Glave - Almost green: how I built an eco-shed, ditched my SUV, alienated the in-laws, and changed by life forever

Almost Green

How I
Built an Eco-Shed,
Ditched My SUV,
Alienated the In-Laws,
and Changed
My Life Forever

James Glave

Copyright 2008 by James Glave

08 09 10 11 12 5 4 3 2 1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For a copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

Greystone Books
A division of Douglas & McIntyre Ltd.
2323 Quebec Street, Suite 201
Vancouver, British Columbia
Canada V5T 4S7
www.greystonebooks.com

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Glave, James
Almost green : how I built an eco-shed, ditched my SUV,
alienated the in-laws, and changed my life forever / James Glave.

ISBN 978-1-55365-320-2

1. Sustainable livingHumor. 2. Environmental protectionHumor.
3. Suburban lifeHumor. I. Title.

PN6231.E66G53 2008A 640 C2008-903094-X

Editing by Nancy Flight
Copy editing by Iva Cheung
Cover and text design by Naomi MacDougall
Cover illustrations by Kevin Mutch
Printed and bound in Canada by Friesens
Printed on acid-free paper that is forest friendly (100% post
consumer recycled paper) and has been processed chlorine free.

We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the British Columbia Arts Council, the Province of British Columbia through the Book Publishing Tax Credit, and the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for our publishing activities.

For Sabrina and Duncan. May we not let you down.

THIS BOOK WOULD not have been possible without the support, encouragement, and input from a great number of individuals. Some of you helped me get to this point long before this book was even an outline; others offered crucial feedback on vague ideas and early drafts of the manuscript. Some of you simply watched my kids for a few hours here and there, some of you helped bring the Eco-Shed to life, and some of you provided other kinds of no-less-valuable contributions.

So props, then, to James Bannochie, Chris Barnett, Stacy Beamer, David Beers, Cody Bentall, Peter Boddy, Clemencia and Mike Braraten, Charles Campbell, Eliana Castillo, Stuart Cole, Douglas Coupland, Peter Dean, Tony Dominelli, Peter Duplessis, Hal Espen, Jane Ferguson, Oscar Flechas, Nancy Flight, Helen Goodland, Ruth Harding, Keyolynn Hayward, Nick Heil, Tony Hilliard, David Hocking, Burns Jennings, Corbin Keep, Morganne Keplar, Martha Magor, Vanessa Matthews, Anne McDermid, Charles Montgomery, Michael Mullen and North Shore Credit Union, Robert Ouimet, Julie, Brad, Kathryn, and Adam Ovenell-Carter, Padre and Cher, Dan Parke, Jean-Paul Poirier, Gary Ross, Tobyn Ross, Rob Sanders, Arno Schmidt, Greg Shea, Karyln and Gordon Shepherd, Greg Sims, Scott Sinclair, Brando Skyhorse, Dave Stalker, Jim Sutherland, Tom Taylor, and Bob Turner.

Special thanks to Mum and Dad for believing in me and jumping in to help when the chips were down. I love you both.

Finally, you would not be holding this book in your hands were it not for my dear wife, Elle, an endlessly renewable source of love, spirit, and support. Thank you for believing in me more than I usually believe in myself.

MY NAME IS James, and I drive an SUV. It is a golden-pearl Premium Edition Lexus RX-300, with all-leather interior, genuine walnut wood dash, seven-speaker Nakamichi sound system, seat heaters, moon roof, and sport racks. It is a high-riding icon of luxury, a mobile conspicuous-consumption statement, a prosperity public-address systemthe sort of vehicle that valets named Chip park in front of five-star Indian fusion restaurants. Let me be clear, though, that the RX-300 is not an indication of my hard-won success as a writer. Its a hand-me-down from my father-in-law, who offered it to my wife, Elle, and me as a gift just as our 1994 Volvo station wagon threatened to die with our two tired babies in the backseat some night on a lonely New Mexico byway well beyond the fringes of Sprint-Verizons digital safety net. Although we are extremely grateful for the gift, the Lexus was perhaps not our first choice for a family four-door; it conveys a not-entirely-accurate message about who we are to those who dont know us.

This became clear to me one day when I had lunch with my friend Dave, a former colleague whom I greatly admire. It had been a few years since wed seen each other, and we were sharing a laugh over a certain local restaurant critic whom we both felt could benefit from a little more journalistic backbone. Dave was describing his most recent sighting of the foodie scribe in question: Im sitting in this sidewalk caf, right? And up pulls you-know-who in this total asshole Lexus SUV.

Hilarious. For at least a few months after that dayat least when out of earshot of our small childrenElle and I referred to our pearl-white and gold-trimmed palace on wheels as the asshole.

And please forgive me, Padre. Because even though you have that framed photo of George Bush, Sr., in your office, and even though you forward me e-mails asserting that global warming is a swindle and a liberal conspiracy, I do really love you, and I so appreciate your generosity. But the more I read up on the damage I am doing each time I motor through another tank of regular unleaded, the more I can relate to Daves point of view and the less comfortable I am getting back behind the wheel. Because I am the one running a scam.

We have hung on to your wheels for reasons that contradict our gradually increasing consciousness and have everything to do with cash flow and guilt. We dont want to offend you, and we dont want to finance something else. I dont think we can keep dancing like this forever, though. One day Im going to have to break it to you, Padre, that I think your very generous gift is gradually torching the lot of us.

For now, assuming Pops doesnt care either way, Elle and I are looking to downsize. With the kids now out of strollers and diapers, weve finally decommissioned our bulky toddler infrastructure. We are in the market for a small car. Ive brought my preschool-age son, Duncan, and his five-year-old sister, Sabrina, into the loop, and they have already begun window-shopping with me as we tool around the twenty-five-square-mile island we call home, just off the sparkling West Coast city of Vancouver, B.C., Canada. One recent morning, on the way to the day care, my son asked me to explain the differences between our six-cylinder white elephant and the zippy little DaimlerChrysler Smart Car that had just passed us headed the other direction.

Dad, he asked, why dont we have a Smart Car?

Let me briefly mention here that, like many young boys, my Duncan is infatuated with internal combustion. If it drives, digs, or flies with some flavor of refined petroleum, well, hes all over it.

Theyre fun, arent they? I replied. We dont have one because theyre too small. There isnt enough room inside one of them for our whole family.

Why not? Sabrina chimed in.

Well, there are four people in our family, and the Smart Car only fits two people. So we would have to take turns or sit on each others lap, and that wouldnt work very well, would it?

Oh. OK.