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Seeds sown to ease climate change
By MARY JACOBY, Times Staff Writer
TAKOMA PARK, Md. -- While researching an article on global warming last year, freelance journalist Mike Tidwell became alarmed. Scientists were predicting melting glaciers, rising seas, increasing drought, wildfires and floods. "I freaked out," Tidwell said. He started looking for solutions. And that's how a gleaming new 25-foot-tall grain silo came to stand at the end of a street of bungalows in this Washington, D.C., suburb, miles from any farmland. Believed to be the only urban silo in the country, the structure holds 21 tons of organically fertilized corn from untilled fields that Tidwell and 11 other families now use to heat their homes. It's their contribution to reducing carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, a key factor in global warming. Tidwell, a 40-year-old vegetarian with a salt-and-pepper goatee, came up with the corn-fuel idea after his epiphany on global warming caused him to drop journalism and found the Chesapeake Climate Action Network, a nonprofit environmental group. "I had to do something," Tidwell said. In addition to becoming an activist, he convinced his wife, a holistic nutrition counselor, to take out a $7,500 home equity loan and convert their drafty 1915 bungalow into a model of energy conservation. They installed solar-electric panels on the roof and a solar hot-water system. Then, Tidwell suggested the corn-burning stove to heat the two-story home. His wife, Catherine Varchaver, was skeptical. "It sounded kind of wacky," she said, adding that she worried about keeping the couple's 5-year-old son warm. The stove cost more than $2,500 and burns about 30 pounds of corn a day. But when she saw it, Varchaver, 41, was an instant convert. Installed in a corner of their living room, the black stove's glass front casts a warm glow. People are drawn to the fire, which burns around the clock. "It creates a cozy atmosphere. It was always freezing in here before. Now, I'd much rather sit in here than watch TV. I have started writing in my journal more, things that are much more meditative," Varchaver said. The stove is the sole source of heat in the house. On the coldest days, the family uses ceiling fans to distribute the warm air to farther reaches of the home. The temperature in the living room remains in the low 70s while the upstairs bedrooms are in the mid 60s, Tidwell said. Takoma Park is a leafy town of 17,000 on the Maryland state line across from Washington. A certain type of person is attracted to the place, and that type is not conservative. "Generally people here are very progressive," said Joy Austin-Lane, 36, a City Council member. During the Cold War, residents declared Takoma Park a "nuclear-free zone." They barred the city government from doing business with defense contractors and banned the passage of nuclear materials through municipal limits. Before his family moved to famously liberal Marin County, Calif., convicted Taliban fighter John Walker Lindh lived in Takoma Park. Last year, four Takoma Park families had corn-burning stoves, Tidwell said. They quickly became tired of taking turns driving to the country to haul back tons of dried, shelled corn from their farmer-supplier. Tidwell used to haul the bags of corn in his 1991 Mazda. "Dangerously overloaded," he said. So, Tidwell had the idea of installing the silo and forming a grain cooperative. He convinced American Energy Systems, manufacturer of the stove model most of the co-op families use, to donate $3,000 toward the cost of the silo. He persuaded the town government to place the silo on municipal land and insure the structure. Only one resident complained, Tidwell said. The woman lives near the silo site and worried about increased traffic on her street and rodents being attracted to dropped kernels of corn. In response, members of the corn co-op agreed to pick up any corn that drops out of their canvas bags. They typically fill six or seven 100-pound bags at a time, enough for more than two weeks of heat. The co-op members each paid $425 for 3.2 tons of corn in advance. Tidwell estimates he saved more than $200 last year using corn to heat his home rather than natural gas. Corn is a renewable energy source that can be grown by U.S. farmers, lessening dependence on foreign energy sources, Tidwell said. But when burned, corn still releases carbon dioxide into the air in amounts similar to traditional fossil fuels. So, corn's real contribution to reducing greenhouse gases comes from the manner in which it is cultivated. Tidwell and the other corn-burning families insist that their supplies be grown without the use of petroleum-based fertilizers, which contribute to global warming. Just as important, the corn farmer must not till his fields. When corn is harvested, the farmer must let the stalks decompose naturally rather than plow them under, Tidwell said. When soil is tilled, it emits carbon dioxide into the air, adding to the so-called greenhouse effect of gases being absorbed into the atmosphere and reflecting heat back to the ground. Fortunately, Tidwell found a Mennonite farmer in Mount Airy, Md., who uses the no-till method as a means of erosion control. In addition, the farmer raises turkeys and uses their manure to fertilize the corn, avoiding petroleum-based fertilizers. Austin-Lane said members of the grain co-op do not believe corn fuel will solve "all the world's problems." Instead, "This is just a gesture toward self-sufficiency at a time when energy policy in this country is being called into question, while at the same time decreasing greenhouse gases," she said. She was referring to worries that Saudi Arabia uses U.S. oil revenues to fund terror networks and concerns of environmental activists about the Bush administration's pulling out of the Kyoto climate treaty to reduce global warming pollution. For some, the advantages to a corn-burning stove have been more than financial or environmental. Tidwell's neighbor, Thom Wolf, said the stove has lured his 17-year-old "computer geek" son out of his room and into family life. "He'll come out late at night and sit there by the fire. It's really inviting," said Wolf, a TV cameraman. "Before, I don't even think he knew what we looked like."
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