December 29, 2010
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It was early afternoon on Christmas Eve. The mood in Buffalo Street Books was cheerful and quiet. I browsed novels and non-fiction, cookbooks and writing. I picked up a book on making macarons, a Peter Tremayne mystery, and a box of cards for thank you notes. And then, in the little aisle between “environment” and “gardening” I had a mystical experience.
I wish I could predict these things, order them up, but you take what you can get. I was looking for a particular title that was scribbled on a scrap of paper and this meant I read each of the titles along the shelf. Most of them were dire: this species gone, that place defiled, humanity on the brink.
I turned around and there were entirely different books – gardening, farm to table, edible landscapes. I found a handbook on home-scale permaculture and right there I felt the difference between the appeal to fear and the appeal to the desire to grow things. Read more of this post