I love the idea that food has a story. That we, as consumers, should strive to know and have a personal connection with as many parts of that story as possible seems to be a common theme among the ideas of Michael Pollan, Wendell Berry, and Carlo Petrini. Really, it seems as though making positive changes in our current, broken food system is all about forming a relationship with food, a personal relationship in which we eat intentionally and deliberately. As Pollan explains, eliminating some of the links in the food chain between the field and our table allows us to form stronger connection with our food beyond eating as a mere act of survival. If we can “shake the hand that feeds us,” we benefit from so much more than good, clean, and fair food because the stories of our food can feed our mind and soul.
When thinking back on the stories that my food has offered me, I was immediately brought back to last summer, when I was interning and working on an organic vegetable farm up in northern Vermont. I spent the days in the field with the farm’s owners and the rest of the crew, and lived in the apartment above the farmers’ garage. It was a summer full of amazingly fresh vegetables and shared meals, but I remember one dinner in particular. It was after a long, hot day of work in the middle of July, and the heat of the day had faded into a stormy night. It was on a Thursday, I remember, because Thursday was yoga night. The farmers, Mary and Eric, had traded a CSA share with a local yoga instructor: she got a fresh basket of veggies each week, and in return, she taught free yoga classes to the farm crew once a week in the farm barn. This particular night, after stretching our muscles from a long day in the fields, Mary and Eric invited the farm crew across the street to their house for dinner.
I distinctly remember the feel of the warm kitchen, cozy and safe while the thunder crashed and the lightning flashed outside. I stood at the table slicing carrots, radishes, and cucumbers fresh from that day’s harvest, while Eric grilled burgers made from meat raised on Mary’s parents’ farm down the road. Mary tended to her baby daughter, and she alternated with the other two women on the farm crew as we sliced veggies for the burgers and ripped lettuce for a green salad. When the burgers were cooked through, we all sat and ate together around the wooden kitchen table. Even the baby in her highchair sat with us to enjoy the company and parts of the shared meal.
This food had a story that was complex and juicy. It was the story of the farmers, who loved to pull pranks on each other to get us all laughing during the long days of work. It was the story of a beautiful tomato house, which by some stroke of luck stayed free of hornworms for the entire summer, and the story of the many lettuce plants which were not so lucky in avoiding the deer. It was the story of the many challenges and benefits to organic vegetable production, and the communal cooking that happened between a farm family and wonderful friends. It was the story, too, of a farm community that was willing to trade CSA shares for yoga lessons and rented port-a-potties. And for me, it was the story of a farm intern, happy not to be cooking alone in my apartment after a hot day of work.
I do realize that, as wonderful as this story was for me, it by no means occurs in the context of a perfect food system. I can’t write about the personal connection I had to the (in all probability) industrial workers who made the hamburger buns, or the farmers who grew the wheat. And I know that migrant workers in neighboring counties, who play an important role in producing local milk, are fighting hard for food justice and their rights. Nonetheless, I do think there’s room for hope and optimism. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived in Vermont my entire life in a community that seems to generally have respect for farmers, or because I’ve learned of some of the programs that exist here to distribute their food to low-income families. Or maybe I’m biased because my current answer when asked about post-college plans is to say that I want to work on a farm, so I have to believe there’s a chance to do it right. Regardless, my own experiences have shown me that, while there’s so much room for improvement, there’s room for hope, too, and we can use our own food stories to start a conversation.
I completely agree with you Emma that food with stories are richer in meaning and pleasure for those luckily enough to cook and enjoy it. I really liked reading about the unique immersion opportunity you had to connect with those farmers and the land in Northern Vermont. I think when having conversations about food stories it is important that land is not forgotten. This theme of connecting with farmers and place is a theme that is reoccurring on our 5th days here in Louisville. Today my understanding of the importance of connecting with land on a deeper level was solidified during our visit to the Berry Center. Mary Berry, the daughter of Wendell spoke about an urgent need for people to get educated on their food and the food systems they are consumers in. One of my favorite quotes of hers from the day was when she was discussing some of the many issues in American food systems and said, “land is separated from people and people are separated from land.” She continued speaking about farmers markets and agreed that they were a great way to connect farmers to consumers though exclude land, one of the key links in the food chain.
I agree with you that we must understand the many links in the food chain between the field and our table. Often people forget that this includes the land, soil, place and general environment where the food is grown. John mentioned in the videoconference yesterday how he and is wife often visit the two farms where they buy their meat from. This is a perfect example of getting to know the farmers and the animals but also the land where our food is produced. With America becoming more developed and urban everyday it is definitely easy to disconnect from this place and the earth. Wendell Berry is one of the profound writers who emphasizes the need to change humans relationship to land. In one of Wendell’s poem called A Praise he wrote, “his memories lived in the place like fingers locked in the rock ledges like roots.” Farmers have a unique opportunity to form a relationship with the earth where they work everyday and their food is grown, as you did in the fields of Northern Vermont. Many Americans do not get this opportunity, and need to find a way to experience the land where their food is grown.
I believe that the link in the food chain that must be emphasized more is the land as it does a lot of work to produce the fresh vegetables and fruit we gladly devour. The land is one of the main characters in food stories that is often forgotten and misunderstood. As we continue to think about shortening the food chains in our lives to understand food stories, I believe that its important that we remember the role the earth plays in our food systems.
Emma,
I completely agree that food tells a story and really enjoyed hearing about your experience farming in northern Vermont. I think more often than not our discussion of food focuses on the physical, and we forget about the stories and social interactions that food can provide us. We pay attention to the quantity and quality of nutrients in the food, the natural and artificial processes that went into making it, and the labor that is required to produce and deliver it. It is important that we understand all of these elements, but I think we need to step back and think about how these parts are connected to a whole—to stories, narratives and traditions that develop through food.
Some of my fondest memories revolve around growing, cooking and sharing food with others. We all have these personal stories that are worth sharing since they help us acknowledge our connection to food, the environment, and the greater community. It is necessary that we continue these kinds of dialogue. However, the next step in fixing our food system should be to make sure that everyone can share their food stories. This means that we need to become more active listeners and more eager to respond at a local and global scale to other narratives in both our rural and urban communities.