In truth, no one ever has to get her started. Moore, 61, is the embodiment of a community activist. An East Hills resident since 1978, Moore has been a vital part of that neighborhood's resurgence from its darkest past and remains a relentless and devoted advocate for its future.
Her latest cause is trees. She is part of the Trees Please program developed by the East Hills Council of Neighbors and funded by the DTE Energy Foundation, the Dyer-Ives Foundation and donations from residents. In 2006, 29 trees were planted. A year later, 14 more were added. Moore became a literal earth mother to the project, watering and pruning the young trees until they were healthy enough to fend for themselves.
It all began the way every project begins for Moore — just outside her front door.
Strolling and Polling
An ardent walker, Moore noticed during tours of her neighborhood that the trees were generally smaller and appeared less healthy than those in the suburbs — even though the urban trees were much older. She decided to investigate and discovered that city trees were often products of neglect. They did not get the attention their suburban brethren received. They were not electively watered or pruned and any indication of frailty usually led to their removal. And even though trees were often replaced, Moore says these efforts were ineffective.
"Someone would plop in a seedling about the size of my thumb and say 'good luck,'" she says. "It's really not a good solution."
As she has done with all her projects, Moore became a facts nerd, reading anything and everything she could about trees and the environment. She found that even in environmental texts, trees were not mentioned as resources.
"Most people just don't see the value of trees," she says. "They'll write poetry about them or say 'Oooh, how pretty' but trees aren't considered worth anything. This motivated me to begin to be aware of how important trees are.
"Everybody's talking green like crazy these days but not seeing the green that's in front of their face," she continues. "Trees are the connective tissue between air and water. They are the ultimate recycler. They recycle all of the water...all of the air — they sequester carbon, they filter air pollution, improve hydrology, add 6-10% value to your house, and they reduce energy consumption."
Money Growing in Trees
Moore"s research convinced her that that preserving and extending the forest canopy of the city is an essential component of its value and quality of life.
But she also learned local government does not necessarily share that view. When confronted with threats of disease or the need for expansion, its policy has leaned toward tree removal as a first answer. Most recently it involved the emerald ash borer, a pest Moore says can be defeated without removing all of the region's ash trees.
"The product is there, it works, and we can treat our trees without significant environmental impact," she maintains. In an effort to prove their approach can work, Trees Please will soon make a presentation to the Grand Rapids City Commission asking it to enact a moratorium on the cutting down of the area's ash trees.
A major hurdle in gaining widespread support, she says, is that trees are not viewed as a measurable asset.
"I saw a story recently that talked about making Grand Rapids greener," she says. " One of the projects that was considered innovative was that the planning commission endorsed a program to reduce developers' green requirements if the developer contributed to the county's farm preservation program. So...we're giving city canopy away to preserve a county cornfield. How does that benefit the city? It's like we have this big blind spot when it comes to our trees because we don't put a value on them."
It was then Moore decided that the best way to save trees was to prove their value in absolute terms. In 2008, the neighborhood council employed Bartlett Tree Experts to conduct a tree survey of the East Hills area. The result was that more than 1,500 trees — most of them maple — were counted and valued at more than $4 million, a figure based on species desirability, location, the age and condition of the tree, and its replacement value. Moore finally had some ammunition.
"Trees are a green infrastructure that appreciate in value every year," Moore maintains. "You can't say that about roads; you can't say that about cars. These things start to devalue immediately. But trees don't. With a little bit of care, we can get maximum value out of these trees."
Building on a Lifetime of Involvement
Trees are only part of a larger story that has to do with Moore's idea about neighborhoods and community.
To many who've lived in the East Hills neighborhood, she is an unsung hero. She was one of the first vocal opponents of the drug dealers in the area, and of one local establishment in particular, the White Rabbit. It was a challenging and dangerous time. "Those were the days you could get a brick thrown at you on Fuller and Wealthy," Moore recalls.
The group's efforts eventually paid off, although Moore still harbors a small regret: "They blamed the building for the activities that took place inside it; they should never have torn it down."
Moore assured that other properties in the area received a kinder fate. She bought many of them herself. She took on the property that became home for Gaia and for what is now The Sparrows. She was an early and devoted presence to the Wealthy Theatre reclamation project that, in her opinion, signaled the "beginning of the beginning" for the neighborhood.
"We had almost bottomed out by the time I got here," she says. "I figure it takes about 30 years for an area to come back. The theater was a 15-year project that became the critical piece of real estate to stabilize the neighborhood."
Where many might view a 30-year payoff as too long to wait, it could also be argued that Moore"s dogged devotion to the projects she takes on is the reason there are payoffs at all. Said one of her long-time admirers: "A lot of people worked on the projects she's been involved with but Carol has the vision; it's her long view of things that makes a difference."
And she remains positive, almost to a fault. One neighborhood colleague recalls a tough moment after a city commission meeting when a frustrated Moore confided: "I can only do this for about 10 more years."
This legendary patience also allows her to present logical, reasoned arguments to support her causes, although passion, on occasion, will get the better of her.
"I went to jail once," she confessed. "I had chained myself to a tree. I don"t know why. It just seemed the thing to do at the moment. I ended up in jail. I don"t ever want to do that again."
When asked what drives her, Moore politely shrugs and says she has no definitive answer, but a few basic rules: "You first have to notice something isn't quite right. Then you have to care. And then you have to do something."
A native Georgian — she owns a winter home in her hometown of Savannah — Moore has lived in West Michigan since the 1970s, first in Wyoming, then in East Hills.
"I was working downtown," she recalls, "We went for a drive at lunchtime. We came by this neighborhood and I was rubbernecking and saw this house. Someone was in the yard and said: Are you interested in it? I said: Yeah."
Coming Home
She has lived in the same house ever since, building and reaffirming her belief that neighborhoods are the life blood of a community:
"Neighborhoods are the real drivers. They make the cities what they are. If you"re not working on the street level, then you"re really missing the core. Things can"t be driven just by what tourists want to see."
While Moore's ideas about activism involve study, research, and building strong multi-discipline coalitions, she does so using old-fashioned methodology. No cell phone. No computer. But lots of walking. Lots of listening.
"I got laid off my last regular job and it was the best thing that ever happened to me," she recalls. "I started walking. I was struck by how much you see, how much you can learn, just by walking your neighborhood."
Her activism has intensified in recent years, a byproduct she believes, of social change:
"I think I"m more drawn that way because it seems in the last 30 years there has been a real shift in what the word "public" even means. It has come to mean 'poor' rather than 'for everybody.'"
She then paraphrases a speech by former president Bill Clinton: "He said we determine public policy by asking two questions — what are going to do and how much is it going to cost — when the real question we need to ask is how does this policy improve the quality of life?"
In this she comes full circle. "Tress, for example, have a public benefit," she says. "If we look around our community it simply means having the same fair standards benefits everyone."
What's next? Let's get started
Whether it's rescuing trees, buildings, or just being a good neighbor, Moore sees the concept of public involvement as a commitment of self....and for as much time as each cause takes.
"The concept of "public" is extending yourself beyond your front door," she maintains. "You just do a little bit more...and the cumulative effect of that is enormous. I'm not talking about the symbolism of it...but the real thing! The tide comes in...all ships float."
And in her long view, Moore continues to look forward to the future: "I want to make a difference. I figure I've still got about 25 years or so, and I want to put them to use. I don"t want or need a spotlight. I just want to help push things through."