I told handy hubby yesterday I didn’t have any ideas for the blog post this week and I didn’t feel like coming up with one.   Being the ever-supportive man that he is, he said I shouldn’t worry about it, and just post a “Gone Fishing” sign.   And that really got me thinking about all those folks who can’t go fishin’.   Which of course got me thinking about BP: Certainly not the first to pollute our waters, and I suspect not the last.

My oh my, has the Gulf Zone had a string of really bad luck lately, or what?!   Hurricanes Katrina, Rita, Ike, and now this, all of them major disasters occurring within five years– not enough time to recover from the previous disaster before the next one slaps ashore.   I wonder how many times a region can get kicked down before they can’t get back up again?  And when that happens, will everyone just keep continuing to point fingers?

We always try to push blame.  I’m not talking about BP executives here, or the various parties involved in the drilling operations, or even the local or federal governments; we should expect that anyone directly responsible there won’t take any real responsibility.   I’m talking WE, as in you and me.  WE, as individuals, are the ones that keep them all in business.  WE need them, or so we have come to believe we do.  We are the ones who have allowed our dependence on these companies to become so consequential that we consider them ALL too big to fail.  It is not new news that drilling is dangerous, ugly, and destructive work, it has been that way forever.  We have decided, and sent the very clear message, that we are willing to pay that price.  WE, you and me, are not willing to suffer the consequences of reduced oil availability or increased prices, and therefore WE are the ones responsible for this disaster and every other one past and future.  Not only are we allowing them to do it to us, we are encouraging them to, every time we make a choice on a dozen decisions big and small every day.  We are willing to let our planet suffer, our children suffer, and our natural environment and all living things in it suffer, so that we won’t have to change.

So this week I am going fishing, in a way.  I’m going to throw some ideas out and fish for some replies.  In what way would you be most willing to reduce your reliance on oil if you could?  Would you:

Buy a hybrid car?  Choose locally raised food?  Work from home?  Fly less often?  Stop using disposable plastics?  Support research for alternative energy sources?  Purchase fewer imported products?  Make your home and lifestyle as sustainable as possible?

Have you, would you, do any of these things?  What else might you consider doing to show BP, and all the rest of them, that you don’t really need them as badly as they think you do?

Some folks think what we’re doing out here is really out there, so I thought I could put things into some perspective. Extremes exist even among the extremists – the hardcore homesteaders, the survivalists, the simplicity freaks – but the bar is moving even lower these days. Restaurant chefs in big cities are buying into the trend to go low big time, some of them even planting their own kitchen gardens and requiring their menus come from within 30 miles. Now that lowering our carbon footprint is an international movement (being manipulated of course by advertisers to sell new products), I’ll bet within a few years even the craziest of the crazy won’t be considered that crazy anymore.

So I’d like to share some stories of folks who have led the pack in low, even when they might not have meant to do that. My first fascination with self-reliance was observing the Czechs and their various skills during my Peace Corps service, talk about a low carbon footprint, they hardly even produced any garbage in the home! But it was not until a few years later, when I was interviewing a young Czech man for my first novel, that I really witnessed low. His name was Petr, a buff and handsome 20-something who was into historical reenactment.

Maybe you don’t know what that is. It’s a troupe of amateur actors and history buffs who sometimes travel and work at castles recreating scenes and skills for tourists. Most of the time they do it for free, much of the time they don’t even have an audience.

He took us to his “camp,” a few acres among lovely rolling fields and meadows where he and a dozen others practiced their various trades: pottery, metal work, old school carpentry, savory dishes cooked underground or over fire, and of course the crowd-pleasing skills of swordsmanship and archery. It was one of the most far-out things I’d ever witnessed first-hand and relatively sober. This small group of folks, who had full-time day jobs as bank clerks and secretaries, and school teachers, chose to spend their entire weekends and vacations there, way out in the sticks, doing everything exactly as it would have been done in pre-Medieval times. There were no motors or electricity or plumbing, all the structures were built by them with tools replicated from the period. It was as authentic as could ever be imagined by an American – the needle to mend their boots was carved from bone, the thread was home-spun, the boots themselves were cut from leather tanned and fashioned themselves. They bragged that one pair of boots had taken months to produce, and they had only the one pair to show for it, several others having been total failures. I have never seen such pride in achievements in my life, not before or since, nor have I been among a happier group of 20-somethings. They had no clue about carbon, these guys were doing it just for kicks!

There are also the hardcore homesteaders and survivalists I read about and DO NOT envy one little bit. The ones who refuse fridge and freezer top the list (Hello, how do you keep your vodka and paté chilled?!). There are others out there who live without electricity altogether (so how on earth do you connect to the web?!), NO thanks! I will never be one of these hard core types.

But there are other ideas out there that sound crazy that I am dying to try, like the composting toilet. I’ve been researching this one and can’t wait to share all that crap with you here (hehheh). I’m willing to try just about anything, but I know myself pretty well, the only kind of homesteader I can really aspire to becoming would be of the somewhat spoiled diva variety, except I think I might be the only one. I would love no motors, but how would the work get done? I would love handmade tools, but who the hell would make them? We will try milling our own lumber and growing and grinding our own heirloom wheat someday, but for now, it’s still baby steps. Thank heavens.

Our pup Papi hated lettuce, until we started feeding it to the chicks. Suddenly, it seems to be among his favorite snacks, when he can steal it from them. In the kitchen he still doesn’t like it. This makes me consider once again the nature of our natures, and I’m reminded of the parable about the frog and the scorpion.

I’ve always hated this tale, because while I feel I’m perpetually playing the frog, others mistake me often for the scorpion. Being convinced that I am the frog is not because I have delusions that we are not all self-interested beings. I know, for better or worse, it is what has allowed us to thrive – the dog, as much as the frog, or the man, or the plant. I know I’m the frog because I have always been gullible, the scurvy of the optimist.  I’ve always been over-ready to allow words or appearances to supersede actions and sometimes even common sense. I think I’m not the only one.

So, I’ve decided to update the frog and scorpion tale to suit my own life better. The frog will be a chick and the scorpion, a black lab pup. Instead of a trip across the river, the sweet and friendly lab pup begs the chick to play his provocative but seemingly innocent chasing game through the meadow. At long last his charming pants convince them it’s a beautiful day and he clearly means no harm.

That black lab, just look at that face, how could he possibly be the scorpion? Has he not so far obeyed orders, sometimes under great pressure to indulge his instincts? But just the flap of a wing and he is on high alert. It’s so very lucky for those chicks that he is well-supervised now, under constant surveillance. If only they knew, those poor little chicks, how their natural moves provoke him. He cannot help that at all. Any more than they can. He’s still playing the patient watch dog, for now.  I know he is surely not capable of strategically planning his next move, but just you wait, one of these times that seemingly innocent little flap will provoke a tragic end to their already shortly numbered days in the meadow.

The moral of my new twist to the story? A seemingly careless little misstep or two made out of innocence or ignorance are still missteps with fatal potential.

Nevermind.

I spent the week in New York City with my sisters and now must recant the bulk of what I professed last post. To resist the overwhelming and constant temptations of city life would require a morale of steel, the stoicism of a soldier, an empty wallet and zero credit. It’s no wonder why so many folks in this country are fantastically fat and/or desperately in debt – the pressure to consume is absolutely overwhelming.

Manhattan is a vast bazaar of offerings, each neighborhood serving a different population or persona, with nothing and no one overlooked. There is a zoo of products and services at every price point. The array of restaurants is spectacular, the fashion ubiquitous, the salons irresistible, the bars buzzing. Anything you desire at pretty much any hour. Not even Superwoman could resist against such an all-encompassing force.

And Superwoman has never even played near my orbit. My statement last week to value time over money is shot pretty much instantaneously upon arrival. Every day was like a safari through the endless world of consumable goods – one day as determined as a mouse in a maze for the ideal shoulder bag, the next day a treasure hunter for discounted boots – the perfect pair finally found at half-price, a mere $350.

My youngest sister is a diva in the Manhattan design world, and so she keeps abreast of it all, in knowledge and presentation. They (her and her not-so-handy hubby) are vegans, are mindful of the planet, even experimenting this year with seedlings to be transplanted into a plot in their community garden. It is an applaudable effort and attitude but has hopelessly little hope of success. I think of the constraints already chaining up all their waking hours – the social life, the family obligations, not to mention the extracurricular career commitments and daily commutes. No wonder they watch ridiculous reality shows, what brain or body power could possibly be left for anything else after all that pressure – to produce, to perform, to consume?

Nothing haunts me more than hypocrisy, especially my own, so thankfully I’ve long ago realized I’ve got to be pretty far outside the mainstream to resist the pull of getting repeatedly sucked into it. While ecology might be trendy, its trendiness is antithetical to the movement itself, because consumption cannot be at the core of a sustainable society. New products for vegans and diabetics and celiac sufferers and vitamin water and aroma therapy and elliptical machines – the message is very clear, get healthy, get green, but don’t stop shopping! I know urban homesteading is getting a huge following fast, but wow, I have to really admire those folks, because there is so very much working against them in the city.

Now I’m back to square one on my conservation question: How to create a sustainable society when there is no hope at all we will ever choose time over money in this country. Consumption is as deeply engrained in us as corn. (Hehe, sorry, pun intended.) For some strange reason I heard the same phrase repeated several times last week in the city: Lead, follow, or get out of the way.

I’m home again at last, far out of the way. Thank heavens one long walk in the woods is as easy and reliable as tapping the refresh key.

The most obvious approach there is to the conservation issue I posed last week is: Start valuing time over money. To me, the value of time over money is a no-brainer. I wish I could say I thought it up all on my own, but I never think anything up all on my own. Because I have an abundance of time, I read abundantly. I’ve also traveled a bit, but you don’t have to travel far to see that generally speaking Americans seem less happy than they should considering our relative prosperity.

To satisfy our natural drive for abundance, we have become addicted to consumption in this country, and it’s killing our bodies and our environment. People who love their work or lead more complete lives don’t seem to have the same need to fill the voids in their lives with food and things. When you value time over money, the way you fill your time changes dramatically for the better.

When I made a conscious decision to stop working so hard at work I didn’t value, something incredible, but expected, happened – "treating myself," which invariably came in the form of buying something, felt completely unnecessary. Suddenly I realized it is the time itself that is the treat. I don’t need to consciously and painstakingly “conserve,” because with the surplus time I no longer need the quick shopping fix or fancy night out to feel rewarded. To quote again from MOTHER EARTH NEWS and GRIT Publisher Bryan Welch's article about creating a sustainable society I mentioned last time, “If we are to lead creative, innovative and beautiful lives, we need some surplus time and energy.” Most Americans are just too damn tired to lead such lives!

Americans typically don’t like their work, but more than any other culture I’ve seen, we define ourselves through our work. “What do you do?” is among the first questions asked in a conversation among Americans. I’ve spent long and pleasant evenings with new acquaintances in other countries where that question is never asked, by anyone, unless there’s another American there. Why? We are our work. Being over-worked is a badge of achievement in this country. Why are we so willing to “trade our hours for a handful of dimes” sang Jim Morrison like 40 years ago, but we are still doing it today, and no better off for it.

Maybe it’s not the same for everyone, but an entire afternoon with no obligations at all makes me feel like an aristocrat. I know it requires a different look at what defines luxury, one that marketers avoid for the simple reason that it doesn’t sell anything. Money to burn might feel equally good, I wouldn’t know, but I’m very certain the path to making that money is totally over-rated.

The very premise behind the conservation movement is grossly flawed. Society has been trying to force restraint and discipline over our lives since abundance first arrived on our horizon, but as a whole, we’re very resistant to that sort of manipulation. We wouldn’t have to push such restrictions on ourselves through religions or laws or social mores if we were already predestined toward moderation. We tend to very easily forget that conservation today most likely equals surpluses tomorrow.

So why on earth would the conservation movement make its platform, well, conservation? It was doomed from the beginning. We no longer think of the word conservation as synonymous with protection and preservation, we view it closer to quotas, controls, restrictions. The conservation movement may not have caused such connotations, but it sure ain’t helping. Rationing means war, at least it once did, and now not even for war and recession have we been proven that willing to conserve.

We are a species who has survived and thrived because we are drawn to abundance, not preprogrammed to conserve. During periods of lean times we have been forced to learn the hard way, repeatedly, but it never really sticks. The next year, or decade, or generation, we have completely forgotten about that hardship again, and we are once again absorbed in our visions of abundance.

In society we honor and reward the man who earns so much he can’t possibly ever spend it all over the man who may work equally hard but at a fraction of the wages, even if we know the rich man to be lacking in character. Why is that? We always reward abundance – abundance in beauty, skill, achievement, talent, even formerly in obesity, back when that was a sign of material abundance. Now that obesity is usually a sign of malnutrition, we don’t value it anymore. In this country an abundance of garbage doesn’t bother us at all, because it’s still an abundance. So until there is a lack of space that makes the abundance of garbage excessively unpleasant, we are very unlikely to do anything about it.

When reality has stepped in and shown us a real truth about human nature – an unpleasant sort of truth along the lines of prostitutes, abortions, and drugs will always exist, until the end of time, no matter what we do to try to change that – you sometimes wish folks would start working with human nature instead of against it. So here is another unpleasant truth: We will never embrace conservation as a concept, because it’s just not attractive. As Bryan Welch writes in his recent article for MOTHER EARTH NEWS, Creating a Sustainable Society: Four Questions We Should Ask, “Austerity is a drag. Most people know that - and resist it.”

There is a very simple formula to change all this. I’ll bet you can guess it. Try right now in the comments section and I’ll tell ya if you’re right next week!

When it comes to food and sex, we’ve allowed science to trump common sense. We’ve let this happen even while we know science has been at times savior, at other times profiteering fear-monger – think the birth control pill versus artificial aphrodisiacs, or any of the numerous “facts about nutrition” that change every year – from low-fat to good fat, or oat bran to Omega-3s, not to mention trans-fats and genetically modified crops.

Science is modern, America loves modern, and therefore science has ruled hands down. The rigors of science require extreme discipline, and we have long been proud of our abilities in that department. Discipline over pleasure is our long-standing mantra. Sacrificing pleasure is one of the foundations of American society – Puritan ideals, Protestant work ethic, Seventh-Day Adventists, Mormons, Prohibition – like everything else, we took even Christianity to extremes. Our influential American ancestors applied those principles and then used science to go even further – Kellogg, Rockefeller, Roosevelt bought into the superiority of science hook, line and sinker, especially when it came to such animalistic indulgences as food and sex. They went so far as to say meat caused masturbation, therefore we must eliminate meat. “The decline of a nation commences when gourmandizing begins,” according to Kellogg.

I consider myself a loyal gourmand, even here on the homestead. As I have said before, sacrifice has never been my forté. I am, you might say, très français, in all my appetites. People look at this lifestyle as some great sacrifice we’re making, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Going back to basics means more pleasure, not less. Time to garden, cook, read, entertain, be creative. No high-traffic commute, no 60-hour work week, no noise or air pollution. And we all know that less stress means more sex and better health for all species. Even on its worst days this lifestyle is definitely less stressful.

Of course, the tides of science are beginning to turn. Science is finally beginning to prove what many of us have known all along from good old-fashioned common sense: The Western diet and the Western lifestyle are directly linked to the Western diseases. Now the famed Dr. Oz claims an orgasm a day keeps the doctor away.

For all of its triumphs, science is often wrong. It believed it was doing the world a favor in creating the pesticides and herbicides required for monoculture farming practices, or pharmaceuticals that cause more side-effects than ailments they cure, or the hydrogen bomb.

The stern rigors of science or the passionate chaos of nature – when it comes to food and sex, I’ll second-guess science over Mother every time.