Localization

On the last weekend in January, a small crowd of onlookers gathers at the edge of Brookfield Pond in central Vermont for what is – these days – a most unusual spectacle. An odd contraption of wooden beams and iron hardware stands on a patch of ice surrounded by rusted old saws and oversized tongs. A local historian narrates as two men move to the center of the ice and begin sawing. After a few minutes they use a strange fork to pry loose a block more than a foot thick. An ingenious lever system easily lifts this 300-pound block of ice off the water and lands it safely on the surface, frozen before it hits the ground.

Welcome to the Brookfield Ice Harvest. It’s one of the last of its kind - an event that’s essentially a relic, carried out by small northern towns to celebrate history and liven up the long, frozen winter.

Until WWII, harvesting ice was a necessary part of life. Before refrigerators, this was the only way that families and general stores could keep food products cold in the warmer months. The mammoth blocks of ice were stored between layers of sawdust until they melted, at which point people were out of luck until the next winter.

My husband, daughter and I watched the spectacle last weekend until our toes numbed. As we headed back toward the car my husband shook his head. “Sure seems like a lot of work when you can just open up the fridge.”

That’s for sure. But there are also consequences to opening up the fridge – and a thousand other modern conveniences – that we don’t think about. We’re so used to having things exactly when, where and how we want them that we rarely give thought to whether we could do without, or perhaps even do better without. I’m not about to ditch my appliances and head for the river with a saw and pitchfork, but the ice harvest did get me thinking about how we could embrace more of that old time ethic in our home lives and our communities, and why we should.

My Yankee ancestors have been touting a phrase for generations: “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” I was excited to run across a new blog built on that concept, by blogger and writer Meg Hourihan. She’s challenged herself to buy nothing in 2012 except for what she’s used up or worn out. A great mantra and one that seems relatively easy to adopt until you’re faced with saying no to your niece’s request to buy girl scout cookies, or passing up that 90% off sale at your favorite store. But if we could all move in that direction, there’s no question our wallets, our closets, and especially the planet would be better for it.

If you’re intrigued but not quite ready to go whole hog, there are plenty of ways to start down this path. Closest Closet – one of last year’s CommunityMatters Strong Communities Competition applicants – is a unique project in Southern Maine that aims to help neighbors recycle and share, turning to each other rather than buying new. If you don’t happen to live in Southern Maine, check out the Freecycling Network – a similar concept, nationwide.

Communities often seem to do better than consumers at embracing this ethic, albeit by necessity. We’ve yet to hear about a town in the U.S. that isn’t facing budget shortfalls and cutbacks, and most places are pretty creative at making do and doing without when it comes to rec funds and school supplies. But the Minnesota non-profit Strong Towns has helped communities reexamine their decisions concerning land use and infrastructure improvements. Strong Towns’ “Curbside Chat” program and a companion booklet helps communities see why some “growth” and “progress” is actually setting us back.

Just as we want ice in July, we want bigger, smoother, nicer roads. We want new developments with views of the countryside. We want more growth, period. The problem is, the things that communities and consumers believe will make them stronger and wealthier often don’t.

I’m not a Luddite, and the message here isn’t that growth and conveniences are bad. But there are tradeoffs and there are alternatives – ones that people don’t often think about in today’s world. It is possible to harvest ice from a pond rather than pulling it out of the freezer. It’s possible to borrow that thingamajig from your neighbor’s garage rather than buying it online. It is possible to build our communities differently.

And it’s quite possible that using up, wearing out, and making do in some aspects of our lives and communities will prevent the very real possibility that we’ll have to do without in others.

You may remember the children’s story...

Two soldiers walk into town empty-handed and in desperate need of a good dinner. The stingy villagers won’t invite them in to dine, but when the soldiers start cooking up a batch of Stone Soup, the villagers get curious and toss in a carrot here, a potato there, just to see what happens. Yadda, yadda, yadda...

In no time at all, the whole village settles in to enjoy a feast—and a community—cooked up seemingly out of nothing.

A stop sign near a community health center in Ouje-Bougoumou in English, Cree syllabics and French: “Stop Stop Stop” (Photo by Dave Hoheschau)

Last year, my little family was relieved to finally settle down and buy a house in a small town in Vermont. I guess this was poor timing, since I just found out that Americans who settle down nowadays are ‘stuck’.

Being stuck means your prosperity is at risk—you can’t move for a new job or even the possibility of a job. Coined by urban theorist Richard Florida (“The Stuck and the Mobile”), he goes on to tell us that

“Many more people – if things continue as they are – will have to join the ranks of the mobile if they want to prosper or even survive....I’m saying it because it’s an economic fact.”

Sick of news tethered to corporate advertisers? Of mainstream cultural and music programing? Tired of listening only to your statewide NPR affiliate? Want to get the word out about events in your town? Maybe share your quirky taste in music and the arts? Or stir up debate and discussion?

Learn more about low-power FM radio (LPFM) and start your own local station.

In a rare move that wrested some control from high-power corporate communications interests, the US Congress last December voted to open more bandwidth to low-power FM stations, and President Obama signed the Local Community Radio Act into law in January.

LPFM frequencies sometimes reach only a few miles out, but non-commercial, locally owned stations can pack a punch, opening the airwaves to citizens in rural towns and urban neighborhoods—anyone who has a voice and a message has a seat behind the mic.

Photo: Lauren Bierman
When Peter Day of The Grift sang the opening lines of The Grateful Dead’s “Shakedown Street,” kicking off a heart-pumping rendition of the song by an all-star cast of local musicians at a concert to benefit Pete’s Greens at Higher Ground, it was as though all the key reasons why I love Vermont—spirited community, lively arts scene, delicious local food, good friends—were colliding into a single, adrenaline-packed moment.

“You tell me this town ain't got no heart,” Peter sang, with Clint Bierman and Page McConnell on harmonies. “Well, well, well, you can never tell.”

If you’ve ever doubted the heart of community, this story will give you hope: Before dawn on January 12, Pete Johnson’s barn—housing all his harvested crops, tons of chicken, beef and pork, coolers, freezers and processing equipment—burned to the ground. A total loss. But countless Vermont citizens, driven by their belief in Pete’s mission as well as their reliance on this critical, local resource, have since proven that a community can and will come together to turn tragedy into a force of grassroots mobilization to be reckoned with.

Photo: Jim Ames under the Tuscan sun, July 2001.

Ten years ago, my family took our father to Italy for a Trip of a Lifetime. Dad was not Italian, but he loved Puccini, pasta and the very idea of Italy, so we tried to give him something of that experience. We stayed in an old villa outside Florence, visited Tuscan hill towns and did our best to behave like locals. Between day trips, much of our time was consumed by shopping, cooking, drinking wine and...eating.

It has never surprised me that Italy is such a wonderful place for food. After a few thousand years of doing something, chances are you will get good at it. And with all the right ingredients at their disposal—sun, soil, highly cultivated palates—the Italians certainly excel at food. In my travels to Italy, I’ve had few disappointing meals dining out, and food served nella casa has always been memorable.

At Community Matters’10 in Denver last month, I had the privilege of moderating a breakout session about moving “from values to actions”—how communities can tap into their shared values to generate change that makes a lasting, positive difference for their future.

If the full room and scrawling pens were any indication, this fairly conceptual topic struck a deep chord with a lot of people. And the success stories shared—about values-based planning from Montana’s Bitterroot Valley to Golden, Colorado to Damariscotta, Maine—did not disappoint.

A lot of meaningful change begins by asking the simple question, “What matters most?” The answers to this question will uncover a community’s most deeply held beliefs and ideals about itself. When you think about it, a community’s values are really a direct expression of its heart and soul. They may reflect a community’s unique or treasured assets, its key historic or natural features, special buildings or important places, specific social or cultural characteristics, local folkways, myths and much more. They may be intangible or concrete—or both things at once.

John and Susan lived in their neighborhood for a few years. They liked their home. But they didn’t know their neighbors. There was the guy across the street who drove a blue Subaru (polite nods and waves) and the lady next door with Max, the black Lab (she called herself “Max’s Mommy”). John and Susan both worked full time and had long commutes. They spent most of their non-work time ferrying their two kids around to school, sports, lessons, camps, play dates. Evenings were reserved for screen time...TV, homework, keeping up with old friends, texting, etc.

When local election time rolled around, they rarely voted. They typically weren’t aware of the date, let alone the issues or candidates on the ballots. Susan and John both had volunteered at a homeless shelter when they lived in a different city, but now when the local food shelf was looking for new board members, they didn’t know about it. Truth be told, it was easier to become a fan of a relevant Facebook page or sign a national e-petition sent by an old colleague.

Does this sound familiar? Americans move more often, live alone more, work more hours, solo car-commute more, and spend more time with electronic devices than ever before. And the toll is evident in our local communities and on the empty residential sidewalks of many of our towns. Where are the people? Where are the neighbors?