We’ve had so much rain here in Ohio that I’m beginning to think my priorities should be to build an ark rather than an urban homestead. Complaints have been many from those unable to transplant seedlings. Backyard greenhouses and small
We’ve had so much rain here in Ohio that I’m beginning to think my priorities should be to build an ark rather than an urban homestead.
Complaints have been many from those unable to transplant seedlings.
Backyard greenhouses and small areas around windows and patio doors are becoming crowded.
Meanwhile, backyards are nothing but puddles.
I’ve managed in the last two weeks to mow the front yard once. The back is nothing but a blanket of mud beneath overgrown grass.
In fact, the weather has been pretty much the topic for me in terms of gardening so far this spring. There were no seedlings started in February in an indoor greenhouse, or things sprouting in recycled two-liters or egg cartons by the patio door. Every method under the sun of using what is on hand has been moot since moving in with my mother nearly a year ago. Kind of goes with the territory of divorce.
The highlight so far of my urban homesteading endeavors has been learning the ins and outs of the recycling world.
As a reporter in the city of Piqua, I’ve had a first-hand look at just how much money is put into curbside recycling and what I’ve discovered is that doing the right thing can be expensive.
The city collects about a thousand tons of recyclables a year for a population of roughly 20,700-plus, with a six-figure tab from Rumpke, a privately owned waste and recycling company, for the service.
To throw the same items in a landfill? A mere $56 a ton.
Doesn’t seem right, does it? Worse yet, the very topic of recycling has a tendency to make eyes glaze over and minds drift.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve done the same on one too many occasions.
The thing is, recycling is a boring subject; there’s not a lot of window-dressing to be had nor any way to romanticize it or make it sexy or exciting. So while covering a recent Piqua commission meeting for the Piqua Daily Call, I had to force myself to stay awake.
There’s just something about recycling that comes across as anything but interesting, and I don’t really understand why.
At least, that is, until the costs came into the conversation.
Or hearing city officials profess that they could have saved money by taking the easy route, but had made the conscious decision to take the high road.
No one could fall asleep on that sort of news or respected mentality.
While doing the right thing may sound boring, when you bring money into the picture everything changes.
Piqua city officials have made a conscious choice to do the right thing, at a staggering cost, over a subject that puts most people to sleep.
So why do we bother?
One has to look at the definition of urban homesteading to get the bigger picture, and trying to get an exact definition has proven to be a bit of a challenge. Since I’m literally attached at the hip to the Internet, it only made sense to do a search online.
Just between you and me, I don’t think I even own a dictionary anymore. If I do, something tells me it’s not only dusty, but also moldy and buried in a box somewhere in my mother’s garage.
Defining an urban homestead, urban homesteader or urban homesteading was no easy task as I tried dictionary.com first with no results.
A generalized Google search gave me a Wikipedia result, but I’m a bit of a grumpy ol’ cuss when it comes to Wiki information. I take any URL with “wiki” in it with a grain of salt. I picture myself in my elder years making a lot of snarky comments about Wikipedia having led me down too-numerous-to-count wrong directions.
It may have something to do with being a former librarian, but I digress.
Believe it or not, Wikipedia had the best definition, much to my future old-timer, former book stamping self’s annoyance.
Urban homesteading can refer to two different things: a form of squatting, or the activity of urban gardening, with the purpose of reducing one’s impact on the environment.
A wanna-be urban homesteader could not ask for a better definition, even if one has to do so rather begrudgingly. Nowhere in the definition does it state the need for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of farmable land. Neither a wealth of knowledge or experience, it’s all about reducing one’s impact on the environment.
And what is the typical recycling mantra?
Reduce
Reuse
Recycle
As an urban homesteader or wanna-be, those three-Rs are the motto, the business statement, the Bible. For what other purpose does one homestead but to give the environment a break?
Yet, there I was in a community meeting, trying not to yawn over contract extensions with a recycling company. Watching the clock as officials discussed potential alternatives, because recycling has such a bad, boring rap.
At least until dollars came into the picture and the realization that a whole lot more people care than we realize and that even an exorbitant bill will not deter most from doing what is right.
It’s such occasions that wake me up to see the handwriting on the wall as to how important recycling is and how many people are truly passionate about the process.
If I want to be an urban homesteader I have to remember that there’s an honor code of sorts behind the process.
Reduce
Reuse
Recycle
No matter the costs.
• Bethany J. Royer is a reporter for the Piqua Daily Call and wanna-be urban homesteader. She blogs prolifically at motherofthemunchkins.blogspot.com and can be reached at themotherofthemunchkins@yahoo.com.
