You have /5 articles left.
Sign up for a free account or log in.
I went on a week's vacation earlier this summer. Went towards the water, and saw a surprising number of wind turbines along the way. Picked a location which, while not too far away, offers an environment significantly different from Backboro. (My grandmother always used to say that a change was as good as a rest. Actually, the combination of the two beats either one alone.)
Anyways, the vacation spot reminded me of every other island I've been on -- the local culture is informed by the fact that things and people travel by boat. Folks who live there tend to own fewer things, but better things (in the sense of built to last a long time). Stuff rarely gets replaced on a whim. Even the food available seems more interested in maximizing flavor (and perhaps nutrition) per calorie than in maximizing calories per dollar, or sugar/sodium/trans fat per dollar, or whatever. In a situation where transportation is inconvenient if not downright expensive, the concepts of disposability as a virtue and bigger being better just don't seem to apply.
What gelled these impressions in my mind was a juxtaposition of stories on NPR this morning -- none of them about islands, or even vacations.
First was a quote in a story about a young South African poet. "In many ways we use materialism to fill the void in our hearts." Dead on.
Then there was an interview with the author of a book titled "Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture". I'm starting to notice a theme, here.
And finally, there's a story about farm stands and tomatoes in Alabama. About how real tomatoes are deep red, and sweet, and juicy, and bear little resemblance to the supermarket styrofoam (sorry, "expanded polystyrene") spheres marketed under the same name.
All of which jibe pretty well with my (albeit nebulous) view of the sort of behavioral changes lots of Americans will need to make to achieve sustainable lifestyles. Not less happy, but happy with less. And the less will be better. (And tastier.)
