I love science. 

Ecological urbanism is critical to the future of the city and its design: it provides a framework for addressing challenges that threaten humanity, such as global warming, rising sea level, declining oil reserves, rising energy demands, and environmental justice, while fulfilling human needs for health, safety, and welfare, meaning and delight.
—  Anne Spirn

coachman  asked:

No ask, just a few comments related to the ocean extinction post.

It seems so simple. I grow as much as I can, I catch fish if I want to eat them, I forage for quite a few menu items. I don't take shortcuts--ie fertilizers or big nets. The process puts limits on me. How many fish can I catch in an afternoon? How much can I grow in my half acre garden? How many wild berries can I pick or wild onions, etc. etc? I also place limits upon myself. If I remove every wapato (Duck potato) from a swamp, how will the plant sustain itself AND continue to feed me? If I keep too many fish, it is going to be more and more difficult to gain a meal.

I realize I am preaching to the choir, but we have become lazy in all aspects of food collection. We find an easy way to exploit a resource until it is gone. We put fillers in our food to make up for increasing poor quality or simply to stretch the most out of our resource (shelf life, nutritional deficiencies, inferior quality).

After we exploit the resource , we then lament it's demise, before moving on to the next species. When are we going to "get it"?

Totally agree with you on all counts, but here I’m forced to start writing randomly, because I have thoughts on the issue.  So pardon me while I bang on my keyboard in my current semi-ADD fugue.

First, I do believe that when corporations fish the oceans to feed product into the global market, it’s a business.  By definition, businesses must grow to appease shareholders and management and to strive towards profitability.  It’s capitalism.  And capitalism, by definition, is myopic: growth is king, contraction is evil.  If we noted all the horrible behaviors we have foisted upon each other, the land and ourselves in the name of endless economic growth, we’d barf.

And then there’s the fact that here in the first world, we really don’t feel pain. We walk into stores replete with dozens of isles of perfectly-stocked food, thousands of brands, and so much choice that it’s literally paralyzing to many.  We stroll in, take our iPod buds out of our ears, get our food, our craft beer, our ostrich jerky, and pay via credit card.  One week later, we walk back in to the same store, resplendent colors and garish fluorescent haze and all, and do it all over again.

Food is just…well, there.  All the time.  Magically.  We don’t recognize food sourcing issues because there’s no impetus to.  We come, we go, and never have we even faced so much as a hint of food being short, let alone on the brink of categorical elimination.

I feel that we won’t ‘get it’ until we feel some pain, until something gives us a collective wake-up call.  Tears For Fears once quipped, 'Nothing ever changes unless there some pain’, and I firmly believe it.

Maybe this is the pain: when reports that entire regions of the oceans are depleted – not just thin, but bone dry, which means the sockeye salmon you love so much is up-and-gone – maybe we start thinking about sustainability beyond its marketing appeal.

Moorten Botanical Garden is a funky little cactus garden in Palm Springs that’s been around since the late 1930s – the Moorten family have called its acreage home for almost a century. "Slim" Moorten and his family traveled around the world collecting specimens then came to the desert and opened Moorten’s, where you can see these fine samples on display, arranged along a meandering path, some of which are over 70 years old and several feet tall. Read all about it above (a local article about Moorten’s from 1969), and come meet Clark, Slim’s son, this evening at Ace – we’re celebrating our sustainability efforts including a new food waste system, and guests will get a potted cactus from Moortens, a bag of locally made, organic granola from Earthling Organics in Palm Springs, plus special treats from King’s Highway and Chef Craig Mattox with friends from County Line Harvest Farm.

See you tonight.

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On fields o'er which the reaper’s hand has pass’d
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.

On Fields O'er Which the Reaper’s Hand has Passed by Henry David Thoreau

Nike Flyknit Collective London

Yesterday I was invited down by Mr. Charlie Dark to the Flyknit Workshop at 1948. I had previously researched the weekly Flyknit events, so was very excited about what was in store. A heads up that important, creative and influential people were to be gathered in one room made me that much more hyped to be there. Although that almost got ruined by some fool messing up the Northern Line and making me ever so late, which made me have to run from Old Street station and walk into 1948 looking like a hot mess whilst everyone sat calmly in their white Flyknit Collective tees. ANYWAY…

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Real Food

At six o'clock in the fucking morning I rolled out of bed to find that what little teasers of Spring I had been waking up to earlier in the week were gone. Instead, I was reminded that it was indeed February and the wind didn’t give two-shits about how nice my thin jacket looked with the color of my hair. I pushed through the wind to my equally cold car and arrived at the Friend’s of Agriculture promptly at 6:28 a.m. From my car, I watched the sun creep over the small 4H-center where farmer’s and speakers from all over the county would gather for a breakfast made from local ingredients. I sat with a cup of black coffee– something I will become best friends with this summer since
1) farming requires rising early as balls
2) coffee grounds make excellent compost–
and slightly-yolky scrambled eggs, speaking through the early morning with two ladies who could easily have been my grandmothers about keeping chickens. As an aspiring farmer I have learned that communication is key.

Talk to people. They can teach you more than you realize. Don’t be afraid to ask stupid questions. Before they were seasoned farmers they were asking stupid questions too.

From asking stupid questions I have learned that chickens love plain-yogurt and potato peels. They also like company. Who knew?

During this breakfast two homesteaders spoke to the crowd about sustainability. About sharing knowledge as a form of it. Little secrets like watering orchids with water that has had a banana soaking in it will help them grow. That wormwood and marigold’s keep pests away from gardens. That eggshells and Epsom salt can be used to keep tomatoes happy. Small secrets and trades passed from farmer to farmer keeps farming alive.

They also addressed that relationships with the land do not come from wandering the ‘local produce’ sections of Whole Foods or reading about back-yard farms in Martha Stewart magazines; they come from getting dirty. Real food, comes from farmers. Real stories come from farming, from playing with plants and chickens and dirt. People like my grandfather and I. So get to know us. We can teach you a few things.