health of the Western U.S.'s public lands?

Till the Cows Come Home

The following article, written by Dan Brook, points out that the two gases that comprise 90 percent of U.S. greenhouse gas emissions are carbon dioxide and methane--both of which are emitted by large-scale cattle farms at the rate of millions of tons each year. The article also addresses livestock cultivation's role in the destruction of the world's rainforests, which are absolutely crucial to the removal of harmful carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.

Another Inconvenient Truth: Meat is a Global Warming Issue

There is so much evidence out there that it is difficult to deny, once you begin studying the issue, that the current state of the planet is inextricably linked to the human population's unsustainable diet. Consider the following quotation from the Kathy Freston article:

The United States alone slaughters more than 10 billion land animals every year, all to sustain a meat-ravenous culture that can barely conceive of a time not long ago when "a chicken in every pot" was considered a luxury. Land animals raised for food make up a staggering 20% of the entire land animal biomass of the earth. We are eating our planet to death.

And yet, it is so easy to eat a vegan or vegetarian diet. Sites like Vegan Outreach and GoVeg.com are designed to show how simple it can be to eat a healthy, delicious plant-based diet, and how such a lifestyle benefits the quality of life on this planet for so many creatures in so many different ways. There are vegan and vegetarian cooking sites all over the Web--you can even check out my vegan food blog and from there, explore the many vegan cooking resources that it links to.

I could not consider myself an environmentalist and justify eating an animal products-based diet--the global harm caused by animal agriculture is just too evident. Many people would feel the same way, I believe, if only they knew the facts.

This Sunday, 22 April, is Earth Day--and I believe it is one of the most critical Earth Day celebrations in the history of our country, as more people are aware this year than ever before of the dire climate crisis which our world faces. Please, do not ignore the facts surrounding animal agriculture. Take a look at these articles, and if you are still not satisfied, do some more research. If we truly hope to reverse the destruction of our global environment, one of the crucial steps we must take is turning away from animal-based diets and toward a safer, healthier, greener alternative.

Mad world...

I live in a world that seems, every day, to be more and more racked with madness and pain. Genocide in Africa, war in Iraq, hurricanes and tsunamis and tidal waves more devastating than we have ever seen, corporate control of the world's food supply, suffering everywhere you turn... and most recently, yesterday's senseless massacre on the Virginia Tech campus. Millions of children are raised in broken homes... millions more have no homes at all. Across the planet from me, young women and girls are daily being taken from their homes and sold as sex slaves; across town from me, the homeless population of this city walks the streets, in need of food and shelter and medical care--basic rights that ever elude them as they beg and plead passers-by for tonight's dinner.

As I reflect on this world which spins sickeningly, like a Tilt-a-Whirl, two thoughts scroll continually through my mind--thoughts not on my own behalf, but on behalf of this insane world. One is in the voice of Darius Rucker, whose repeated chant sounds hauntingly near.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

My generation has grown up in a world that is more lost and broken than ever before; we as a whole have seen more rejection, more addiction, more senseless violence than our parents did in their formative years, and it only worsens as time goes by. We are faithless and godless; we are the iPod generation, increasingly detaching ourselves from reality. To deal with the pain of our rejection? To build a reflective shell and hide our hearts from the slings and arrows?

The other voice I hear is that of the messiah, whose desperate cry two thousand years ago rings poignantly true in this day.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

These words cut to my very bones. Don't we feel forsaken? Are we not a world in despair, at the mercy of a society gone mad? So much death. Rape. Murder. Sickness. Starvation. War. Addiction. Rejection. Hate. Fear.

But the man who cried out those words was not forsaken by God--he was a part of God's ultimate plan. He was God's ultimate plan. A plan for redemption... a plan for hope.

Hope? That's difficult. Sometimes, don't circumstances just seem hopeless? Yes. I let myself ache and fear and despair, sometimes. But then I search God--I cry out, God, why have you forsaken your world? And I am reminded... When Jesus conquered death, the whole world trembled at the power of God. The God of today is no different--he is still powerful, and he still holds victory over death and fear. I wish that living was easy, and I wish I had answers to all the many questions that one could ask of a God who allows such things to come into a world as we see day after day. But I don't understand--I just have to trust, and believe that the heart of God is love and redemption. We, even amid the madness, are not motherless children, for we have a God who aches for us and longs for us to come home.

The blustery day

Days like today are days that make me feel the most alive--the sky is thick and dark and the wind is unhindered. The windows are open and I am curled up on my futon wrapped in my fleece jacket with a book and a glass of red wine, pausing from my reading every few moments to listen to the wind play the trees like pan pipes. There is no rain, only the expectation of rain--but when will it come? And when it does come, will it be announced by great peals of thunder, or will it steal in gradually, patient and taut with all the energy of a sweet symphony?

Spring and summer in Georgia are hot and mellow, a fever that dulls first the mind and then, eventually, the heart and soul. All is heavy, and the air just becomes thicker and denser, until you feel you are swimming in a yellow delirium as thick as molasses.

Then one day, you awake to the whisper of the air to the trees, the grasses, the clouds and birds and all the world. And you go out, and it whispers to you too, and cuts sharply into your mind as acid through oil. Suddenly the world is alive with energy and purpose, and it intends to whirl you along. You stand, spread-eagle, and your hair flies away and your eyes well up from the air-blasts, and all around you and within you is electrified--the earth, the sky, the water, and all life driven by the same energy, all connected by the bonds of shared excitement.

When I go out tomorrow, the earth will be strewn with life--petals and blossoms that gave themselves up to the fury of the storm. All will be calm, all will be quiet like glass, like the grave. The air will be a little thinner and the earth a little lighter, and my mind a little freer, a little more awake and aware. Every breath, every nerve, every pump of my heart are an exhilarating gift that I cannot, in that moment, take for granted--a life so simple, yet too extraordinary to comprehend.

Wild at heart?

"Life consists with wildness. The most alive is the wildest."

(Thoreau)

I remember a time in eighth grade when I was on a field trip to Cumberland Island, and one of the counselors at the nature center there took us on a walk through a salt marsh. It was a hot, stinking, South Georgia kind of day. At one point my classmates and I were all sitting along the edge of the boardwalk, and our guide was standing ankle-deep in the thick, pungent-smelling mud. She picked up a handful of mud and began to explain to us how clean and pure it was, and how indigenous people would use it on their faces to cleanse their pores, just like a modern Swiss facial.

Then, holding out her hand toward our big group of prissy fourteen-year-old girls, she asked us if anyone wanted a salt-marsh facial. Every one of us shrunk back, shrieking. I thought she was joking, but she persisted in her offer, just waiting for one of us to seize the moment. After a deliberating moment I, without a doubt the shyest and most reserved one of the class, volunteered.

The mud squished softly through my fingers as she put a dollop into my palm. The crude odor, far from a luxurious spa scent, wafted into my nostrils as I raised my hand to my face. I hesitantly painted the first streak across my cheekbone; the mud was so cold and wet on my skin that my arms and legs prickled, but it was soft and relaxing. After that first stroke, I wildly smeared the entire fistful over every patch of skin, even down my neck halfway to my collar. I remember the exhilaration I felt, as if layers of worry and artificiality were being unraveled around me. I knew that everyone else was laughing at me because my behavior was so unprecedented, but I laughed because I felt life pulsing up and down my body, and because I was breathing in the smells of the real world, right under my nose, and a part of me for the first time in ages.

The healing power of violets

I love wildflowers. I love them for their special, unique beauty that a neatly trimmed flower-bed can never duplicate. I love the way that each flower has its own season in which to bloom and flourish, whether it is the summer sunflower or the winter gentian. I love the way they sing, raw and unrefined, like the folklorists of the earth.

The season of violets is just coming to a close--they first began appearing in February and lasted through the chilly season, and now are yielding to the spring bloomers--dandelions, wisteria, and others. But violets have a special meaning to me...

Here, I will share with you an excerpt from a narrative I wrote about a time in my life when I was truly depressed, and how God used the world around me to lift me out of the pit I was in. I hope you enjoy it.

* * * * * * *


True friends walk with you through the low places in your life. Friends I didn’t know I had were the friends who saw me through depression, encouraged me to continue holding onto what I had, faithfully believing that everything would take a turn for me if I allowed it to happen. And so I held on and on, and learned to lean on them for strength.

Sharon knew I loved wildflowers. Their beauty sometimes gave me peace, their fragility sometimes made me feel not so alone. I was at her house one Saturday afternoon early that spring; I sat on the swing in her backyard, staring at the ground beneath me where various feet skidding against the ground to halt the swing had worn a bare spot in the earth. The dirt was black and spongy.


“Laura, look! Wild violets!” I looked up and saw Sharon kneeling in the grass across the yard. I dropped from the swing and walked over. She knelt before a deep green patch that had looked like grass from farther away, but as I knelt down beside her I saw the deep violet-blue flowers whose tiny heads emerged from the greenery. I smiled as I studied their form—they were like newborns, with soft and pliable faces. The markings on the petals looked like eyes squeezed shut, too sensitive to the sunlight; they turned away to face the soft green below them.

I stretched out my body and lay flat on my stomach, my face next to the violet patch. Resting my cheek on the ground beside them I could feel the feathery leaves tickle my skin. I saw the flowers eye-to-eye now, the firstborn of spring, and for several minutes I lay there with them.

Sharon stood up to leave me alone with the flowers. As she did, I propped up on my elbows and turned to her, smiling. “I’ve never seen violets before…” Then I got to my feet and walked away with her, leaving the young flowers to nap placidly in the gentle afternoon light.

From "Time to Weep, Time to Heal"
March 2006

Dilemma

This morning's Accounting Policy class session was one of the most difficult hour-and-a-half lectures that I have ever had to endure. To give you an idea of what happened, I must first explain that my professor is on the corporate board of Kimberly-Clark Corporation, a company whose products I refuse to purchase because of its disregard for conservation ethics: More than 80% of the pulp that Kimberly-Clark uses to produce its Kleenex brand tissues is virgin pulp, straight from Canada's ancient Boreal forest. The company is actively engaged in the destruction of one of the last remaining intact biomes in the world, a rich ecosystem which is home to myriad diverse species and is a carbon storehouse whose survival is essential to the fight against global warming. In short, I find that Kimberly-Clark has no environmental ethic whatsoever.

This morning in class we had a guest speaker--the Chief Financial Officer of Kimberly-Clark was there to share with us some of the business practices of the corporation and give us some insight into what makes the company so profitable. I found his talk to be utterly disappointing. He made no mention of Kimberly-Clark's environmental position, even though we are standing in a day and age in which we must take action to curb global warming and otherwise protect our planet which we have ravaged and raped to near-barenness in many locations. Furthermore, he shared with us that Kimberly-Clark is looking at outsourcing much of their human labor to India, where labor is cheap and few investments must be made in the workers to keep them happy since they need the jobs so badly that they will work under nearly any conditions. I was enraged on the inside as I listened to this presentation.

What did I do? Well... I refused the giveaways that our speaker offered. I could not explain why. If my professor were not so linked with Kimberly-Clark, I would have considered confronting the CFO about the company's policies regarding the environment. As it was, however, I felt like I could say nothing without putting my grade in jeopardy. Am I a coward? What would you have done?

If you click on the banner above, you can read about the destruction that Kimberly-Clark is wreaking upon the Boreal forest, and you can send an e-mail to the CEO of Kimberly-Clark, Thomas Falk, as well as to the company's VP of environment, Ken Strassner. You can urge the company to make changes in the way it obtains its pulp for the production of its popular paper products, and you can explain that you will not purchase any Kimberly-Clark products as long as they refuse to change. Please, take this step. We are losing a treasure than can never be replaced, and it disappears a little more each day. It makes a difference. Let them know that we as consumers will not settle for complacency when it comes to our planet.

...

What We Need is Here

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.

--Wendell Berry

A change of scenery

As my fifth year in Athens begins to wind down, I have to say that I am looking forward to a change. I've always been a somewhat restless individual--after being in one place for a while (both in a literal and a mental sense), I feel like it's time to move on. I don't like feeling as if I have built up a "history" somewhere. I know that I should be comfortable with who I am, and indeed I am comfortable with that... I guess it is just that I become less comfortable with the people around me, either because they seem to have not changed much, or their changes have taken them down an entirely different road than the one I am traveling.

In the town where I lived for the first eighteen years of my life, a place where everyone knew your name AND your GPA AND your criminal record (not that I had one), I felt like I built up a history and that after awhile, it was just expected that I would follow the precedent I had already set. People, as we well know, are dynamic creatures; nevertheless, others are surprised when they find that you have changed--and not only surprised, but also disappointed, skeptical, and sometimes plain disrespectful. By the time I was about thirteen, I no longer felt I could be true to myself, as I was becoming someone altogether different from the girl I had been all my life. I was stuck in a mold, and it took an exodus for me to finally express myself freely again.

Now I'm twenty-three years old, and I have to say that I am a much different person than I was when I was eighteen and a newcomer to Athens. Athens is without a doubt a much larger town than my hometown, but still I have found my way into tight-knit circles where I have projected a particular image of myself, and now that the image is somewhat inaccurate I feel (to make use of a trite yet apt expression) like a round peg in a square hole. So though I love the Athens atmosphere, I do truly look forward to the time when I can shut the door on this era of my life and start over in a new city.

Does this cycle ever end? As you get older, do you change less--or do you just care less about the pressure you feel from the people around you? I don't want to feel like my life is all about things starting and ending; I want it to just go on, and to be comfortable within whatever shape the notch happens to be that gets carved for me.

I think I still have a lot to learn...

Blood Mountain

I was ever so thankful this weekend for a chance to get away--from Athens and my computer and life as I know it right now. My backpacking class drew to a close with a class trip to Blood Mountain, Georgia's fifth highest peak, in Blairsville. I am sure I have said this before, but when I am hiking, I feel closer to God than in any other moments of my life, because I feel like I can really worship Him in a pristine corner of His creation, somewhere special and holy and undefiled by human touch. Even among people who do not believe in the God I love, there is a sense of awesome wonder when one is out in nature... looking out at a distant mountain peak, or down into a hazy valley, or through the ground cover of dead leaves at the first wildflowers of spring that are beginning to push their small, shy heads up out of the rich earth. In this place, it is hard to deny the existence of some power that is greater than yourself.










Let everything that has breath praise the Lord...

Small things

My life has picked up speed ever since January rolled around, and I started studying frantically for the CPA exam, which I will be thrilled to complete by mid-July. I have not written much; I have had little to write. I find I have little creative energy at the end of the day. I cook less, I walk less, I read less, I go out less (unless it be to a cafe to knock back a latte and immerse myself in accounting for postretirement benefits or some equally abstract concept). Do I laugh less? Smile less? Find less joy? Turn my thoughts less toward God? I honestly try not to, but sometimes I end up throwing myself facedown on my bed and asking, When will I be happy?

The problem is not a lack of happiness or joy, though. I try to walk through my life believing that my time on earth is a gift--but sometimes holding onto your joy in the midst of a trying time has to involve looking in places you never thought to look before. What are the daily things that bring me satisfaction, the things I overlook when I am in the brightest seasons of my life? Perhaps if I sit and think, and try to compile a list of things that really make my life worth living right now, then I will be able to turn my mind to such things more easily in the moments when my daily ritual of pushing up against this granite wall begins to feel fruitless and impossible.

What makes me happy?

1. The smell of fresh basil, harvested from my windowsill.

2. Floods of small petals, too pale to be pink and too ruddy to be white, riding the air currents and blanketing the ground like snowfall.

3. A cup of fresh black coffee, with two gingersnaps for dunking.

4. Briefly catching the sound of a favorite song as cars drive by with their windows down and their radios up.

5. Closing my eyes and softening all the muscles in my face, just when the tension starts to build up.

6. Magnificent evening skies that remind me that all the world is in the hands of a being much greater than myself.

7. Observing the daily progress of the sweetgum tree outside my window, whose tender week-old leaves become larger and greener and sturdier daily--indeed, almost constantly.

8. Waking up the day after a long Pilates workout, to feel every muscle in my core aching as they regenerate themselves, stronger and more defined than before.

9. The intermediate stage of consciousness, right after I wake up in the morning, when every limb on my body still feels limp and heavy, and I feel like I am being swallowed into my bed.

10. The ability to love someone, which comes solely because I have been loved before I ever understood what it meant to love.

11. Dreaming about friends whom I have not yet met--promises for the future.

Like an impressionist painting, which is made up of millions of tiny brush strokes which you will not see until you take a closer, more discerning look at the big picture, our daily life is made up of millions of tiny experiences. Those experiences can be observed, embraced, treasured only when we are willing to ignore the large-scale view of life and scrutinize its components. But the components are what give life substance and depth and significance, and we miss out on so much when we blind ourselves to them. I hope never to miss another tiny experience... but instead, every day, to be able to make this list grow longer and longer with all the joy I find.

Save a tree or two

I received the following e-mail from the Natural Resources Defense Council regarding the preservation of Canada's boreal forest. I've blogged a couple of times now in reference to this ancient wilderness (look here and here). Why, as a native of the southeastern United States, am I so passionate about this particular part of the world?

The boreal forest of Canada is one of the largest remaining intact natural regions in the world. It is home to a variety of wildlife including caribou, bears, wolves, and lynx. It is the summer range for about 1/3 of North American songbirds and 3/4 of North American waterfowl. Its ecology is complex and varied, with forests, mountains, lakes, wetlands, and rivers. Such a place needs to be protected, lest it be lost. There are programs and initiatives in place to protect and preserve large portions of the region, and still others aimed at developing eco-friendly practices within its neighboring communities. The boreal forest is a valuable North American biome, and the more people who become aware and empassioned about its need for preservation, the more positive progression we will see in the efforts to save this forest.

Anyway, on to the e-mail. If you click the link, you can sign your name to a letter to the Manitoba government, urging them to take action. It only takes five seconds, and I have to believe that it makes a difference.

*********

The Manitoba government still has not honored its pledge to
permanently protect the Poplar-Nanowin Rivers traditional lands
in our Heart of the Boreal Forest BioGem.

Your urgent action is needed to ensure that Manitoba makes good
on its repeated promises. Mounting proposals for clearcut
logging, roadbuilding and industrial hydropower development loom
over this irreplaceable habitat for threatened woodland caribou,
moose and millions of songbirds.

Please go to http://www.savebiogems.org/boreal/takeaction
and urge Manitoba's premier to grant permanent protection to
these First Nation lands.

For thousands of years, the Poplar River First Nation has relied
on the trees, plants and wildlife of this expanse of rugged
granite cliffs, dense evergreen woods and tranquil marshlands
for food, medicine and the survival of its beliefs and
traditions. In 2004, the Canadian government recognized the
outstanding cultural and natural values of this wildland by
including it as part of a potential U.N. World Heritage Site.

Under pressure from BioGems Defenders like you, the Manitoba
government renewed interim protection of the Poplar-Nanowin
Rivers Park Reserve to allow for the completion of a land
management plan. Yet more than a year has passed now since the
plan was finalized -- and the Manitoba government has failed to
legislate permanent protection.

Please go to http://www.savebiogems.org/boreal/takeaction
and tell Manitoba's premier to take this long overdue next step
toward creating a World Heritage Site in this region.

Thank you for all of your efforts to protect the wildest reaches
of Canada's vast boreal forest.

Sincerely,

Frances Beinecke
President
Natural Resources Defense Council

Just words...

Words make great art sometimes, even when they're just thrown together--as long as something ties them together, it doesn't have to appeal to reason to make a beautiful mosaic.

I made this word cloud here. Try it out!

Every species has its niche

Truly the quince flower has found a special niche, to reach the peak of its blooming season right in the harshest stretch of winter, whilst nearly all other flora lies dormant in anticipation of spring.

Death Knell of the Ancients

Another tree falls, and the taiga mourns with groaning—not the sound of groaning, but the deep and silent rumble of the soul whose tremors make tremble even the deepest parts of the earth. For the thud of one more tree against the pock-marked ground is the fearsome, chaotic clanging of one more thick, cold iron bell, another alarum ringing out the imminent fate of all life that once found its haven here.

For these trees have never seen war, never been brushed by plague or pandemic. Peaceful existence, nurturing coexistence has reigned here for centuries as the trees, fir and spruce, elm and oak alike, have offered their raised limbs to the native grouse for nesting, and to the visiting thrushes who stay only until the first gray of winter touches the sky and sends these fair-weather birds to a more tropical locale for the cooler season. These trees have been proud to wear, year after year, the pure and powdery snow from which raptors flee and grizzlies hide themselves, fat with nourishment to last them for months as they sleep in their deep dens until ground thaw.

These old-growth trees have seen light and shadow, each wonderful and terrible in its very special way. Nothing is as jarring as a full neon sun throwing itself against a tinny, white wilderness; nothing is as spectacular as colored hues that glow and dance across the backdrop of space every vernal and autumnal equinox. The forest has seen it all. It has also seen the nightfall, accompanied by the paralyzing beating of owls’ wings and the death squeals of the small rodents, fallen prey to the hunters of the night. The trees have played the part of protector against harsh daylight, weaving their stretching limbs together as a barrier so that the mosses and lichen could thrive gratefully along the shaded ground beneath.

The forest remembers stories of the first appearance of man, coming in on foot from the west, building their settlements nearby, hunting the animals, treading lightly on the land. Even the last of the trees who had known these respectful men, had lived in harmony with them, have long since fallen and returned to the earth, adding their matter back to the soil to the propagation of forest life. But the legacy of these gentle hunters remains, giving strength to the trees and the delicate fibers of life in this harsh, beautiful wilderness.

Nothing like that legacy are these newly arrived men, who come in droves with their clamorous machines to cripple the forest, their hearses to drag the victims away to the nearby paper mill. They upset the balance and the peace of the long-time dwellers here, giving it no thought as they ravage and scar the land. Another tree falls, its once proud limbs crunching against the snow-packed ground. An alarm sounds to the raptors that had nested in those branches, to the fox and the squirrel whose once secret dwellings are now hopelessly destroyed. And a chill pulses through the forest—a chill that the cold, damp summers and thoroughly severe winters have, in thousands of years, never managed to elicit from the proud and brawny trees. For the trees know they can survive the wind and snow and the days upon days of darkness, a barren climate which has caused virtually all other life to shrink away. But against the calloused greed within the hearts of short-sighted man even the stout-willed trees cannot fight. And in each buzz of a saw, each turning of an engine, each loud and brazen guffaw of a hardened, senseless clearcutter preparing to wrap up another day of hard work, the forest can hear the heralding of its own bleak doom. And so it remains, in jarring silence.

Milk is gross

There are a lot of myths surrounding the healthfulness and ethics of human consumption of dairy products. I have been doing some reading and research, and my goal with this post is to dispel some of those myths. To the best of my ability, I will document all the sources for my information; however, as I have done a lot of reading about these issues in recent months, the list is likely not comprehensive. Research on the subject abounds--do some reading yourself!

Myth 1: Milk does a body good.

Cows are herbivores, and thrive on a diet of grasses. The pastoral dairies we often picture in our minds include black-and-white spotted cows, dotting the rolling green hillsides, lazily grazing on the pastureland and ruminating. The farmer comes out with a tin bucket and a little wooden stool and lovingly milks his cows each day, stroking them and talking to them all the while.

This is not a true reflection of the life and diet of a modern-day, factory-farmed cow. Cows in factory farming operations are confined to stalls and hard cement floors, never given the freedom to graze. They are deprived of a natural diet and instead fed a feed mix consisting heavily of corn (most of it genetically modified), heavy doses of antibiotics, and occasionally the ground-up remains of their fallen comrades (the practice of turning dead cattle back into cattle feed is illegal, but the industry is poorly monitored and this practice still occurs). We all know that animal milk nutrition is based of the nutrients in the diet of the animal that produces it. So what is going into your milk? Genetically modified corn that was farmed with heavy doses of chemical fertilizers; antibiotics; any contaminants that may have remained in the bodies of the dead cows that were ground up for feed.

It gets worse, though. Dairy cows are pumped full of rBGH, a bovine growth hormone designed to increase their milk yield. The increased milk yield resulting from the rBGH causes increased rates of mastitis--the udders of these unfortunate cows swell and become infected with the unnatural volume of milk that they produce. Yet, in the interest of precious time and profit, cows with infected udders are not treated properly for their infection--they are still milked continually. The antibiotics pumped into the cattle feed are intended to deal with such diseases and infection, the intent being that these maladies will get cleared up through the feed and the cow loses no milking time. As a result of not treating mastitis immediately and properly, pus which develops inside the udder ends up in the milk. This pus-infused milk is not discarded; rather, it is mixed with "healthy" milk, packaged, and sold.

Myth 2: Cows need to be milked.

It is true that when cows produce milk, it is healthy for them to be milked and relieved of the pressure that builds up in their udders under the weight of the milk. However, what is not good for cows in these factory farm operations is the extent of their milk production and their milking. These cows are constantly being impregnated, giving birth and then immediately having their calves taken from them, and milked extensively. This ensures that not a moment of precious time escapes when the cow could have been giving profitable milk.

A dairy cow which is allowed to live its natural life, grazing in the outdoors and lactating in natural cycles, should live for 20 years or more. Cows using modern farming methods, however, are often slaughtered once their milk production slows, in as few as three lactation cycles. Modern milking practices, then, scarcely bode well for these animals.

Myth 3: Milk is a good source of calcium and protein.

Our bodies need calcium. Calcium is extremely important in our bone development; without proper levels of calcium intake, we are at risk for the ever more widespread bone disease known as osteoporosis, which makes bones brittle and fragile. America is well aware of these risks, and in fact recommended daily intakes of calcium in the U.S. are some of the highest in the world, at 1,000-1,400 milligrams each day. Yet Americans still are at high risk for osteoporosis. Why?

Calcium is a mineral that neutralizes acid. Our blood has a certain pH level that it must maintain, which is a fairly neutral level that slightly leans to the alkaline end of the spectrum. But certain foods are known to raise the acidity level of the blood--namely, animal proteins and highly processed "junk" foods. Our bodies must produce increased amounts of acid to digest such foods, and once the digestion has occurred, the acid enters our blood supply and makes it more acidic. Thus, our bodies actually leach calcium from our bones to neutralize the acid content in our blood.

So, yes. Milk is a substantive source of both calcium and protein. But when we rely on the protein in milk and other animal products, we actually lose much of the calcium that we take in.

Consider that many peoples have survived for hundreds of years without dairy products, such as the Chinese, and have had little instance of osteoporosis. People in these places take in far less calcium than most Americans do today, but they get their calcium and their protein vastly from plant-based sources. Consider also that vegetarian women, at age 65, average 18% bone loss, while their omnivorous peers average 35% bone loss.

Myth 4: Beef production is cruel, but dairy production is not.

I have already addressed this to some extent above, but there is room for elaboration.

Dairy cows, as I mentioned, are not allowed to graze in conventional farming operations; they are confined, fed meal that is far from their natural diet, and often never see the outdoors. They live but a fraction of their natural lives before being sent to slaughter, once their productivity has declined due to the exhausting methods of milk production that factory farmers implement. During the time when they are alive, disease is rampant among milk-producing cattle because they are confined in such closed, tight living areas where disease can spread easily from one animal to the next, and are fed such enormous levels of antibiotics that antibiotic-resistant strains of the bacteria are constantly evolving--thus increasing the need for more antibiotics, thus perpetuating the cycle.

When a dairy cow gives birth, the calf is immediately separated from the mother, often never even allowed to nurse. Female calves are raised to produce milk, but male calves are considered useless by-products of the dairy industry. They are often sold cheaply into veal production--one of the most horrifying aspects of animal agriculture. Veal calves are confined to crates where they have no room to move, and they are often chained by the neck to further restrict their movement. This is what gives veal meat its characteristic tenderness. The calves are fed an iron-deficient diet so that their meat is pale and desirable; often they become so weak that their legs break beneath their own weight. Then, after 16 weeks of this kind of life, the calves are slaughtered.

"Certified organic" milk, to an extent, helps to alleviate some of these problems, but by no means solves them. Cows whose milk is certified organic must not be fed antibiotics or injected with hormones, and they must be given access to pasture for a part of the year. For large-scale organic dairy producers, this means giving the animals a minimal amount of time in the pasture, and using more conventional methods as much as they can to keep costs low. And even in the organic industry, cows may be sent to slaughter prematurely when they slow down their production. Even in the organic industry, male calves may be sold into the horrible veal industry. For most corporate producers, the animal is still a commodity rather than a living being, and they will do as little as they can to get the lucrative "organic" label slapped onto their products. So unless you personally know your dairy farmer and his commitment to earth- and animal-friendly, sustainable production, unless you know he is concerned for the well-being of his animals, then you cannot be certain that the industry you are supporting is not guilty of the mistreatment of millions of animals each year.

For more reading, follow these links:

Dangers of Milk.
rBGH on Wikipedia.
The Welfare of Cattle in Dairy Production.
Veal Production.
Issues: Organic.

Night Rending

She believes he is asleep
at her side – but he silent lies
to watch a moonbeam paint her hair
and to eavesdrop as she weeps.

A single crystalline tear
he spies, perched atop her raised cheek
like a secret cast in quicksilver.
Then a sniffle, never meant to reach his ear.

Shadows ooze along the wall
like molasses. He smells the brine
of meekness under brazen sun –
deciphers her heart’s encrypted call.

Two souls the thick night somehow cleaves,
one with back turned to hoard its sundry
wounds, one helpless to breach the divide.
Death claps at the window in dry oak leaves.

A tortured mind begs wordlessly for grace
to right what it never knew was wrong
with love. He turns to sleep, dreams stained
by a moonlit tear upon a stranger’s face.

Victory for the forest?

The environmental group ForestEthics (forestethics.org) has been engaged in active protest against the clearcutting of Canada's boreal forest (one of the last remaining forest wildernesses on the planet, it turns out)--and met with recent success against Victoria's Secret, according to yesterday's article. The article explains that after weeks of peaceful but very prominent protesting against Victoria's Secret--which sends out about 365 million catalogs each year, printed on 90% virgin paper coming from the ancient and endangered boreal forest of Canada--the company has agreed to stop buying from the pulp mill that logs in this Canadian wilderness.

Did you get that? They have agreed to stop buying. To stop supporting the destruction of this invaluable terrestrial biome which is the unique habitat of many plant and animal species. A major multinational corporation, swayed by the insistent and unrelenting voices of a meager handful who care enough about preserving the Earth's remaining natural environments. I don't know about you, but for me, this is an encouraging thought.

Granted, I have no idea why it is even legal to clearcut such an old-growth forest inn the first place. It is possible to produce paper in a more environmentally sound manner--by logging forests that are young and managed, forests that are re-planted and allowed to grow until they are cut again for more timber. Better yet, recycled paper--isn't there enough paper thrown away each year in America to meet the catalog-printing needs of a company like Victoria's Secret? Why attack one of the last surviving wilderness areas on the planet, just so that we can enjoy the "glossy paper"?

Nevertheless, it happens, and not just because of one company. Will other clients snap up the boreal timber that Victoria's Secret will forgo? Probably so. But I believe that we can speak loud enough to make a difference. We just have to decide what is more important to us:

This?


Or this?

Morning light

My bedroom window faces northeast, and if you look out you see a bald spot in the horizon (owing to the parking lot to our apartment complex and, further along that vector which starts at my window, the campus of the University of Georgia) which cradles the morning's first sun. When that sun makes its daily appearance there, pushing its way even through my mini-blinds, even through my heavy eyelids, I am hopelessly aroused from my night's sleep, regardless of whether I tumbled into bed eight hours earlier or three.

I don't entirely mind. I see beauty during that first hour of sunlight that many people only read about or view in photographs. I can hear daylight take its first breaths; I can observe the sky blooming with light that only becomes harsher, hotter, heavier as the day ages.

A part of me loves my mornings, though there is another sluggish side that revels in letting my eyelids droop shut for another hour that, in that snoozing reverie, feels like only a few blissful minutes. I am reading a book (an early Christmas gift from my dear and doting Bob) called In the Morning: Reflections From First Light by Philip Lee Williams, and it contains some of the most beautiful language about morning that I have ever had the occasion to read. I recommend it to anyone who wants a deep and many-faceted account of morning--what it means aesthetically, biologically, spiritually... simply. It is novel and lovely, prose wrought with the poetic. It has caused me to think much on morning's place in my ever-evolving life.

How I have always longed to be a morning person... But when you are in high school and college, your social world is constructed around night--theatre and midnight movies, 24-hour coffee shops and bars that close up shop at 2 AM, nightclubs and formal dances, rock concerts and winds symphonies. You stay up later and later out of necessity, until you find yourself on your nights off, sitting at the computer in the middle of the night, idly surfing the web and waiting until "bedtime." That is how, as young people, we are obliged to fashion our lives.

But for me, those who keep going until those early-late hours are missing something quite enchanting contained only in the quietude of morning. Early mornings were the preferred time for Jesus to commune with God the Father, when he "withdrew to lonely places and prayed." It is difficult to find lonely places in the bare and brazen light of day, and it is difficult to pray in the night watches when our biology tells us to be on guard against the dangers of the darkness. But in the morning there is peace and there is solitude. It is a time of day I often missed until I moved here to my beloved east-facing window, which never fails to alert me at the first shard of sunlight that a new day has arisen. I hope only that as I get older and more seasoned, I become more able to leave aside the folly of night life and rise to greet the new day with a growing eagerness.

Giving...

Today is Thanksgiving day here in America, so, well, what do we have to be thankful for? If I am being real and honest, I have quite a lot. Quite a lot, when I look at the poor, the huddled and weary masses that inhabit the streets of this city. Those who bundle up in a long flannel shirt on a night when I have dressed myself in my heavy woollen pea coat that keeps me stylishly warm from my neck to the tops of my knees. Those who gather in a lump at the front door of the winter shelter, carrying around their chronic sickness and their drug addictions and their earthly possessions which hang loosely from their slumped shoulders, waiting humbly for a plate of warm food and a comfortable place to lay down to sleep before the day repeats itself again in the morning.

I almost spent yesterday afternoon at home, curled up on the futon with my favorite blanket and a cup of hot tea. But Bob and I knew that Food Not Bombs gathered at 4:00 every Wednesday to cook food to hand out, and since we are normally busy on Wednesday evenings, we felt this tug at our hearts to be there this week for the very first time. The tug was so forceful that, within moments, we found ourselves pulling up to the door of Common Ground Athens, where we were greeted by the aroma of stewing tomatoes in a heavy-duty stockpot, and herbed potatoes roasting in the oven.

I was nervous that Bob and I would be entirely out of place at Common Ground (an ironic fear, I know)--we don't look like hippies or yuppies; we dress very conventionally and drive a 2004 Honda and go to church. What was I afraid of, exactly? That we would be sneered and scoffed at, looked down upon, because we showed up one afternoon to help create a nutritious, vegan meal out of donated food so that the hungry could be fed? People--well some people (these people at least)--are much more open minded than that.

So for two and a half hours we chopped fruits and vegetables, much of it bruised and soft and ready to be consumed or composted, the refuse of local groceries. All the while we chatted with the regular Food Not Bombs volunteers--there were Ed and Sarah, community social workers who are truly compassionate toward those on the cusp of capitalistic society; there was Joy, an ESOL teacher out in Oconee who enjoys just being able to do what she can when she can for a cause that is dear to her; there were Kelly and Dave and Alex, the ones whose wardrobe is your mother's worst nightmare, but who are there at Common Ground on their own time fighting to right the social wrongs of the community. Among such people, how could Bob and I not belong?

We stayed until the end. Once the vast quantities of food were cooked, we helped transport it all down to the shelter at the corner of Hancock and Hull, where a group of about ten people were already gathered, awaiting their hot meal. Everyone served themselves buffet-style and ate all that they wanted, standing around in the dark and cold on the eve of Thanksgiving. Tomorrow, when Bob and I went to share an afternoon and feasting with our family, would these people have a warm meal? Or was this their Thanksgiving feast, this food that may otherwise be rotting in a dumpster or atop a compost heap at that very moment? Struck with that realization, it would take a very callous person to not be thankful--thankful for the chance to be here, shivering and tired, serving a feast of unwanted produce to the unwanted of this city, the ones whose poor and marginal existence many of us choose to be blind to, day by day. But are these not the people that Jesus came for? And if my Lord came and had compassion upon them and went among them and ministered to them, then am I not called to do the same?

Food Not Bombs volunteers get arrested, even beaten in other cities for their activism. I do not know a whole lot about the movement, and I don't know what their other activities may be aside from merely serving food to the hungry. But I felt my body tense up when a police car pulled up and parked perhaps twenty feet from our makeshift banquet table. Well, I thought, better men than me have engaged in civil disobedience, and impacted perhaps more people than if they had not stepped outside the realm of the law. And my mind turned to Henry David Thoreau, Martin Luther King, Jr... But when the police officer got out of the car, he walked around to the back door and helped a brittle old lady out into the cold night. He was dropping her off at the winter shelter. He saw her inside, and then with a nod he got back into the car and pulled away.

We got home at about 9:30 at night, and set about making a vegan pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. And I was thankful to be in a warm apartment with our oven all fired up and my heavy coat hung back in the closet, making a pie with my husband. In fact, I have perhaps never been more thankful in my whole life.