"This dashboard tracks my journey toward environmental virtue... a quest marked by equal parts good intentions, existential dread, and the persistent feeling that I'm probably doing it wrong.
I pledge to make small, occasionally inconvenient changes to my habits while maintaining a healthy skepticism about whether my reusable grocery bags are truly offsetting the carbon footprint of industrial civilization. I'll dutifully separate my recyclables, even as I suspect they're all reuniting at the landfill like characters in a heartwarming movie about garbage.
My goal is to reduce my environmental impact without becoming the kind of person who lectures strangers about straws or believes that individual consumer choices alone will save the polar bears. I aim to navigate the contradictions of modern environmentalism, buying organic produce wrapped in plastic, calculating carbon footprints on devices made of rare earth minerals, and receiving congratulatory emails about paperless billing that I immediately print out.
This dashboard celebrates small victories, acknowledges absurd hypocrisies, and tracks my stumbling progress toward becoming slightly less of a problem for future generations. Together with my fellow eco-challengers (who I imagine are all doing this much better than I am), I'm working toward a future where sustainability doesn't require a PhD in comparative resource management and the ability to decipher cryptic recycling symbols.
The planet deserves better. I'm trying, imperfectly, to be that better."
POINTS TOTAL
0
TODAY
35
THIS WEEK
412
TOTAL
participant impact
UP TO
1.0
carbon footprint
calculated
UP TO
15
miles
not traveled by car
UP TO
16
pounds of CO2
have been saved
UP TO
56
pieces of litter
picked up
UP TO
1.0
water footprint
calculated
UP TO
160
minutes
spent learning
Greg's actions
Land, Water, and Air
Save Water When Washing Dishes
Dishwashers can save water — if used wisely. I will only run the dishwasher when it’s full and skip the pre-rinse to reduce water and energy use. If I don't have a dishwasher, I will turn off the tap as often as possible while washing dishes.
COMPLETED 14
DAILY ACTIONS
Land, Water, and Air
Learn About Water Justice
Access to clean water is a basic right, yet not everyone has it. I will spend 5 minutes learning about water justice issues and who is affected.
COMPLETED
ONE-TIME ACTION
Land, Water, and Air
Understand My Water Footprint
Each of us has a water footprint, directly linked to our daily activities as well as the water required in the production of things we use each day. Understanding our water use is important for a healthy planet. I will calculate my water footprint and look for a few ways I can reduce consumption or waste, then share what I learned on the feed.
COMPLETED
ONE-TIME ACTION
Land, Water, and Air
Calculate My Carbon Impact
Knowing our carbon footprint is the first step to reducing it. I will calculate my carbon impact and identify lifestyle changes that could reduce the carbon footprint and impacts on the environment. I will share my commitments to lowering my impact on the feed.
COMPLETED
ONE-TIME ACTION
Wildlife
Learn about Native Species
The world is full of unique species that all play an important role in nature. I will spend 5 minutes learning what the native plants and wildlife are in my region.
COMPLETED 14
DAILY ACTIONS
Community and Connection
Keep My Community Clean
A clean community benefits everyone. Each day I am outside, I will pick up 4 pieces of litter to keep my community clean.
COMPLETED 8
DAILY ACTIONS
Sustainable Innovation
Explore Alternative Transportation Options
I will explore alternatives to using a car — such as walking, biking, carpooling, micro-mobility options, or public transit to reduce my carbon footprint. I will use alternative transit 2 miles per day.
COMPLETED 8
DAILY ACTIONS
Sustainable Innovation
Learn about Regenerative Agriculture
Healthy soil, healthy planet. I will spend 6 minutes learning about regenerative agriculture and how it helps restore ecosystems, improve soil health, and combat climate change.
COMPLETED 8
DAILY ACTIONS
Participant Feed
Reflection, encouragement, and relationship building are all important aspects of getting a new habit to stick.
Share thoughts, encourage others, and reinforce positive new habits on the Feed.
To get started, share “your why.” Why did you join the challenge and choose the actions you did?
REFLECTION
QUESTION
Community and Connection
How did keeping your community more clean connect you more to your local area? Did picking up litter change your perspective on the cleanliness of your community?
Small Poops, Big Problems: Overthinking the Underpicking
After a decade in Portland, I've developed a strange obsession. Not with craft beer or artisanal donuts or which coffee shop has the most morally superior sourcing practices, but with the sheer, mind-boggling volume of plastic bags dedicated to dog waste. Specifically, the disproportionate relationship between these bags and the often minuscule deposits they're used to collect.
Have you ever stood there, in the middle of a sidewalk, holding a palm-sized bag engineered in a factory, shipped across oceans, trucked to distribution centers, and stocked on shelves - all so you can pick up three ounces of excrement from a dog so small it could be legally classified as a hamster? There's something fundamentally absurd about this transaction that keeps me up at night.
I live in one of Portland's cleaner neighborhoods, a rare achievement in a city where some streets look like they've hosted an impromptu landfill convention. We maintain this small miracle through vigilance and regular cleanup. But even in this relative oasis, I find myself performing the same ritual multiple times weekly: unfurling a brand new, supposedly "compostable" bag (that will likely still be intact when intergalactic-archaeologists dig up our civilization) to collect what amounts to a tablespoon of organic matter that would decompose naturally in about 48 hours.
Do the math with me. The average dog produces roughly 275 pounds of waste annually. In Portland alone, with our estimated 200,000 dogs, we're talking about 55 million pounds of dog waste each year. If each pound requires even a conservative estimate of three bags, that's 165 MILLION plastic-adjacent bags used annually in our supposedly eco-conscious city just to collect something that nature intended to decompose. That's enough bags to circle the equator several times, all dedicated to preventing the momentary unpleasantness of stepping in something that would decompose in 48-72 hours, add a little guaranteed rain and that mush is mashed all the quicker.
And don't get me started on the "compostable" marketing scam. These bags need industrial composting facilities with specific conditions to break down. When they end up in landfills - which they almost always do - they're essentially plastic bags wearing environmentally-friendly cosplay with poop as the confused character inside. "What am I supposed to be? Fertilizer? Landfill material? Props in a middle-aged dog owner's environmental theater?"
The irony reaches its peak when I see the same Portlanders who meticulously sort their recycling and lecture about single-use plastics walking their teacup Yorkies, dutifully collecting minuscule waste in bags that will outlive their pets by centuries. We've created a system where doing the "responsible thing" means generating more persistent waste to collect biodegradable waste.
I'm not suggesting we return to the dark ages of leaving dog waste on sidewalks. But imagine a future where Portland, in its infinite progressive wisdom, passes a tiered dog waste ordinance based on weight. "Dogs under 15 pounds are exempt from mandatory pickup due to minimal environmental impact." Meanwhile, owners of larger dogs would be required to collect waste using city-approved receptacles.
Picture the enforcement nightmare. Dog owners carrying pocket scales to dispute potential violations. "Officer, I can prove my dog's output is only 14.2 ounces, well under the collection threshold." Or the poor animal control workers assigned to the new "Excrement Enforcement Division," armed with digital scales and clipboards, hiding behind trees waiting to catch violations in progress.
What about the dog that produces one substantial, obviously-over-the-limit deposit, followed by three tiny followup performances? Does the owner use a single bag for the first and leave the rest? Do they waste four separate bags? Would the law require collection of "the primary void while permitting secondary emissions to remain in place"?
We'd need a comprehensive waste measurement protocol. Perhaps a city-mandated app - “ K9PoopTrack PDX" - where citizens photograph and document each deposit for proper classification. I can already see the neighborhood Facebook groups erupting with debates over whether someone's Labradoodle's output was properly categorized as "substantial" or "negligible."
This eco-challenge has connected me to my community not through some heartwarming epiphany about neighborhood pride, but through the shared absurdity of our rituals, the collective agreement to participate in environmentally questionable practices in the name of environmental responsibility. Maybe true environmental consciousness starts with acknowledging these contradictions rather than comforting ourselves with green-colored marketing.
Next time you see me on my street, silently contemplating a tiny pile of poop with an existential expression, know that I'm not just cleaning up … I’m wrestling with the fundamental contradictions of modern urban environmentalism, one ridiculously small deposit at a time. I'm also spiraling into thoughts about Portland's next eco-entrepreneurial opportunity. Someone should really develop biodegradable methadone vials. Perhaps I should.
What water justice issues did you learn about, and who is most affected in your community? How can you contribute to creating equitable access to clean water in your area?
Living in Portland is a constant bombardment of "take pride in things other cities would consider peculiar"... be proud of our donut shops with lines longer than airport security, be proud of our bookstore that requires its own zip code, and be proud of our glorious Benson Bubblers ... bronze drinking fountains that have been wasting water downtown since 1912. Caught in a wave of Portlandness I'd think these fountains represented Portland's generosity of spirit. "Look at us," I'd think smugly while passing one, "so evolved that we provide free hydration for all citizens, including the pigeons who occasionally use it as a birdbath."
The story goes that lumber baron Simon Benson installed them so mill workers would drink water instead of whiskey during lunch breaks. Leave it to Portland to have prohibition measures that we now celebrate as public art. It's the same logic that has us paying $9 for "artisanal" toast while congratulating ourselves on our unpretentiousness.
During this eco-challenge, I learned these charming fountains collectively flush about 250,000 gallons of pristine Bull Run water straight into storm drains daily, approximately the same amount I now feel guilty about using during a slightly-too-long shower. It's like watching someone leave the tap running while brushing their teeth, except we've institutionalized it, put it on postcards, and called it heritage. Only in Portland could we simultaneously host water conservation workshops while maintaining dozens of fountains whose primary function is to create that relaxing sound of money literally going down the drain.
The irony thickens in winter when the city shuts these fountains down during freezing temperatures, precisely when Portland's unhoused residents might most appreciate a reliable water source. It's a special kind of municipal mixed message: "Water is a human right that we proudly provide to all... except when it's cold, at which point you're on your own."
Historical instillation aside what is most revealing is their distribution... clustered downtown where tourists can admire our commitment to public hydration, but mysteriously absent in outer eastside neighborhoods where residents apparently don't get thirsty... Walk around the Pearl District with its luxury condos, and you're never more than a stumble from fresh Bull Run water. Cross 82nd Avenue into East Portland, and suddenly the city seems to believe humans can photosynthesize.
The Benson Bubblers have become yet another symbol of Portland's particular talent for progressive performative infrastructure - beautiful, well-intentioned, constantly running, and completely missing the point. To end this eco-rant, if Portland were a person, it would be someone wearing a "Water is Life" t-shirt while taking a 45-minute shower and complaining about people who don't recycle.
What native species did you learn about in your area, and how do they contribute to your local ecosystem or community? How might your community change if these native species disappeared?
I learned more about how Oregon's state animal, the beaver, isn't just a buck-toothed mascot with a talent for slapping water with its tail, it's nature's civil engineer with a union card. The beaver is the only mammal besides us humans that completely redesigns its surroundings according to its personal vision board, turning flowing streams into luxurious pond-front properties without so much as a permit application.
What makes these semi-aquatic contractors truly remarkable isn't just their impressive dental work (though their orange incisors do grow continuously, as if anticipating all the future trees they plan to vandalize). It's how their selfish home renovation projects inadvertently create wetland habitats that benefit everything from fish to birds to amphibians. Their dams slow down water that would otherwise rush downstream, creating complex waterways that filter sediment, prevent erosion, and maintain water levels during droughts - essentially performing ecosystem services that we humans would bill millions for if we had to replicate them.
If beavers disappeared from Oregon's waterways, we wouldn't just lose a gap-toothed rodent with impressive carpentry skills. We'd lose natural flood control, water purification, and drought resistance. Salmon would find fewer places to spawn, migratory birds would check their GPS in confusion upon finding their wetland hotels permanently closed, and the entire riparian ecosystem would begin unraveling like a poorly knitted sweater. Stream banks would erode faster than political promises after an election, and water quality would decline with a speed that would impress even the most efficient corporate polluter.
What's particularly humbling is that while we humans spend billions on watershed management and habitat restoration, beavers do it for free, motivated by nothing more than the desire for a nice place to raise a family and store some branches for winter. Their ecosystem services come without invoices, environmental impact statements, or commemorative plaques listing the names of donors.
In a world where we're constantly told that environmental problems require complex technical solutions and significant financial investments, there's something deeply reassuring about the beaver - a 60-pound rodent with orange teeth and a paddle-shaped tail that's been quietly managing our waterways far better than we have for thousands of years. Perhaps instead of always looking to technology for environmental solutions, we should occasionally look to the creatures that have been terraforming this planet since long before we figured out how to use a shovel.
According to my carbon footprint analysis, I emit the most carbon through my relationship with food...specifically my carnivorous tendencies that apparently rival those of a small but ambitious Orca. My daily meat habit has been quietly contributing to climate change while I've been busy blaming my neighbor's SUV. After staring at my footprint numbers with the same expression I use when checking my credit card statement after a "small" online shopping spree, I've decided to think about embracing the concept of "Weekday Vegetarianism." Monday through Friday, I'll pretend meat doesn't exist, creating a sort of nutritional fiction where beans and lentils are the protagonists. Will replacing ground beef with ground plants save the planet? Probably not. But it might reduce my footprint enough that I can stop having nightmares where vegan polar bears know my name and address. On weekends, I'll revert to my omnivorous ways, maintaining a relationship with hamburgers that can only be described as "complicated."
How did changing your dishwashing habits make you more mindful of water use? What other small changes can you make to conserve water in your household?
Learning that my daily hamburger habit adds 768 gallons to my water footprint was the kind of revelation that makes you simultaneously want to change your life and also reach for another hamburger to cope with the stress. At 1,600 personal gallons per day, slightly below the U.S. average, I had already been feeling virtuous about my new dishwashing routine. Scrape, don't rinse. A simple change that made me feel like Captain Planet.
Then I read the "helpful tips" for water conservation, which read like they were written by a committee of well-meaning environmentalists who had never met each other, or possibly, a human being.
"Eat more vegetables," they suggest reasonably, explaining how water-intensive meat production is. Then, without missing a beat: "When you do eat meat, choose pasture-raised products." Which feels like saying, "Don't drive cars, but when you do, make sure it's a Ferrari." I wasn't aware that my options were factory-farmed or nothing. Thank goodness there's a middle path for my occasional indulgence in water-intensive luxury protein.
"Avoid processed foods," they advise, which makes sense until they follow it with "Don't go nuts." Apparently, the almonds I've been eating as a "healthy snack" are secretly water villains. I picture almonds twirling mustaches while diverting rivers. And while I'm avoiding nuts, I should also avoid dairy milk because of its massive water footprint, and instead choose plant-based alternatives... except nut milks, which we've established are also water criminals.
My head spins with calculations. If I have oat milk in my coffee, I'm being water-wise, unless I should be avoiding coffee altogether in favor of tea. But what if I want almond biscotti with that tea? Is that a water crime or just a misdemeanor? Perhaps I should stick to water, except I feel guilty about that too now.
Meanwhile, industrial agriculture continues using 80% of our water supply with comparatively little scrutiny. The same industries that profit from both my meat consumption and my attempts at plant-based alternatives have somehow convinced us that the responsibility lies with me, the person standing paralyzed in the supermarket aisle, trying to determine whether soymilk or oatmilk has the smaller water footprint.
This is the genius of modern environmental guilt. We've created a system where massive corporations use billions of gallons of water while I anxiously debate whether to rinse my recycling. It's like being told that the solution to a flooding house isn't to turn off the fire hose aimed at the living room, but rather to use a more efficient mop.
Still, I can't pretend individual choices don't matter. That hamburger does come with 768 gallons of virtual water, regardless of who bears ultimate responsibility. So I'm trying "Meatless Mondays," which I initially assumed was another dating app but turns out to be just eating vegetables once a week. One day without meat won't save the planet, but it's something I can actually do without a spreadsheet comparing the water footprints of various milk alternatives.
My water-saving dishwashing technique continues as well. Not pre-rinsing has saved me time, water, and the peculiar psychological burden of washing something that's about to be washed. Sometimes the most effective environmental action is simply stopping an absurd habit.
In the end, perhaps true water consciousness isn't about perfectly optimizing every consumption choice, but recognizing both our individual impact and the systems that make sustainable choices so needlessly complicated. Until then, I'll be here, carefully measuring out exactly one-fewer-cup of coffee per day, wondering if the resulting water savings will be negated if I have to take an extra shower after spilling it on myself while contemplating the environmental impact of paper towels.
JUSTIN JOHNSON 4/07/2025 7:35 AM
