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Probably not enough to win. The science is very dark—when the Arctic melted in 2007 it became clear that we’d crossed a threshold much much sooner than we’d imagined. The sheer momentum of the warming is such that even if we do everything right from here on in, there’s no guarantee that we haven’t set forces in motion that will convert this sweet earth into a different planet altogether. Still, our work changes the odds a little. A 20 percent chance isn’t all that good, but it beats 15 percent. Sometimes the dice roll the way you hope.

And there’s something more about this 350.org project. We’re taking this new fact about the world—arguably the most important fact about the world—and trying to drive it deep into the imagination of the earth. In the hopes that it will help reset the psychological bar for the negotiations—but even if it doesn’t, it will at least let everyone know what the reality is. That task, it seems to me, is arguably literary—I’m writing with a crayon, but I’m writing, trying to push the actual state of the world into the various lush and corroding fantasies that now control our public life, and often our private too.

It’s not very complex—I’ve been forced to realize I’m not a very complex thinker. I’m down to three digits now.

In 1989 Bill McKibben wrote the first book for a general audience about global warming, The End of Nature. He has since authored a dozen books and led the largest national and global campaigns about climate change. He is a scholar in residence at Middlebury College. His Web site is www.billmckibben.com.

Become an Urban Homesteader

KELLY COYNE and ERIK KNUTZEN

Prompted over the past few years by oil wars, global warming, ecological collapse, natural disasters, and our psychotic federal government, we’ve made a few changes in the way we live.

Now the day begins when Erik gets up to let the chickens out of their henhouse. It’s a structure so thoroughly secured against marauding raccoons that we’ve named it “Chicken Guantanamo.” The hens have been patiently waiting for that door to swing open since first light. Next, while the coffee brews, Erik throws some flour and a cup of sourdough starter into the mixer. He bakes a loaf of artisanal sourdough bread for us every other day, and we rarely meet with any bread that tastes better.

I get up a little later than Erik and stagger into the garden first thing. I say hi to the hens, add some kitchen scraps to the compost pile, and turn on the drip irrigation systems that water our vegetable beds. As of this writing our garden is bearing tomatoes, cucumbers, fava beans, Swiss chard, figs, ground cherries, leeks, eggplants, assorted herbs, and a selection of cultivated weeds. I’m looking forward to the corn, avocado, and pomegranate harvests, all of which are a few months away.

For breakfast I enjoy homemade yogurt with raw honey or maybe a thick slice of the aforementioned sourdough, toasted and smeared with tangy homemade apricot butter. After breakfast I take three sheets of tomatoes down to the solar dehydrator so we’ll have sun-dried tomatoes in the winter. Then I hang a load of laundry out on the line.

Where do Erik and I live? In the heart of urban Los Angeles, in a decaying bungalow on a small plot of land. We are urban homesteaders.

What Is an Urban Homesteader?

An urban homesteader is someone who enjoys living in the city, but doesn’t see why that should stop her from engaging directly with nature, growing her own food, and striving for self-sufficiency.

We don’t wish to retreat to the countryside and live like the Unabomber in a plywood shack. We believe that people are best off living in cities and cooperating with other like-minded folks. Instead of hoarding ammo and MREs, we’re building the skills and forming the conditions and networks that sustain us, our friends, and our neighbors, now and into the future.

Urban homesteading is about preparedness, but we don’t like that term very much. It connotes stockpiling things