A week ago, Brett and Edie got married. Three days later, they set out from our home of Portland, Oregon back to their home of Brooklyn, NY, aside a matching pair of neon pink and yellow Independent Fabrications bikes. Today, they’re somewhere east of Pomeroy, WA.
Pedaling across the country might not be everyone’s idea of a perfect honeymoon, but these two seem up to the challenges that 60-100 mile days with loaded panniers present. After all, covering that distance is one thing; having the wherewithall to upload erudite posts every evening afterward? That’s tough.
At Nau, we’ve always asked our designs to do more than just one thing. The idea that a single jacket should be able to move from the bike to the office to the bar was one of the original design principles that we launched with, and it carries through the execution of pieces like the Chrysalis Dress, the Vice Blazer and many others.
So we were interested to learn of a few folks who are taking the idea doing more with less a bit further. Today, a group of ninety-six people from around the world began an experiment to see what happens when you pare down your wardrobe to just six items. The project, Six Items Or Less, has exceptions for underwear, workout clothing and raincoats; but even so, pledging to go a month with just a handful of clothes poses some interesting questions about our relationship to what we wear.
Of course, there are plenty of people around the world who get by on fewer than six items for much longer than a month. But in our culture of ready to wear and disposable fashion, it’s interesting to challenge the assumption that we need a closet full of clothes. But more than a post-consumerist statement, pairing back might have other, more personal impacts as well: Kimberly, who turned us on to this site, also sent along this post from one of Six Items or Less founder, alias Uberblond, on how the designer Tom Ford, among others, would pick one outfit to wear for a season so he could focus on designing. Is it possible that what we wear is less about self expression and more about self-distraction?
What do you think? Could you get by on six items for a month? A year? Follow the experiment at sixitemsorless.com, and post what you’d pick for your six items in the comments below.
I didn’t make it to the desert this spring—J-Tree has long been an unchecked box on my list of climbing destinations—and now that it’s summer I’ll likely have to wait until the cooler months of fall to make my pilgrimage. In lieu of a trip, however, I’ve been keeping up with the state of the wildflowers, the blooming of cacti and the culinary delights of Joshua Tree through the musings, photos and recipes of Lily Stockman’s blog, Big Bang Studio. A painter, gleaner and trespassing wanderer, her postings veer from the raptures of avocados to re-fiberglassing a vintage camper. Worth a read.
This berm was built from river rocks, broken concrete and pieces of wood. It is planted with a mixture of ornamentals and edibles.
It’s planting season here in the PNW and on my travels through Portland I’ve been seeing raised beds popping up like dandelions. This trend makes me very happy—the fewer lawns and more tomatoes, the better.
This curved raised bed is constructed of “urbanite” (found broken concrete) and holds asparagus, onion, lettuce, chard and sugar snap peas which are grown up an old cyclone fence gate.
Wooden raised beds are neat in appearance and function well, but the expense of a raised bed constructed of cedar or teak can be a roadblock for some people wishing to grow vegetables. But it need not be. The primary purpose of a raised bed is to increase drainage and to help heat the soil. If the aesthetic of a wooden bed isn’t necessary to your landscape design, mounding soil up about 6 inches (called an “open mound” or “unconstructed bed”) or using found materials—rocks, old broken concrete, large wooden branches etc.— to create a raised bed does the job just as well. (Treated, painted or stained wood should never be used due to the danger of chemicals like arsenic leaching into your soil). Freeing yourself of lumber also allows for more interesting and sometimes more efficient bed shapes, such as a keyhole bed.
A keyhole bed takes up less room in your yard than rectangular beds that require more space for the rows between the beds. I find keyhole beds and curved beds to be a nice fit in many gardens and their shapes flow and guide the garden visitor through your yard more naturally. People tend to plant rectangular raised beds in monoculture rows — all corn in one bed, all tomatoes in another and so on. Adding a curve to your bed and treating your vegetables as ornamentals or planting them with ornamentals is both beautiful and better for pollination and pest control since the pollinators and other beneficial insects will be drawn to you food crops because they are adjacent to a wider variety of flowers. You can find a good list of ornamental plants that benefit your vegetable garden here.
This is a keyhole style mounded bed. The branches used as a structure for the beans have been in the ground for 4 seasons and are still sound.
I have nothing against rectangular wooden raised beds. I have five of them myself and if tall enough they can make gardening more accessible for people with mobility limitations. To me, though, the blurred lines between food production and ornamental plantings are where my garden is the most interesting. After all, it’s not what you plant in that matters, it’s what you plant — and thay can be achieved in any kind of bed.
To do anything really great, you need a team. Sure, there are the clichés about the power of one, but it’s only when that singular energy is reflected and amplified by others that great things start happening. Whether it’s activism or athletics or art, the inspiration and support we take from others allow us to do far greater things than we can do alone.
A lot of us ride bikes for fitness or for our commute. But for a few of us—like our friend (and Nau-alum) Otis—they’re something to be taken much more seriously. Beyond the skin tight kit and chiseled calves, cycling introduced him to Rapha Racing Northwest, the tribe that he’s been riding with for almost twenty years. They don’t get out as much as they used to, he writes,
But we remain connected to the core of bike racing, to a collection of friendships that now outstrip many of our childhood and school-day ones, and to the passion that kicks up every time we wheel the bike up the stairs or out the back. What we think of most are the coffees before the Sunday ride, the beers after, and the buzz that combines from long days in the saddle with old friends.
Check out his complete post on the Rapha blog, where you’ll find a collection of writing, photography and film evincing the same attention to detail as the British cycling supplier’s classically styled on-bike apparel. For anyone who’s sweated or struggled with like-minded friends, it’s a well-timed reflection on the lasting rewards of working together.
A few years ago, we made a little film about a friend of ours named Dee. Wondering whether the cost of owning and maintaining a house was really worth it, Dee had decided to change her life, and downsize her home to something with a smaller footprint. A much smaller footprint. Her little home, built on a trailer and little bigger than an area rug, was small enough to tow behind her biodiesel truck and cute enough to turn heads around the nation. Remarkably, something about living simply, unencumbered by stuff, struck a chord with people. They watched the film and posted comments. Some thought she was crazy, most admired her creativity. Oprah called. And slowly but surely, people began asking her for plans for how to make little houses of their own.
Out of that little seed, Dee and her partner Katy grew Portland Alternative Dwellings, providing design, construction and hands-on workshops for folks who want to make “little houses” of their own. They built a second little house, the Don Vardo—and an accompanying dog house. And recently, they launched their website, http://portlandalternativedwellings.com.
If you’re tired of making small changes and are ready to take a bigger step this Earth Day, PAD is a great place to start. Featuring plans, photos and lots of positive encouragement, it’s an inspiring example of how thinking differently and taking action can create positive change.
(hat tip to Eric @ ShiftAdvantage; that’s his puppy in the doghouse)
The official start of spring isn’t until Sunday, but don’t tell that to the all the trees blooming across Portland. So today, here’s your 30 seconds of cherry blossom zen:
Since moving to Oregon three and a half years ago, one of my favorite winter rituals has become the after-work night ski. With a packed car waiting and long-johns tucked under my work clothes, I duck out of work at 5pm on the button, pick up a few friends, and head for the hills. Soon, rush hour traffic is behind us, route 26 opens up ahead and—on a clear night—the peach-colored slopes of Mt. Hood loom out of the gathering darkness.
This year has been a tough one for skiing on Mt. Hood. After a few early November dumps, the freezing level climbed back up toward an unusually bare summit, leaving many of us with nothing to do but sit in Portland and watch the rain streak down our windows. But that’s only made more special the few recent late-season dumps, including this past Wednesday when a modest 4” returned Mt. Hood Ski Bowl to form.
It made me think it was time to follow up on Josie’s “Ski Poll” post from last December. An informal survey here in the office saw Ski Bowl as the unanimous favorite: It’s close to town, just well enough lit, and has three of the best beer stubes you could ask for to warm your fingers and toes. But from modest bumps like Bradford Hill in Haverhill, MA to the (often icy) steeps of Snow King in Jackson Hole, WY, there are a lot of contenders. What’s your favorite?
The Thought Kitchen is our effort at collective inquiry and its power to affect change. Have you ever noticed how the party is always in the kitchen? There are more walls to lean on and people are energized by the proximity to food and drink. Well, welcome to our kitchen, where we hope to tap into everything we love about that feeling—community, vivacious exchange, food for thought.
Pedaling across the country might not be everyone’s idea of a perfect honeymoon, but these two seem up to the challenges that 60-100 mile days with loaded panniers present. After all, covering that distance is one thing; having the wherewithall to upload erudite posts every evening afterward? That’s tough.
Since moving to Oregon three and a half years ago, one of my favorite winter rituals has become the after-work night ski. With a packed car waiting and long-johns tucked under my work clothes, I duck out of work at 5pm on the button, pick up a few friends, and head for the hills. Soon, rush hour traffic is behind us, route 26 opens up ahead and—on a clear night—the peach-colored slopes of Mt. Hood loom out of the gathering darkness.