Organically grown or local - what would you choose?

I've been an organic gardener since I planted my first tomatoes almost 40 years ago, and I am something of an evangelist when it comes to the virtues of compost and the dangers of fertilizers and pesticides.

Nevertheless, when I'm in the grocery store, I more often than not pass by the organic produce and opt for what I was raised on: foods grown conventionally. With the growth of farmer's markets over the past decade, however, I've been paying more attention to the place of origin, and try to buy locally grown produce whenever possible.

Last week as I wandered around the Farmer's Market researching a piece for the Larchmont Patch on where to buy the best fruits and vegetables, I realized most of  the produce on display was not organic. The dilemma crystallized in my mind, and I realized it was time to give a little more time to the choices I make.

My children buy only organic vegetables, mostly locally grown (it is, of course, a lot easier in Oregon and California) and I applaud them for it. After all, my grandchildren -- four under the age of eight -- have a long way to go, so healthy habits are important.

But my formative years were more than a half-century ago, so part of the reasoning for not always buying organic is my age. If pesticides haven't hurt me yet, I rationalize to myself, surely I'll be okay for the time remaining.

Growing all my own food really isn't an option. Besides the limitations of the Larchmont climate, my garden is post-stamp size. Decisions, decisions. 

What do you do?

Square Foot Gardening

Today’s so cold and rainy it’s hard to believe that earlier this week I was working in the garden, turning the compost pile and “harvesting” enough pails of good rich compost to give the vegetable plot a good start on the early crops.

But the work that I did pales in comparison with that of Monica Flaherty, who I interviewed for the Larchmont Gazette. She’s inspired me to take up the square foot gardening method. So I’ve ordered the book and am getting ready to curl up with it this long rainy weekend.

The Three R's

In case you’ve not been paying attention, the Three R’s no longer refers to reading, writing and ‘rithmetic. Rather, they’re shorthand for the Three R’s of the environment: Reduce, Reuse and Recycle.

Recycling is now mainstream. Drive the streets of Larchmont before 7 a.m. on Wednesday and virtually every home has the familiar green container for glass, metal and plastic recyclables, and, in homes where newspapers are still a habit, stacks of them along with bags of waste paper.

Now it’s time to make other two – Reduce and Reuse part of everyone’s lexicon.

Tuesday’s New York Times has a front page article on the efforts to reduce the amount of material recycled not – heavens forbid – by adding it to the garbage, but by actually reducing the amount of garbage created. Sound complicated? It really isn’t.

Here’s some quick ways you can reduce the amount of total waste--recycled or put into the garbage—from your home.

A Fresh Start

This morning I see the tender plants that I worried would not survive a recent cold snap are thriving. The beets and lettuce are now more than an inch high; the cucumbers are pushing out new leaves; the hybrid tomato plants that I put in seem to be setting roots; and the peas and beans are close to 10 inches tall.

It is mornings like this that make me feel "all's right with the world." God's world, dormant all winter, is alive and once again giving us hope and a belief in renewal.

This Spring I appreciate it more than ever, however, as I, too, am about to begin a fresh start. Next week I leave the Union for Reform Judaism where, for almost 15 years, my vocation and my avocation were seamlessly entwined.

As best as I can tell, it was Alexander Graham Bell who said, "When one door closes, another opens." The quote continues, "but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us."

I'm thankful that is not the case for me. The open door before me is filled with possibilities, and I'm rushing toward it with optimism and hope.

For the past year I've been an occasional poster on the Reform website as "Gardening Grandma." Now I have the chance to spend more time in the garden and less in front of a computer screen.

On Thursday, May 28, I'll close the door at the Union behind me, but on Monday, June 1, I'll walk through the open door at the Sheldrake Environmental Center when I start a class in Master Composting. As part of the course, I'll not only improve my own garden, but I'll be trained to teach others about composting and recycling.

I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

Contemplating Mortality

I suspect I'm not alone in finding myself looking my own mortality more squarely in the face because of Tim Russert's untimely death. As the outpouring of emotion and tributes attest, he died doing something he absolutely loved. He clearly relished his work, making each moment he was on air count, but he also made sure there were plenty of moments for his private life.

How often have you heard someone say, "That's the way I want to go," when they hear about someone who was here one moment, and then, suddenly, is not in the world any more?

But is it really true that we want to be at our desks when the time comes? When all is said and done, do I want to be remembered for the work I do?

Don't get me wrong. I love my job. Having the opportunity to feel I am, in some small way, ensuring the vitality of the Judaism I love and also making this world a slightly better place, gives me tremendous satisfaction. It's what makes me tick and keeps me going.

But then I stop and think: have I been able to achieve the balance that Tim Russert so clearly did? And when I'm gone, what will those who remember me say about me?

We live on a corner, and the only place that had any regular sun when we moved in was the corner, outside our hedge. So for 19 summers I've worked at cultivating an English cottage garden, filled with perennials and dahlias. Last fall, however, we lost a third of a giant gum tree that shaded the lawn so now, for the first time in 20 years, I've been able to plant a vegetable garden.

Each morning, before I leave for the 8 a.m. train to Grand Central, I tend to my garden and pick the lettuce that we'll eat that evening. And the first thing I do after I change my clothes when I get home is check my garden. Are the peas in their pods ready to pick? Any tomato blossoms turning into small fruit? Do I need to thin the carrots? And look! Today I found four cucumbers forming.

Being out in my garden, the worries and frustrations of my day fade away. I can feel myself relaxing as my anger and stress evaporate. I remember other vegetable gardens I've had and a flood of memories return: trying every zucchini recipe I could find when our garden overflowed with the squash in Virginia; my daughter picking the corn we grew in Mississippi; canning the tomatoes from my garden in Colorado with a neighbor; my son climbing the fruit trees in our San Francisco garden and shaking out the loquats.

I think I'd rather be outside, cultivating my very small corner of this earth, watching the miracle of seeds turning into sprouts that grow into cucumbers, than just about anywhere else. If I'm going to go quickly, may it be here, and not in my office. My computer won't miss me. My garden will.