I made it back to Texas! We climbed from the growing southern heat to the tip of spring and even a bit of snow at the northernmost point of our journey. In Vermont, we met with Stephen Morris, editor and publisher of several seminal works, to Boston, where a friend of the S.H.I.R.E.'s newborn son has now breathed a month of breaths. Then it was on to western Massachusetts, where we filed for 501c(3) Non-profit status. And, finally, we made the long haul back to Texas after our harrowing adventure filled with successes and setbacks.

The northernmost point of our journey was to meet with Stephen Morris in central Vermont, and we got there just as the ground was beginning to melt and the fields smelled like freshly-thawed spring. Stephen has edited, written and published well-known works, such as Wild Fermentation and The Life of Beer, as well as his most recent, The New Village Green. His journal, Green Living Journal, published by The Public Press, is an outstanding collection of work from ecologically-minded writers, information and ideas. He welcomed us and our "Chool Bus" to his beautiful home, where we discussed many things, from intentions to improve the world to the house's oven thermometer that was once owned by Frank Sinatra. Mostly, we discussed the ways in which we can form a community of ecologically-minded people to confront the environmental crisis facing us today. I left Vermont feeling that both the SHIRE and his journal are contributing towards the common goal of bringing sustainability issues to the forefront of public discourse, where solutions may be found through open dialogue.

One of my main motivations for doing this type of work is thinking about the future thriving of humanity. The debates about global warming and ecological collapse are not fervent because the world is in danger, but because humanity is in danger. However, I believe that our amazing problem-solving capabilities can sustain us in the face of limited resources and that we can surmount the problem of waste, but we are only the beginning of a process that will take hundreds of years to implement. We are trying to create a sustainable world and clean up the mess left by an era where space and resources were unlimited. This can only happen if we think of what our actions do to several generations beyond ours, which is a difficult thing to do. It was in Boston that I came face to face with the reality of a new generation that will continue the struggle to survive and thrive. Bringing a new life into this world is a huge thing. After the hours of labor our friends went through that brought a living being into this world, driving a bus full of grease across the country seemed like a very simple thing. The baby's name is Riley, and he has a full head of hair and very small hands that will grow to hold any number of implements of change. His father and mother are both amazing individuals and I am excited to see how he grows into this world. May he live the wild life, where wonder abounds from all around. May we think of his grandchildren's grandchildren in our actions.

While a new life was coming into the world in Boston, a new Non-profit came into being in western Massachusetts. The New Shire Institute is an attempt to create a model for the future of sustainability. Our purpose is to examine , research and implement sustainability and self sufficiency-related technologies and programs, working toward alleviating the burden caused by the rising cost of food, energy and housing.

My hope is that we can help build a community of like-minded people and organizations that create healthy alternatives to the current processes of food production, building practices, and institutionalized learning.

With both business and baby born into the world, I began my trek back to Texas to begin work on the straw bale house that I have been designing. Loaded up on grease and ready to go, I headed out of Massachusetts only to be beset by problems in Connecticut. A week and a replaced fuel line in the bus later, I once again headed south. Since I had lost a week and the straw for the house would soon be harvested, I had to hurry. Luckily, I got there the day before the harvest and met up with Ben Pinover, the co-builder of the project. We went to Riesel, Texas, where a farmer had harvested his oats and baled the straw into two-string bales ready for pickup. It took three trips in a fully loaded bus, carrying 50 bales each trip. Fortunately, the grease system worked like a charm and very little diesel was used in the venture.

As a sad ending to the epic journey up the coast in a bus filled with grease, then down to Texas to be filled with straw, the transmission of the bus went out on a trip to Austin to get some supplies. The cost of replacing the transmission was too much, and I had to say goodbye to the Chool Bus, in all its greasy glory. It made it far, smelled of French fries, and brought the bales that will be my house. As a final dignity in its death, we deconstructed the bus, harvesting $800 of glass, steel, and doors for use in the spiral straw bale house. Though the bus will ride no more, it lives on in my life, where wastes such as grease and straw are used to create adventure, utility, and beauty.

Originally appreciated for its ornamental appeal, Japanese knotweed (Fallopia japonica) infiltrated the temperate riparian ecosystems of the United States, Europe and Canada in the 1880's. Its stalks and rhizomes, can tolerate a wide range of soil types, temperatures, and salinity attributing to its high success rate. The plant can extend up to 8 feet tall, and its roots can penetrate down to 10 feet deep. Lenticels of the plant can propagate an entirely new patch of knotweed, so it is imperative to eradicate as much as possible. Its large leaves and extensive underground system monopolize the nutrients, water and sun from reaching other native plants. The most effective method of elimination is to spray herbicide when the plant is close to flowering in late summer or fall. Although many patches have been sprayed in the Pacific Northwest, knotweed is still a flourishing species.

The Washington Conservation Corps crew from Skagit County in Washington has been surveying for knotweed every summer along the rivers and streams in the county. At the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, the glacial floods and stormy winter rain soak the valleys in rushing water, then leave an array of invasive species behind when it the water dries up. The crew canvases logjams, back-channels, and flood plains along the river and takes GPS coordinates of each patch found. Because most of these areas along the rivers are inaccessible, the crew hires rafting guides to travel between gravel bars while camping overnight for the workweek.
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When working with the Skagit County crew for a week, I realized how dedicated people can be in restoring habitat and conserving ecological balance. Although it may be inevitable that non-native invasive species may consume a region, the initial transport of that plant was of human origin. Therefore, a group of us try our hand at counteracting what is environmentally unsound. After multiple bruises, scrapes and cuts on my legs, blisters on my feet, and exhaustion from climbing over huge logjams and bushwhacking through thick brush, I realize the endeavor is worthwhile. Wading through the glacial water of the Sauk River, my sneakers began to fill with quicksand--just as the old-growth forest of the Western Washington coast has become engulfed in the quicksand of the veracious Japanese knotweed.

GLOSSARY of TERMS

Riparian- buffer zone between land and stream

Rhizome- a horizontal stem of plant that send our roots and shoots from its nodes

Salinity- measurement of saltiness

Lenticel-body of cells formed on the stem, roots, and leaves of a plant