I suspect that you, dear reader, may not routinely chase sugar plum fairy fantasies about sustainable agriculture and food sovereignty in your Feastland dreams. Tropical sweet coconut rice for breakfast and brow-dripping curries for dinner topped my desires for a while, following a study abroad term in Sri Lanka. All to be finished off with the most perfect mango imaginable, preferably in a warm spring rain shower. Food to me was equal parts fuel for an active life and semi-fantasy forays into eating and social cultures different than those with which I grew up.
Salad, of all things, was the first meal of my reconsideration. Working to remove invasive plant species from the Colorado river corridor in southwestern Arizona forced my eyes into horizon-length stares at agricultural practices of that region. Craggy mountains gave way to plains of rock-strewn desert lands, then technicolor green swathes – like a mismatched rainbow drawing, lines of pink/gray marked next to green, the symmetry perfectly regulated by irrigation pivots. Each trip between work assignments, the lines would shift as patches were harvested by latino laborers, and other sections replanted. Occasionally, a foul smell would waft ahead of view, a sign of a failed crop for one reason or another. I could only imagine the barren supermarkets back in Boston and Philadelphia, Chicago and rural New York state – folks would have to prepare frozen peas in lieu of a crisp, iceberg salad.
Our work drenched us in the salty sweat of chainsawing, lopping and otherwise yanking however possible on salt cedar plants. The same Colorado River feeding the nations salad greens productions was (and remains) severely impacted by the larger ecosystem problems this plant provokes and indicates. Suddenly, no matter what diet fad was in style at the time, I saw first hand how my salad lettuce was grown, and I realized I was asking too much of this Earth. Not only was excessive water needed to grow these year-round crops, but the laborers walked, hunched and sprayed who-knows-what, without protection. It impressed me, this crops system cycling in and out of its pink and green areas, water pivoting into evaporation for all the world like a showcase misty rainbow; it impressed me negatively.
Right, so what love-at-first-seed sight story am I telling? It was more than a year later before I dug up some backyard and planted my own lettuce. House plants saw me through the dark duration (bad solar orientation, apartment living). But what is important here is that I saw those agricultural practices, and I changed. Many trips to my local farmers market later, and several seasons worth of friendships with these growers, and I recognize my salad epiphany as just the tip of the iceberg (ha ha, sorry, had to put that in there).
At the PASA conference, small dinner discussion was made about what makes people change. I believe it can be any number of things. My companions thought only crisis forces change. As usual, we’re probably all right to some degree or another. I may have my stories of slow awakening to the various pleasures and responsibilities accompanying food (again, one of our daily needs). Others may require a daily pin prick Diabetes check-in before they recognize where modern agriculture has led them.
But my intention here is far from wagging fingers at Twinkie lovers (by the way, California peach growers claim that their fruits are pound for pound less expensive than this historic yellow rectangular sponge). I’d just like to continue writing these posts to discuss the various aspects of our food system, with the hopes that some part of the dialogue will prompt you to change as well. Wishing an emergency room visit on you won’t really get any of us to a better place, but for the sake of scary medical fact influence, poor women’s life expectancies are now declining due to modern, diet-related diseases.
Fingers can now be pointed – at the broader food system and its distribution of products. Soaring rates of obesity and disease due to diet are examples of how we eaters have only experienced our food as a democracy based on constrained preference, not consumer choice. And as Raj Patel would remind us, we are not simply consumers of democracy, we are its proprietors.
With that, I’ll promise to link into ‘I eat therefore I am’, Descartes in a nutshell (must have been a pistachio – much easier than a walnut), next time. More suggested reading: The Snail (Slow Food’s national magazine about the movement); Manifestos on the future of food & Seed, edited by Vandana Shiva; and the 2008 Farm Bill – gotta know it in order to do better!
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Love this article. Perhaps recent environmental as well as fiscal weather will help this country remember where things should be grown, and where water is too precious to toss into the hot, dry air for semi-satisfactory results? A recent reconnection with an old friend from Connecticut reminded me of the ease with which wonderful food is grown naturally — blackberries, raspberries, peaches and such — back east of the Mississippi, that would just immediately expire in my current location of high Idaho desert. Great writing, and, as always, pithy, well-researched topic. Thanks! I want to come visit and see this progress!