After two years of eco-living, what works and what doesn't
GLT
After two years of eco-living, what works and what doesn't
After experimenting with solar panels, gray-water systems and chickens
for two years, a budget-minded consumer takes stock of what worked and
what didn't.
By Susan Carpenter, Los Angeles Times
October 16, 2010
It started with gray water, then escalated to chickens, composting
toilets and rain barrels. I'm talking about the two years I've spent
transforming my humble California bungalow into a test case for
sustainable living — an experience that's cost me hundreds of hours of
my time and thousands of dollars, an endeavor that has tested the
limits of not only my checkbook but also my sanity — and my DIY
skills.
When I launched the Realist Idealist column, the idea was to look at
environmentally promising home improvement projects through the eyes
of a budget-minded consumer. I had seen so much media coverage that
heaped praise on newly constructed eco-manses or expensive retrofit
products, but the stories didn't answer my biggest question: For the
green-minded person writing the checks, are the improvements worth the
time, effort and expense?
Although everything I retrofitted seemed wise at the time I did it,
hindsight tells a different story. Over time, I occasionally
questioned the wisdom of some actions.
The idealist in me finds value in every improvement, but the realist
can't deny that some have been far better in terms of payback — if not
financially, at least morally. The systems that easily fold in to my
busy life are the ones I've enjoyed most.
What's been worth the money and effort, and what hasn't? I've divided
the projects into two categories: "Worth It" and "Second Thoughts."
WORTH IT
Gray water, 1st place
Gray water is the waste generated from faucets, showers and laundry
machines — water that accounts for 54.2% of all water used inside a
home, according to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. With
California deep into a drought, in August 2008 I retrofitted the
plumbing on my laundry machine to send its gray water onto my
landscape. Over the last two years, that simple switch has sent 9,720
gallons to passion fruit vines instead of the sewer, and it required
only one change to my usual routine. I had to swap laundry detergents
because my usual brand, like many, contained salt and other
ingredients that kill plants.
When I first installed a gray-water system, it wasn't legal. Making it
legal would have required a permit, extensive filtering apparatus and
lots of cash. But in August 2009, these laundry-to-landscape systems
were legalized in California, as long as homeowners followed 12
guidelines.
I've been so pleased with this low-cost, high-impact system that I
hired a plumber to expand it in January, tying the wastewater from my
bathtub, shower and bathroom sink into the same gravity-fed plumbing
line that handles my laundry water. This so-called simple system also
was legalized in California in 2009. Its legal status has since been
rescinded, so once again I've gone rogue. I estimate my additional
savings to be roughly 1,120 gallons per month.
Financially, this system is paying for itself, just slowly. The Los
Angeles Department of Water and Power charges me less than half a
penny per gallon, so technically, gray water has saved me only $95 in
water costs so far. But it's also reduced my sewer charge by about one-
third, saving me an extra $3.30 per month. In drought-prone Southern
California, gray water feels like the right thing to do. It's been the
easiest, most sensible, hassle-free, sustainable system I've put in
place at my house.
Cost: $1,988 ($312 for the laundry-to-landscape plumbing, $1,676 for
bathtub and bathroom sink tie-in)
Resources: Greywater Action, http://www.greywateraction.org; Oasis
Design, oasisdesign.net
Solar power, 2nd place
Photovoltaic systems pay off most quickly for consumers who use a lot
of energy because tiered rates impose a penalty for heavy use, but
solar electric still makes sense for low-energy users such as myself.
So much of Americans' carbon footprint results from buildings — about
43%, according to the U.S. Department of Energy. I'm a household of
1.5 (mom and 7-year-old), and we use only about 4 kilowatt hours of
electricity per day, something we've managed through behavioral
changes, such as turning off the lights in rooms after we've exited,
and through in-home efficiencies, such as swapping out incandescent
light bulbs for compact fluorescents and using power strips that can
turn off DVD players, coffee makers and other energy vampires.
Using less electricity means I can get by with a smaller, less
expensive photovoltaic system that not only covers my use but also
produces a credit on my power bill. Going solar also meant my house
was upgraded with a time-of-use meter. This type of meter allows me to
receive credit for the electricity I generate during peak hours when
electricity costs the most, but pay the least for the electricity
during off-peak hours, when I recharge my cellphone and laptop and
perform other tasks requiring power.
The downsides are that I am tied in to the grid and still susceptible
to power outages, and I now have panels that need to be cleaned. It's
a subject of debate, but my installer, REC Solar, said dirty panels
decrease energy production by 6% to 8%. Many panel manufacturers
recommend cleaning panels at least once during the summer. I wash mine
whenever they look dirty or dotted with bird droppings, which is about
every other week.
I think $6,000 is a small price to pay, not only for panels that
should generate my next 20 years of electricity, but also for the
greenhouse-gases I'm not creating.
Cost: $5,939 ($11,564, minus a $3,898 DWP rebate and a $1,727 federal
tax credit)
Resources: California Public Utilities Commission, http://www.cpuc.ca.gov;
1 Block Off the Grid, http://www.1bog.org; REC Solar, http://www.recsolar.com
Rain barrels, 3rd place
I was a rain barrel skeptic before I joined L.A.'s rainwater
harvesting pilot program last fall and received a 55-gallon pickle
barrel. Though rainwater holds such enormous potential for
supplementing Southern California's dwindling reserves of imported
water, rain barrels seem like such thimbles. During a normal L.A.
winter, my 1,500-square-foot roof generates 13,500 gallons of water —
a tidal wave compared to what a little barrel can handle.
Having lived with rain barrels for a year, I've learned that their
small size makes them manageable and affordable. The water they catch
isn't stored only for summer use. It can be drained in between rains
to water nearby plants. An added perk: reducing storm-water runoff to
the ocean.
I have three rain barrels — one from the city and two that I purchased
separately. They're along the edge of my house, at the halfway point
in a row of kiwi vines and berries. The 175 gallons they hold were a
lot more useful than I'd expected for feeding my exceptionally thirsty
fruit plants. The water they held lasted about a month into the
summer.
I never had mosquitoes. I did, however, have some algae growing in the
plastic tubes connecting my rain barrels, but it wasn't significant
enough to reduce flow. Water pressure was problematic only for the
last few gallons of each barrel.
I still think larger rain catchment systems are preferable. Alas,
larger systems frequently need electric pumps and are far more
expensive. In this economy, affordability rules. And it's
affordability that could lead to mainstream adoption and significant
water savings for our parched city.
Cost: $500 ($300 for rain barrels, $200 for installation and parts)
Resources: L.A. Rainwater Harvesting, http://www.larainwaterharvesting.org;
Rain Bud, http://www.rainbud.com
Earth works, 4th place
Rainwater isn't only a resource. It's also a potential pollutant if it
runs off property onto pavement, picking up fertilizers and automotive
fluids that are washed, unfiltered, into the ocean.
To prevent my home's contributions to runoff, which could be as much
as 10,000 gallons per year, according to L.A.'s Bureau of Sanitation,
I've sculpted my landscape to retain as much rainwater as possible.
The parkway between the sidewalk and the curb is concave and mulched.
My backyard is home to a 15-foot-wide hole in the ground that is fed
with gutters from my roof. During the rainy season, this infiltration
pit can hold as many as 500 gallons at a time, allowing it to
gradually replenish groundwater. During the dry season, it's been
doing double duty as a skateboard pit.
Cost: Not easy to determine because it was part of a larger landscape
project, but for DIYers, potentially free
Resources: Rainwater harvesting books by Brad Lancaster,
http://www.harvestingrainwater.com
::
SECOND THOUGHTS
Waterwall
The Waterwall is an Australian product that is exactly what its name
implies: It's a wall that catches and stores water. Water channeled
from the roof and gutter drains into a tank shaped like a thick
concrete-block wall. It operates similarly to a rain barrel but holds
six times as much water and is better looking. It's also modular,
allowing water to flow freely from one wall into another in series.
The Waterwall was expensive, and installation was a nightmare. It's an
excellent idea that simply wasn't worth the money for a person of my
means. If California's drought persists and water prices start going
through the roof, I'm likely to change my attitude. But so far, the
$4,078 I've spent to store 634 gallons of water I could have bought
from the city for about $3 is an embarrassment, particularly with so
many ways to conserve.
Even worse, it's been annoying to use. I put my Waterwall near a trio
of stone-fruit trees that would happily drink in the water.
Unfortunately, the water pressure drops along with the level of water
in the wall, and running the water through a relatively short, 15-foot
length of hose or even lifting the hose above the spigot decreases its
flow rate.
I love the Waterwall in theory, and I still think I would've ringed my
backyard with Waterwalls if I'd known about them 10 years ago, when I
installed an appallingly expensive redwood fence.
Cost: $4,078 ($2,300 for two walls, plus $944 for shipping and taxes,
plus $834 for installation)
If I had to do it over again: I'd go with a cistern or a large,
agricultural above-ground tank.
Edible landscaping
When the economy was freefalling two years ago, I couldn't shake the
fear that the American infrastructure was about to crumble and that I
should start growing my own food. Thus began an incredibly long,
expensive and back-breaking journey. Not only did I have soil that was
high in lead, but I also had critters that liked to dig and destroy.
Then there's the water issue. It takes a lot of the wet stuff to grow
most fruit and vegetables.
Having transitioned my low-water ornamental landscape to edibles, I'd
say this is a project for people with time, money and a love of
gardening and cooking. It isn't a job for single mothers with high-
stress jobs who'd rather not spend their precious down time watering,
pulling weeds and bringing in their harvest.
I've resigned myself to the fact that I won't likely learn as much as
I should to maximize my yields. At this point, I'm just hoping this
whole project won't end up being a high-cost intellectual exercise
that bears little fruit. Passion fruit and tomatoes have had the
biggest payoff so far. Beans, corn and kale? Not so much. It's so easy
to get high-quality produce from a CSA, or community supported
agriculture group, which is what I've been doing for the last year:
spending $18 a week for organic, locally grown produce conveniently
delivered to my son's school.
Cost: outrageous
If I had to do it over again: I would install one or two planter
boxes. I'd buy the rest of my produce from a community-supported
agriculture group such as Equitable Roots.
Composting toilet
Water is a precious resource, and we flush an awful lot if it away. At
my house, my low-flow toilet uses 1.6 gallons per flush. If it's
flushed 10 times a day, that's 16 gallons of imported drinking water
that's pooh-poohed and sent 23 miles to a wastewater treatment plant
that uses precious electricity to process it, then has to dispose of
leftovers.
The final frontier of green living, the composting toilet is a low-
tech option. There are a surprising number of commercial composting
toilets on the market that look nice, cost a fortune and can't handle
heavy use, which is why I went with something called a Separett.
Developed in Sweden, it's a piece of plastic foam that looks like a
toilet seat except it's outfitted with two holes — yes, No. 1 and No.
2. Each empties into its own 5-gallon bucket I access through a trap
door on the side of my house.
I'll admit, as committed as I am to living green, this is not a system
I use all the time. In fact, I use it rarely, and only for No. 1
As much as I support the premise of a composting toilet, I'm more
devoted to the traditional porcelain god. I just try to flush less.
Cost: $627 ($127 for Separett, $500 for construction labor and
materials to convert built-in cabinet to toilet)
If I had to do it over again: I might need more clearance under my
house, but I'd go with a commercial composting toilet from Clivus
Multrum.
Chickens
This is one of the projects I was most excited about and one that's
turned out to be among my biggest failures. After buying a chicken
coop, feed and hens procured through L.A. Animal Services, I got only
four eggs.
L.A. may be a sprawling metropolis, but it isn't devoid of wild
animals. Some people have coyotes. I've got possums and raccoons,
which breached my coop and gobbled down my ladies.
A forensic investigation revealed the intruder had dug under its
edges, so I fixed the problem by driving stakes deep into the ground
and nailing pieces of wood to other possible areas of entry. Although
I wasn't 100% confident that these beady-eyed villains wouldn't return
to the scene of the crime, I nevertheless journeyed back to the animal
shelter to purchase two more chicks, only to be woken up at 1 in the
morning to the sound of distress. Running outside, I found a lady bird
dangling from the mouth of a shiny-eyed raccoon. The other chicken was
missing.
I've been buying eggs at the store ever since, but I was hipped to my
local egg underground. Last week, I got my first dozen eggs from a
neighbor who's more game than I for the challenge of raising chickens.
Cost: $530 for coop, feed and chickens
If I had to do it over again: I would skip the coop and find a local
alternative.
::
SIDEBAR: EASIER FIXES
Green home improvement doesn't have to mean elaborate new systems or
expensive construction projects. Some small steps for a greener life:
Laundry line: Clothes dryers account for 5% to 10% of a home's energy
use. I have one, but I use it only if I'm desperate. My laundry line
is strung unobtrusively across my backyard deck, and the sun dries
clothes in mere hours. For me, the low-tech laundry line is about the
easiest and simplest thing I can do to reduce energy use and
greenhouse gas emissions. Cost: about $50 for equipment.
Diet: My home improvement retrofits have convinced me that more
environmental savings could be obtained by eating less meat and dairy.
The cattle business creates more greenhouse gases than the
transportation industry, according to a 2006 United Nations report.
So, although I love burgers and can't give them up entirely, I eat
fewer, and I'm mostly substituting almond and soy milk for dairy.
Composting: About 26% of the U.S. municipal solid waste stream is yard
and food waste, according to the Environmental Protection Agency.
Composting that waste is how I produce only a small grocery bag's
worth of trash every other week. It's one of my greatest achievements.
About a quarter of my trash savings comes from composting food scraps.
Cost: $20 for a bin through a city of Los Angeles composting workshop.
Recycling: The other three-quarters of my trash savings comes from
recycling, for which I have an almost-religious fervor. About 80% of
what Americans throw away is recyclable, yet only 28% actually is
recycled. Cost: nothing but the time it takes to throw something in
the blue bin.