By Abigail McShinsky

While it was still and quiet this morning, before the sun had even risen in Northern New England, I made my way out of bed. I heated up the teapot on the stove to brew a pot of tea. I enjoyed a slice of pumpkin bread with honey butter, and spent some time with my feline companions before saying good-bye to my husband as he left for the day. Tea in hand, I made my way into my office, sat at my desk, and began reading an article about what it means to live locally.

So much of our society has become global - goods from across the world, instant communications with anyone, anywhere. We are living in the information age, and despite the amazing and unparalleled leaps forward we have made, I would argue that something fundamental is missing. As our foodshed has slowly crept beyond local boundaries to encompass the entire world, and our goods are no longer hand-made by local craftsmen, but created quickly and impersonally by a machine half the world away, we have become detached. Our food has not been cultivated and nurtured by the farmer down the road. The milk we give to our children does not come from a local dairy-farmer. Our furniture, clothes, and other goods are, quite literally, foreign to us. We have lost the personal connection to the things we need to subsist.

Sitting in my office, I began to think about my morning. The still-warm mug of herbal tea I am sipping on was purchased from a local store, but sourced from independent farmers around the world. Though my purchase supported hard-working farmers, I am sure that there are individuals in my community cultivating the same herbs. The green ceramic mug I am drinking from was purchased at a large department store. Had I invested my money in local pottery, I would not be sipping from a mug, but rather a work of art, and supporting an artist in the process. With the change of leaves comes an abundance of delicious winter squashes, and yet I used canned pumpkin puree (sourced from an anonymous farm in an anonymous town) to make my pumpkin bread. The candle I have lit in my office wasn’t purchased from a crafter, though I know that down the road there is a kind woman that makes and sells candles as a way to support her family. There are a near-infinite number of ways in which my morning, and my life, can be re-written locally.

Each decision and purchase we make is the equivalent of a vote, and by supporting local companies (the family owned gas station rather than the large chain) and local services (the mechanic down the street instead of the corporate auto-shop) we are voting to keep our society local. The implications of this are numerous; foreign environmental degradation is often a result of sourcing the raw goods used to create many of the things that we purchase. Poor working conditions and labor laws in manufacturing countries hide behind the comfortable sweater that I am wearing. Carbon emissions from global shipments of goods are rampant. Small business owners are struggling to stay afloat.

During the next five days, we are proposing a week of living locally. It is a locavore challenge spanning far beyond the food we eat, and into the way that we live our lives and the way that we fill our homes. During this week, and with each new challenge, I encourage you to think of the choices you make as a vote - let your voice be heard through the purchases you make and the way you live your life. In fact, I am going to rewrite my global morning into a local one, starting with a cup of tea. I think I have some dried herbs leftover from my garden and some local honey to sweeten it with!