I am on the edge of two powerful and transformative movements for our region. The first is local fuel. The second is local food.

Over at the North Carolina Biotechnology Center, Steven Burke likes to describe biofuels as "landscape changing." And over at the Center for Environmental Farm Systems, Nancy Creamers likes to describe our foodshed as "all encompassing."

And while I have a toe in both worlds, their approaches to social change could not be more different.

One day I was invited to the Biotechnology Center to take a seat at the table with a bunch of erudite and powerful people. They invited me because of my involvement with Piedmont Biofuels, and there is a good chance I was the only guy in the room who arrived in a vehicle powered by biodiesel.

There were university deans and Golden Leaf executives, and the well-heeled makers of infrastructure. An ex cabinet member took his seat next to a representative from the governor's office, and we all gathered around to toss ideas around.

It was a heady occasion. I was under dressed.

After a handful of meetings we penned the Strategic Plan for Biofuels Leadership, and in no time the North Carolina Biofuels Center was born. It was a private nonprofit with a $5 million allocation from the legislature which was suddenly making grants and loans in an effort to spawn a new industry.

The N.C. Department of Agriculture took note, and made an abandoned tobacco research station available, and before we knew it the N.C. Biofuels Center was located on a beautiful sprawling campus in Oxford, had another five million bucks from the state and was poised to make things happen.

There is a very real chance that North Carolina's Biofuels Center could provide a model for the rest of the country.

I currently sit on their star-studded board of directors, and if the place continues at its break neck speed North Carolina will really have something to write home about.

At our last board meeting, I came away with the inescapable idea that I might need to buy a tie.

When it comes to the foodshed, however, it is a completely different story. I have been invited to numerous meetings regarding local food production because of my association with the Abundance Foundation, and Piedmont Biofarm, and the farm incubator we operate at Piedmont Biofuels Coop.

These meetings tend to be in church basements. No tie required.

And unlike the biofuels crowd, this constituency is all over the map. It's community gardeners, and grassroots activists, and researchers from the academy, and farmers, and coop grocery store workers.

On the surface it appears to be a hodge podge of ideas. Conversations begin with local food production, and rapidly move into ageism, sexism, racism, human rights, immigration issues, nutrition, and in no time the whole crowd is discussing gut flora.

At a recent meeting a woman stood up and proclaimed that our food needed to be "culturally appropriate."

Everyone nodded in respectful agreement and the idea was written on the board.

As a sustainability junkie I caught myself wondering "Why?"

Our culture is not sustainable. Why on earth would we spend one minute worrying about whether or not our food was culturally appropriate?

It made me want to slip away to deep fry a Twinkie so that I could have something to eat while pondering the question.

The movement to transform the way we eat is exceedingly open hearted. And part of me is stunned that the same food dialogue has been going on for thirty years without demonstrable results.

And yet when I broach this idea with those who have been in the trenches for lo these many years, I find them optimistic and encouraged by how broad based they are becoming.

They started out as an "environmental" movement, simply trying to get the pesticides out of the food chain. And by now they have been noticed by those interested in nutrition, and flavor, and justice, and economic development, and everything else under the sun.

Bring on the "cultural appropriateness." It will strengthen their hand when the anthropologists chime in at the legislature.

The two approaches could not be more disparate. Since I am actively involved in both, I want both to succeed. Both efforts are anchored in sustainability, and both are critical if our state is to survive the transformation that lies ahead.

As we enter into Depression 2.0, it is good to know that a lot of people are working for change. From the top down, and from the bottom up.

Lyle Estill lives in Chatham County. He can be reached at lyle@blast.com.