You just can’t pack mail-ordered energy-efficient light bulbs with Styrofoam peanuts. I mean physically you could, but not if you cared about all the trees on which angry ecologically-minded consumers would write to tell you how hypocritical you are.

And they would have a point. As we all know, Styrofoam never degrades, takes up lots of landfill space, and is full of ozone-eating chemicals. Besides which, no one ever liked Styrofoam peanuts to begin with, expect maybe cats and the odd arts and crafts nut.

But the perfect alternative has been a challenge to find. Inflated plastic air cushions, crumpled newsprint, and popcorn have all taken their turn, and all have their ecological and practical problems.

The other day I came face-to-face with another one of the mail-order eco-suppliers’ responses to this dilemma, perhaps the most popular one. I was unpacking a box full of enough low-watt super-efficient light bulbs to last us until something better comes along and hoping the rest of the family wouldn’t notice how they stuck out from the chandelier fixtures. Having gotten the bulbs in place, I turned to disposing of the box, which was filled with two square feet of puffed corn-starch packing peanuts.

Now, there are three main concerns that any eco-friendly product has to face: Does it deliver similar quality? Is it higher cost? And is it less convenient? The jury was out on the quality of the bulbs, and I had accepted the upfront cost in return for lower utility bills. The bulbs installed easily enough, but convenience has to encompass everything, down to packaging disposal.

This was not my first encounter with corn-starch peanuts. I remembered dissolving some of their brethren in the kitchen sink after opening much smaller packages and being amazed at the speed with which they melted and washed away. But this box was no kitchen sink material.

I took it to the bathtub, dumped its contents in, turned on the shower, and went looking for a pocket-knife to break down the box and set it out for recycling. When I came back, the area directly under where the shower was aimed had turned to a gelatinous white mush. The rest seemed unchanged. The whole thing was steadily rising toward the top of the bathtub, though, so I turned the water off to let some drain away.

Throughout the whole afternoon (thank God for telecommuting!) I cycled in and out of the bathroom, running the shower, letting it drain, stirring the mess with a mop handle like some bizarre ecological witch. For a long time, it looked like nothing so much as the results of four people having binged on first wonder bread and then vodka. Luckily, it didn’t smell like that. But I still wanted it cleaned up before anyone else got home.

On the ecological upside, it made me a little more eager to shop locally rather than order by mail. But mostly, my day with packing peanut mush reminded me of how complicated our fancy technological fixes are, and how often they have unintended repercussions – running that much water in my bathtub was not exactly an efficient use of a precious resource. Solar panels require copper, the mining of which is an ecological disaster. And does anyone remember the 1980s ecological fad of biodegradable plastic garbage bags? They didn’t degrade under landfill conditions, but if they were blowing around as litter they degraded to toxic plastic dust. Oh my.

Science brings us lots of important things that are undeniable improvements, and there are more on the way. But we have a challenge on our hands even greater than creating new and better technological advances – identifying when we need them, and when simplicity, going local, going to scale with things we already know work, streamlining systems, or recapturing the wisdom and strength of some successful older or “natural” ways of doing things would be both safer and more efficient.

In the meantime, I’ve decided if I end up with that many corn starch peanuts again, I’m heading straight for a storm drain.