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Fellow foragers had warned me about elderberries. They cautioned me about the hours of tedious labor the dark purple berries demand. They told me how the stems, unripe red berries and even seeds can be slightly toxic as they contain a compound similar to cyanide, and how almost every stem must be painstakingly removed. I’m glad I didn’t listen to these warnings (or conveniently forgot them) as my grandfather and I struck out on a sunny early autumn afternoon to collect our elderberries from a ditch near the family cabin in northwestern Wisconsin. Visions of pies, jams and medicinal tinctures danced in my head, and the elderberry bush, laden with ripe berries seemed happy to oblige. When I pulled my octogenarian grandfather out of the bramble a half hour later, we had four paper bags full of berries. My grandfather wondered if this bounty would be enough for his jam and my various elderberry dreams.

Each year, Americans spend roughly $30 billion dollars on pesticides, fertilizers, machinery, water, and energy in the name of maintaining thousands of little green blades of Kentucky Blue. Lawns are built into the American lifestyle; many of us have fond memories of pushing our toy lawnmower alongside a parent as they cut the grass every Sunday to keep it from becoming overgrown, or running through the sprinkler in the intense heat of late summer as it waters the crunchy, browning blades.

“Organic” isn’t a word I usually associate with vodka. Sure, organic is commendable. Organic is responsible. Organic is even noble.

But these homespun virtues don’t exactly dovetail with vodka’s typically glitzy image. Commercials for big-name vodkas often beguile the viewer with fussy fantasy worlds that feature dazzling women, surreal Norse landscapes, ice palace discos, and fashion runways a-pop with camera flashes.