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We'd only been living in Kitsilano for a few months when my children sought out the most environmentally conscious family in the known universe and made them their best friends. I will call this family "the Greens" because they are the pinnacle of greenness, against which all other families are measured.

The Queen of Green (let's call her Valerie) is a single mother of three children. Now, if I were in her shoes, I would cut myself some slack. I'd probably feed my kids a lot of frozen pizza and send them to school with those prepackaged Lunchables. Okay, maybe I wouldn't go that far, but I would be tempted to cut a few environmental corners.

But Valerie Green is committed to doing her best for the Earth, and she's not taking the easy way out. Most significantly, the Greens do not own a car. Valerie does all the grocery shopping (organic, of course) using a bike and trailer. All three kids play two musical instruments each and have a number of lessons throughout the week. Valerie shuttles the children and instruments to their lessons by bike and trailer or, in extremely inclement weather (like a blizzard), by bus. Did I mention that one of those instruments is a cello? Yes, a cello.

While I become exhausted just watching her, Valerie never complains. She hauls her kids to 8 a.m. dentist appointments by bike. To birthday parties and crosstown dance classes. In the rain! At night! She broke her foot last year and still, she never asked anyone for a ride. She never took a cab!

And the Greens eat all organic food. I'm not just talking about meat and vegetables here. I'm talking organic flour, organic spices and even organic dairy (which costs about the same as Beluga caviar). Most of their diet is locally grown, too.

Valerie has personal relationships with many of the farmers in the area.

The Greens are socially conscious, as well. The children know a lot about supporting local industry and farming practices and fair-trade goods. Frankly, I don't think it's normal for children that young to be that well-informed, but maybe that's just me. My daughter had the Green girls over one day and was showing them the new shirt we'd bought for the start of the school year.

"I got this new shirt for school," Tegan said cheerfully. "It has stripes and I really like stripes."

The Green girls stared at the garment in silence. Finally, one of them said, "That shirt was made by child labour."

As my daughter's face fell, I had to intervene. "No, it wasn't," I soothed, while secretly wondering: Was it? It was awfully cheap. Was some five-year-old being paid 10 cents a day to sew Tegan's cute striped shirt? But could I afford to buy clothes that were made by an adult? A wave of guilt washed over me. Why hadn't I done some research into the store's manufacturing practices? I didn't deserve to live in this neighbourhood. On this planet!

***

Valerie Green is far too nice to overtly judge me, but I know I'm not living up to her standards. And she is not the only one. Despite my best efforts, Kitsilano is crawling with people who are so committed to the Earth that they make me feel like a property developer in comparison. We live near Broadway, a beautiful street lined with vegetable markets, Greek bakeries and old, leafy trees. Unfortunately, because of poor sidewalk construction, the sprawling roots of these old, leafy trees were buckling the pavement. The Broadway sidewalks had become like some kind of treacherous urban mountain range. One day, I'd seen an elderly woman trip on a jutting piece of concrete and fall to the ground. Another time, a woman who dared to wear a bit of a heel on her shoe was felled, as well.

"Damn sidewalks," she muttered, as she scrambled to her feet. "They really need to be fixed." Eventually, when hospital emergency rooms were overflowing with victims of the Broadway sidewalks, the city got involved. They decided that the sidewalks had to be repaved. Unfortunately, they felt the easiest solution was to cut down all of the old, leafy trees.

I was walking my children home from school one chilly, rainy, miserable day when I was approached by a neighbour. "Are you coming to the rally to save the trees on Broadway?" she asked.

I huddled deeper into my raincoat, trying to ignore the biting wind whipping my face. "Uh … when is it?"

"Tomorrow morning at 9," she said brightly.

I could not think of anything I wanted to do less than stand around in the cold and rain chanting "Save the Trees" at 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning. I did want the trees to be saved, of course I did. It would be a terrible shame if they were cut down. But was there possibly a warmer, drier way to save them?

"Do you think the weather will be like this tomorrow?" I ventured to ask.

"That's what the forecast says."

"It's just that I have a bit of a sore throat." I coughed lamely. "And I've got a lot of work to do so … I don't want to get sick."

She gave me a look that said: I can't believe you'd let a little rain and a sore throat keep you from saving the life of a beautiful, carbon-replenishing maple tree.

She was right. I was selfish to put my comfort above the lives of my neighbourhood trees. I felt bad. I felt guilty. But I also felt cold and wet and I had a bit of a sore throat.

Thankfully, Kitsilano is full of people with bigger hearts and tougher constitutions than mine. They weren't going to let a little rain or the sniffles keep them from making a point. The city was not going to harm a leaf on those trees without getting a fight. And it worked! The Broadway trees were saved (except for six that weren't healthy and had to come down anyway).

***

I sometimes feel the need to lie to my super-green friends, but it's not because they're overtly judgmental. The Kitsilano greenies don't mean to be exclusive. In fact, they're actually a very welcoming bunch. One Sunday, Tegan and I walked to the local farmers' market, our reusable shopping bags swinging jauntily from our hands. As we entered the bustling scene, I was approached by a pleasant, middle-aged woman who handed me a flyer.

"Come join us at the Global Warming Café," she invited, smiling warmly.

I looked at the piece of paper. The café was a place where people from the neighbourhood could get together to share ideas and strategies to protect the environment. What a great concept! And it was being held at the community centre only a few blocks from my house. I would attend next Sunday.

I kept the Global Warming Café flyer on my desk all week and marked the date on my calendar. This was going to be great. I was really becoming a part of the green community. And I was really going to make a contribution to the planet. The URL was featured prominently on the flyer, so I decided to check out their website beforehand.

"Click here to see photos of previous Global Warming Cafés," the site invited me. So I clicked. As I stared at the photos, I suddenly realized I couldn't go. Everyone looked so knowledgeable and passionate and deep, dark, forest green. They were all wearing clothes from Mountain Equipment Co-op. There were several women there with long grey hair in braids. I didn't belong. I wouldn't fit in. I wasn't green enough.

They would take one look at me and they would know. I had highlights! Obviously, someone who would choose to put harsh chemicals into her hair and, subsequently, down the drain didn't really care about the planet. Someone too vain and superficial to let her hair go grey naturally would have nothing to contribute regarding the environment. And what would I wear? I owned no MEC threads, no hemp or soy or thrift-shop finds. Yes, I had a vegan purse, but how far would that get me? My coat was probably made by a nine-year-old in Bangladesh. No, as soon as I walked through the door they'd recognize my type: the type who says she cares about the environment, but owns too many pairs of shoes and won't take the bus!

I love living in Kitsilano. And I'm really thankful for the residents who put up signs, hand out flyers, and organize mailings and protest rallies. Every time I walk along Broadway, admiring the way the leaves dapple the sidewalk with their shadows and rustle gently in the breeze, I am grateful to my neighbourhood rabble-rousers. But, much like riding the bus, I just can't bring myself to their level of activism. This realization makes me worry a bit. Do I really fit in here? Or am I just too selfish and lazy to live up to my neighbourhood's green standards?

From the book Mom, Will This Chicken Give Me Man Boobs?, © 2009, by Robyn Harding, published by Greystone Books: an imprint of D&M Publishers Inc. Reprinted with permission of the publisher.