What does “just-right” organic look like?

Yesterday I suspended my Full Circle Farm orders.  Full Circle Farm is an organic farm and produce delivery service, and for a long time I’ve been a big supporter of its business model.  FCF began as a traditional CSA, but it has morphed into hybrid model that bills itself as a “farmers’ market in a box.”

Here’s what I’ve liked about FCF:

• Most of the produce has been exceptionally delicious
• I get a wide variety of produce
• I like supporting a business that supplies quality organic produce to places like Nome and Kotzebue
• FCF’s swap-out options allow me to work around my partner’s allergy to lettuce
• Anything that keeps me out of the big box stores is good for my budget, and fits my shopping goals
• FCF’s customer service has been excellent; anytime I’ve had trouble with an item, I get a refund, or an extra item in the next delivery

That’s a lot to like.  I thought about using our “local” CSA box option, Glacier Valley Farm, but they don’t offer FCF’s flexibility, and almost every box content listing I’ve seen includes lettuce.  Also, during the long Alaskan 0ff-season, the produce is significantly less local.

There are people out there who don’t like Full Circle Farm because they think it’s too much like “Big Organic” (where sheer size begins to look a whole lot like conventional agriculture).   That’s not my problem.  I’m not a purist.  I believe in making the best choice for my partner and me, among the options available.

So why did I quit FCF?  Because I got tired of the one or two disappointments in every box.  First there was the aphid infestation in the cauliflower.  Then the sweet corn that was not sweet; picked while the kernels were immature, it tasted like field corn.  One whole batch of green beans tasted like twigs. Several times the avocados have gone from rock-hard to rotten without stopping at ripe.

The box of FCF fruits and veggies is expensive.  It bothers me to have to throw away something a farmer worked hard to produce, and we worked hard to purchase.

I also find that I miss the process of carefully selecting produce.  At a real farmers’ market–as opposed to a farmers’ market in a box–I would have a chance to smell the peaches, feel the plump firmness of the ears of corn, inspect the tomatoes for bruises.  Even at the grocery store I can approximate that process, even though the quality doesn’t measure up to what’s available at most farmers’ markets.

I don’t know what “just right” organic looks like.  So far, for me, it’s been a constant process of adjustment.  FCF for a while.  Arctic Organics CSA for two summers.  Then FCF again.

Now it’s a new season in my hunting and gathering.  I’ll have to push myself to look for more variety in the grocery store, and try to pay attention to which stores have the best quality produce.  Maybe I’ll start shopping more frequently at smaller stores like Natural Pantry and New Sagaya/City Market.

And that will have to be good enough, for now.

Eco-Frugal at General Assembly

I chose the frugal housing option for General Assembly–a dorm room at the University of Minnesota.  And I plan to use public transportation to get from the airport to the university, from the U to the convention center and back, and then from the U to the airport.

I liked the idea of saving money.  Nostalgia for my student days influenced my choice.  And I hoped that this would be a learning experience about public transportation–particularly light rail.

Doing this alone in a strange city, though, has raised my anxiety level pretty high.  I emailed the UUA General Assembly staff, and they gave me the following information:  I can call “Meet Minneapolis” at 612-767-8000, or visit their website.

Once I’ve done that, I’ll post updates with what I know.  In the meantime, if you have information to share about how to negotiate this adventure, I’d love to hear it!

How We Lost “Lost”

There’s a moment in the movie Apollo 13 where Tom Hanks’ character says, “Gentleman, we just lost the moon.”

Yesterday afternoon we lost Lost, and learned an important lesson in the process.

As I’ve written about before, we’ve had to buy all the appliances for this condo, since the previous owners took absolutely everything with them when the bank foreclosed on their loan.

We held off on buying a washer and dryer for almost eight months.  We planned to use the appliances from our home in Eagle River, until we discovered they were far too large for our condo’s tiny laundry closet.  Then we told ourselves that we’d buy new laundry appliances when the Eagle River house sold.  But as the months dragged on, driving our laundry three hours, round-trip, became more and more wearisome.

We placed a special order for a GE washer and dryer, which in Alaska usually means a month-long wait.  I called Home Depot when we got home from our recent vacation, and found out that yes, our appliances had arrived.  We arranged to have them delivered and installed last Thursday.

The delivery guys arrived as scheduled, but we discovered that we needed an alternate venting solution.  Three days, and three trips to Anchorage later, we had a slender, periscope-like vent, and people ready to help us install.

But here’s where Lost comes into the picture.  We started the install yesterday afternoon, discovered we needed the periscope vent, drove to Anchorage and back, and kept working on the install.  At almost 8 p.m., when we still had lots to do, we looked at each other and said, “We just lost Lost.”  The series finale, “The End,” began at 8 p.m.

We still haven’t seen “The End.”  We’ll have to track it down on Hulu.  But we do have a washer and dryer, and we don’t have to drive 100 miles just to visit them.

The lesson?

The producers of Lost (and ABC’s advertisers) instilled in us the “need” to watch each episode faithfully, and to find out the answers to the show’s never-ending questions.   It’s very easy to sit on the couch for an hour every week to watch the show.  It’s harder, and much less interesting, to install a washer and dryer in a tiny laundry closet.

So, what’s the payout for all those hours of watching Lost?  A final episode that (maybe) answers all the questions the show raises.

And the payout for installing the washer and dryer?  I don’t have to drive to Eagle River to do laundry.  I can do a small load of laundry every day, rather than waiting until almost all our clothes are dirty to make the great laundry trek.  The looming pile of dirty clothes will no longer occupy one corner of our bedroom.  I’ll get hours of my life back, and shrink my carbon footprint dramatically.

If you asked Jim Lovell, the Apollo 13 astronaut, whether he’d rather have the moon, or his life, I’m pretty sure he’d choose his life.  We make this kind of choice almost every day.  Do I want to eat this banana split–or be healthy and fit well into my 80s or 90s?  Would I like to sit on the couch–or have the energy level that only daily exercise can give?  Would I like to work most of my waking hours–or make time for self-care and nurturing my primary relationships?

In a way, it was liberating to lose Lost.  Until it happened, I didn’t recognize the hold it had on my life.  Now I can say, “Yes, I’d like to watch the finale of Lost.  But on my own terms.”

Brady & Mama watch the laundry.

Treasures in Unlikely Places

Flint is the New Jersey of Michigan.  Well, without all the rich people, pharmaceutical companies and beachfront.  Other than that, just like Jersey.

Most people experience my home state through the lens of the Newark Airport or the Jersey Turnpike.  Its starring role in HBO’s Sopranos didn’t do much to change those gritty perceptions.  Unless you’ve lived there, you’re likely to think that “the Garden State” is a misnomer.  Jersey natives, however, know that sunny June days are for strawberries, hot July days are for blueberries in the Pine Barrens, even hotter days in August are for peaches, and finally, the cooler days of September are for the apple orchards in NJ’s northwest corner.  All summer long, of course, it’s time for ripe, juicy Jersey tomatoes.

Mention Flint, and the response of most Michiganders is something like, “Can anything good come out of Flint?”  If Michigan is one of the epicenters of the current recession, then Flint is an epicenter of an epicenter.  Flint began to rust while the rest of the state was still flourishing.

So when we were visiting family in Michigan last week, and I mentioned that I wanted to visit the Flint Farmers’ Market, they were surprised, to say the least.  My partner’s sister agreed to come with me, so I printed directions and we ventured out.

Getting there was easy–highway 475 to exit 8A.  There were great signs directing us, though following them meant crossing three lanes quickly.  We could tell even before we parked that coming had been a great decision.

The Flint Farmers’ Market is big.  Not quite Pike Place, but definitely leaning in that direction.  Open year round, it has indoor space for permanent vendors, and outside space for seasonal ones.

There’s a butcher shop, and several vendors selling poultry.

The cheese shop made me want to hand them a twenty-dollar bill and ask for a smidgen of everything.

Of course, I bought the farm-fresh, free-range eggs–but not the cute bantams shown here.  The five of us ate the full dozen for dinner that night.

We both liked these raised beds–particularly the trapezoids, which could be arranged in any pattern.  And yes, I had to look up the name of the shape.

The wine store that anchors one end of the indoor market was a big hit with my traveling companion, who took this photo to remember to track it down closer to home.

Everyone we met at the market was exceptionally friendly.  The vendors were more than happy to answer our questions.  My partner’s sister is a graphic designer for a small, family-owned grocery chain, and she made several connections, both for her freelance work and on behalf of her employers.

If you live in Michigan, the Flint Farmers’ Market is a great day trip.  We spent a few hours, but easily could have spent three times as long there.   They’re open Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.  If you’re elsewhere, I hope you’ll find time to visit a farmers’ market near you.  How many other opportunities come your way to have fun–and do something good at the same time?

Better Green than Gay?

Even though women are no longer scarce in Alaska, we still have the highest male-female ratio in the nation, and the cult of rugged masculinity still has many Alaskan followers.  Drive the speed limit, and a full-size pick-up will be on your bumper, and then pass you on a double-yellow.  The Alaska State Fair has three Carhartt events, including a ”Crusty Carhartt Contest,” open to both women and men.  Even some of our Democratic politicians subscribe to the “Drill, baby, drill,” school of resource management.

Alaskan environmentalists are a passionate but beleaguered minority.  Politicians exploit Alaskan xenophobia by claiming that the “greenies” are Outsiders “telling us what to do.”

This week I went to the Eagle River Schucks Auto Supply to buy Fast Orange hand cleaner.  I explained to the Schucks guy that “we like it because it has no petroleum solvents.”

Suddenly we were talking about plastics, and their toxic effects on our bodies.

There are pockets of liberalism in Alaska, but Eagle River is not one of them.  Encountering an environmental ally there, in an auto parts store, was a surprise.

He kept insisting, however, that young boys were most affected by plastic’s toxins leaching into their bodies.  Finally he said, “That’s why we’ve got so many effeminate young men.”

Aha.  That explained the intensity in his voice.  It wasn’t generalized concern about the well-being of children and the health of our planet.  It was homophobia.

Here in Alaska, it’s “better green than gay.”