My parents are officially hippy, granola-crunchy, Vermont radicals. It was a gradual process, but I think I became aware of their fate around the time they began listening to downloaded peak oil lectures for amusement and considered an afternoon of pickling to be a good time. Their world is one of growing their own food, living according to the whims of the weather, and staying in touch with the state of the economy to a degree many other Americans would consider mind-numbing and depressing.