I always considered myself a bit of a ‘greenie’. I
like whales. I’m from Tasmania
(green in part by definition) and I wash-to-recycle plastic and aluminum
containers. I have attended my fair share of anti and for rallies in my time,
and have even donated hours to ‘green’ charity groups. However, a spontaneous
move and quick house-hunt in Sydney
swiftly sorted out my shade of urban green.
In trawling through advertisements for house shares, I
was drawn towards city dwellings claiming to be ‘eco’. The explanations of
eco-house assertions were many and varied; including declarations of: worm
farms, compost, water recycling, chicken coops, veggie patches and non-smoking
housemates. Availability of natural light, floorboards throughout, access to
public transport and room sharing within a house-share were frequently touted
as being ‘environmentally positive’. One ad even specified that practicing yogis
need only apply for their eco-loving-inner-city-herb-growing-terrace.
Applying for residence in an environment saving abode
was an altogether special battlefield of open-ended questions, recycled
hypotheticals and forced proclamation of voting preferences. Depending on the
size of the room available and presence of own terrace verandah led by one’s
own French doors, I found myself nodding in agreement to all types of quizative
(husband was instructed to follow my lead; back me up; support unfamiliar hobby
claims). Miraculously, my own yoga habit became a fully-fledged profession
‘sure. I’ve got no trouble instructing an advanced yoga class for your friends
in the garage. Tell me again how nice the breeze is on the verandah of a summer
eve…’. Further, I became a gardening, mediation, cooking, (all kinds of)
baking, and dhikr-breathing enthusiast.
As previously expressed, though aware that I could be
more pro-active in my greenness, I thought that I made some reasonable
contributions to loving AND living on this increasingly damaged Earth. Within
two weeks of sharing a space with two other fellows, I realised, along with
Kermit, that it is ‘not [so] easy being green’. While embracing with ease the
recycling and power-saving routines established in our new shared residence, it
was the worm farm and water recycling that quickly had me unstuck.
Respect to those who can get everything done in the
shower in four minutes flat. I soon learnt that I cannot. The once considered
‘thoughtful’ house sharing gift of a suction cap sand-timer for the shower
became a grainy vice that beat me every time. I was pleased with household
efforts to save, and where possible, redistribute washing up water, but I begun
to over-think efforts to do much the same with shower and bath water. Would the
parsley become pubic with stray hairs? I was buying my own herbs.
Then there is the worm farm. The indoor black boxed
crawly home. It is filled with worm shit. Worm shit and rotting vegetables
stink. Who would have thought…?
The weeks have passed and despite occasional wormed dry reaching and hiding of extended shower and hair-dryer time under the cover of very loud meditative hymns, I have begun to applaud the household efforts of green. And have included myself in my ovation. Saving water and worm farming might be their thing but I contribute to shades of green in my own way. My house mates might baulk at my vegetarian diet when they insist on maintaining a predominately grain fed, land intensive and water wasting carnivorous existence. But that is their composting choice…