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?