by Jennifer Noelle Welch
Nature's Mill blog, June 15, 2015, 9:20 am:
Because you won't let up on these environmental one-upmanships
(yeah, I saw the passive-aggressive note you left on my bag of cheese
doodles), I'm issuing you a challenge. Something bigger than the two-sheet rule you made about the office toilet paper last week. Anyone
who's looked up Nature's Mill knows we're not just a green company.
We're the only two-person, twenty-something distributors of Earth-friendly products on the East coast.
You said, when I hired you, "Graham, we've got to start a blog to
publicize our products and emphasize accountability." Fine. You want
accountability? Let's keep a running blog as we see which of us can
make the smallest environmental impact. One month of competitive
green living, to show the interweb peeps how global stewardship is
(To all you lurkers reading this on the website, I already took the liberty
of filling in my half of the "About Us" page, so read my bio and
become a fan).
Ed? You are doomed, brutha. I lived out of a backpack for three years
after college. There's a lot I can do without.
Graham hit 'return' and pushed back from his office desk in satisfaction. Boss though he
was, no one could accuse him of running a boring workplace. Out of all the other business and
environmental science double majors he knew, none of them were doing anything as awesome as
operating a company out of a reclaimed industrial building in the middle of State forest. He spun
a few times in his Aeron chair and came to rest facing the windows overlooking the river. Recent
rain had swollen the rapids, and the air outside pulsed with the sound of tumbling water.
His parents would have been thrilled that he spent their bequest on the mill. They went
the way they would have wanted, in a bus accident on the way to an environmental protest. Still,
he wished they could have stood alongside him when he'd seen it for the first time. The three-story building, tucked snugly between the slopes of the Delaware Water Gap, offered all the
space his business would need: a ground level housing the mill's old machinery, a second-floor
office space, and a sprawling third-floor warehouse. When he'd stood on the building's flat roof,
the view of the gorge and surrounding forest had sold him on the spot.
The mill's freight elevator clunked open downstairs. Graham straightened up in
anticipation as it groaned upwards. When the doors rolled back, Ed sauntered in, shaking the
remnants of a bag of granola into his mouth. His bike helmet dangled from one arm.