All About the Green

by David Lightfoot

     “Because of the many environmental programs supported by Clean City Initiative Centre,” my sister Cathy says, “Vancouver and surrounding cities like Abbotsford, Burnaby, Surrey and Langley have evolved into an environmentalist’s dream. We’ve been voted World’s Greenest City for more than a decade.”

     It’s a Thursday afternoon in June, almost summer, and Cathy and I are hosting an “environmental tour” for twenty people who just moved to Vancouver. They’re mostly women, with two or three men among them; all spouses of Alberta miners, left widowed after the Shellenburgh coal mine imploded and collapsed two months ago. We’re showing them all the environmental improvements the city has made over the years. As we describe the buildings, we talk about the masonry, environmentally friendly bricks, and plastic lumber used to build them. We point out balconies with rails and guards made from steel and plastic. Going downtown, I show our tourists transit buses filled with passengers, point out the electric cars, and the new electric rail cars in between them. Above a stoplight, Cathy points out a SkyTrain riding on electric rails, and they’re impressed enough to take pictures.

     But it’s always a sombre thing for me. This was the same tour Cathy gave me a year ago, after she brought me from Nova Scotia following my husband Doug’s death from another mine tragedy. He tried to save his mine from collapsing, yet was crushed to death by falling rocks and timber. The only casualty while all the other miners got out safely. It crushed my soul, but I didn’t have time to cry. I wanted better for my sons, so it was time for me to realize my environmental dream.

     I think about losing Doug when I look at these people. Among them is our sister-in-law, Laurie, who doesn’t seem impressed. She’s staring out the window, sniffling and dabbing her eyes. I point her out to Cathy, who becomes sympathetic. Our brother, Neil, was among the more than one hundred fifty miners killed in the implosion. Laurie was quite dependant on him, that’s why she’s still lost.

     “Cover me for a bit, Susan,” Cathy says lowly. I take her microphone and describe the environmental elements of the buildings the best I can.

     “All this is possible because of the ‘green jobs’ that are very big in Vancouver,” I say. “Masonry and steel work are in high demand for new housing, and plastic lumber is quickly replacing the wooden version. We’re happy to announce that ‘green construction’ is on the rise. This helps to protect the forests in British Columbia, Alberta, and everywhere else in Canada. In the next ten years, many wooden houses are scheduled to be torn down, then rebuilt from scratch using these environmental materials. This is part of the ‘Environmental Housing Project’ that Clean City Initiative Centre recently received a huge grant for.”

     One woman raises her hand and asks, “So, what do you do with all the wood scraps?”

     I grin and reply, “The wood is taken to a plant for recycling, so it can be used for crafting, like the wooden projects you see in school shops class.”

     “But this is mainly in the large cities,” Cathy adds. “Some of the smaller towns have yet to catch up.”

     We park outside a secondary school that’s also built from environmentally friendly bricks. Cathy nods at me, thinking I’m doing a good job, soI lead the tourists to a wall with no windows, thinking of ways to describe the bricks.

     “These bricks are called hempcrete bricks,” I explain. “When they first came on the market, they measured at around eight to ten times this size, had a series of large holes, and was used to build large outer walls and indoor fireplaces.” I take out some sample pictures from a folder in my tote bag. “However, when construction planned more buildings from bricks like the red-coloured type we used to see, production companies realized they needed to be smaller, just about the same size as the aforementioned red bricks. They’re kept in place with this eco-friendly paste-like substance called hempcrete glue, which is used in place of cement. It was brought on the market right here just five years ago – I should know because Cathy and Glenn speak the world of this – and is now being brought to construction companies and hardware stores all across this nation.” Everyone else makes oohing sounds as they touch and feel the bricks, but Laurie examines the wall quietly. I can tell this is very new to them.

     Cathy steps up to me and says, “As we speak, scientists are working to perfect some eco-friendly cement which can be used in cleaner construction. However, bricklayers quickly got used to this paste, and now endorse it.” She runs her index finger in the space between the bricks, lining the dried substance.

     After another two hours, the tour ends, and we head back to the centre. While the others go home, Cathy and I take Laurie inside, leading her to the office we share with Glenn, Cathy’s husband who’s a celebrated environmental researcher. He asks how the tour went, and I reply, “Everyone seems to be enthusiastic about going green except Laurie.”

     “I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” Laurie says. “Neil lived for the mines; they helped him provide for his family.”

     Cathy nods and says, “I was surprised our father didn’t push him into college or trade school.”

     “He was just holding up family tradition, where the man holds down something ‘blue-collar’ to provide for his family,” Laurie says, then turns to me. “You know that, Susan; isn’t that why you married Doug?” I’m stunned, but I know that’s true, and I start thinking about my parents and other siblings.

     In my family, the boys are socialized to choose a steady “blue-collar” career, while the girls are socialized to take husbands who work in these fields. “This is the work that makes men out of boys,” my father is fond of saying. I married a miner who, like Neil, lived for the mines despite all the safety and health risks. Cathy, however, always dreamed of making the world a greener and better place. She studied environmental science and ecology, became an activist, and married Glenn – all to my father and brothers’ horror. They’re now executive directors of Clean City Initiative Centre, where I work as program manager and assistant.

     “Yes, but Doug’s death prompted me to become an environmentalist,” I remind her. “I decided I wanted a better future for my boys. You need to think about the future you want for Bingham and Deanna.”

     Laurie sits still, deeply thinking about it. I think she knows both of us are right, but she needs our help.

*****

     The next day, my sons Parker, Preston, Pearce and I take the bus downtown, meeting Cathy, Glenn and their kids at this Chinese buffet restaurant, Jade Heart Moon. Eating out is something we do every Friday as an evening of family time. Cathy and her family are already there, and they’ve reserved a large table with extra settings.

     “Did you invite Laurie and her kids?” I ask. “I hope so. We need her agreement to commit to a greener lifestyle.”

     “She’s helping her kids adapt. Let’s not pressure her,” Cathy says. “It’s apparent that Bingham won’t be going into the coal mines at eighteen like Neil did. There’s a bend in that road now. Laurie will have to talk to him about college. We can use this dinner to get her started, encourage him to take a different path. We can talk to him about masonry and steel-working if he wants to choose construction.”

     A minute later, Laurie arrives with Bingham and Deanna, her children. The kids both hug us hello before sitting down. Laurie looks at the extra placements and asks, “Who else is coming?”

     “I invited Todd and Celine and their kids to dine with us,” Cathy answers. “They’ll be here.”

     I take several deep breaths. Todd is our baby brother, seventh of eight children, and a career lumberjack. He and his wife live in the city, but he has to commute ninety minutes away for his work. He sometimes dines with us, but has felt the need to lecture us lately.

     As we wait, the kids start talking about their interests and activities. Parker goes first; he talks about his recent little league game. “And then in the sixth inning, I hit the ball so hard, I was able to get all the way to home plate before the outfielders could even get to the ball. Two other guys were able to score runs as well, from first and second base.”

     After five minutes, Pearce announces that he’s hungry, so he talks his brothers and cousins into getting some soup. Todd and Celine still don’t arrive when they return, and we start to wonder if they’ve decided not to come. I check my watch; it’s getting on five-thirty. We wait another ten minutes and decide to start without them when they finally arrive. We’re a little surprised. Todd is wearing his lumberjack gear, including his work boots, and I wonder if he’s trying to make a statement.

     “Sorry we’re late,” Celine says. “We had to wait for the babysitter.”

     I stare at Todd’s clothes as he sits down. “Nice of you to change for dinner,” I say sarcastically.

     He’s looking back and forth between Cathy and me. “So, where do we start?” he asks. “That environmental tour you took Laurie on yesterday, or that ‘tree preservation’ law you’re trying to pass? You know, that one where trees are only to be cut down if they’re seriously damaged or diseased and can’t be saved? The one that could put my job in jeopardy? What are you doing, outlawing logging and lumber production?”

     Cathy and Glenn start to angrily reply, but I diffuse it by saying, “Why don’t we fill up our plates before we talk? The kids and I are starving.” I guide the whole family in line, and we fill up plates with rice, noodles, vegetables and meat. Celine looks indifferent, but Todd is glaring at us the whole time. When we sit back down, Todd and Cathy start yet another debate.

     “Todd, how many times must I tell you?” she says. “The trees in the forests help produce clean air to make the environment better. If you want to work a trade, you can do masonry work or make plastic lumber. They’re really popular in construction. You’re only thirty-eight. You really ought to learn something new.”

     “Cathy, there’s a reason why I became a lumberjack and Neil went into the coal mines, rather than choosing college,” he responds. “We wanted to provide without dealing with college debt.”

     “And the Clean City Initiative Centre works with former miners and lumberjacks to get them into new careers,” she tells him. “Business administration and corporate management are very popular, and we highly encourage environmental science. I can help as both your counsellor and your sister if you’ll let me.”

     “Do you have a plan to pay off college debt?”

     “Maybe if you learned to save your money and not splurge on luxuries, for starters.” Cathy consumes some rice and vegetables pretty quickly. “Look, my point is that things are changing, and people are more interested in reducing pollution and waste, and producing cleaner water and air.”

     I finish off a beef spring roll before I speak. “Can we focus on Laurie’s family and future, please? Now that the Shellenburgh mine is likely to shut down, there are less than five coal mines in all of Canada. They’re set to disappear completely within the next year, now that coal is becoming obsolete, proven to be more harmful than helpful.”

     I shudder at those last words, thinking about Doug again, how he came home from the mines most days coughing and wheezing, as if he was developing heart and lung problems when he never smoked. I think of the autopsy results after he died, how he had already developed black lungs. If he were still alive, he wouldn’t have many years left anyway. I look at my sons. Pearce keeps eating unaffected, but Parker and Preston take both my wrists.

     Now Todd gets angry with me. “Thanks for the reminder!” he calls, jolting me back into the present. “My question is, where are all the miners supposed to go when the coal mines do disappear? Same with the lumberjacks when all the logging camps shut down? You think it’s so easy for us to just switch to solar energy? For some of us, lumber and coal production are how we pay our bills, support our families, and all we’ve ever known.”

     He gobbles down various items, eating like a pig, brushing Celine off when she tells him to slow down. “And why do you care about the environment anyway? Why not just leave things the way they are? Who’s going to be around for a cleaner planet anyway?”

     I rise and walk over to Cathy and her children, bringing mine with me. I call for Bingham and Deanna to join us. When we’re all assembled, I show the children off to Todd. “Maybe we won’t, but they will,” I tell him. “We owe it to them and generations after them to provide just that.”

     “And, after giving this a lot of thought,” Laurie adds, “I’ve decided that I’m going to let your sisters help me find some work so I can contribute to a better world – for Bingham and Deanna.”

     Todd almost chokes on some ginger beef, but manages to swallow with some water. He waits for Celine to finish, then gets up looking furious at us all.

     “Thanks for dinner,” he says, “but we have to get home. I want to get up early tomorrow and get to my job at the logging camp – while I still have one!”

     We wait until they’re gone, then resume eating as if we’re unbothered. I turn to Laurie and say, “Wonderful to hear your decision. Let’s go over a credible plan right now.”

*****

     Todd’s behaviour doesn’t deter me at all. After I send the boys to bed, I go online to do some research. I type “Lumberjack Salary” into the Google search. The first website shows figures from 2014, but I want something more current, so I go to this information site, SalaryExpert.

     I am stunned by the figures, especially since Todd’s been doing this for almost two decades. SalaryExpert tells me that a lumberjack with Todd’s experience can make $73,554 per year in Canada. I do some calculations; that’s $2,829 per pay period, with an average bonus of $1,030. I wonder if this is after taxes. As I write the information down, I figure this still isn’t enough money, since Celine works as a chambermaid for a hotel downtown. I take down the entry and average salaries and calculate the periodical pay for both. I stare at the figures. No wonder Todd’s so frustrated. He’s worried that he will lose everything he’s worked for if these environmental jobs eradicate the need for wood, the logging industries. Plus, Cathy’s always telling me that lumber from the forests get distributed to manufacturers all over the country. Manufacturers like the one my grandfather founded, now run by my two oldest brothers, Robert and Hartley. But I’m determined to prove that green jobs are the future.

     I scan the website’s homepage to access data for something similar. I click on “View All Jobs” and type “Coal Miner” into the search bar. I’m even more stunned by these results. The website states that the average coal miner can make $65,748 per year, while seniority miners like Neil make $80,599 annually. I write down the numbers, calculate the periodical pay and record the figures. I think about Laurie, then Doug. When Neil was alive, Laurie was able to stay home with Bingham and Deanna, tutoring children in health on the side. In my case, Doug was able to pay our mortgage, keep the boys clothed and fed, and I could afford to be a housewife. I think back to his funeral, when my father and brothers who attended criticized me when I told them I was becoming an environmentalist. I remember Todd’s words at the restaurant. “Who’s going to be around for a cleaner planet anyway?” The same words Hartley used at Doug’s funeral.

     “Really?” I say lowly to my laptop. “Then why did Doug and Neil and so many others give their lives? Why are all these coal mines closing down? Why is coal just about obsolete in this country? This is filthy money, designed to make the wealthy elite even wealthier.”

     I rush off to the bathroom and splash myself with cold water. “Take it easy, woman,” I say to myself. “You’re starting an unsolicited research report for Cathy and Glenn. Don’t be preachy.” When I’m calmer, I go back to Google and type “Green Jobs Canada” into the search. Surely, one can earn more money protecting the environment.

     I click onto a website called GoodWork, that promotes environmental jobs. The first posting I see promotes an energy and sustainability program in a small town in Ontario – but the salary is less than $70,000 per year.

     “Well, this would be enough to support a family with two or three children if you come up with a realistic budget,” I respond to myself. I picture myself saying that to Todd, if it will shut him up.

     I click on the British Columbia listings, looking at all the job postings. Most of them require work experience in the environmental field, but I’m excited for this one position for a senior forest campaigner. Not only can one work in a Vancouver office, but the annual salary is between $70,000 and $85,000. I wonder if Laurie has already e-mailed her job résumé. Maybe I should ask her to have the other widowed spouses submit theirs to Cathy. I can write to this company and ask about hiring recent college graduates. Cathy can help enroll them into any college they want. I go to the GoodWork homepage and add it to my Favourites.

     The next morning, I open the sliding patio doors in the family room. I want to work while breathing warm, fresh air. I decide it’s too nice to stay inside, so I take my laptop out onto the patio. I go back to GoodWork to look up local environmental jobs, writing down each posted position with the company’s name. It’s interesting that a rural organic farm will pay an orchard manager twenty-two dollars an hour, but I can’t find the salary of a horticulturalist in Victoria. I plan to do some e-mailing requesting information. I’m attracted to the organic food educator advertisement. Laurie was a teacher before she stayed home; she will like this.

     I’m halfway through the second page of ads when Preston approaches me. “Mom,” he says, “Auntie Laurie and Auntie Celine are here.”

     He leaves, then I see my sisters-in-law coming to the back. Celine looks sombre, but Laurie is highly motivated by the way she greets me. Celine stops her, however, so I let her speak first.

     “Susan, I want to apologize for the way Todd acted at dinner,” Celine says. “It’s just that he’s worked so hard cutting and driving all those logs for lumber–”

     I stop her and reply, “I understood when I saw the figures. But there has to be a way for him to understand Cathy and me.”

     I suddenly get an idea. I open another window for the SalaryExpert website, scroll to the bottom and click “Research Job Salaries.” Once there, I type in “Masonry Worker” then “Vancouver, British Columbia.” The numbers tell me that Todd just may give this a chance. I show Celine the page as I recite the numbers.

     “If Todd agrees to change careers tomorrow,” I say, “he’ll start out making $56,557 annually in the first three years. If he keeps this up at age fifty, he can make $96,171 annually.” I scroll further to see more good news. “And, by the time Todd reaches average experience in five years, he can stand to make $87,821 annually.” I jot down the numbers, and Celine looks excited and fascinated.

     “Now I’m no money expert,” I say as I copy them for her, “but if you will create a realistic family budget every month upon Todd’s new career path, you just may be able to quit your job and be a stay-at-home mother.”

     I go back to the search engine and type in “Steel Construction Worker.” The numbers are a little lower, but still hopeful. “Here, Todd will start out making almost $52,000 every year,” I continue, “but if he gets more seasoned, he can earn a little over $87,200 yearly, with an estimated average salary of just about $80,000.” I write down the exact numbers, copying them for Celine. “He could earn more money than a lumberjack, and it’s much easier on Mother Earth.”

     “I think he’ll go for the masonry work,” Celine agrees. “It’ll take a lot of persuasion, but if you can convince him this is better, he’ll go for it.”

     “I’ll e-mail him later today with these numbers,” I tell her.

     “I wonder if one would be able to do both,” Laurie says.

     “Yes, I’d love to see a man build an entire building by himself,” I laugh, and the other women laugh with me. I click back to the GoodWork window and show Laurie some ads I’ve been listing.

     “I’m afraid not many of these match my work experience,” she says. “Is there anything for a former stay-at-home mother?”

     I show her the ad for the organic food educator. “It’s full-time work and you’ll get to work with participating schools in the city.”

     Laurie nods enthusiastically. “Oh, I’m all over that one! Science and health were my favourite subjects to teach elementary school kids in my teaching days. I’ll also ask them about integrating a ‘healthy cooking’ session into my duties. I think they’ll marvel over my vegetarian recipes. When Neil was with us, I would only have two vegetarian nights a week. Oh, but he hated it when I cooked Manwich without hamburger and mixed it in with rice. I’m actually thinking about going vegetarian full-time now.”

     My enthusiasm can match hers. “Excellent! Now that’s how you become an environmentalist! Cathy will be so happy to hear this.” Still on the food educator ad, I click onto the website, going to the contact page. I rip away part of a clean page and jot down the website address, taking down the contact name, phone number and e-mail. “Don’t forget to mention that Susan Jarman, from the Clean City Initiative Centre, also told you about it,” I advise.

     “Thanks,” Laurie says. “I’ll look at the website tomorrow and call them on Monday.” She addresses both Celine and me. “Now, let’s talk about last night, girls. You should’ve seen Cathy when we all got home from dinner. She couldn’t stop bitching all night about Todd’s boorishness.” I see Celine hiding her embarrassment as she laughs along with us.

*****

     I spend much of the weekend on my report about environmental trades. I’m too focused to check my e-mail, but Todd hasn’t called all this time. I’m almost done the first draft by Monday after lunch, when Glenn requests, “Susan, can you check the e-mail messages? We’re expecting a reply about that tree preservation law we wrote, to see if it’s been approved for the legislative floor.”

     I go online to the MSN homepage and there’s six new messages in our mailbox, but I notice a local headline in the news feed. I click on it, and there’s a story of an outbreak at Todd’s logging camp. I’m so alarmed, I call for Cathy.

     “Look at this,” I say. “A deadly infestation of this shamrock-coloured beetle broke out over the weekend. It’s called the Washington pine beetle, and it’s attacking the trees in B.C. forests. A lot of loggers came to work this morning to find over three hundred damaged trees, and much of the wood and bark has been eaten away. They had a hard time getting it under control, and the logs have been declared useless and must be destroyed.” I step away from the computer and let Glenn and Cathy read. They are clearly stunned and nobody talks.

     After a few moments, I speak first. “Guys, this could put the logging camp out of business. Todd and all the other lumberjacks will be laid off.”

     “Yeah, I don’t think Todd’s going to have any choice but to listen to us now,” Cathy agrees.

     I read my progress on my report, and I get an idea. “Cathy,” I say, “do you think we can form a partnership with one of the local trade colleges? I think we should talk Todd and some of his colleagues into signing up for a twelve-week ‘green construction’ education program. This could be a better option if it’ll get them a little more money as well. All they need are high school diplomas, so they’ll be perfect, and maybe we can get them ready in time for the city’s housing project to start.”

     Cathy and Glenn look at each other, grinning as if I’m brilliant. I return to my document and she points at the computer. “Okay,” she says, “I want that report on my desk by the end of tomorrow. I’ll make a list of all the trade schools in Vancouver, and you can draft a letter inviting them to partner with us for an education program.”

     “I’ll help you with the proofreading,” Glenn offers.

     “And this Friday at dinner, we can ask Todd if he’s interested,” she continues.

     “Great idea, and I can’t wait,” I say. “I also want to hear how Laurie’s progressing.” I then tell them about the job advertisement I showed her.

     I’m trying to meet the deadline on my report, but I keep getting distracted by the news. Over the next two days, there are more outbreaks of Washington pine beetles at two more logging camps near Todd’s work. I call Cathy and relay the story to her.

     “This is going to affect wood distribution for sure,” she agrees. “I’ll send an e-mail to Dad and Robert.”

     Friday arrives, and we all meet for pizza. Just as my sons and I arrive, I see another car park and Laurie stepping out with Bingham. “Deanna made plans to have dinner and see a movie with friends,” she says.

     Inside, we see Cathy and Todd with their families, all at a large booth. When we’re all seated with our drinks, Laurie volunteers to go first.

     “So, I got a call from Andrea Johnstone from EarthEats this morning,” she says. “She said she was fascinated with my teaching work, and commented that I chose the right subjects to tutor while staying at home with the kids. She told me she’s keeping the ad on the GoodWork website for the time being, but she wants to schedule an interview with me for the middle of next week.” Everyone except Todd applauds, and I can tell what he’s thinking about.

     He sighs and says, “Well, it’s official. Because of the infestation that happened last weekend, my logging camp is ending operations at the end of this month. There were swarms of those bleeding beetles. Hundreds of thousands were discovered, they were just covering the trunks, and nothing we tried could kill them. Much of the wood there is unsellable. After the loss, there’s only enough money left to pay the last electric and utility bill, and give us our final salaries.”

     “Fortunately, I got messages from Dad and Robert and Hartley,” Cathy adds. “They told me they support Todd changing careers. Despite the fact that there’s little to no wood involved in the environmental housing project, they agreed that masonry and steel-working are just as manly as lumberjacking and mining.”

     I reach across to take Todd’s hand. “And you have to admit this is a win for the breadwinners as well as the environmentalists,” I tell him. “You’ll be making more money at all experience levels, and if anything, this construction program will teach you something about kindness to the Earth. You’ll have something that’ll make your kids respect you, and teach them something very important in the process.” I look around at Bingham, Cathy’s kids and mine. “Like I said, we owe it to them.”

     “What’s even better,” Celine adds, “is no more long commutes. This new job will keep you in the city, and you’ll come home with more time and energy for your family.” His children jump from their chairs and hug their father.

     He’s still thinking for a few moments, but I can tell he knows it’s inescapable. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I? All right, ladies, I’ll do it.”

     A waitress comes by ready to take our menus. When we’ve all ordered, Cathy looks at Todd and announces, “Okay, so once we submit our proposal for our education program, we can start work on another proposal for a forest revival project.”

BIO

David Lightfoot identifies as a writer with a disability (Cerebral Palsy) and chose a writing career while in junior high school. He studied creative writing through correspondence from institutions in both Canada and the United States. Along with self-publishing a novel on human rights violations for the disabled, “Broken Family Portrait,” his fiction publication credits include Medicine and Meaning Journal, Men Matters Online Journal, October Hill Magazine, Lit Shark Magazine, CommuterLit and others. David lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada and is an advocate for educational literacy.