I tucked these parcels, along with my borrowed entertainment into my 1992 Volvo wagon. The weekend library run is usually Darling Husband’s purvey, but he wasn’t going downtown otherwise, so I stopped on my way back from driving Number One Son to orchestra rehearsal (he carpools home).
After I got home, I emptied out the bag, which proclaims, “Change Climate Change!” and “Making small changes today can make big changes tomorrow,” along with a prominent display of the sponsors.
First out of the bag are two compact fluorescent bulbs. I’ve read that we’re at the tipping point on light bulbs, but our family has been using them for at least ten years, and I’ve only had to actually purchase two myself, since the utility company seems to give them out regularly (I had to buy a round globe-type so the lampshade would fit, since the freebies are almost always the spiral type). I’ll replace the burnt-out incandescent in the bathroom, and add the other one to the stockpile. The bulbs come packaged in boxes, and one is in a plastic sleeve inside the box.
There’s a tire gauge in the bag, and an admonition to keep my tires inflated for better mileage. After spending a month in $6-a-gallon Europe, it’s ironic that we should talk about tire pressure instead of our choices about cars and lifestyles. Both of our admittedly older cars—cars chosen for their balance of economy (28 mpg) and safety (four stars)—already have good-quality American-made tire gauges in the glove box. Keeping them tuned so they will last longer and taking the bus when we can is also part of our carbon-footprint reduction plan. I now have one new, Chinese pencil tire gauge—with plastic five valve caps in the bubble package. I somehow doubt the person down the street who just bought a new SUV will be interested, so I’ll add it to the pile of excess stuff slated for Freecycling/charity.
The dogwood tree seedling is very welcome, and it’s Weyerhauser label and plug shape reminds me of the time my father ordered a box of Ponderosa Pine seedlings from the Forestry Service to re-plant trees lost to an invasive beetle. For two years, he hand-watered them through the long, arid summers; fifteen years later, a good number have survived to grow taller than their patron, a legacy to his determination to leave things better than he found them. Our dogwood is tucked in our small Douglas Fir and Western Red Cedar grove, watered in with the same care my father quietly taught by example.
The bag also contains yet another refrigerator magnet from the hospital with reminders of what I can to save the planet, my health and money. There’s also a magnet for ecodeals.org (I find one of these already on the water heater, which is where I’ve been storing these things, since they can’t be recycled), and a small stack of full-color brochures. One of the brochures sounds positively Carter-esque, admonishing us to turn down the thermostat a couple of degrees; most, however, are about where I can buy energy-friendly consumer items.
And here’s where it becomes incongruous to me: none of the prose suggests things such as foregoing purchasing stuff to begin with (and then paying to store it) or eating more vegetarian or locally-sourced meals. And the bag, while full of good ideas, is still a bag of goods that had to be produced. One flyer tells me that 1,000 of these packets were put together for free distribution: that's 5,000 little plastic valve caps shipped here from China, and about 220 pounds of paper packaging and brochures that will end up in the waste stream (let's hope folks recycle them!). In the end, the only items that will actually be used in our household are the two light bulbs and the tree: everything else has been sorted and recycled or discarded.
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