Instead of thinking of myself as an environmentalist, I like to think that I am living in a way that my grandparents would understand. They were immigrants from Czechoslovakia, and had a small farm in NJ, where my dad grew up. By the time I came along, they only kept chickens for eggs and meat, and a large garden, but they ate what they grew, and I recall many hot days under the magnolia shelling peas or snapping beans.
They lived a good life. It wasn’t flashy, they didn’t really travel (save one or two trips to the homeland), they worked hard, and saved their pennies, but they ate well, had a lively group of friends, and did a lot of things for themselves. In fact, I remember arriving at their home, the summer after my grandfather passed away, and finding my 87 year old grandmother covered in soot from tinkering with the furnace.
Even though I wouldn’t call myself an environmentalist, from the time I was a young girl, I’ve been aware of waste. In a story I often tell, my mom and I were driving my (other) grandmother home one evening. As we cruised up the NJ Turnpike, the skyline dotted with the bright lights of New York City came into view. “Oh, Elizabeth, isn’t it byooty-full?”, my grandmother exclaimed. I don’t know exactly how old I was at the time — seven? nine? — but I said matter-of-factly, “I think it’s a waste of electricity”. Honestly, I never looked at a light studded skyline as a thing of beauty, although I see how some people could. To me, all those buildings lit up with no one there was sad. What a waste.
I don’t really make decisions in life based on the environmental ramifications. Mostly, I conserve because it saves me money (and well, I think it’s the right thing to do). Driving less means less money on gas, and less wear and tear on my car. The first car I ever bought was a used Volkswagon Fox, partly because of the great mileage (35 mpg). I had just graduated from college, which I spent driving around in a whale of a ‘77 Buick. That thing sucked down gas (and oil) like it was in limitless supply. Which at the time, we acted as though it was.
These days I drive a ten year old Honda that gets better mileage than most of the new cars out there. Doesn’t that seem so wrong? Sure, there are hybrids, but what about basic cars that don’t have power windows and cruise control and heated seats, all of which add to the weight of a vehicle, and increase gas consumption. Have we as a nation become so soft that we can no longer handle rolling up a window manually? Or am I just in a minority that doesn’t see luxury as a necessity?
I have a garden for many reasons, saving money being one that ranks pretty high. I also enjoy the work, the meditation of working down a row, weeding on my hands and knees. I like knowing that for the most part we don’t buy vegetables (save an occasional avocado or super-early tomato). I like knowing that the food I eat is free of chemicals. I like knowing that, much as my grandparents did, I can provide for myself. There’s nothing revolutionary about this idea, people have been growing their own food and eating seasonal, local diets for ages.
When I first started blogging about the Eat Local Challenge in July 2005, I posted a lot about how far our food travels (an average of 1500 miles), and “how much oil is in our breakfast” as reasons to eat a more local-based diet. I still believe in those things, as I believe we need to conserve our resources (call me a conservationist instead of an environmentalist, please), and regional solutions make a lot of sense.
But eating locally has become this thing I’ve done for the past five years, not only because of the obscene use of oil used in food production, and not only because of the diversity of varieties, and not only because of the seasonal abundance, but because local food tastes better and best of all, I can provide it for myself.
And nothing beats providing for my own life. Just like my grandparents did.
Twelve years ago, when we started living (and cooking) together in western Massachusetts, James and I went to the grocery store nearly every day. We’d get home from busy days at work or school, play the “what do you want for dinner?” game, and head a mile down the road to grab whatever appealed to us at the Big Y. We didn’t really think about a food budget (even though he was a starving grad student), we just gravitated toward what was cheap and looked good.
I had never made (or grown) paprika before, but two years ago, while thumbing through the 
After they’re fully dry (crisp, not leathery), I store them in a glass jar until needed, and do the grinding in a small 
