Sustainable business, from the bottom up

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For the most part, corporate sustainability programs drive change from the top down. If Apple wants to improve safety at the factories where its products are made, or Walmart wants to reduce fertilizer runoff in agriculture, or McDonald’s pledges to buy beef raised in environmentally friendly ways, those companies set targets and goals, they deploy a mix of carrots and sticks to bring their suppliers along, those suppliers push further down the chain and, if all goes well, workers, farmers and maybe the planet are all a little better off.

Whatever one thinks of this theory of change–my view is that it works quite well–it does little for the billions of people who are untouched by global supply chains. In my latest story for Guardian Sustainable Business, I write about a project called Fish Forever that is designed to help fishermen and women who work beyond the reach of global supply chains.

I heard about Fish Forever from Brett Jenks, the chief executive of a conservation group called Rare, which is based in Arlington, VA.

Interestingly, Fish Forever is a collaboration of Rare with the Environmental Defense Fund and the sustainable fisheries group at the University of California at Santa Barbara (UCSB). It’s uncommon but welcome to see NGOs working together this way.

Here’s a bit more about the program, from my story:

Fish Forever is launching this year in five countries – Belize, Brazil, Indonesia, Mozambique and the Philippines. It targets fishers with a single boat or two, as well as those who fish from shore. In developing countries, these mostly poor, small-scale fishers account for half of all fish caught, the vast majority of which is consumed domestically….

Each Fish Forever partner brings expertise to the partnership. Environmental Defense has been a pioneer in rebuilding fisheries through what is often called rights-based management. Rare specializes in mobilizing communities in poor countries on behalf of conservation. And the scientists at UCSB are experts in monitoring and measuring the health of fisheries.

Here’s how the program works: with the backing of state or national governments, local fishers get exclusive fishing rights to a community fishing areas – a bay or stretch of coast. The community then has good reason to adopt conservation practices because it will reap the benefits if they work.

Typically, those practices include the establishment of a marine preserve, also known as no-take zone, located inside the community fishing area, or nearby. These no-take zones give fish in the area the opportunity to recover and regenerate themselves. Local fishers enforce the no-take zones themselves.

The idea is to create incentives for the community to think long-term about the value of their natural asset, and take steps to protect it.A sense of ownership leads to stewardship. As a wise man once said, no one washes a rental car.

Rare isn’t a high-profile NGO but it has attracted support from some big names. Michael Bloomberg, Hank and Wendy Paulson and Jeremy Grantham are all donors. Which leads me to conclude that Brett Jenks and his group must be doing something right.

You can read the rest of my story here.

Fish story: The potential of aquaponics

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During my trip to Minneapolis for last month’s Net Impact conference, I found time to visit a fascinating little startup called Urban Organics (above) in nearby St. Paul. Located in an abandoned brewery (where Hamm’s used to brew beer), Urban Organics now raises tilapia and basil, practicing aquaponics.

Last week, I wrote about the company for Guardian Sustainable Business. Here’s how my story begins:

Backyard hobbyists, university researchers, nonprofits, restaurants and even inmates at a federal prison in Indiana are growing food using aquaponics, a technology for raising fish and plants together in a recirculating system. So far, though, no one has been able to build a large-scale, commercial aquaponics business.

In an abandoned brewery in St Paul, Minnesota, a startup company called Urban Organics is trying to change that. Since last spring, Urban Organics has been raising tilapia, basil and lettuce, with the help of a much-bigger neighbor – a $7bn industrial company called Pentair that believes that aquaponics is on the verge of becoming a viable form of farming.

Aquaponics combines aquaculture (fish farming) and hydroponics (growing plants in water). Fish – in this case, about 3,200 tilapia – are raised in big tanks made of high-density polyethylene. Their wastewater flows out of the tanks, gets cleaned up a bit and is pumped to the growing beds, where it becomes food for the plants. After the plants extract nutrients from the water, it’s filtered again and returned to the fish tanks. While the process is energy-intensive – the plants need artificial light to grow indoors – food can be grown year-round in urban areas, near to markets.

Aquaponics is a cool idea. There’s something appealing about using the waste from the fish to feed the plants. Producing food near to where it is consumed sounds logical; the food will be fresh, and you save money on transport.

But it’s by no means clear that aquaponics will be able grow from a hobby into a scalable business. All those plants need lights, so the electricity costs are significant. The environmental benefits, if any, of aquaponics remain to be seen.

Still, the science and technology are relatively new and the fact that a big company like Pentair has high hopes for aquaponics got my attention. Chicago has its own fast-growing aquaponics startup, called Farmed Here, which sells its greens at Whole Foods.

You can read the rest of my story here.

Old clothes

045be76d-5287-489c-ac5f-0b33a13e6fe4-620x372Last month was one of the busiest I’ve had in a long while, with trips to Boston, Singapore, New York and Berlin over a four-week span. All for the good, but I’ve fallen behind on this blog, so I’m looking back today at a story that I wrote and posted last month on Guardian Sustainable Business.

As regular readers know, I’ve been paying attention to the circular economy, a term that describes an economy where nothing goes to waste, everything is made into something else at the end of its life, and the whole shebang is powered by clean, renewable energy. We’re a long way from there, obviously, but I see bits of the circular economy arriving in unexpected places.

One  is the textile industry, which even as it has become dominated by cheap, throwaway “fast fashion” is  simultaneously embracing recycling. That has created some unexpected tensions between old-fashioned charities like Goodwill and the Salvation Army, and newer, for-profit companies that see a business opportunity in collecting, reusing and recyling textiles.

Thus, the”clothing bin wars,” as I explained in this story in the Guardian:

Welcome to the clothing bin wars, a battle that comes complete with lawsuits alleging dirty dealing, lobbying of local and state politicians, rogue operators who put bins on other people’s property and even bizarre allegations that some big players in the clothing recycling industry are front groups for a mysterious Danish cult.

Who knew that recycling T-shirts and towels could get so complex?

This is basically a good-news story: Lots of people want your old clothes, sheets and towels because they have value. What you do with them is up to you–there is no perfect solution. (As a commenter in the story pointed out, even charities like Goodwill and the Salvation Army face questions about their conduct.) There are bins everywhere (but read the fine print before you dump your clothes in one) and, as I’ve written before, retailers including H&M take back clothes in their stores. You can even mail them at no cost to a company called Community Recycling that I wrote about in the story. So there’s no excuse for dumping textiles in a landfill.

One more thing struck me when reporting the story: People seem to want something in return when they giveaway their old clothes–a tax deduction from a charity,  a discount on future purchases (which H&M offers), the feeling that they are doing the right thing. Even though we no longer want them, giving away clothes is an emotional decision in a way that recycling plastic bottles or newspapers is not.

Should bike sharing be subsidized? Or privatized?

Capital_Bikeshare_station_outside_Eastern_Market_MetroI’m a fan of bike sharing, as regular readers of this blog know (see this and this), and a satisfied, albeit irregular, customer of Capital Bikeshare, the convenient and well-managed public bike-sharing system in Washington, D.C., which now extends into the suburbs of Maryland and Virginia.

There’s a potential cloud over bike sharing, though, and it is this: So far, at least, no big-city bike sharing system of which I am aware is financially self-supporting.

This doesn’t trouble me. Bike sharing is form of mass transit. If you believe, as I do, that subways and buses deserve taxpayer support, bike sharing does, too. It creates a slew of positive externalities, including reduced air pollution and greenhouse gas emissions, reduced traffic congestion, a healthier populace and the mobility that city dwellers without cars need to get to work or school. (You may be wondering, are cars subsidized, too? Perhaps, but not by as much as you would think, some say. But it’s complicated. A few years back in Slate, Dan Gross argued just the opposite, that governments provide massive subsidies to private car owners.)

In any event, we’ve learning from the bike sharing boom that bike sharing is very popular, but that at the current pricing levels — $75 for an annual membership, $15 for a three-day membership in Washington — it can’t pay for itself. New York’s Citibike was touted as a bike sharing system that would pay for itself with user fees and Citi’s marketing dollars, but it is millions of dollars in the red. Emily Badger of The Washington Post’s Wonkblog wrote a good analysis of the economics of the two systems.

A startup bike-sharing company called Zagster offers an alternative: private bike sharing. It provides bike sharing systems to companies, universities (including Yale and Duke), apartment buildings and hotels for their employees, students and guests. Lately, it’s been making headway in Detroit.

I wrote about Zagster this week for Guardian Sustainable Business. Here’s how my story begins:

Of all the big cities in America, Detroit is among the least hospitable to bike sharing. The city is bankrupt. Its residents are poor. And it sprawls over 142 sq miles (367.8 sq km), nearly enough area to fit San Francisco, Boston and New York within its borders. Winters can be harsh, public transit is dismal and it is, after all, the Motor City.

But a nimble little bike-sharing startup called Zagster is making inroads in Motown. Last year, Dan Gilbert, the founder of Quicken Loans who has invested more than $1.3bn in Detroit, turned to Zagster to start a private bike-sharing network for his employees. The local utility company DTE Energy, as well as the United Way of Southern Michigan and several small companies, followed. This week, General Motors announced that Zagster will make its bikes available to 19,000 employees at the 330-acre GM Tech Center in Warren.

What’s more, Bill Ford, the executive chairman of the Ford Motor Co, has invested in Zagster through Fontinalis Partners, a venture capital firm that invests in “next-generation mobility”.

Tim Ericson, the 28-year-old co-founder and CEO of Zagster, told me: “We’re creating what is almost becoming a citywide bike sharing program, with no public funds and no use of public space.”

As you might imagine, I have some reservations about Zagster’s model. The more we privatize goods and services — private schools, private parks in the form of country clubs, Google’s private bus from SF to its campus, and the like — the less political support there will be for public schools, parks and transport.

Then again, I can’t envision bike sharing come to Detroit in any other way.

You can read the rest of my story here.

Feeding my grandson

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Meet my grandson, Hudson Scott, who is six months old and just started eating solid foods. This means that my daughter Rebecca and son-in-law Eric have to decide what to feed him–the baby food in jars from Gerber and Beech-Nut that have been around forever, it seems, the newer and hipper lines of organic baby food, which come in pouches from companies like Plum Organic, or do-it-yourself baby food that she makes at home.

As it happens, and perhaps not by coincidence, this is a question that has been explored lately in the pages of Guardian Sustainable Business US, where I am editor-at-large. This week, I profiled Plum, a B Corps which is nested inside the publicly-traded Campbell Soup Co. Here’s how my story begins:

Plum Organics, the leading brand of organic baby food and a unit of the Campbell Soup Company, has an impressive story to tell. As a certified B Corporation, Plum meets high standards for environmental and social performance. Its products are organic, its innovative packaging is lightweight (albeit not recyclable), its lowest-paid workers earn 50% above a so-called “living wage” and it gave away more than 1m pouches of food to needy children last year.

“Our mission is to get the very best food to kids,” says Neil Grimmer,Plum’s president and co-founder. “I have a goal of being in every lunchbox and high chair in America.” And more: Plum this fall plans to introduce its first product for adults, a collection of five-ounce snack pouches of blended fruits and vegetables branded as Plum VIDA. Sample flavors: cherry, berry, beet, and ginger.

So what’s not to like? To begin with, all that social and environmental goodness doesn’t come cheap. Plum’s products cost more than mainstream brands like Gerber, the No 1 seller of baby food. Then there’s the question of whether processed baby food is needed at all….Finally, Plum’s breakthrough innovation was the spouted pouch, which is convenient, but it enables babies to engage on-the-go eating, for better or worse.

You can read the rest here.

Meantime, just last month, my friend and Guardian contributor Erik Assadourian, who is a new father, assailed the baby-food industry in a column arguing that there’s no need to buy baby food at all. His column, Making our own baby food, begins like this:

Here’s the thing: the majority of Americans are fat. So much so that most people don’t even consider themselves fat, probably because everyone around them is also fat. Lots of kids are fat too – a trend I’ve really started to notice since becoming a father two years ago. Toddlers and babies are so fat that sometimes I worry that my own son, Ayhan, looks malnourished.

But my son isn’t malnourished. In fact he’s strong and lean, and acts like one of the healthy monkeys in the ongoing Wisconsin National Primate Research Center caloric restriction study: perky, energetic, and excited about eating proffered bits of fruit. So when I step back and get a bit of perspective, I’m not worried.

I’m more concerned about how children are being set upon an unhealthy dietary path that starts not just when they’re born, but when they’re conceived. Recent studies find that what mothers eat while pregnant shapes children’s palates in vitro. So if mama is regularly indulging in ice cream and salty snacks, baby may be predisposed to crave those too.

Then when they’re born, too many children are raised on baby formula, which is far less healthy than breast milk (a topic I already discussed, to much maternal anger). At around six months, when starting on solids, many parents lead their children down another wrong path – that of powdered cereals, premade baby foods, and junk foods disguised as baby-friendly snacks. No wonder childhood obesity is at 17.3% in the US.

One recommendation: make your own baby food.

Eric’s right that a lot of the foods given to American kids is unhealthy. His indictment is too sweeping, though. Plum and Beech-Nut offer early-stage baby food that consists of nothing more than apples, peas or sweet potatoes. Which, of course, raises the question: Why not make it yourself?

For now, that’s what Rebecca, who is a stay at home mom, and Eric have decided to do. It will take more time and effort that buying baby food at the store or online, but it will save them money and give Hudson a good start on what we hope will be a lifetime of healthy eating. Yams and carrots, so far. Next up? Avocados.

Ride on: The bike sharing boom…and its limits

Citi Bikes New YorkI haven’t been on a bike from Capital BikeShare in months because of the nasty winter here in  Washington. But before long, your nation’s capital will once again be home to one of the US’s most popular bike-sharing programs. I’ve raved about bike sharing before (See Pedal Power: Why I love bike sharing) and today my story about the phenomenon was posted on Guardian Sustainable Business.

Yes, bike sharing truly is a phenomenon, spreading rapidly across the US, now in well over 40 cities. But not in all the expected places–bike sharing, as the story explains, has been embraced by cold weather cities like Boston and Minneapolis, but it has yet to launch in such Sunbelt cities as Los Angeles, Dallas and Atlanta.

What’s more, even the most successful bike-sharing programs depend on taxpayer support, at least for their initial capital outlays.

Here’s how the story begins:

As the bike-sharing business gains traction in cities across America, two small companies, Alta Bicycle Share of Portland, Oregon, and B-Cycle of Madison, Wisconsin, are making a big difference in the lives of tens of thousands of cyclists.

Alta Bicycle Share operates bike-sharing systems in partnership with local governments in eight cities: New York, Washington DC, Chicago, the San Francisco Bay area, Boston, Columbus and Chattanooga, as well as Melbourne, Australia.

B Cycle, a joint venture of the Trek Bicycle Corp, healthcare provider Humana and marketing agency Crispin Porter + Bogusky, manages systems in about 30 cities, including Denver, Houston, Kansas City, Madison and Boulder, as well as Santiago, Chile.

Together, they have made bike-sharing one of America’s fastest growing “green” businesses. “Bike sharing has experienced the fastest growth of any mode of transport in the history of the planet,” according to findings from the Earth Policy Institute.

Bike-sharing systems reduce carbon emissions, cut local air pollution, make it easier for people to get exercise and, importantly, build political support for safe bicycling infrastructure. Some studies show that protected bike lanes enhance retail sales and real state values.

But the bike-sharing industry has yet to answer a couple of questions that could slow its growth. First, can bike sharing become a sustainable business, or will it forever require taxpayer support? Second, can it grow into a national phenomenon by attracting more ridership in car-centric, Sunbelt cities?

You can read the rest of the story here.

Small is beautiful. Maybe.

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There’s lots to like about Alter Eco, a San Francisco-based food company that aims to do social and environmental good. The company supports poor farmers, sources from cooperatives, offsets its carbon footprint, etc. Better yet, its products are tasty. I’m partial to the organically-grown, fairly-traded Dark Quinoa Chocolate Bar, which you could think of as a politically correct (and pricey) version of Nestle’s Crunch.

There would be even more to like about Alter Eco if it was a bigger company. The challenge for its founders,  Mathieu Senard and Edouard Rollet, who I visited last fall in San Francisco, is to figure how to drive growth without compromising their values.

My story about Alter Eco, which ran this week at  Guardian Sustainable Business, begins like this:

What would a truly sustainable food company look like? That’s hard to say, but a small company called Alter Eco, which sells quinoa, rice, chocolate and sugar grown in Latin America, Asia and Africa, offers a clue or two.

Striving to hit the very highest environmental and social standards, Alter Eco sources only Fair Trade commodities, buying from small-farm co-operatives. Its products are certified organic. It offsets its carbon emissions. And, when the founders could not find packaging that satisfied them, they designed their own: a bio-based, backyard-compostable package with no petroleum or chemicals or genetically modified corn.

“We are trying to push the envelope towards full sustainability,” CEO Mathieu Senard says.

The trouble is, Alter Eco is small – it reported just $7m in revenues in 2012. When I visited co-founders Senard and Edouard Rollet at Alter Eco’s headquarters in San Francisco, they told me that sales topped $10m in 2013 and are expected to jump 44% to $14.5m this year. “We can go to $100m in the next five to 10 years,” Senard claims.

That said, big food companies measure their sales in billions, not millions. General Mills booked sales of nearly $18bn in the 2013 fiscal year, meaning it does more business in a day than Alter Eco does in a year. For small, socially responsible companies like Alter Eco to have a big impact, they either need to grow rapidly, or influence their much larger competitors, or both.

Part of the problem facing Alter Eco is pricing. Paying Fair Trade prices, sourcing from smaller coops and carbon offsets all cost money, costs which have to be passed along to consumers. (That 2.82 oz. quinoa bar retails for about $3.50.) Higher prices, of course, limit demand–and growth. This is a challenge that has been overcome by a handful of values-driven food companies, including Starbucks and Stonyfield Yogurt. But not many.

You read the rest of my story here.

A socially-responsible energy bar

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Until I met Danny Grossman, I didn’t think America needed another energy bar. You may not have noticed but this great land of ours has entered what might be described as a golden age of energy bars. There’s Clif Bar, PowerBar, Balance Bars, Kind Bars, Chia Bars, LaraBar, Promax Bars, vegan, gluten-free, all-natural, cereal, protein, crunchy and gooey bars. Humble, old-fashioned granola bars and high-tech, scientifically-engineered superfood bars. And of course, as The Onion reported a while ago in a story headlined Women Now Empowered by Everything a Woman Does, energy bars fortified with nutrients especially for women have become popular:

Unlike traditional, phallocentric energy bars, whose chocolate, soy protein, nuts, and granola ignored the special health and nutritional needs of women, their new, female-oriented counterparts like Luna are ideally balanced with a more suitable amount of chocolate, soy protein, nuts, and granola…Proto-feminist pioneers like Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony could never have imagined that female empowerment would one day come in bar form.

Then there’s the the Yaff Bar, “an all-natural bar made to share.” To share with your dog, that is. This is not a creation the Onion. You could look it up.

But back to Danny Grossman. He’s the founder of Wild Planet Toys, which made socially-responsible toys, and he has been involved with the world of socially-responsible business for decades. He and his friends Mel and Patricia Ziegler have just launched Slow Food for Fast Lives, an energy-bar startup, that I wrote about last week in the Guardian. Like most entrepreneurs, Danny and his partners are optimists.

Here’s how my story begins:

At 55, Danny Grossman already has lived a full life.

He enjoyed a fascinating career in the foreign service: He was stationed in India and in Soviet Union-era Leningrad, where he was doing human rights work before he was accused of being a spy and expelled.

And 20 years ago, he started a company called Wild Planet Toys, which sells socially responsible toys designed to spark childrens’ imaginations. The company grew to have revenues of $60m before it was sold to Spinmaster, a bigger firm, in 2012.

Now Grossman is back in startup mode, this time with a company called Slow Food for Fast Lives that sells healthy, natural energy bars for people on the go. His partners in the venture are also serial, purpose-driven entrepreneurs: Mel and Patricia Ziegler, who founded Banana Republic and Republic of Tea.

indian-bar-final-smx5001The Slow Food for Fast Lives energy bars will stand out from the crowd mostly because they are savory, not sweet. Flavors include California, Moroccan, Indian and Thai. I tried them when I visited with Danny a while back near his home in the West Portal neighborhood of San Francisco, where he grew up; they’re quite tasty.

So crowded is the energy-bar market that consumers can choose among socially-responsible bars.

Clif Bar sources organic ingredients, offsets its carbon emissions, has a LEED platinum headquarters and promotes community service.

Two Degrees (which I wrote about here) provides a meal for a hungry child for every bar it sells.

Is there room in the market for another energy bar? Hard to say, but Danny Grossman is a good guy, so I hope Slow Food for Fast Lives finds its niche, too.

Mushrooms: They’re good for more than eating

It looks like Styrofoam but it's made from mushrooms

It looks like Styrofoam but it’s made from mushrooms

One of the more exciting themes coursing through the world of sustainable business is the circular economy–the idea that we can eliminate waste, and turn stuff we no longer need into something else. That’s why I got excited when I heard about a startup company called Ecovative, which uses mushroom and crop waste to make substitutes for plastics.

I wrote about Ecovative this week for Guardian Sustainable Business. Here’s how the story begins:

Mushrooms, as any cook knows, are versatile: they enhance soups, stews, pasta, salads and omelettes, and they can be stuffed, baked, fried or sautéed.

As it turns out, they are equally versatile outside of the food world. They can produce packaging, home insulation, fiberboard for furniture, even a surfboard.

So says Eben Bayer, the 28-year-old CEO and co-founder of Ecovative, a small company that’s developing an array of environmentally friendly materials that perform like plastics but are made by mushrooms – specifically, by their webs of thread-like roots, known as mycelium, which consume crop waste. These materials can be grown and recycled, as opposed to being drilled, pumped, refined and discarded.

“We’re able to compete with an entrenched billion-dollar plastic industry because we’re not extracting things,” Bayer said last week, at the fall conference of the Social Venture Network (SVN) in Baltimore. “We’re leveraging the power of biology.”

Founded in 2007 in the aptly named village of Green Island, New York, near Albany, Ecovative is a small company with big ambitions. It already has generated a lot of buzz: It won the Dutch Postcode Lottery Green Challenge, a global $750,000 sustainable business prize. The World Economic Forum named the company a technology pioneer in 2011. Bayer even delivered a TED talk. And Ecovative won grants by the US EPA, the National Science Foundation and the US Department of Agriculture.

More important than all the acclaim, as the story goes on to say, is that Ecovative last year signed an agreement to license its Mushroom Packaging technology to Sealed Air, a $7.6-billion company. Sealed Air had adapted a factory in Iowa to produce Mushroom Packaging, using corn stalks as feedstock. This is evidence that Ecovative may have a real business.

When I first read about Ecovative (in a long story earlier this year in The New Yorker), I immediately thought of biomimicry — the idea designers can learn from nature, and then use its designs and processes to solve business or human problems. But, as Eben noted in his talk at SVN, Ecovative isn’t imitating nature. It is actually deploying nature–i.e., those mushroom roots–in its factory.

Ecovative is planning to make home insulation and a substitute for fiberboard using similar processes. Here’s a link to a video of Eben talking about how the company built a “tiny house,” in part using the mushrooms. You can read my story here.

The travails of a family farmer

Food for sale at a farmers market in London.Last week, I traveled to Chattanooga, Tennessee, for the annual conference of the Society of Environmental Journalists, which is always a stimulating event. One tour offered by the SEJ took us to a family farm, and to a couple of nonprofit organizations that are promoting local, environmentally-friendly agriculture.

My story this week for The Guardian looks at the work of a farmer named Bill Keener, who works a relatively small (300-acre farm) where he lives with his wife, her parents, his son and daughter. What I tried to do in the story was get behind the romance and mythology often associated with small-scale family farmers and see how their businesses work, or don’t. Bill is a very bright guy–on his way to a career as a farmer, he studied philosophy in grad school at Yale–but his business is harder than it might appear, at least to those who browse by his stall at a farmer’s market.

Here’s how the story begins:

Everyone loves a farmers’ market. It’s pleasing to wander among the stalls, chat with farmers, sip coffee and mingle with like-minded, ecologically-aware, health-conscious folks who buy local, sustainable and organic foods. What’s not to like?

Well, there’s this: Bill Keener, who owns a family farm in Sequatchie, Tennessee, has thousands of pounds of raw milk cheese to sell and can’t make money selling it at the farmers’ market. By the time he pays someone to cut a big wheel of cheese into family-sized wedges, transports the cheese to the market in Chattanooga, about 35 miles away and staffs a stall for four hours, he’s barely covered the costs of producing his batches of Cumberland, Coppinger and Dancing Fern cheeses. That’s true even though his cheese, which is lovingly made by a French-trained cheesemaker, costs as much as $15 a pound – a lot more than Kraft’s.

Five years since getting into the cheese business, Keener is undeterred, using earnings from his beef and lamb sales to subsidize his creamery.

“That’s the thing about agriculture,” Keener says. “It’s slow money.”

Keener, the story goes on to say, has tried to make his business work every which way–through community supported agriculture, by selling to local supermarkets including Whole Foods, through pick-your-own opportunities, and by cultivating shitake mushrooms, which he came to love while studying in Japan. He’s now operating one good business, selling local grass-fed beef and lamb, and one not-so-good one, his creamery. But it turns out that what he really needs was a support system of marketers and distributors–people to advertise and sell his products. That shouldn’t come as a surprise; big commodity farmers rely on a system of marketing, distribution and retail outlets that have evolved over half a century to ecome very efficient.

A support system for small-scale farmers, happily, is developing in and around Chattanooga. One of the best things to happen to Keener’s Sequatchie Cove Farm was the opening of a specialty butcher shop in Nashville to sell local, high-quality meat.

As I write, Keener is “the kind of farmer who environmentalists and foodies from Brooklyn to Berkeley (and, yes, places in between, such as Chattanooga) are counting on to feed them.” I’m hoping that he can make farming work for him, as well as for his customers.