Nothing is as Powerful

 

Only those who risk going too far truly find how far they can go – T.S. Eliot

We must be doing something right - earlier this week nature graced the Roanoke Valley with four glorious days of balmy weather, with temperatures in the low seventies, above normal for this late in October, a meteorological phenomenon known as an Indian summer condition. An Indian summer can also refer, metaphorically, to a late blooming of something, often unexpectedly, or after it has lost relevance. In this latter use we should perhaps be referring to our American Autumn as the American Indian Summer, in the sense that the Occupy [everywhere] movement seems to have picked up where we left off 40 years ago. In a renewal of purpose, there is an urgent, articulated call to action with the gravity of destiny. As is oft quoted, there is nothing as powerful as an idea whose time has come. And come, it has. It's as if, after the withdrawal of troops from Vietnam, the counterculture went into hibernation and its ringleader, Rip Van Winkle, just got rudely awakened. Tea Party members, beware - you may want to keep your distance until after he's had his morning constitutional.

Last night, under a waxing crescent moon, there was a reversal of fortune. Temperatures dropped 30 degrees. It was a frigid hand attempting to flick a Bic to light the burner to boil the water to heat the oats to feed the mouths to warm the bellies of Julia's crew. By invitation, we were parked adjacent to what was once a golf driving range, now home to Cross Fit, a military-regimen informed, indoor/outdoor facility, and nothing like what most of us have learned to expect in a gymnasium. Our hosts were its proprietors, Tim Falke and Andy Beetle. We met Andy, an itinerant philosophy professor and internet marketing entrepreneur, at the Roanoke Outdoor Circus, where Cross Fit also had a presence. One could not help but notice the minimalist equipment: a huge, over-sized tire and two thick ropes hooked to the back of a pickup truck. He liked what the Sustainable Living Roadshow was all about. Coming at sustainability from different tributaries, we are both flowing in the same direction toward the Sea of Change. Andy walked away from a multi-million dollar enterprise to help fund Cross Fit. Tim is an recently-retired member of the United States Armed Services, a former Special Forces Navy SEAL, with nine deployments to the Iraqi and Afghani war zones under his belt. His story is an object lesson of what happens when military meets intelligence, in this case not an oxymoron. When Tim returns to the same town seven years after first befriending an eight year Iraqi boy only to be fired upon by the now, rifle-toting fifteen year old, it dawns on him that nothing whatsoever is any different, not one iota. However, he has... and it gets him wondering - just what the hell are we doing there? The straw that breaks the camel's back comes when he is unwittingly privy to a high-level conference call that reveals to him the true nature of American involvement in the region. His heart no longer in it, he pulls the plug and retires.

This morning, a massive bulldozer is off-loaded a semi-trailer and begins to grade an area the size of...well, the size of a rugby field. Tim, you see, was (and apparently still is) an avid player, something totally in character for a man who is now on a far different mission from that which Uncle Sam had in mind when he signed up 13 years ago. Cross Fit has plans to start raising chickens, cultivating an organic garden, ultimately teaching men, women and children how to live a sustainable existence and learn self-reliance, if not self-resilience.

We are now barreling down Interstate 77, about 60 miles east of Asheville, North Carolina, where we will spend the next week and three days. After a brief consensus process, we have decided that out time will best be served by digging in for an extended stay with Occupy Asheville. Across this roiling nation of ours, sands are shifting in all directions and the time is coming to draw lines. In some towns and cities, the law is cracking down on the tented encampments, in others the local authorities are supporting the 99%. Which side are you on?

A person who stands for nothing will fall for anything.

Another Day Older

You load sixteen tons, what do you get,

Another day older and deeper in debt.

Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go,

I owe my soul to the company store.

Sixteen Tons, Merle Travis (1947 recording)

Over the river-crossing trestle adjacent River's Edge Sports Complex, the site of last weekend's Outdoor Circus, Roanoke's first ever, three-day celebration of alfresco pursuits, i.e., hiking, camping, cycling, paddle boarding, kayaking, fly fishing and rock climbing - hopper cars mounded high with West Virginia coal make their way north by rail, payloads destined for a slow boat to China.

Here we are presented with a textbook case of pretzel logic, a conundrum of global proportion: this dirty-burning, carbon-emitting, fossil-fuel commodity that endangers domestic lives in subterranean mines, rapes and lays bare mountaintops - fouling ground water and endangering the health of rural communities - is increasingly earmarked for foreign markets (Exports skyrocketed between 2009 and 2010, from 387,000 to 4 million tons). And adding insult to injury, Shanghai's polluted industrial exhalations are about as respectful of boundaries as the once-common secondhand smoke in airline cabins (Non-smoking sections on passenger jets? Talk about your ludicrous concepts). And I hate to get all up-in-your-face NIMBY on ya, Shanghai, but we're just across the aisle from you on Spaceship Earth, and your belching factories' carbon emissions are heating up my backyard.

Familiar with The Tragedy of the Commons? No? Well, maybe this is as good a time as any. In an 1968 article in Science, Garrett Hardin put forth a theory describing “the dilemma arising from the situation in which multiple individuals acting independently and rationally consulting their own self-interest, deplete a shared limited resource, even when it is clear that it is not in anyone's long-term interest for this to happen” (from Wikipedia). For our purposes above, the shared limited resources are clean air and a habitable atmosphere for planetary creatures, human or otherwise.

In his book, Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed, Jared Diamond provides several examples of Tragedy of the Commons, including the following:

Many centuries ago, immigrants came to a fertile land blessed with apparently inexhaustible resources. While the land lacked a few raw materials useful for industry, those materials were readily obtained by overseas trade with poorer lands that happened to have deposits of them. For a time, all the lands prospered, and their populations multiplied.

But the population of that rich land eventually multiplied beyond the numbers that even its abundant resources could support. As its forests were felled and its soils eroded, its agricultural productivity was no longer sufficient to generate export surpluses, build ships, or even to nourish its own population. With that decline of trade, shortages of the imported raw materials developed. Civil war spread, as established political institutions were overthrown by a kaleidoscopically changing succession of local military leaders. The starving populace of the rich land survived by turning to cannibalism. Their former overseas trade partners met an even worse fate: deprived of the imports on which they had depended, they in turn ravaged their own environment until no one was left alive.

Pretty dismal, huh? I suppose I could have projected a G-rated preview of coming attractions, but what would be the point. We are like the proverbial frog in a pot, unaware of the gradually rising water temperature ... until it's too late. Unless current trends are brought into high relief, most people will fail to notice the emerging patterns; unless drastic measures are undertaken, we will reach peak everything without a leg to stand on. The clock is ticking, reminding us time is a limited resource, too. It is up to each of us decide how we want to spend it.

For my part, I've jumped off the road, as we say, for a three-day visit with two dear friends in Floyd, Virginia, while the rest of my fellow SLRians pitch in at Acorn, an egalitarian intentional community in Mineral, about four hours NNE. On Thursday I will rendezvous with Julia back in Roanoke, as a group of us travel to Occupy sites in the Southern region to learn about and perhaps teach what we've heretofore learned about sustainable practices and political action. Meanwhile a crew aboard Priscilla will make its way to the 6th annual Mountain Justice Fall Summit in the Coal River Valley of Southern West Virginia, hosted by Coal River Mountain Watch and RAMPS (Radical Action for Mountain Peoples' Survival), a direct action campaign to end strip mining.

Saving the planet, it turns out, is a full time job.

A Single Step

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Lao-tzu, Chinese philosopher (604 BC – 531 BC)

The Right2Know March foot soldiers who set out Saturday, October 1, from the Flatbush Food Coop in Brooklyn, New York, arrived at the White House Sunday, October 16, at 12:51 PM, though not before intersecting with the Occupy DC protesters at K and 15^th Streets, in an acknowledgment of political solidarity and philosophical harmony. The seemingly disparate issues currently addressed by political activists, environmentalists and sustainability advocates are anything but isolated. They are connected like the rhizomes which lay beneath golf course turf, trampled by the power elite as they conspire to keep 99 percent of the population financially-subservient. The proliferation of civil disobedience and direct actions throughout the United States – coined the American Autumn – is but the tip of the iceberg. The ship of global corporatocracy has taken a hit to its hull – and like on the RMS Titanic, rearranging the deck chairs isn't going to change the outcome. It's no longer a question of if, but when.

My concerns a few days back that wearing out shoe leather in this mobilization might go unnoticed proved to be unwarranted. National Public Radio weighed in yesterday on its food blog, the salt, mentioning our arrival and rally at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, reporting that the movement calling for mandatory labeling of genetically-engineered food is “heating up”. The plight and future of global agriculture is a keystone issue, the first domino, which if toppled has the power to run the table and reset the status quo of planetary sustenance, rescuing it from the sway of chemistry and gene-tampering toward the ways of biology, as nature intended.

This morning we awoke in a parking lot in Fairfax, Virginia, at George Mason University, an innovative, entrepreneurial institution with global distinction in a range of fields including climate change. It should also be mentioned there is a strong ROTC presence on campus. Rolling in last night to a first-things-first supper of Potato-Leek Soup, bubbling in its bungee'd cauldron en route from Takoma, a neighborhood in northern Washington DC, where we had landed the eve of our descent into DC. Usurped from the throne during the reign of Everybody's Kitchen, I am again responsible for the care and feeding of our newly-reconstituted roster of solutionaries, which has been and will be in flux for the remainder of the tour.

The first one up, I boiled water, quietly French-pressed coffee, checked my e-mail on an about-to-power-down laptop outside Priscilla on a curb, a ubiquitous furnishing on the road. After getting a download from Tom on how the day ahead would unfold (totally different than we had anticipated), I ambled over to the adjacent Mason Inn, Conference Center and Hotel. Against a group of smartly-attired guest congregating in the lobby wing, I felt conspicuous with my sleepy-headed hairdo, black GMO protest T-shirt, khaki shorts and red-yellow-and-blue, Off the Wall Vans, sans socks. Nevertheless I sought out and found a comfortable easy chair and ottoman, plopped down and plugged in my MacBook (God bless you, Steven Jobs! May you rest in PCeace).

After a decade as a hotel banquet employee, I have an uncomfortable familiarity with the brittle formality of the hospitality industry, the uniformed attendants standing erect, at the beck and call of the breakfasting, conference attendees. The dissonance only served (ha!) to italicize, underline and make bold my resolve of never returning to the corporate food and beverage industry. I shared this train of thought with our host at Calvert Farm not two weeks ago. As you'll recall, Pam Steegall did a 180 herself, leaving the nine-to-five corporate game and buying a farm. As it had for her, I have reached the point of no return. I know, I know, never say never, right?  My friend... I am sixty-fucking-one years old. My nights and days of suiting up, showing up, kissing butt, selling a part of my soul to the devil are done. Finito. Henceforth I will be lowering my carbon footprint, downsizing my living space(s), and working for social change and environmental justice. Once the CF light bulb is lit...there's no going back.

At the wrap party Sunday night, among the now familiar faces - a group of kindred spirits whom I have had the pleasure of marching alongside of, dining with, learning from - was Joseph Wilhelm, the president of Rapunzel, the German natural foods company. After buying him a beer, we got chummy and had a heart to heart. Turns out, even though I don't understand German, we speak the same language. Out of the blue, a gift I couldn't have imagined - he has invited me to come to Germany to be a guest chef for two weeks at the company commissary - an option I entirely intend to pursue and providing further evidence I am following the right path.

Early in my second year of sobriety, with my marital status in transition, life these days is about winding down and away from the way things were, while opening up to the way things can be.

To be or not to be, isn't that the question?

Heavy Metal

 

And the rocket's red glare,

The bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night,

That our flag was still there..

The Star-Spangled Banner, Frances Scott Key

The lyrics of our national anthem, sung before the first pitch of every MLB game, come from Defence of Fort McHenry, a poem written in 1814 by the then 35-year-old lawyer and amateur poet, after witnessing the bombardment of Fort McHenry by the British Royal Navy in Chesapeake Bay during in the War of 1812. One day, I hope soon, we won't need illumination from weaponry for living proof of our freedom or bravery.

It's raining again this morning at Mount Royal Station, where we have been stationed for a gig Thursday at MICA, the Maryland Institute College of Art. The SLR crew had planned to depart last evening and rendez-vous with the marchers, but the ranger and park police of our anticipated destination had other ideas. So we stayed put, which was fine with me. Everybody's Kitchen shuttled dinner back to us, consisting of a really yummy kale and potato soup, cole slaw and wonderful Boston Brown bread.

This area of Baltimore, Bolton Hill, has some serious street cred. In 1826, the Maryland Institute for the Promotion of Mechanical Arts was established to ready young men for the unfolding Industrial Revolution. A year later, the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was chartered as the first passenger train. With the most-inland harbor and an east to west rail, Baltimore was now poised and positioned to capitalize on the burgeoning Westward Expansion. As aficionados of Monopoly know, the B&O stop on the board is one of four railroads, the others being the Pennsylvania, the Reading and the Short Line. Speaking of which, passing Go and collecting $200 would come in handy just about now.

The B&O no longer stops at Mount Royal Station, however the Romanesque and Renaissance-styled, Maryland-granite and Indiana limestone-trimmed station, completed in 1896, is now home to MICA studios. The train barrels through every 20 to 30 minutes, night and day, and it must be the little boy in me that thrills at the sight, sound and undeniable power of a locomotive pulling the building blocks of industry into the future. Meanwhile inside the renovated station's studios future artists of America wield power of their own with welding torches. The juxtaposition of these two images is worthy of a Carl Sandburg poem, a Diego Rivera mural, and a Nine Inch Nails song. Combined.

As I am putting the finishing touches on this entry, Joseph Wilhelm comes into the Jessup, Maryland, Starbucks where I have commandeered the ADA accessible table (not to worry, I'll move, if needed). Wilhelm and the marchers have stopped at MOM's (Mom's Organic Market), a shining example of what a health food store in the age of sustainability consciousness ought to look like. Scott Nash, founder and owner, started the venture in his garage with $100. They only sell organic produce (none imported from China), eliminated plastic bags (long before anybody was even talking about it), and stopped carrying bottled water (even though doing so cut into their profit margin).

I offer to buy Wilhelm a cup of coffee. He won't hear of it. He excitedly relates some promising news - a German reporter interviewed him earlier today at length about the issue we are attempting to bring to the fore. The piece is slated to be broadcast in Germany and around the world. Whether it will reach an American audience is questionable. With only two days to go before Sunday's 12:30 PM rally at the White House, our limelight dimmed by Occupation America, we could use some prime time coverage.

Where are those pyrotechnics when you need 'em?

Drive a CSA in the USA

 

When that rooster crows at the break of dawn, 
Look out your window and I’ll be gone.
Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright, Bob Dylan

One day, about 18 years ago, Pam Steegall, tired of driving a desk, decided she’d had enough of corporate America. So, she and her husband, Paul Roberts, did what many dream about, but few attempt - they purchased a farm in the northernmost, eastern corner of Maryland in the town of Rising Sun, half a mile south of Pennsylvania and 11 miles due west of Delaware.

The R2K Grand Caravan pulled up to their 17+ acre homestead last Monday afternoon after two days holed up in a very sketch West Philly neighborhood. It was an incredibly generous display of hospitality to invite sixty wandering souls to spend the night, but then like Blanche Debois in A Streetcar Named Desire, we've always relied on the kindness of strangers.

Calvert Farm is one of a growing number of CSA's, short for Community-Supported Agriculture, an alternative food network, essentially a cooperative partnership between farmers and groups of consumers who fully fund the growing operation in return for a share of the harvest. Families and individuals receive one (sometimes two) boxes of assorted produce each week during the growing season. In the case of Pam and Paul's operation, the subscription runs for 20 weeks, with a 7 week fall extension and ends up costing $25 per box. The concept was brought to North America in 1984 by Jan VanderTuin, having solidly taken root in Germany, Switzerland and Japan in the 1960's, in response to concerns about food safety and the urbanization of agricultural land.

In the morning, after breakfast and seeing off the marchers, the entire SLR crew took off to find a reliable wifi hot spot and to take care of some vehicle maintenance. Everyone, that is, but me. I had my own agenda, not the least of which was some needed rest and relaxation - my sleep deficit approaching that of the national debt. During the duration of the R2K March, wake-up time has been 6:45 AM every each and every day and I have volunteered numerous times to be the morning alarm clock for the entire contingent. As one might suspect, this is not the best way to make friends. Beginning back at the Churchville Nature Center, though, I brought into play a concertina, playing a bagpipe-like modal melody. That's round one. In round two, I pick up the pace and bang a drum. After that, I duck.

Before taking a noon-time siesta, however, I got to observe the everyday workings of the farm. In order to create sufficient supply for the demand of their CSA collective, Pam and Paul draw cooperation and assistance from the Amish community, contracting with growers on satellite farms to plant specific crops and hiring workers to help with harvest-related activities. This morning several Amish folk - four teenage girls and two elder woman in tradition dress and bonnet - bagged, counted, weighed and filled boxes with sweet potatoes, winter squash, lettuce, peppers, cilantro and onions. After fulfillment is completed, the boxes are loaded into trucks and vans for delivery to pickup locations. 

Oh, and did I mention? Calvert Farm has been certified organic from day one. So, if anyone has any doubts as to whether sustainable farming methods can be utilized to feed the multitudes, you may safely put them to rest.

Zzzzzzzzz...

Day of Atonement

 

The holiest day in the Jewish calendar, Yom Kippur, falls on the 10th day of the month of Tishrei, following Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which occurs ten days earlier. This year the Day of Atonement fell on Friday, October 7, beginning at sundown. This Wednesday, at daybreak, I will wake up with 365 days of continuous sobriety behind me. Are these two events related? Most definitely. Yom Kippur is at its very core about reflecting on the transgressions of the past year as well as making amends with anyone who wronged you or whom you had wronged. It is about letting go of old grudges and asking for forgiveness, respectively. The 4^th Step in AA calls for a fearless and thorough inventory of your life, leading in the 8^th and 9^th Steps to making amends, or retribution, with persons whom you have wronged – except when to do so would harm those or others. In the 10^th Step, we are told to continue taking inventory and promptly admitting when we are wrong. In other words, clean house and keep it clean. In this way, one stays spiritual fit.

On the surface there seems to be complete concordance. The only hair splitting issue is that in Judaism when one is a victim, say, of embezzlement, you are expected to forgive that person (the embezzler) even though it seems like it ought to be the other way around. In AA it is proposed that nothing occurs in a vacuum - we always need look at our complicity in all social equations. We are neither innocent bystanders, nor inert entities.

It's certainly easier to blame others for our troubles than to take a long, hard look at ourselves. Such was the case with this writer.

On the 22^nd of September of last year, I was laid off from a good paying job. Whereas, on the surface, it would seem to had been bad news, it was really a blessing in disguise. Having begun as a dream job, over the passage of time my work environment became increasingly intolerable, even some days, a living hell. Relieved as I was, though, upon essentially being granted what I had wished for, it would have been easy enough for me to also also have harbored a vehement hatred toward my ex-boss, who in my opinion was a two-faced, insincere, snake-in-the-grass, conniving son of a bitch (a little bitter, are we?)

My employee folder will forever provide incontrovertible evidence of a downward-spiraling employee. A far different story, though, would've unfolded had the reality of my alcoholism been revealed to my superiors before things got to be so unmanageable. It would have explained things. Instead, the worst things got, the more I drank. The more I drank, the worst things got. A quagmire of my own making. I drank to deaden the the pain. I deadened the pain to forestall the inevitable, ultimate truth.

My great grand-sponsor, Jerry, upon hearing me share my workplace experience in a meeting. recommended I make amends to my ex-boss. That I should apologize for not having been the employee he was paying me to be. At first, this seemed so preposterous and counter-intuitive I dismissed it out of hand. Now, two days shy of receiving my one year medallion, I'm not so sure.

God works in mysterious ways, don't he?

The Great Mandala

What we hope you will learn from your visit:

Be thankful for what you have.

Show respect for all living things.

Learn to not waste anything.

Share what you have and help each other.

Lenape Village at the Churchville Nature Center, Lower Bucks County, PA

This hopeful takeaway for visitors to this authentic replication of a Native American village seems to me to comprise a fairly complete ethos for these modern times. The depiction of the Lenape tribe's lifestyle as practiced some 600 years ago epitomizes the true spirit of sustainability and is a useful reminder there is nothing new under the Sun. As if to underscore this, in the sky above, geese in classic V-formation flying down from the north are landing at nearby Springfield Lake, either to winter here or continue on to points south. Just as foot soldiers from the Right2Know March are headed to Philadelphia, the next way station on an itinerary taking them, us, me, to the White House.

The caravan has changed considerably from what it looked like in the beginning of August. Where once there was only Priscilla, Julia, and Roxy Boxy, now there is also the Compass Green mobile greenhouse, Dr. Bronner's hook-and-ladder fire truck - plus a flotilla of support vehicles keeping pace with the marchers, including the eye-catching little blue car with a huge genetically-engineered corn fish on its rooftop.

For the duration of the R2K March everyone is being fed three meals a day by Everybody's Kitchen (EK), a group of volunteers that tour around the country feeding people wherever and whenever a need arises, be it victims of natural disasters, the inner-city homeless or in the service of political actions. EK travels in a big yellow school bus converted into a commercial kitchen. Let me tell you, I thought it was way cool that Priscilla was outfitted with a serviceable kitchen. But, this? A school bus with all-the-stops- pulled-out, professional equipment? It's the bomb! UK is joined at the hip with Organic Valley, its logo-emblazoned, refrigerated box truck packed with fresh milk, butter, eggs, juice and produce. I've grown especially fond of topping off my morning joe with their hazelnut half 'n' half.

They, the EK crew, are every bit a part of this thing as we are a part of their mission. Having had some time off from KP duty, I get to don my chef's coat in a few hours to begin prepping for tonight's dinner. I will be preparing a Curried Coconut Vegetable Stew, Thai Red Rice with Quinoa, and a piquant Peach Chutney. And it just so happens it'll all be vegan. So, there!

My eyes well up with tears when I consider how truly fortunate I am. Apart, though not separate, from the SLR tour, this is a personal journey – in the bosom of an intentional community in motion - having taken my place on the Great Mandala. I've never felt more a part of the Web of Life. Though I know not where the road will take me after SLR arrives back in Oakland, CA...for the time being I am living in the moment.

And I can report back to you, the Here and Now is not just alive and well.  It is teaming with life. My life.

Walking the Walk

 

I just flew in from Chicago...and are my arms sore [cue rim shot!] So goes the old Borsch-Belt, Catskills-comedian, stand-up line. Yesterday, I walked from the Watchung Reservation to Highland Park...no small feat [pause while reader catches pun]. Okay, enough silliness - let's get down to the business at hand and the centerpiece of Sustainable Living Roadshow's Right2Know Tour, namely, the R2K March – a Mobilization for GMO Labeling. It kicked off last Saturday, October 1, at the Flatbush Food Coop in Brooklyn and after an official launch event at Grand Army Plaza in Prospect Park, the three dozen marchers crossed the Hudson into Jersey City en route to Washington, DC, where the march will conclude at the 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, a distance of 313 miles, or roughly 20 miles a day.

While SLR employs a healthy dose of humor in its edu-tainment, GMOs are no laughing matter. If you knew what I now know, you'd be appalled.

Get ready to be appalled.

80% of all processed food contain one or more genetically engineered organisms. Whether in corn, soy, sugar beets, cotton and alfalfa; or all too common ingredients – ascorbic acid, corn syrup, xanthan gum or maltodextrins – they're hard to avoid. Unless consumers are given the choice.The point exactly.

There are two major traits associated with GE (genetically-engineered) crops. The first involves altering the DNA of plants so they will survive an otherwise deadly dose of Roundup, a potent weed killer. Plants are then said to be Roundup ready. The second attribute, accomplished by splicing in a gene from bacillus thuringiensis, a soil bacteria, is a plant's ability to secrete the insect-killing Bt toxin from every cell.

During the course of the last few days, I've had the pleasure to speak with Joseph Wilhelm, one of many foreign nationals here in America to put their best foot forward in unity. He is the German-born, Co-Founder and President of Rapunzel, producer and distributor of organic, non-GMO, food products.

Starting in 2007, and again two years later, Wilhelm was instrumental in organizing and leading marches to draw attention to and gather petitions calling for a government mandate for mandatory labeling of GMOs. The first march took place in Germany, lasting 43 days, covering 850 miles. Over 150,000 signatures were collected on a petition which was delivered to the Agricultural Ministry. In the second, an appeal was made to the European Union (EU), the route of the march from Berlin to Brussels. The proof of their efficacy is in the pumpernickel pudding...in Deutschland, region after region have banned GMOs.And just over three weeks ago, the EU banned from general sale honey contaminated with GMOs. The EU, Japan, Thailand, New Zealand are part of an ever-growing body of countries now enforcing the labeling of genetically-engineered (GE) food. The United States stands apart from this worldwide trend.

Why should this concern you. Simple. You are what you eat. America is already the most overfed, under-nourished nation in the world. Fast food is killing us. Obesity, hypertension, heart disease, food-borne allergies. What more evidence do you need?

Enter genetic-engineered foods, already implicated in the 50% increase in soy-based allergies. To date, nearly all studies looking at the health consequences of GE food have involved animals. The results? It does not look good. These experiments have found high infant mortality, low birth weights, organ damage, and abnormal cell growth. Perhaps the scariest finding thus far, though, this from the only published study of humans and reported by theInstitute for Responsible Technology is evidence genes from GE foods can transfer into stomach bacteria and continue to function.

As I am putting the final touches on this entry, the R2K marchers have just showed up at the Whole Earth Center, a non-profit, multi-faceted nexus for slow food. And even though I sat this one out, having worn out some shoe leather yesterday I know firsthand what is means to not just talk the talk, but really walk the walk.

The illustration on one of the posters being carried on the march shows a guinea pig pushing a shopping cart filled with corn chips. And while there are opinions on either side of this issue, there is one things upon which we can all agree.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

http://www.right2knowmarch.org/
http://www.responsibletechnology.org/
http://www.sustainablelivingroadshow.org/