Reconsidering Electricity

While doing research on the effects of EMPs (electromagnetic pulses) on Life As We Know It for a short story this week, I kept coming across comments about how we'd be jerked back to 5000 BCE were one of these events to knock out electricity.

EMP survival is a staple on the armageddon/end-times/survivalist websites and blogs, and it's really the only potential catastrophe I worry about because there is some real possibility that it could happen--whether as a result of a terrorist explosion of a nuke over the US or in space, or as an effect of an especially large solar coronal ejection (CME), as occurred in 1859 (now referred to as the Carrington Event). I've been getting quite a lot of CME chatter in my mailbox from science news feeds, so this stuff is on my mind.

I won't go into the details, because the dangers are nicely outlined in the Report of the Commission to Assess the Threat to the United States from Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) Attack. But I do want to consider the claim that modern civilization would come to a screeching halt, and we'd be consigned to neolithic lifeways (I refuse to say "lifestyles" in contexts like these--because of the element of choice implicit in our current use of the word) if we were to suddenly lose access to electricity.

In the first place, the real danger is to solid state electronics and all the fancy computer devices (like the laptop I'm using to write this post, and the internet I'm using to publish it) that rely on sophisticated infrastructural and telecommunications technologies upon which the United States and other first-world countries have come to depend. As the report points out, less well-developed countries are potentially in much less danger of collapse than we are:

"Our vulnerability is increasing daily as our use of and dependence on electronics continues to grow. The impact of EMP is asymmetric in relation to potential protagonists who are not as dependent on modern electronics." (Report of the Commission, 5)

In fact, simple electrical devices would still work--or could easily be developed--but almost everything we do these days depends on more complex systems. Most doomsday scenarios follow similar assumptions about how we'd end up in the aftermath of an EMP: cultural collapse, mass rioting and mayhem, takeover by one militia or another (foreign or domestic), rampant chaos, and eventually we'd be consigned to small pockets of "good" survivors at the mercy of "evil" ones.

Really? Good, helpful neighborly folk will turn on one another, co-operation wouldn't even be considered, the gun-toters would rise triumphant and ascendant, and shoot all the tree-hugging liberals and/or rape all their women folk and steal all their stuff.

To me this all amounts to a pretty dismal view of human nature (not that I really think there is any such thing). I can sort of understand the Apocalyptos who think the end is near and that god's going to rain tribulation down on all us non-believers (and on those who don't truly believe in their hearts according to one website I'm not going to link), smite us with hellfire and brimstone, set loose the beasts to devour us and all that. I mean, these folks rely on their literal interpretation of the most metaphorical text in the literary pantheon (fortunate choice of word, that), and they've been waiting for something like this since Jesus died, so they're actually looking forward to it.

But the rest of us? Wouldn't we be able to band together and sort things out? In the worst of times, don't we tend to work together--even when our government drops the ball (as with Hurricane Katrina)? And without electricity?

It's no coincidence that in my own view of utopia the occupants choose not to use electrical devices--and they get along fine without them. Of course, they've planned their lives around the complete absence of electricity (it's the first thing they decide they don't need), but they end up living pretty well, and with technologies that surpass those of the neolithic to some significant degree. Bronze Age, maybe, but not neolithic. In truth, there are degrees of technological sophistication that don't require any electricity at all, such as steam power. Just remember how much fun people are having with Steampunk these days.

Today's edition of the Daily Poop, in the "Lifestyles" section, there's an article by Alison Miller called Recovering Lost Arts: Brazos de Dios carefully crafts cheese, furniture, community--and a way of life. This is another reason why I still read the newspaper, and why I so enjoy coincidence. Just last weekend, as we drove south on I 35 to San Antonio, I noticed for the first time ever (after twenty years of making this drive) a sign for a town called "Elm Mott." I joked about how British it sounded, and wondered why I'd never seen it before--and then here it is: the very spot where Brazos de Dios is located.

The subject of the article consists of a community of about a thousand people on five hundred or so acres who "place great value in traditional craftsmanship, doing things by hand, and gathering ingredients from the earth and animals that surround them" (Miller E1). Begun in the seventies (like so many other intentional communities, only a few of which still exist) by a group of New York Christians, they now operate as Homestead Heritage and provide educational programs in crafts from cheese-making to boat building to letterpress printing. Their beautifully designed website offers this evocation of ideals that William Morris would have loved: "Our Traditional Crafts Village showcases a community of craftsmen who have returned, not to the past, but to the enduring values exemplified in handcraftsmanship. True craft requires more than skill: it expresses the craftsmen's care and concern, their personal investment in everything they do."

Now, I know that places like these are relatively scarce, although I'm going to spend some time finding more of them (before I lose the use of my electrical devices), because this kind of effort gives me hope for the future. I've been laboring under the illusion that my views of the good life are alien to most Texans (hence my continuing sense of exile). It's good to know that I'm wrong, at least to some extent.

It's also good to know that I'm right about the attractiveness of simple technologies. The folks at Brazos de Dios use electricity. But I don't imagine for one minute that they couldn't carry on just fine without it.

If, of course, they could also manage to keep the zombies and whackos from invading their farmstead in the event of an EMP.

Image credit: The Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights, shines above Bear Lake, U.S. Air Force photo by Senior Airman Joshua Strang, taken at Eielson Air Force Base, Alaska in 2005. It was the Wikimedia Commons Featured Picture of the Year in 2006. The photo has been manipulated a bit, but the original is posted on the commons. For an artistic interpretation, see the painting by Frederic Edwin Church, below, from 1865--also from Wikimedia Commons. Some really good photos and videos of solar activity in general are available from the Telegraph (UK) page on solar flares, coronal mass ejections, and aurora borealis in pictures.

Gardeners and Tailors and Cobblers, Oh My!

Today's news of record-setting stock-market plunging and the looming expectation of further financial crisis is enough to curdle the organic milk in one's sustainably-raised breakfast cereal.

But all the news that's fit to print isn't necessarily glum, and encouraging bits keep popping out at me. More and more people who think like I do (and are a great deal more vocal than I am) are coming to national attention--like our favorite local Crunchy Con, Rod Dreher, and writer/blogger Sharon Astyk (whom Dreher mentions in his piece in Sunday's Dallas Morning News).

Dreher argues for creating urban garden-friendly zoning laws to enable more folks to grow their own, even though nobody really expects suburbanites in gated communities to be able to feed themselves entirely. Kitchen gardens tucked away amongst the pricey landscaping (which some are probably already having to care for themselves, rather than hiring out the weekly grooming) probably don't need zoning laws. But raising a few chickens (I'd suggest guinea pigs, too, like Peruvians and Guatemalans, and the self-sustaining characters in Ursula Le Guin's Always Coming Home raise for food, but that would probably cause tears among the kiddos), at least for eggs, and expanding the food-garden into the front yard will require some political discussion.

Here in McKinney, on my half-acre lot, I'm allowed to keep no more than twelve chickens, rabbits, or guinea pigs (I guess the city actually recognizes their nutritional value)--but I can't keep ducks (unless they fly into my pond, should I ever build a pond) or geese or pea-fowl. I'm not sure why they exclude these, except that peacocks are noisy bloody animals. Geese make great watchdogs and, if you're bothered by cobras, their droppings keep those away. But I haven't seen a cobra in many years, and never around here, so I can live without geese, even though I've had very close geese-friends in the past. And since Biscuit died, we're actually down to the legal limit of cats and dogs. It's comforting to be on the correct side of the law at last--although I'd gladly continue to be a scofflaw if I could have him back.

I'm currently busy trying to convince Beloved Spouse to help me build a hen house--so far with no luck. When I was growing up in Taiwan, we always had baby chicks incubating or hopping around being cute, and I came to think of fresh eggs as my birthright. But it's less cute when the dogs get the chickens, which is what probably concerns Beloved Spouse. He's had to pry one too many cats and squirrels out of the mouths of the Guthrie brothers, Woody and Arlo, and their oversized "uncle" Homer.

We don't have a homeowners association here in the Historic District, partly because there's such a vast range of houses, from the sublime to the ridiculous, and we're governed by another set of rules. So as long as any gardening I do in front of the house doesn't offend anyone, I don't think I'll get in trouble for growing a few veg on the verge. I'm actually only thinking of mint species there, because people let their dogs poop on it, and even though they're getting better about picking up after their pooches, I'm not eating anything grown with that particular kind of organic fertilizer. But mint spreads fast, smells nice when you walk on it, and needs little care.

Up on the lawn, however, I'll be expanding my food growing area to some of the spaces adjacent to the driveway, because I need more sunlight for some of the stuff I want to grow. I'm thinking of a nice Japanese bamboo fence to screen part of it and to support tomato and bean plants, but I think this will be the last year for the iris collection I inherited from the previous owner. As soon as I'm up to heavy-duty gardening again, a large swath of the back yard will also become arable, and I'll transplant the St. Augustine grass to a shadier section. The Accidental Garden is well on its way to becoming the Purposeful Forest, and the only planted bits still growing in there are oregano and perhaps a little thyme (not yet visible). I'd rather that it be devoted to woodland plants that sneak in.

If more people could garden more of their yards, and even if more people learned how to keep up a few pots of tomatoes and peppers on the patio, I can't help but think that we'd become wiser about the way the world works. A couple of chickens (legal in many Dallas neighborhoods) would mean fresh eggs and nature lessons for children. Victory gardens really do need to make a comeback.

Another encouraging story appeared in today's News, and points to an alternative to the wasteful consumer-focused economy we've become used to. Mark Norris's article, "Forget New Threads, Let's Fix the Old Ones" (I'm assuming that he wasn't responsible for the comma splice--and anyway, the title on the link is different) notes that the old standby professions--tailors and cobblers, as well as alteration shops--are booming these days. As people decide that getting worn heels replaced (which we always did when I was young) costs much less than buying a new pair of shoes, perhaps they'll begin to understand that it's also much less wasteful and uses fewer resources. Just last week my five-year-old puppies decided that my new pair of comfy shoes were a chew toy and gnawed a hole in one of them. My daughter, thriftily-raised as she was, thought that I could patch the tear and add a matching patch on the other shoe rather than hustling down to Rack Room for yet another pair (I had previously melted the bottoms of identical shoes when I unwisely rested their soles on the edge of the copper fire-pit on the back patio one calm winter night when we were enjoying an outdoor fire). And so I will, even though I may have to consult a cobbler.

What's encouraging about these recession-driven instances of real economy is that traditional crafts seem to be making a comeback. Of course there have always been housewives (I can use this word because I really was a housewife at one time) who made their children's clothes, recovered their own sofas, and fabricated window coverings to keep their houses warm. But if gas prices rise again, and people stay home more, even working folk might find time to do for themselves and learn skills their grandparents--and maybe even their parents--were expected to know.

Perhaps we'll even reach a balance at some point: where old professions enjoy a renaissance in a new economy fueled less by greed and detachment from traditional activities (like cooking, gardening, and home-keeping) and more by appreciation for nature's gifts and the use of our hands as well as our brains. It's not that I want the computer age to go away; it's just that I want to see it tempered by an appreciation for what our bodies can do. I can't help but think we'll end up the wiser and the healthier for it.

Images: Tailor from Das Ständebuch (The Book of Trades), 1568, and a cobbler in old Beijing, from Peking Studies (1934) by Ellen Catleen. Both from Wikimedia Commons. The iris shot is from last spring, and has probably appeared on the Farm before.