My father is an unlikely environmentalist. To demonstrate his resistance to environmental consciousness, I could point out that for many years his vehicle of choice has been the anything-but-green Chevy Suburban. To up his pollution ante, he also occasionally pilots a Harley Soft Tail -- kitted out, of course, with straight pipes that produce a deafening roar of exhaust. And yet, he and my mother live in what most would consider an environmentally sensitive house.

Their first experiment with green architecture began in the early 1980s as a means of saving money. Frustrated by the exorbitant heating and cooling bills in an older, traditional home that was an icebox in the winter and a sauna in the summer, my parents began to investigate more cost-effective possibilities. They were inspired by a new solar house built on the campus of North Carolina State University, and after doing extensive research and consulting with an architect, they decided to build their own passive solar home in 1985. The design Mom and Dad chose has many features of a conventional house, primarily because they were interested in enjoying the benefits of solar energy without significant lifestyle alterations.

Viewed from the street, the house looks like an ivy-covered English cottage, but this traditional facade conceals highly efficient internal features, namely thick, super-insulating concrete floors and walls, and a water-source heat pump that was cutting edge in the mid-1980s. The rear of the house is even more unexpected. Two-thirds of the south-facing wall is comprised of a bi-level brick and glass solar collection room. Each of the rooms in the house opens into this solarium, and approximately 75% of the house's heat is gathered here.

Mom and Dad's priorities were much the same when they decided to build a new house on the farm where my mother grew up. This time they selected a Craftsman bungalow house plan, and decided to build it without a solar collection room in order to make the design as authentic as possible. But they were able to use much of their acquired knowledge and incorporate a variety of energy-saving features, from extra-thick walls to an ultra-productive Rumford fireplace. While designing the new house, my dad was able to salvage some logs and hand-hewn heart pine boards from a soon-to-be-demolished cabin my great-grandfather built around the turn of the century. This discovery inspired him to incorporate recycled building materials in the new house. Two abandoned farmhouses destined for the landfill turned out to be treasure troves filled with wainscoting, trim, molding, and stained glass, all in excellent condition. The wainscoting now accents each of the house's bathrooms and the kitchen, the trim and rosette molding surrounds every window, and my great-grandfather's heart pine boards now comprise built-in library shelves my father crafted himself. The floors in every room were gathered from barns in Georgia, and are secured with traditional, handmade nails.

Living in this house, my parents are immersed in a collective past, surrounded by material reminders of people they knew and times long gone. Dad, in particular, has benefited from this experience: his new favorite book is Sarah Susanka's treatise on livability, The Not So Big House. Dare I hope my newly green dad will one day trade in his Suburban for a fuel-efficient gas/electric hybrid compact? His boots for Birkenstocks? His tricked-out Harley for a high-performance bicycle? Probably not, but he has taken a giant leap in the right direction.

Sarah Mullen 

Austin, Texas

The above piece was originally published in a GoodLetter from GoodThings, Inc., which published weekly stories of people's constructive actions on the web from 2000 - 2003.  It has been refreshed and updated for your current viewing pleasure.  Enjoy.