Poetry & Honey – upcoming event!


On Friday Aug 19th at 7pm I’ll be reading poems at Follow The Honey (1132 Mass Ave) in Cambridge, MA. Stick around after for a wine tasting with Proud Pour!

Here’s the Facebook event link: https://www.facebook.com/events/319270138414558

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The event is free. I’m making a whole bunch of handmade poetry chapbooks that will be for sale in exchange for any donation — all funds will help me attend the UN climate talks in Morocco this November as a youth delegate with SustainUS.

More updates to come! Don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.

Here’s the full event description:


Poetry and honey together (and perhaps a spot of wine)?!?! OH YES.

Kick off National Honey Day events with a poetry reading by Devi Lockwood at Follow the Honey in Cambridge, MA. Stick around after for a wine tasting with Proud Pour.

Devi Lockwood is a poet / touring cyclist / storyteller from Boston. For the last two years she has been traveling the world by bicycle and by boat to collect 1,001 stories from people she meets about water and climate change.

Her journey began with the September 21, 2014 People’s Climate March in NYC. To date she has collected over 500 stories (audio recordings) in the USA, Fiji, Tuvalu, New Zealand, Australia, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Qatar. She is working to create a map on a website where you can click on a point and listen to a story someone has told her from that place.

Devi’s writing has been published in The New York Times, The Guardian, Bicycling Magazine, Storyscape, BOAAT, Gulf Coast, and elsewhere — for a full publication list, see: devi-lockwood.com/read-listen.

Devi is currently based in New Hampshire and will attend the November 2016 COP22 UN climate talks in Morocco as a youth delegate for SustainUS.

The reading is free. Handmade poetry chapbooks will be for sale at the event, with some old poems and some recent poems from the journey. Price is a sliding scale — whatever you can afford! Bring cash / spare change.

All funds raised will help Devi attend COP22, the UN climate talks in Morocco.

At the end of the event, Brian Thurber, the founder of Proud Pour, will be sampling his wine.


Proud Pour pairs high-quality wines with local environmental restoration. Proud Pour’s Sauvignon Blanc restores 100 wild oysters per bottle. Delicious + sustainable.

Looking forward to seeing you there!

website: devi-lockwood.com
blog: onebikeoneyear.wordpress.com


Beekeeping is Where It’s At

Not gonna lie, this out-of-the-blue email from Kaat Byrd made my day:

“Hi Devi!

Hello from New York, USA! Can I just say that I think what you are doing is AWESOME-SAUCE!!? I’m a 21 year old traveling beekeeper myself, I’ve been chasing after bees and their keepers the past three years. I’ve been mostly hitch-hiking, using rideshares, buses, trains, and what not. Now I’m trying out the bike touring thing, I’ve got the bike nearly ready and I’m hoping to head south in a week or so (once i figure out where my 40lb pup goes)! I really love how independent the bike makes you.

I’ve been lurking on your blog for a while now and am so excited for you, hopping cargo ships and really getting around without airplanes! I would love to do the same. I just may have to strap a cardboard sign behind my bike that says “Tell me a story about bees”…

I’m excited and rambling. Keep on being the superstar that you are! You are an inspiration and here’s a virtual *high-five* for you!




Everyone go pop on over to Kaat’s blog (http://rootflux.com/) and show her a little love.

Here’s to the traveling sisterhood of women
doing bad-ass, environmentally aware things.

Kaat, I’m so glad that you reached out!


Coal Dust

It gets everywhere: windowsills, tabletops, the kitchen ceiling.


Marmor, QLD, Australia

This home is a good 3/4 of a kilometer from the train tracks.

Marmor isn’t a coal mining town, just a village on the transport route.

The starting salary for driving trucks at the mines out west, though? Somewhere north of $100,000. I can see why anyone would want a piece of that pie. Fly in, fly out. Live in a camp. Get the work done. Twelve hour shifts. Reap the benefits.

At what cost?

Always at what cost.

I’m enmeshed in reading Naomi Klein’s This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate. Piece by piece. It is a dense, necessary text. Rich with insight. Please go read a copy if you haven’t already.

I want to be a part of making the world habitable for future generations.

This is my part. Listening. Breathing in the dust. Sipping tea with new friends on a porch and recording a story about the cyclone that passed over here in February of this year––eye and all––almost ripping off the roof and felling several trees. Interconnectivity in action. What fuels the climate system? What fuels the economy?

“We’re not tree-huggers,” the storytellers are quick to add. As if environmentalism were a dirty word.


Coal dust on the windowsill.

One of my hosts used to manage service stations out west. The miners would come in after work to buy a cola, still in their work uniforms. Save for a ring around their eyes they would be covered in the black stuff.

One day one of the workers changed shifts and came in with his face clean to buy a cola. She didn’t recognize him.

All is swirling but here I am, in the middle of it, probing the edges, crossing continents whole.

There is nothing else I would rather be doing now.


This patch of gorgeous sea and sky is sandwiched between an aluminum smelter (just out of frame at right) & a 200,000 ton coal exporting facility (just to the left).


Why do jobs and the environment have to be at odds?

Bits of coal, not seashells, wash up at the beach.


Some people swim here but my hosts don’t recommend it.

Water Conservation

One of my goals for 2015 is to use less water.


Today I was taking a cold shower in Funafuti, Tuvalu and found myself instinctively turning off the water while I lathered up my body and untangled my mess of curls, a habit that I have picked up since I started this trip in September.

Hot showers aren’t an option in Tuvalu, and with the average day well over 30 degrees Celsius, I can’t say that I would opt for a warm shower even if I could. All water for drinking and household use in Tuvalu’s nine coral atolls comes from the rain. In decades past there was a groundwater supply, but those sources have become salty in tandem with rising sea levels.

Fortunately it is the rainy season, but between rain showers there is always the question: will there be enough water in the tank to get through the day? And if not, how can we cut back?

Alofa, my host, gets around this hesitation by sneaking into her workplace bathrooms after hours to bathe. She has the keys, and no one else is using the water in those big tanks, right? The bigger the roof, the more water that funnels into the water tanks, and the Tuvalu Telecom building, a mere two-minute walk from her home, has one of the largest roofs in Funafuti. I don’t ask Alofa if it is kosher for us to bathe there, but the whole ordeal has an air of secrecy about it. We always enter through the back door.

Under the Telecom shower spigot I relax. Cool water drips down my back, washing away days of caked-on sweat. To my surprise, a layer of memory unearths itself, too, distant in both time and space.

Dance class, the early 2000s, suburban Connecticut. We were allowed one trip to the drinking fountain in the middle of class, but only if we asked nicely. The water fountain at the end of the hall was a two-tiered production across from the basketball court. The water pressure was such that you couldn’t drink from both fountains at once. We were always in a rush––our dance teacher would be testy if we took too long. Ballet was serious work.

Once granted permission to drink all fifteen of us would sprint down the hallway in our ballet flats to see who would get to the fountain first. Those who arrived last would linger by the door to the basketball court, watching the boys play with a kind of wide-eyed intensity that mystified me even then. I always chose a second helping of water over a glimpse a so-and-so’s supposedly dreamy arms.

Courtney was a slow runner, but lo on you if she was behind you in line. That girl was pushy. “Save some for the fishes!” she would shout, nudging my shoulders while I sipped from the fountain’s arc. This was code for: get out of the way, I’m thirsty. That girl ruled the roost and she knew it.

But it isn’t the fishes who need water saved for them. It’s us.


In San Francisco I met a nurse in a cancer ward who caught the water that came out of her tub in a watering can while the tap was warming. With this water she grew a back porch vegetable garden. The simplicity of this gesture struck me as so beautiful. She kept the watering can by her tub, always at the ready.


What steps can I take to save water? How far am I willing to alter my daily routine to accomplish this goal?

When, as in the case of Tuvalu, might it become a necessity for us all to conserve?

Is waiting for that point too late?