earthgirl

by Jennifer Cowan

  [ mood | optimistic ]

  [ music | The Hideout - Sarah Harmer ]

  once upon a time, a brave girl with the coincidentally poetic name JULIA BUTTERFLY HILL climbed a huge, ancient tree in California to defend it from the anti-tree peeps salivating to cut it down, their gnarly chainsaws revving – gerrrrrzzz.

  did she stay a few days? weeks? nope. SHE STAYED FOR TWO YEARS! she actually put down roots (ha!) in a tree and for over SEVEN HUNDRED DAYS!!! IN A TREE!!!

  now birds and squirrels live in trees but even they leave once and a while to check out the ‘hood or have a swim or a date or gather food. not her. she lived in that tree like she belonged there. like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  the people supporting her tree sit rigged a pulley to send up food and water and books and letters of encouragement. they must have really loved and admired her since I imagine they also had to pulley down her garbage and laundry and yikes — poop! i mean really, what else did she do with it?

  i wonder if she was ever lonely or bored or afraid? i wunder if her mom ever brought sprout sandwiches?

  PS: she saved the tree!! :)

  link 3 comments | post

  comment

  www.circleoflifefoundation.org

  www.ecotopia.org/ehof/hill

  onederful 10-01 11:53“We are constantly being told we are the leaders of tomorrow, that’s a lie. We are the leaders of today.” Julia Butterfly Hill. Words to live by!

  BTW yer new postings rock. And I love rocks...and trees too!

  altalake 10-01 23:58

  Today, you are in a place to take the lead. No pressure.

  “So, you working here now?” the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen asked as he stood in front of me sniffing a fair trade cantaloupe.

  I’d hoped quitting the Gap gig and forfeiting my oh-so-excellent merchandise deal to get a job at the health food coop would serve up karma points. And here was evidence standing right in front of me. All six or so fabulous feet of it.

  I nodded and smiled. I hoped I wouldn’t fall over or throw up.

  “What happened to Josie?” he asked. “True she got busted for dealing meth?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said softly, which was only half true. I’d actually heard the girl I replaced was a tweaker who tried to deal out of the co-op, but didn’t think it was my business to say. For all I knew this scorching hottie was one of her customers or even a baby-faced narc or worse maybe he was the big cheese supplier looking for a new kid to do his dirty work. I really hoped not. He was tall and fit and sonically cute and it would be a total drag if he turned out to be a big drug-dealing loser.

  “It’s probably not a bad thing,” he said, putting the cantaloupe back neatly.

  I had a strange urge to grab it and give it a nuzzle. Fruit had never looked sexier.

  “She needed help,” he shrugged, looking straight at me with his deep emerald green eyes. “That stuff is screwed-up poison and fries your brain.”

  “I’ve heard,” I nodded, happy to discover he wasn’t into that kind of stuff either. “Um, is there something I can help you with?”

  He shook the thick black curls on his head and reached down into his orange courier bag. While he fished around and couldn’t see me watching, I memorized him the best I could. That hair, those eyes, that blemish-free olive skin. The bulky hand-knit sweater that hugged him across his chest and belly. The khaki cargos with the fluorescent Velcro strap at his ankle, screaming serious bike rider. The canvas sneakers suggesting maybe he was a vegetarian (but hopefully not a vegan or raw foodie since that was way too far on the commitment continuum for me right now). The overwhelming yumminess that was this...this him!

  I felt like a spy, except I was spying in plain view.

  “My band is doing a benefit next week,” he said, pulling a fistful of photocopies out of his bag. “For the Environmental Action League. I brought some flyers. And don’t worry, recycled paper.” He turned to the notice board and started moving a few things around to make space for his poster. He was very tidy and considerate about it.

  “Sounds like a team of green superheroes,” I said, thinking out loud and immediately regretting it. Regretting that I sounded like I was twelve and profoundly unhip in front of this profoundly, decidedly hip wonder of nature. How thoroughly humiliating.

  “In some ways we are,” hottie said, as if my comment actually wasn’t stupid. “Keeping the world safe from corporate corruption and global idiocy before it’s too late.”

  “Sounds brave and crucial,” I said. “So what’s your super-power?”

  “For now I guess I’m No Logo Man,” he answered, smiling and waving his hand in front of his sweater. “Keeping my mind and body free of commercial advertising. That is until my real superpower’s revealed.”

  “Your real one?”

  “It takes years sometimes. They...” he said, shifting his eyes back and forth, “want to make sure you’re serious, committed to the cause. Know what I mean?”

  I didn’t have a clue, but I could listen to him talk for the rest of the year if he’d let me. I smiled and nodded as if it were obviously obvious.

  “Nice to meet you, No Logo Man. I’m Sabine, superpower unknown so far,” I said, biting my lower lip and lowering my eyes. I was feeling nervous and excited. I probably should have extended my hand, but by the time I realized, it was too late. And by then my hand was far too clammy.

  “Nice to meet you, Sabine,” he said, smiling and putting his hands together with little Buddha bow. “And it’s Vray. I am.”

  “Hi, Ray.”

  “Not Ray. Vray.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Vray. It’s like Ray with a V,” he replied as he held up his hand in the V for victory peace sign gesture.

  “With a V? I don’t get it.” I’d never heard that name before. I hoped I didn’t sound ignorant or culturally insensitive.

  “V-R-A-Y, I spell it with a Y. With an I, it means truth in French.”

  “Are you French?”

  “Partly, but I prefer to think of myself as a citizen of the world.”

  “Me, too,” I answered, thinking what a nice sentiment that was especially since Toronto-born and bred Canadian girl didn’t exactly exemplify exotic. “Is that really your name?”

  “Is Sabine really your name? It’s not exactly the most common name either,” he asked, leaning forward a bit. A bit more than I was prepared for at that particular second.

  I thought I was going to hyperventilate, but happily it passed as I breathed in deeply through my nose. He smelled faintly like boy sweat and cinnamon toast. When I was in kindergarten, Jimmy Kerr used to smell like ketchup, but I’d never known a boy who smelled like cinnamon toast. It was strange and delicious. And a bit distracting.

  “Hey, wasn’t that bike girl in Kensington named Sabine, too?” he said suddenly, making little shadowboxing moves.

  “Guess it’s not an uncommon name then,” I answered, unsure whether to brag or hide the truth, which wasn’t exactly surprising since I was a bit unsure of how to keep from falling over at that moment.

  “Funny that,” he said, unclipping his bike helmet from the strap on his bag and hovering it up over my head like he was inspecting me.

  “Yeah, coincidences, weird,” I smiled as I guided the helmet toward my head, careful to not touch his fingers. Afraid of what might happen if I did.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s just a handy word for things people aren’t ready to admit mean something big.”

  “Funny that,” I said quickly and just as quickly handing back his helmet like it was suddenly on fire or something. “So, um, Vray what? Do you have a last name or do you just go by Vray?”

  I didn’t care if I was being nosy. I had to get the subject back to him. It was too weird and uncomfortable for the subject to be me. Even if he seemed to be slightly interested. Scratch that, especially since he was.

  “Foray.”

  “Vray Foray?”
I knew there was more to it. To this yummy, socially conscious, warm and spicy-scented guy. A lot more.

  “It’s pronounced Foray, but it’s spelled F-O-R-E-T. Most people get it wrong and it’s boring to explain,” he said, not seeming the least bit bored that he was explaining it.

  “And do most people actually believe you were born with a name like forest of truth? What does it say on your student ID?” I knew I was probably being indelicate, especially since this was my feeble attempt at flirting, but this was getting more and more intriguing by the minute.

  “People are named when they’re a few days or a few hours old. It doesn’t mean the people naming them get it right every time,” he explained. “Who knows what agenda your parents had when they named you? Maybe someone won a coin toss or they were naming you after some old dead relative out of obligation, or a former lover or something equally stupid, so really it doesn’t matter what it says on your birth certificate. That’s who my parents decided I was when I sucked in my first breath. What matters is who I am now and what kind of person I plan to be in the future.”

  I stood there feeling like my mouth was open in awe. I rubbed my fingers on my chin and gave it a quick check and thankfully my lips were only slightly parted. But in a way, it was like someone had slapped me. Slapped me senseful. This totally gorgeous cinnamon bear of a guy with an ironic and rather idiotic name was a sage.

  “Don’t I get one of those?” I asked as he started stuffing the flyers back into his bag.

  “Absolutely,” he said, passing me one. “Bring your friends.”

  “I don’t think they’d be into it,” I said, once again catching myself thinking out loud.

  “That’s too bad. We’re doing some important things, but then I don’t have to tell you what you already know,” Vray said.

  “No,” I said, the smile practically exploding off my face. “I mean, it’s not my fault they’re stuck in a rut, right? Maybe they’ll come around. Anyway I’m cool with going places myself.” I was happy I said that since I wasn’t sure if it was actually true. I never really did things alone. Usually I hung out with Carmen and Ella or dragged my annoying sister along for company. And saying it made it sound like a promise.

  “Good,” he said, turning to leave. “I’ll see ya, Sabine who may or may not have been scrapping on YouTube.”

  Oh, you’ll see me, I thought. Elated at the idea that for once in my life someone and, more specifically, a boy someone, actually noticed me.

  And maybe even wanted to see more of me. The new ever-improving me.

  The real me.

  four_

  “Forest of truth? You’ve got to be fritchin’ kidding. What kind of loser calls himself something like that? He’s not an elf, is he?” Carmen was literally rolling on the carpet shaking with laughter. “Gotta give you credit, Sabine. At first I thought all your eco-crap stuff was just kind of pathetic. I didn’t realize how full on entertaining it would be.”

  I immediately regretted telling her about Vray. About my new job at the co-op. About the concert. About anything. She may have understood most things about me, but that was before the whole wake-up-and-smell-the-flowers-before-they-aren’t-around-to-smell wake-up call.

  It was clear this was going to be harder to swallow. Carmen liked boys the way she liked most things. Predictable and malleable. I should have thought about that before I opened my mouth. To say I was totally smitten with a guy who had probably made up his own name.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be into the concert, but it’s pretty cool what he’s trying to do anyway,” I said, tucking the neatly folded flyer under my social studies textbook.

  “Are you whacked? And miss the granola groovefest of the year?” She sat up suddenly and propped herself against the foot of my bed. “And just to show how sincere I am, for solidarity, I won’t even shave my legs, though I draw the line at pit fur, no matter how much you like him.”

  “You don’t have to go. Really, it’s fine,” I said, realizing that going alone would be way better than being judged and mocked by my best friend. “It’s not your thing, I totally know that. I only mentioned it because I didn’t really have anything interesting to talk about.”

  “No, you mentioned it cause you’re excited about maybe he’s going to be my freaky new boyfriend and want moral support. Plus you need me to check him out. My psycho detector’s much better than yours.”

  “That’s because you’ve had more practice,” I said as I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Don’t get all huffy. I’m excited you met someone,” she insisted. “I’d be more excited if he sounded less wiggy but whatever. We’ll do our homework and decide if he’s worthy or not.”

  Please, I thought, don’t make that include some kind of disgusting balm or voodoo doll.

  “If it’s meant to happen, Carmen, it will.”

  “Right, now that you’ve moved into flake central the universe will provide everything so go hug a tree and save those seals and blah, blah, blah,” she teased, even though she wasn’t teasing. “I have to sleep on this to figure out the best strategy. I haven’t seen you this amped about a guy since you chased Jimmy Kerr around his ninth birthday party.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t want a strategy,” I answered. “And he chased me.”

  “Fine, but let me know the second you want my help cause even if I’m not into your stupid shopping embargo, for this stuff I am so there for you.”

  “Great,” I nodded, breathing deeply and wishing with all my heart that something would happen with Vray and me. Without Carmen meddling. Or anyone else.

  That maybe I’d been the target of a minivan maniac for a reason. To incite my epiphany about the world being bigger than me and my friends, so I could stop being a spectator in my life and do something.

  That it wasn’t just a coincidence that Vray walked into the co-op the first hour of my very first day and talked to me, then quasi-recognized me and invited me to an environmental event even! That, like he said, there were no coincidences, just things we don’t know the meaning of yet.

  That he was going to make everything in the world possible. Even if that seemed crazy and impossible at this particular moment. That all this was part of the bigger plans for me now that I’d woken up from being some silly shallow girl.

  Now that I was an earthgirl.

  e a r t h g i r l

  MY BODY IS NOT A BILLBOARD

  [ October 5th | 04:36pm ]

  [ mood | crazed ]

  [ music | Rage Against the Machine ]

  Today I realized that accidentally, inadvertedly I joined a club I never meant to join — THE CULT OF CONSUMERISM. But I am breaking out after reading NO LOGO, a book about the anti-globalization movement. written by a girl from my very own hometown of Toronto (Terrono, AKA t.dot) Canada.

  Powerful. Insightful. Influential. Scarios. Check all of the above.

  Fast forward to NoLogoMan (this hunk’o’hottie i just met) perhaps a true super hero fighting against global conglomoratization (if that’s a word), unfair employment practices and sneaky stealth marketing babble everywhere.

  Funny how most people in my universe will actually pay large to cover their bodies with logos and slogans. pay to advertise for companies in the mistaken belief this elevates their status. NOT ME.

  I WILL NOT BE A WALKING HUMAN BILLBOARD.

  Wow, it’s going to take work to sort through all this, but i’m definitely going to think about these things more so I can do something about them. later...bean!

  link read 5 | post

  www.getethical.com

  www.nologo.org

  earthbound01 10-05 18:40

  Bean is my sister’s nickname. So by extension I think that everyone named Bean must be cool. I also have a copy of No Logo, but I haven’t read it yet. Also, Toronto is one of the coolest cities I’ve ever been to.

  altalake 10-05 23:58

  I read in an interview that when Naomi Klein who wrote that book was 17, she was designer
mad (as in crazed) before she got globally conscious. So don’t be too hard on yourself earth-girl. It all starts somewhere. www.corpwatch.org

  “You forgot to flush again,” Clare shouted from my bedroom doorway, the distinctive drone of Sum 41 leaking out of her oversized DJ headphones.

  “That so better not be my iPod,” I answered.

  “What?” she yelled at a volume that was extreme even for her.

  As per usual, she was all jocked out in her latest yoga-slash-running-slash-kickboxing outfit. No doubt fantasizing about some international competition despite her sorry lack of athleticism.

  “Ask next time you borrow something,” I groaned, pointlessly putting out my hand for the iPod.

  “What’s that got to do with making me see your stuff in the toilet?” she asked as she slipped the cans off her ears, barged in and glared over my shoulder at my homework. Which was actually not exactly homework, but a bunch of potentially embarrassing doodles of Vray’s and my name that I quickly covered from her nosy eyeballs.

  “If it’s yellow let it mellow. If it’s brown flush it down,” I said, trying to shoo her back by extending my foot in a mock stretch.

  “That’s so completely gross,” she whined.

  “No it’s not. Every time you flush the toilet, seventeen liters go down the drain.”

  “Yeah? So what’s your point?” she snorted as she put her hands on her hips and cracked her gum.

  “That it’s not mandatory to flush every time you take a wee,” I sighed, already exhausted by her since it could hardly be more obvious. And she could hardly be more exhausting.

  “Who died and made you queen of the bathroom?” she asked as she expertly picked her way through my make-up collection on the dresser before settling (of course) on my very fave, now-discontinued lip color.

  I leaned forward and grabbed it out of her hand. She cracked her gum again louder. It made me want to rip it out of her mouth.

  “In Singapore it’s illegal to chew gum unless you have a medical exemption,” I said. “And anyone found dealing gum can be sentenced to up to two years in prison.”

  “You’re completely crazy,” Clare answered. “First of all this is Canada and second of all, I’m so telling Mom.” She flicked her ponytail and swiveled in her sparkly runners toward the door.