I know a few people who share my annoyance with the overuse of the word sustainable. They might be annoyed for reasons different than mine, however. I think they get annoyed by its use as virtually meaningless marketing puffery (think “green” automobiles or “green” nuclear power plants). When Ed Begley Jr. calls bamboo flooring shipped across the Pacific Ocean for installation in a McPalace in the Los Angeles basin sustainable, can that word be said to have any useful meaning?
It seems to me that the term sustainable should apply to processes rather than products. Only then do we get to what is, in my mind, a fair definition of sustainable: A given process is sustainable when it can be repeated over and over until the sun turns into a red dwarf and toasts planet Earth to a crisp. Any “waste” from such a process would naturally (pun intended) be a useful input for some other process, creating a closed cycle.
OK, so we have the Sun constantly pumping energy into the system, so it’s not technically closed. If you don’t get the concept of a closed natural cycle, either you haven’t thought about it with an open mind long enough, or you’ve spent too much time in the presence of concrete streets and air conditioning.
Ben Hewitt explains the absence of the word sustainable from his book The Town That Food Saved for both of the above reasons. First, because it has been “willfully corrupted by people who would very much like to sell you a hybrid SUV or an Energy Star-rated flat-screen TV with no money down and zero percent interest for 60 months.” Second, to avoid perverting the definition of sustainable: “Is there a version of agriculture that is truly sustainable? Probably so. Is there a version of agriculture that is truly sustainable and able to feed 7 billion people? Almost certainly not.”
There is probably a third reason for the word’s absence. Hewitt’s book isn’t about sustainable agriculture. It’s about localized, decentralized food production, along with the characters in his corner of the world who are into that scene.
Taking the 30,000-foot perspective, Hewitt proffers a four-criteria system for judging food systems. In his opinion, a “healthy decentralized food system” must 1. offer economic viability for small-scale food producers, 2. be based on sunshine, 3. feed the locals, and 4. be circular.
After offering this framework for analysis, Hewitt proceeds to the scuttlebutt. The setting is Hardwick, Vermont (and environs), population 3900, and this little town (and environs) is filled with a cast of various and quirky characters worthy of Northern Exposure. The book is basically a study of the various characters there who are involved in the local food movement, from the ADD-addled media whore seedsman to the couple who will drive to your farm and kill and butcher your farm animals for you. Amongst tales of days spent with these folks, Hewitt inserts appropriate amounts of astute commentary and pontification.
In all it makes for an enjoyable read. If you’re a fan of Michael Pollan’s books, you’ll probably like Hewitt’s.