“Wild rice is culturally significant to Aniishinabe people here in Minnesota. It’s our connection to the land, water and our ancestors…I had a friend say that Aniishinabeg people, if we were to lose this plant, we would lose a huge chunk of ourselves,” Goose says.

“My sister and I this past fall were finishing our rice, and I had so much respect for my ancestors and how hard that work is —to dry the rice, parch it, and winnow it—is a whole process from start to finish.”

Goose is also passing the sacred traditions on to future generations – as much as she can. Wild rice is under threat from climate impacts, unchecked pollution and overdevelopment, causing contamination, sea level rise, disruptions of freshwater wetlands and more.

But Native people have been the stewards of the waters in their territories for tens of thousands of years, just as we have been stewards of the land. In this second part of our two-part series, we dive deeper into some challenges of water stewardship and how Indigenous voices in regions across the continental U.S. rise to the call of Mother Àwęˀkęhaˀnęˀ (Water, Skarure) to protect her and all life dependent on water. 

Saying no to pipelines

In the Great Lakes Region and Midwest, Enbridge, a Canadian-based pipeline operator in the Great Lakes, has faced controversy for decades.  

Their 1960s Line 3 pipeline through the Great Lakes region caused one of the biggest inland oil  spills in US history in 1991. Occurring in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, it spilled 1.7 million gallons into Prairie River – a tributary of the Mississippi.

The line weakened over time. The Minnesota Dept of Commerce reports 15 failures since 1990, resulting in more than 50 barrels of oil per incident. Corrosion and cracking prompted over 950 excavations since 2000 alone, and 10 times as many “anomalies” per mile than any other pipeline in the Mainline corridor. All told, Enbridge has since paid more than $11 million to address environmental damage from Line 3. 

In 2010, they had the second largest inland oil spill, estimated at 843,000 gallons at Talmadge Creek and the Kalamazoo River, a tributary to Lake Michigan.

Ogimaa Giniw Ikwe is a citizen of Miskwaagamiiwi-Zaagaiganing (Red Lake Nation),  where she’s been “deeply involved with the work of water protection and conservation and those types of things throughout Minnesota for probably the last dozen years.” 

She’s not convinced that Enbridge is doing all they can to preserve wetlands, like those in Minnesota where their Line 3 pipeline runs. “In places with shifty ground, they took steel panels and drove them in so the pipeline was stabilized, and fractured a number of underground aquifers, including artesian aquifers that are not easily replaceable,” Giniw Ikwe says.

An estimated 280 million gallons of groundwater spilled from the ruptures, largely tracked and reported by environmental and Indigenous groups. Thermal imaging showing 45 spots along the pipeline where warmer groundwater appeared to surface. There were four major sites in or near tribal lands, treaty territories or wild rice lakes, from 2021 to 2023. 

The water losses occurred while climate change is rapidly shifting weather patterns. Minnesota endured multi-year drought, even severe drought conditions, increasing risk of wildfires.

But the officials did not lay blame on these massive industrial leaks. There was controversy raised as officials primarily blamed farmers, claiming over-pumping of aquifer water to crops. Giniw Ikwe disagrees.

“I think that aquifer damage had a much stronger play in what’s happening,” says Giniw Ikwe.

“Then this stuff (contaminants) sinks to the bottom, damaging delicate wetlands areas, which filters out clean water and ensures water in Minnesota can trickle down into aquifer systems, and that’s where they laid this pipeline. So it’s been really contentious.”

She refers to the resulting pooling mix of breached aquifer water, drilling fluid and grout used to patch the breaches as a potential hazard to the wetlands and groundwater, even after so-called repairs.

Looking to the future

Many people across the region were deeply opposed to the installation of a new/reparative pipeline, questioning its need. And states like Michigan are still fighting in court over a cease and desist issued years prior to stop the flow entirely.

But groups are pumping out solutions as well.

Leanna Goose works as a co-facilitator and organizer for Rise and Repair, an alliance of organizations advancing legislative climate justice in Minnesota. She does research in the Protecting Manoomin for the Next Seven Generations project, which studies wildlife and addresses challenges proactively. 

There are more than 17 species of wild rice indigenous to her research area listed as a Species of Greatest Conservation Need by the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. They are essential to biodiversity and support a thriving ecosystem, clean water, and human life. It’s particularly sensitive during the “floating leaf” stage, and water fluctuations can disrupt an entire rice bed. 

“This past ricing season was a tough one for manoomin. A lot of the rice beds were washed out in the spring. There was a lot of precipitation, and then a drought the last part of summer,” Goose says. With Rise and Repair, Goose is advancing legislation to hopefully make future ricing seasons easier.

“We’re trying to recognize the inherent right of wild rice to exist and thrive – that all living beings have a right to be here just like we do. This legislation brings that culture of respect to all of Minnesota and creates systemic change, where we don’t just view the world around us as natural resources, but as living beings we share this earth with – as relatives.”

Beth Roach is a Nottoway tribal leader, seedkeeper, entrepreneur, and Water Protector. She’s also national campaign manager for the Sierra Club, one of the most historic grassroots environmental organizations in the country. 

“For the last two years, I’ve been building a new national water conservation campaign for the Sierra Club that advances water protection under the Clean Water Act,” Roach says.

The work she does is a personal imperative as much as a professional one. She talked about the Dakota Access Oil Pipeline Protest  slogan “Water is Life”, and how that moment of championing clean water rights lifted many tribal voices protecting our waters throughout Turtle Island (The Americas).

“We often see our ancestors, ourselves, and future generations of the earth itself, therefore we are instructed to nurture and steward these gifts as if all life depends on them,” says Roach.

“When I’m cleaning trash off shorelines and pulling tires out of the river, I have an embodied feeling that those items will not be doing harm to my waters anymore. When I’m advocating for stronger policies, I know that I’m demanding a future that we need to see. When I’m planting seeds and tending to the soil, I know that I’m doing my part to pass on this knowledge to the next generation. When I’m learning about climate adaptation strategies, I know that I’m giving the next generation a fighting chance.” 

The post How Native Water Protectors Champion Water Quality appeared first on Modern Farmer.

The pod’s dense and waxy exterior gives way to seeds coated in white pulp – sweet, bitter and nutty to the taste. They are destined for greatness in the form of chocolate bars, dried beans and tea at Lavaloha Chocolate Farm in Hilo.

“Bringing the Hawaiian cacao to light for the rest of the world – I really want to be at the forefront of that,” Lavaloha’s president Bencomo says. 

Although most of the world’s chocolate is grown in West Africa, those sweet treats aren’t guilt-free: Industry problems include slavery, child labor, poverty among farmers and more. But in recent years, small-scale producers have raised the ethical bar, and a nascent sector has formed on Hawaiian soil under American labor standards. Here, growers are making fresh kokoleka, or chocolate in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi (Hawaiian language), through mindful agricultural practices: creating their own soil and compost, contracting with locals, and using organic fertilizer.

“For all of us in Hawai‘i, it’s integrity,” says Puna Chocolate Company owner Adam Potter. “It’s gonna be Hawaiian grown, and it’s gonna be quality beans.”

Also operating on the island, Puna Chocolate Company works with independent farmers to grow cacao, which accounts for 40 percent of its cocoa bean production. One, who is based in Hakalau, identifies as Kanaka ʻŌiwi (Native Hawaiian). The other 60 percent is produced across seven farms – four owned and three managed by Puna Chocolate Co.

To Potter, his top-selling caramel macadamia turtles are worlds away from mass-produced chocolate by major global players, such as Hershey. Imported commodities take time to reach American consumers, Potter said, which can mean slightly-rancid cocoa butter and absent flavor profiles.

“Why Hawaiian (chocolate) tastes so different is that you’re in the U.S.,” says Potter. “You’re getting fresh, from-origin chocolate.”

He and his co-owner Benjamin Vanegtern opt against aging their beans, in order to transform them into chocolate more quickly. 

“We’re probably the freshest chocolate bars you can get in the country,” Potter adds.

Still, he wants to keep prices low for the local market. In Kona, where most of the island’s resorts are located, tourists make up 80 percent of Puna Chocolate Co.’s market. But in Hilo, that percentage is flip-flopped, with residents accounting for 80 percent of business.

“We don’t need to charge that much because we do grow our own beans,” Potter says. “And we grow a lot.”

Since joining Lavaloha in 2019, Bencomo has spent most of his days farming on the property made up of almost 1,000 acres – 25 of which are dedicated to cacao. With around 10,000 trees, it’s Lavaloha’s main commodity. 

From seed to orchard, the cacao growing process can take up to two years. Once the pods turn vibrant colors – orange, red, maroon and yellow – they’re ready to be harvested with clippers and sickles. Harvesting is done by hand because appropriate equipment isn’t available on the market. Each bean is hand sorted and graded, with the lowest turned to compost. Bencomo chooses to sort the old-fashioned way because optical sorting machines are expensive and primarily used for coffee beans.

Tourists are the largest market for Lavaloha’s products, but Bencomo would eventually like to serve as a bulk bean seller. He wants to start a collective system where he buys cacao from farmers for a fair price, then resells the beans to chocolate makers and confectioners.

He manages almost a dozen employees – around 25 percent of whom are Kānaka ʻŌiwi (Native Hawaiian). The Indigenous people of Hawai‘i are increasingly being priced out of the islands due to the tourism industry, the affordable housing crisis and the skyrocketing cost of living, but a viable job market can help them continue to live in the lands of their ancestors. 

Bencomo took the reins of the business in 2022, and it’s grown steadily since then.

In Hawai‘i, “I definitely think it’s gonna be bigger,” he said. “Look out for Hawaiian cacao in the grocery stores in the next couple years, I hope.”

Across the island chain, on the east side of Kaua‘i, Will Lydgate is determined to elevate Hawai‘i’s reputation as a global leader in the chocolate industry. He estimates the state produces about 1/10,000th of the world’s cocoa supply.

“We’ll never compete on quantity, but we don’t want to,” says Lydgate, owner of Lydgate Farms. “We want to be the place where the best chocolate in the world is.”

And he believes that operating in the U.S. offers advantages beyond its agricultural resources.

Compared to other cacao-growing nations, “we also have better roads. We have FedEx,” says Lydgate. “We have scientists, universities, an electricity grid that doesn’t go on and off, stable currency – things that a lot of other tropical nations don’t have.”

But Hawaiian cacao farms do deal with their own local challenges, like high expenses and a dearth of affordable worker housing.

“In the Hawaiian islands, we’re completely separated from the global commodity cacao,” he says. “We do not touch it. It does not really influence us or change anything, other than the price of cocoa butter.”

Lydgate, his sister and his father started their foray into cacao after planting a small grove in 2002, although the family ties to Hawai‘i extend back to 1865 when Lydate’s great-great grandfather first immigrated to the then-monarchy.

Now, Lydgate Farms is made up of 46 acres, and its team of 30 includes about five people of Kānaka ʻŌiwi (Native Hawaiian) ancestry. The land gets between 50 to 70 inches of rain annually, which keeps its 3,200 thirsty cacao trees watered, and organic fertilizer is used to boost soil health. The farm relies on regenerative farming practices.

“If you’re buying from us, we’re the people that grew it,” Lydgate says. “There’s no step in between you and the farm.”

Author Megan Ulu-Lani Boyanton identifies as Kanaka ʻŌiwi (Native Hawaiian).

The post In Hawai‘i, American Farmers Believe They Do Cacao Better appeared first on Modern Farmer.

According to the American Immigration Council, women slightly outnumber men at over 23 million female immigrants in the U.S. But while immigrants move by choice, refugees have been forced to flee their homes due to violence, war, hunger and climate change. Some need items as basic as shoes. At MAKE, these women are offered not just support, but a launching pad to their new lives in the US. 

MAKE Projects, which stands for Merging Agriculture Kitchens and Employment, is a spin-off of the International Rescue Committee, a refugee resettlement agency, and provides the women three months of paid worker training through a community garden, kitchen and 16-table café.

“While not all refugee and immigrant women have a strong connection to farm, everyone has a strong connection to foods that evoke memories, nostalgia or just an important sense of cultural identity,” says Anchi Mei, MAKE’s executive director and founder.

Mei launched the nonprofit in 2017 to address the lack of workforce development opportunities for refugee women with English language and cultural barriers, who can find themselves isolated and trapped in poverty. 

“Over time, we have come to understand that access to employment is more than financial. It is personal, emotional, social and benefits not just the immediate family but the whole community.” 

Mei’s program for women and youth, which has built partnerships with local colleges, community organizations, employers and customers, is a necessary bridge.  

Weekly English coaching provided by volunteers helps smooth the path for the newcomers. But it all begins with the universal language of food, in all its worldly flavors. The first two weeks are spent on the farm.

MAKE Farm, a roughly quarter acre plot, uses low-till practices to improve soil health and nutrient density in crops, along with intercropping – growing two or more crops close together – and integrated pest management. Fish and kelp meal are the main fertilizers. Throughout the grounds, pollinator plants and bird habitats promote cross-pollination and a more complex ecosystem.

The resulting bounty travels to the kitchen side, but it loops back to the farm in leftovers to nourish new plantings. “We promote living soils with a robust composting system using our restaurant food waste and regular applications of compost teas,” Mei says.

Farm Program Manager Robbie Wilcox chooses a diverse planting mix. A winter CSA mix contained Taiwanese chrysanthemum greens alongside more familiar customer favorites: spinach, radishes, beets and sweet potato. The produce goes into several dishes at the cafe, like the MAKE Market Salad and Wellness Soup Bowl, tailored by chef Renee Fox around whatever is fresh and abundant that week. 

As the women plant, prune and prep vegetable boxes for subscribers, they ease into the many skills needed to enter the workforce. And when they begin the next phase of the program by working at MAKE’s cafe in North Park, they continue to hone their culinary and hospitality skills serving up such fare as Afghan chicken, cardamom crepes and toasted milk bread; recipe ideas the women share from their own experiences. Several graduates have gone on to work in food service at local hospitals.

“We are a better San Diego with more different voices, flavors and faces at the table.”

Not all choose to work with food, however. Gulnara, who is originally from Kazakhstan, found a job in finance and operations at a local nonprofit. Others work in local hospitals and schools, like Nejat, a recent graduate from Ethiopia.

The farm to table training is a unique way to enter the American workforce, Mei says. Students learn essential job readiness skills and expectations as they transition from the farm to a more intensive work experience in MAKE’s restaurant. And with participants who have hailed from over 30 countries since the program began, it’s a cultural dialogue that enriches the entire San Diego community.

Last year, she says, “was epic.” Thanks to a large workforce development grant, they expanded their facilities and scaled up the adult trainee program, allowing them to work with many more refugee and immigrant women of all different English speaking levels, and educational and professional backgrounds from their home countries.

This year, they are preparing to move to a more permanent address, as they work through the permitting for a new MAKE cafe in San Diego’s Normal Heights neighborhood, not far from their current location. It’s expected to open before the end of the year. In addition to the existing farm in Mission Valley, the new cafe will add its own 2,000 square foot garden on-site. 

Mei says they won’t be deterred by the roiling political climate, as another round of the Trump administration again takes aim at immigrants. After all, they survived the first go-round, and forged their way during COVID, the toughest of times.

“We will continue to be nimble, resourceful and resilient, much like our participants,” she says. Fortunately, MAKE has a strong community of local supporters that believe in their mission. 

“We are a better San Diego with more different voices, flavors and faces at the table.”

The post Spotlight On an Urban Farm Helping Refugees and Immigrants Build Community appeared first on Modern Farmer.

A Black woman and Le Cordon Bleu grad who cooked in prestigious restaurants, Woodward watched as peers in the industry obtained funding because they had a network to tap into. Individual investors dismissed her as not being ambitious or confident enough. She had no recent revenue figures to provide to a bank.

Woodward believes her color was a barrier to procuring capital. “I think we just have a perception of what leadership looks like, or who can lead or build. That’s a trope or image. If you don’t match that image…,” she trails off.

Then she successfully applied for financing from Black Farmer Fund (BFF), a nonprofit community investment fund that supports the Black agricultural community in the Northeast to close the racial wealth gap and build connections. 

Thanks primarily to BFF, “we were able to create a brand and get our infrastructure set up and inventory and everything we needed,” says Woodward.

Filling a void

Since the 1920s, the percentage of Black farmers in the United States has declined precipitously from 14 percent to two percent. The history of racism throughout the agricultural industry is well-documented. Though the ruling of Pigford vs Glickman awarded nearly $2 billion to Black farmers, it’s still difficult for beginning Black farmers to get a foothold in the industry.

BFF is one of a handful of organizations formed since 2020 to support BIPOC farmers and food businesses unable to obtain capital and other critical aid through conventional options, like a farm credit bureau or bank. Another is Potlikker Capital, a social justice charitable fund supporting mainly rural BIPOC farmers across the country.

Both are impact investing funds, which invest capital to generate returns and positive social or environmental impact. Like other investment funds, they raise capital through donations and the sale of notes. 

BFF seeks to deploy $40 million over 75 investments within 10 years. So far it has raised 68 percent towards that and invested in 16 farms and businesses including a distillery, a herbal education and medicine concern, and a brand of a West African sparkling beverage. Some are members of BFF’s $1.1 million pilot fund, which was used to test, build, and inform the organization’s process for centering the needs of farmers and investing in a more reparative structure of capital.

Potlikker aims to work with 300 businesses, including distributors, processors, and producers. lt also partners with farmers who are not of color, but who are in relationship to the community, and underwrites two agriculture entities: Jubilee Justice and Food System 6.

The funds employ a holistic approach using integrated capital, technical assistance, and networking, recognizing that growth support requires more than just money, particularly in BIPOC communities. Technical assistance can range from helping a farmer set up Quick Books to introductions to a soil remediation expert or a State Department of Agriculture contact. Chosen farmers and businesses must follow climate-smart practices and give back to their communities. 

In this non-extractive, restorative model, integrated capital can be zero or low interest loans, grants and recoverable grants, equity, or near equity. Decision making is community-led by BIPOC members of food and agricultural spaces, including farmers or those who work at nonprofits, in food systems, education, and business, including some of whom have received support from the organizations. 

Strands of support

Support takes many forms. For one, BFF and Potlikker establish culturally appropriate relationships and do not charge a fee for their services.

BFF also offers community engagement and networking through community work days and skill shares on topics like how to be loan ready. Funding comes from rapid response or community garden pools or as a portfolio business, a large scale investment. 

Sometimes, when trusted with people’s emotions or mental health challenges, “just being able to be there and help folks navigate through challenging transitions,” is what’s required, says BFF co-founder Olivia Watkins. 

Edenesque became a portfolio business of BFF last year. While most investees receive between a quarter and half a million dollars, the company received $1.25 million in a grant and a loan. With the funding, Edenesque relaunched in October 2024. Its nut and oat milks are sold in over 200 stores in the Northeast, including Whole Foods; that number will double by April. Now that she’s virtually rebuilt her company from scratch, Woodward plans to use BFF’s technical assistance offerings, like learning to use social media for brand promotion. 

Since 2021, Potlikker has provided resources to 57 farmers in 24 states. By May, co-founder Mark Watson expects that number to grow to 65. 

Ozell White, a Mississippi cattle and watermelon farmer, participated in Jubilee Justice’s rice growing project. He served as Chair of Potlikker’s Board and received a $12,000 grant for fencing and a mechanical weeder after meeting Watson on a cross-country RV trip to visit farmers. Better equipped to control weeds and practice sustainable farming, White now doesn’t need pricey chemical inputs. 

With eight other farmers throughout Mississippi, White is also participating in one of Potlikker’s “communities of practice,” groups organized so farmers can share knowledge and trade business opportunities. They’re learning accounting, tax preparation, and business planning from Potlikker staff, its Board and Resource Council members, and experts contracted by Potlikker.

“The beauty of Potlikker,” says White, “is that they can start with the farmer, and walk with that farmer from where they are and stay with them until they get where they need to go.” 

Changing the landscape

These efforts to effect systemic change have gained greater significance with the recent dissolution of many DEI efforts across industries. 

Watson and Watkins believe that fundraising will continue apace because of the substantial interest in having strong local food systems and support from mission-aligned donors. “I think it’s just the context in which we’re all working is going to shift,” Watkins says.  

Organizations like Potlikker and BFF are needed to help the money flow fair, says Watson. “I don’t know how we’re going to handle it, but we’re going to keep doing what we’re doing,” he asserts, “serving communities that we feel like have not ever had real access or might be getting diminished access to resources.”

The post On the Ground with Organizations Uplifting BIPOC Farmers appeared first on Modern Farmer.

The latter statement is inspired by the words of the farmer and writer, Wendell Berry – specifically, his essay “The Pleasures of Eating,” published in 1989, in which he famously wrote that “eating is an agricultural act.” In the following decades, the farm-to-table movement has championed and codified this understanding of our food systems through numerous certifications that aim to help us make more sustainable choices. While many of us have gotten into the habit of seeking out certain symbols and words on food products, we have been slower to adopt this approach to beverages – especially alcoholic ones. 

“There are few reasons that it’s taken longer for sustainability practice and culture to reach the spirits industry,” explains Shanna Farrell, author of A Good Drink: In Pursuit of Sustainable Spirits. “The first is that you (often) can’t visit farms that grow the crops that become spirits.” 

While this is not the case for wine – an industry bolstered by enotourism [travel for the purpose of exploring wine regions], with visitors being encouraged to see the grapes up-close – many kinds of alcohol are subject to a strange separation from consumers. These products are, in fact, deeply rooted in a sense of place that is so much more complex than tidy rows of vineyards, hops, or grains convey at first glance. For this reason, the little labels on bottles of booze can go a long way in facilitating choices that are healthier for us and the planet – if we take the time to read and understand them. 

Some broad-reaching sustainability certifications are by now familiar – most notably the United States Department of Agriculture Organic seal, which was developed following the Organic Foods Production Act of 1990 (on the heels of Berry’s famous essay). Other, newer terms are somewhat intuitive, such as “Fish-Friendly” or the more specific “Salmon-Safe,” while still others, like “Carbon Neutral” or “B Corp,” require further study. In deciding which terminology to trust, it’s important to consider how and by whom these certifications are regulated. Ecolabels can be verified by governing bodies at the international, federal, or state level, as well as by independent organizations. 

The first step to sipping more sustainably is simply to acknowledge our drinks as agricultural products. From there, we can begin to consider how the cultivation, transformation, and transportation of their ingredients impacts our land, water, and air, as well as all of the life forms inhabiting these ecosystems.  

The wine industry is leading the way when it comes to creating a new correlation between alcohol and aquatic creatures with a more positive connotation than the phrase “to drink like a fish.” Ram’s Gate Winery in Sonoma, California is one of more than 2,000 farms that have joined the Fish-Friendly Farming Environmental Certification Program, which is regulated by a non-profit organization, the California Land Stewardship Institute. Caine Thompson, the winery’s head of sustainability, explains that in order to become certified, “The farmer must show that they are implementing practices that both restore fish and wildlife habitats and improve water quality.” 

Outside the Golden State, the Salmon-Safe Certification is another great way to verify that farmers are working in harmony with their local waterways. At Soter Vineyards in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, Salmon-Safe Certified is just one of the many ecolabels that the farm has earned over the years, along with Organic, Biodynamic, B Corporation, and LIVE (Low Input Viticulture and Enology). Soter Vineyards is also Bee-Friendly – according to accreditation by the non-profit Pollinator Partnership – highlighting their holistic approach to caring for creatures that live underwater and up in the air. 

Soter Vineyards’ viticulturist, Emily Rozga, explains that one of the shared key practices across these various certifications is “habitat maintenance.” This includes leaving some vegetation along the wetlands undisturbed to help regulate water temperatures and planting wildflower meadows for native pollinators, especially milkweed for migrating Monarch butterflies.  

Some certifications are narrowly focused on certain species, while others aim to be all-encompassing. In 2023, Anytime Spritz launched Farmhouse Gin and Farmhouse Vodka as the world’s first and only Regenerative Organic Certified spirits. Taylor Lanzet, co-founder of the “farm-to-can” cocktail company, explains that they don’t prioritize any one species over another. One of their partners in Hudson, New York, Breathe Deep Farm, started enacting regenerative organic practices in their fields of wheat and other grains, and is now “home to 122 rare and uncommon plant species, 83 bird species, and 40 butterfly and dragonfly species.” 

Winged creatures of all sizes play an important role in a balanced, biodiverse ecosystem and, for some crops, can be crucial for cultivation. Perhaps the most striking example of this is seen in the production of tequila. The popular Mexican spirit is made from the agave plant, which depends on bats for pollination. You may notice the term “Bat-Friendly” on some sustainable tequila brands, but you should also keep an eye out for the letters “ARA,” which stand for Agave Responsable Ambiental (Environmentally Responsible Agave). 

Mijenta is one of the few brands to gain this certification from the Tequila Regulatory Council and the Government of the State of Jalisco, Mexico. Elise Som, co-founder and director of sustainability at Mijenta, explains that they chose to pursue ARA certification to demonstrate that their agave is “grown on land that did not suffer deforestation.” Mijenta’s other certifications, including B Corporation by B Lab and Carbon Neutral by ClimatePartner attest to their “focus on community support and forest protection, as well as development of clean energy solutions.” 

Some sustainability labels in the beverage industry concentrate their attention on the maintenance of crop fields as healthy habitats, while others highlight the preservation of wild landscapes. Marla Hoban, co-founder of the Portland, Oregon-based non-alcoholic beer company Roaming Nobles explains that their brand name pays “homage to the noble animals that roam our state and all its beautiful natural spaces.” This connection is celebrated on their beer cans by the appearance of a tree symbol announcing their partnership with the Forest Park Conservancy, which cares for one of the United State’s largest urban parks – a vital habitat for hundreds of species, ranging from black bears to banana slugs, hoary bats, bobcats, and mountain beavers.

Your personal bar cart may seem far removed from forests and farmlands, but they are inextricably linked. It’s time we take an ecosystems approach to how we drink. Before you pour, carve out an extra few minutes to assess the labels at your local wine shop, call up your preferred brewer, or get friendly with your bartender. By mindfully choosing our beverages based on sustainability certifications, we can have a positive impact that extends well beyond happy hour. 

The post What Do Fish, Butterflies, and Bats Have to Do With Booze? appeared first on Modern Farmer.

Alone, the task would have taken Aiello the better part of a day; together, the group covers the whole field in barely more than two hours. This is the beauty of a farmer support network, like Rooted Northwest. 

Rooted Northwest is a 240-acre piece of land which hosts a growing number of farmers, including Aiello, with collaboration and farmer support at the center of their operation, similar to an agri-hood. 

“Farmers rely on communities, and communities rely on farmers,” says Aiello. “We work closely together, we share infrastructure, we share equipment, we help each other out.” 

As a family farmer running a commercial business, Aiello says going it alone just isn’t a realistic possibility. And soon, he’ll have even more neighbors with whom he can collaborate.

In December, the Rooted Northwest Agrivillage Preliminary Plat was approved by Snohomish County. Thanks to a new ordinance passed in 2023, Rooted Northwest will be able to tightly concentrate new homes on less acreage than is typically allowed by county building code. This will allow the project to preserve at least 200 acres of working farmland. If successful, this experiment could become a replicable model for farmland conservation.

The ordinance

The Rooted Northwest land, ringed by trees, has only a few reminders of the centennial dairy it once was, including a handful of lingering structures and a small manure lagoon. The land sits about an hour north of Seattle in Snohomish County, which struggles from two problems that often feel at odds — the loss of viable farmland to development, and the need for more housing for its residents.

Despite its long tenure as farmland, the former Tillman Dairy was actually zoned residential. This made the land attractive to developers and drove up the price above what most farmers could afford to pay. When the land went up for sale, it was a risk of being converted away from agriculture. 

“It certainly wasn’t going to be something that was affordable to another farmer,” says Dave Boehnlein, one of the founders of Rooted Northwest.

After securing a bank loan and purchasing the land for $3.5 million in 2020, Boehnlein worked with Snohomish County to pass the Rural Village Housing Demonstration Program ordinance in 2023. This will allow them to build 40 homes in one corner of the property, and 30 in another, while conserving at least 85 percent of the land for farming. The ordinance is scheduled to last for a few years, as a way for the county to try it out.

“We are really hoping that this becomes a model, that this can be essentially a case study that other people, other counties, other jurisdictions can look at and say, ‘here is a novel way that we can use development as a tool to preserve land,’” Boehnlein says.

Rooted Northwest hopes to break ground on construction of village one in 2025, with 14 of the 40 available homes already spoken for. Not all residents of the onsite homes will be farmers, says Boehnlein. 

The prices for the homes will not be determined until the project goes out to bid, but the smallest two-bedroom units will likely be around $850,000 and the larger four-bedroom ones are in the ballpark of $1.8 million. These prices account for the cost of the house, but also the acreage preserved for farming.

“Let’s prove that this works.”

Boehnlein hopes that after they have proof of concept in place with the first group of homes, they’ll be able to find programs that will support affordability for more farmers to buy into the second village.

“The whole picture here is, at the end of the day, can we use the development of these neighborhoods to generate the money that pays for this land and puts it into protection in perpetuity, while tightly concentrating those homes in what essentially is a traditional village context,” says Boehnlein.

Cohousing in the US

Rooted Northwest is already a functioning farm, but in its final form, it will also be a cohousing community. It will join the ranks of a larger movement of communal housing in the United States.

Cohousing consists of tightly concentrated homes with shared communal spaces, such as outdoor areas or communal kitchens. They are self-organized and self-governing. There are some 180 cohousing communities in the US, with 140 more at some stage of development, says Trish Becker, executive director of the Cohousing Association of the United States. As with Rooted Northwest, one of the biggest hurdles these communities face is zoning challenges, she says. 

Becker, who helped start the cohousing community she currently lives in in the Denver area, cites many benefits of cohousing, such as knowing after a long day of work that there will be food already made if you ask for it, or knowing who can care for your pets when you leave town. 

“But then beyond all of those day-to-day details, I just think that when we experience a sense of belonging, specifically within communities of proximity, that we are more likely to pursue fulfilling endeavors,” says Becker. “We are better when we feel connected and supported, and especially when our basic needs are met.”

The Cohousing Association of the United States exists to support the cohousing movement by sharing resources and education, and working on some of the things that Becker perceives as other key obstacles in the larger cohousing landscape, such as the lack of racial diversity and the high cost of entry. 

“To build cohousing is no more affordable than to build any type of housing,” says Becker. “Struggles that are faced by housing overall are faced by cohousing, and that’s a challenge.”

Conservation

One thing that sets Rooted Northwest apart from other cohousing communities is its focus on conserving farmland and supporting farmers. As community members worked together to sheet mulch Aiello’s farm, they used shared rakes, shovels, and wheelbarrows. Aiello drives a shared tractor. 

The farming model of Rooted Northwest is an extension of the cohousing sense of community — it’s not just the land that is shared, but resources and infrastructure that are costly to purchase on one’s own. Beyond tools, this also includes critical infrastructure such as onsite cold storage, a refrigerated van, a greenhouse for plant starts, and washing facilities.

Boehnlein says they’ve worked extensively with the Snohomish Conservation District. In one instance, the Snohomish Conservation District received a grant to explore agroforestry as a solution to farming wet ground. Rooted Northwest is home to one of their test sites — about a three-acre chunk of the farm is now an alley cropping system, wherein hay is being grown among lines of aronia berries, hazelnuts, elderberries, pawpaws, and more. Through another grant received by the Snohomish Conservation District, they’re experimenting with agroforestry by planting in the understory of the trees. About a half acre of land on the eastern side of the farm will feature tea plants grown by one of Rooted Northwest’s farmers just beneath some big leaf maples. Boehnlein’s hope is that not only can they conserve farmland, they can share what they learn with others. In the coming years, Rooted Northwest will be the pilot of a housing ordinance that could protect farmland, and experiment with ways of farming effectively. It doesn’t have to be housing versus farmland, Boehnlein says. It can be both.

“Let’s prove that this works.”

The post A Washington Cohousing Project Could Help Preserve Farmland appeared first on Modern Farmer.

But over the past 25 years, peer-reviewed scientific studies show that biodynamic farming enhances soil quality and biodiversity. It also produces more nutritious produce and wine that tastes better. 

With that in mind, the era of downplaying the merits of biodynamic farming is officially over. Today, biodynamic farmers on the cutting edge are taking the philosophy and science that has served them so well on their farms and applying it to their business practices.

Biodynamic farming 101

Still not sure what we mean when we say biodynamic farming? You’re not alone. Biodynamics is based on the work of philosopher and scientist Dr. Rudolf Steiner (1861-1925). It is, at its simplest level, a method of chemical-free organic farming that entails the observation of lunar phases, planetary cycles and requires the use of locally sourced materials for fertilization and soil conditioning.

Practitioners see the farm as a closed, biodiverse ecosystem that requires internal inputs—which can come from the manure of ruminants raised on the farm, or from teas made from plants grown and animal products present on the farm—to nourish and feed itself. 

There are two primary forms of biodynamic certification, through Demeter-USA and Demeter International. It is estimated that there are around 6,000 certified biodynamic farms in operation across the world, and many more who farm biodynamically without certification. (The cost of getting certified varies depending on the farm’s size, but is generally at least a few thousand dollars, and requires adherence to a complex set of rules and standards). 

Now, a new crop of producers are taking these same concepts and applying them to their businesses as a whole. Is the certified biodynamic coffee you’re drinking truly biodynamic if the coffee pods were dried on a conventionally produced table? These are the kind of questions the truly hardcore are asking.

Deeply considering every element that touches products

Gérard Bertrand, who owns and operates 16 certified biodynamic wine estates in Languedoc and Roussillon, France, has been infusing business decisions with biodynamic ideas for decades. 

At the Minervois winery Clos d’Ora, the layout was designed so that sunlight hits a precise place in the barrel cellar during each solstice. And at Languedoc’s Clos du Temple, architect Francois Fontes designed the space to link sky and earth. Glass panels bring sunshine into the winery through the ceiling, while a mashrabiya (a latticework window that is characteristic of Islamic architecture) cools the heat the sun brings and casts patterns of light and shadow. 

“The sun, the star that anchors our system and shines bright for much of the year in this region, shapes our construction projects,” Bertrand explains. 

At his wine resort Chateau L’Hospitalet, Bertrand created a The Moon Room devoted to biodynamically rooted tastings. 

“Its light fixtures mimic celestial bodies, their glow, colors, and rhythms attuned to the dishes and wines served,” Bertrand explains. “Short narratives weave through the meal, inviting guests to sense the rhythms that guide our biodynamic work. This is more than a meal—it is a multisensory journey, an education, and a fresh way of looking at the heavens.”

Robert Eden, co-owner and winemaker at Chateau Maris, also built his winery in Languedoc based on the biodynamic approach. 

“Our cellar and winery is constructed from hemp bricks and wood to create a plant-based space that can receive external energies,” Eden explains. “Built this way, our winery’s operation is not impaired, and the energy is not repelled by artificial metals and other materials.”

The placement and construction of the building was also considered with the movement of groundwater and alignment to prevailing winds. 

Other vintners, like Count Michael Goess-Enzenberg, owner of Weingut Manincor in Alto Adige, Italy, embraces a holistic approach to biodynamic farming and business-building.

“We get everything possible from organic or biodynamic sources,” Goess-Enzenberg says. “Oak for our barriques, which we use to age our wines, comes from our own forest. Straw and manure for our compost comes from local farms in our neighborhood, which we mix with remains from grapes after they’ve been pressed.”

The quartz used for the biodynamic preparation 501 (a spray used to promote grape strength and health) is sourced from their local mountains. Goess-Enzenberg likens biodynamics to a broad lifestyle that requires wholesale commitment. 

“It brings our lives into balance,” he says. 

At Cullen Wines in Margaret River, Australia, winemaker and managing director Vanya Cullen has created a biodynamic bubble around her entire operation. In addition to farming her vineyards biodynamically, Cullen has a biodynamic produce garden that feeds the on-site restaurant.

Cullen also sources barrels sourced on fruit or flower days, according to the biodynamic calendar. (In the biodynamic farming calendar commonly followed by practitioners, fruit days occur when the moon is in a fire sign—Aries, Leo or Sagittarius; flower days occur when the moon is in an air sign—Gemini, Libra or Aquarius; root days occur when the moon is in the earth sign—Capricorn, Taurus or Virgo; leaf days occur when the moon is in a water sign—Caner, Scorpio or Pisces). 

“We were amazed at the difference between wine made in barrels harvested on fruit and flower days,” Cullen says. “Wine aged in barrels harvested on fruit days are bigger and more expressive. Flower day barrels impart minerality and structure. Overall, we find that wines made with biodynamic barrels as a whole taste more complete.”

Cullen has worked with her coopers to hone the barrel program even further, prioritizing wood harvested on a new moon descending. 

Applying holistic biodynamic ideas to staff management

Beth Hoinacki, owner and operator of Goodfoot Farm in Oregon’s Willamette Valley says that her work for the International Organic Inspectors Association made her realize that biodynamic operations often unconsciously extended their practices well beyond the farming itself. She became determined to conscientiously do so on her own vegetable and fruit farm. 

“I inspected organic and biodynamic farms, and I was always struck by the staff at biodynamic farms,” Hoinacki says. “From the people who are there working in the fields every day to the owners, there was clearly this beautiful dedication to what was happening, and the story they were telling about the universe and our interconnection through the food they were growing.”

There is something about the practice of growing food biodynamically by the rhythm of the planets, moon, sun and stars that seems to engage the minds and hearts of the people involved, Hoinacki notes. 

“I intuitively knew that traditional labor structures on farms were not healthy, so when I began hiring people, I began doing so through the lens of biodynamics with the goal of expressing the character of the farm as it exists,” she says. 

Instead of the traditional power and management structure of owner and employee, she gives her employees the power to collectively agree on hours, start times and breaks. Her decision rooted power on the farm, without allowing inputs from the outside world. 

“It is a system that feeds itself,” Hoinacki notes. “I work with them on the farm because I find working the land rewarding, so we get to make decisions together. Our team members love the system.”

On the other hand… 

Inevitably, there are many who are less than convinced of the merits of biodynamically minded business decisions. 

Wendy Parr, a wine scientist and oenologist at Lincoln University in New Zealand was among the researchers who wrote “Expectation or Sensorial Reality? An Empirical Investigation of the Biodynamic Calendar for Wine Drinkers,” published in the peer-reviewed Public Library of Science mega journal PLOS ONE. In the study, 19 wine pros were asked to taste 12 different Pinot Noirs on fruit and root days. Bottom line: they found the day made no difference.

“To date, there is no clear evidence that the calendar affects tasting,” Parr says. “We know from neuroscientists’ work that no two people ever experience a wine in precisely the same way because there are a myriad of neuro-physical and psychological variables that could be involved.”

Parr adds that there is “anecdotal evidence” that wines can show changes across fruit or root days. 

“I’ve met winemakers in Europe and New Zealand who wouldn’t rack off wine on a root or leaf day,” she says. “It is not for me to say what others should believe or practise. I will add that we did one study only. In the absence of further research, the issue remains unclear.”

The jury appears to be out on whether or not tasting on a fruit or root day will drastically alter your assessment of a wine. But even a few decades ago, the notion that biodynamic farming could improve soil health was unproven and widely ridiculed. 

Tasting special wines, planning farm and winery constructions and basing staff decisions on a biodynamic calendar and philosophy may seem slightly out there—but if it helps vintners and farmers create better products and teams, who are we to argue? 

The post Biodynamic Farms Are One Thing. What About Biodynamic Businesses? appeared first on Modern Farmer.

But it doesn’t have to be this way; farmers know how to feed us. It’s backward government policies that are standing in their way. We need Congress to reevaluate the subsidies provided to big ag, and prioritize farmers growing and raising nutritious food for our nation.

Our taxpayer dollars are propping up some of the largest industrial agriculture operations in the country, allowing the big to get bigger. At the same time, small and mid-sized farms are being driven out of existence. The U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) oversubsidizes the production of corn and soybeans, which are used for livestock feed, ethanol, and to create sugars, starches, and oils that end up in highly processed foods. The highly concentrated nature of our food and farm system, facilitated by the government’s prioritization of these commodity crops, has made it increasingly difficult for our farmers to supply us with nutritious food crops like fruits, vegetables, legumes, and whole grains. 

The most recently available farm subsidy data shows that the majority of government subsidies go toward commodity crop production, while just four percent go toward fruit and vegetable production, which the USDA ironically deems “specialty crops.” New York fruit grower Chip Kent said he has only ever received $500 in subsidies; meanwhile, a handful of the largest and wealthiest operations are raking in 80 percent of the billions of available dollars. 

“We could use a little help. Who’s gonna grow our food? You really want to buy it all from overseas?” Kent said in a recent CNBC story. 

And that is becoming a reality; according to the USDA, our fruit and vegetable supply is increasingly made up of imports. In 2021, we imported 60 percent of our fresh fruit and 38 percent of our vegetables. In 2019, we imported $15.7 billion worth of produce from Mexico and by 2023, that number increased to $21 billion. 

Our government’s misplaced prioritization of growing and exporting low-value crops, which primarily benefits the corporations dominating our food system, is reflected in America’s public health. As government subsidies support the production of sugars, starches, and oils, prices on those products remain relatively low. Over time, those foods become the most readily accessible and available, and  fresh produce is priced higher and is less accessible. Most of the American population is not consuming enough fruits and vegetables, according to the U.S. Dietary Guidelines, which determined that 80 percent of people eat too little fruit and 90 percent do not eat enough vegetables. A 2021 study found that Americans are increasingly consuming ultra-processed food (like frozen pizza, soda, and fast food), with over half of our population’s caloric intake coming from ultra-processed foods.

We are on track to have a trade deficit for five of the last seven years, our public health is at risk, and our fruit and vegetable farmers are struggling to stay afloat. The ability to reverse these harmful trends is in the hands of our government. To begin to undo this damage, the next farm bill must better support those farmers who are providing nutritious food for our people. 

It’s worth noting that the soybean industry, which receives substantially more government support, has an industry value estimated at 20 percent lower than that of fruits and vegetables. Farm Action’s research determined that by shifting less than 0.5 percent of current farm acreage to fruit and vegetable production, we could balance the 2023 agriculture trade deficit of $32 billion due to the higher value of food crops. 

We must stop outsourcing what we can grow ourselves; a different way is possible, and a healthy, sustainable food system is attainable. With the next farm bill still up in the air, Farm Action will continue advocating for Congress to shift resources and infrastructure to the production of food for our communities — to the benefit of America’s food security, public health, and farmers. 

Angela Huffman is a co-founder and president of Farm Action. She has over a decade of experience in food and agriculture policy reform and market development.

The post Opinion: The US Doesn’t Grow Enough Food – But We Could appeared first on Modern Farmer.

The following passages are excerpted from Bad Naturalist, and have been lightly edited for length. 

Wherever people go, they reshape the land, and on this mountain it’s no different. Two hundred years ago, many of these hillsides were timbered for orchards. Around forty years ago, most of the orchards were replaced with cattle pasture. In the past decade, farmers stopped grazing cattle on the mountain. Haying eventually stopped, and mowing stopped, too. For a while now the land has been subject to its own rules; once people stopped managing it, it began to reshape itself. An old pasture filled in with blackberry. The forest encroached on the meadow, pioneer poplar, locust, and sassafras saplings taking the lead. A hayfield filled with hardy natives—and with weeds. Invasive shrubs climbed up and over a hillside, relentlessly expanding their range. Rather than a typical farm, the mountaintop looks unkempt, uninhabited, overgrown. The tendency might be to leave such a place alone—if humans stop interfering, nature will do what nature does, and take over. The land didn’t need me; it would rewild itself—right? Not exactly. Once a place has been disturbed by humans, the only way to repair it is to keep disturbing it, but in the right way. The tricky part is figuring out what that means.

****

In the Southeast, grasslands have declined by 90 percent. In Virginia, where this stunning, scraggly mountaintop is located, the Piedmont prairie, the native grassland community that once dominated the region east of the Blue Ridge mountains, is considered extinct; only small remnants hidden in tiny pockets around the state survive. With those numbers in mind, you can begin to understand why conservation of privately owned forests and grasslands is critical.

Back in 1962, even before MacArthur and Wilson had published The Theory of Island Biogeography, an independent researcher named Frank Preston declared that “it is not possible to preserve in a state or national park a complete replica on a small scale of the fauna and flora of a much larger area.” Parks alone can’t begin to help us ward off the worst effects of climate change, human development, the influx of invasive species, and other pressures that endanger biodiversity. Even if we put all the public lands together—all the national, state, and local parks and nature preserves—without the participation of private landowners, our parks would end up becoming species museums showcasing a handful of plants and animals, those lucky enough to survive the isolation.

Standing on the mountain, with all those acres of rolling hills unfolding in front of me, my goal to plant a small patch of meadow seemed timid. This land was big—I should think bigger! What if I could return this mountaintop to its natural glory? It would serve as a living example of how to restore native meadows! Pollinators would come from all around! I pictured sheep grazing on one of the hillsides. Just a handful of sheep. I’d make sheep-milk cheese. (I can’t eat dairy. I was clearly losing my mind.) I’d put up a fence to protect the sheep from the coyotes and bobcats and bears. Better make that an electric fence. Already I was taming the wilderness.

Even as I dreamed up a Percy-Shelleyesque vision of myself communing with nature, skipping through meadows, bluebirds winging around my head, I was hit with second thoughts. I had the nagging sense that I might be glossing over a few important factors (besides poison ivy and rattlesnakes). Like, at this stage in my life, and considering my various physical limitations, did I really want to take on such a big, ambitious project with an open-ended timeline and a learning curve as steep as one of those hills?

I understood, in theory, that caring for land was a major commitment— I would soon understand it even better in practice. To complicate matters, not only was there no house to live in up here, not even a shed for storing tools, there was no power, and no working well. This land would require time, sweat, single-mindedness: your basic obsession. In other words, exactly my jam.

So I chose to try to restore these two hundred acres, to attempt to transform ailing fields into native meadows, and a barren forest floor into a teeming native understory. Even though, outside of the knowledge I’d gleaned from books like Wilding and “weed warrior” expeditions with my kids along the Potomac River, I had no real idea what would be involved in doing this work on a vast mountaintop, or what the end point of such a project would look like—much less whether a true end point was possible.

If this course of action seems hopeful, foolish, and delusional, that’s the wheel around which my feelings about it cycle, sometimes in a single day. My frustrating limitations aside, what I do have going for me is a tendency to become preoccupied with a topic, studying it and talking about it nonstop (much to the irritation of my family). At various points in my life, I’d done this with mangrove trees, gray whales, carpenter bees, rats, sea urchins, carpet beetles, lizards, and flying squirrels. The mountain was not only a subject, but a place I could dive into and lose myself, a source of fascinating and unlimited information to fill my brain and give me a sense of purpose. And unlike most of the places that inspired those other fixations, the mountain wasn’t a place I would only visit—it would actually be my home. I’d literally live with the outcome, the success or failure of my endeavors. I didn’t know yet how that would feel or how it would influence my decisions.

My belief that I can revitalize this place has an almost magical quality to it, as if, as the land grows healthier, I’ll grow stronger, too. This may be magical thinking, but it’s also an exercise in hope. Standing on top of the mountain, contemplating the idea of somehow bringing change to this formidable landscape, is a dizzying experience. Whatever happens, like the wildflower seeds that stick to my trousers, the land grabs hold of me, and it won’t let go.

Taken from Bad Naturalist© Copyright 2025 by Paula Whyman. Published by Timber Press, Portland, OR. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

The post In Bad Naturalist, an Author Settles on a Mountain Top and Tries to Farm appeared first on Modern Farmer.

The Farm Bill, passed once every five years, is the most important piece of federal legislation affecting American agriculture and food access. Originally designed to keep food prices fair for both supply and demand sides, ensure an adequate supply of food, and protect and sustain natural resources, this bill now plays a wildly outsized role in shaping our food system. Lobbyists and advocates influence it from all angles. 

But the Farm Bill is not the be-all and end-all of our food system. It’s easy to think that all changes to our system must start with the Farm Bill, or that the Farm Bill is the only way to have wide influence. It can be easy to overlook opportunities available for progress on the state level, where the smaller-scale forces at work are just as complex, and the stakes just as significant. This year, there will also be scores of state-level bills debated this year from Rhode Island to Texas – bills that will greatly affect farmers, fishers, food entrepreneurs, food access, and food justice all across America.  

One of the best ways to impact the food system for the better is to invest in food policy councils (FPCs) at the community, state, and regional level. 

Be it public, private, or non-profit work, there are frequently intrasector opportunities for collaboration and information sharing within trade groups, or professional associations, which can benefit everyone, without waiting for omnibus legislation like the Farm Bill. These networks hold regular meetings and events that offer opportunities for relationship-building, coalition development, and generate conversation that can lead to new thinking in the field. Yet few opportunities exist to engage in this important work across sectors, especially on the state level. 

In an age where organizations increasingly need to prove their impact, the benefits provided by networks are incredibly valuable.

FPCs bring together diverse stakeholders from different sectors–like food entrepreneurs, farmers, food justice workers, food access workers, and concerned consumers– to identify common ground and collaborate, to help solve problems holistically. 

These food system stakeholders share the goal of a more just and resilient food system. Their participation in these networks is based on their belief that investing time and energy in it will help achieve that goal.   

FPCs are a kind of ‘backbone network,’’ so named because they provide a central structure critical for efficient operation. While in the technology sector, these networks are recognized as critical to system efficacy and efficiency (and adequately funded in response); in the world of food systems change they are largely ignored (and lack adequate funding). The fact is, FPCs need to be cultivated intentionally and invested in more widely for substantive, measurable food system change to take place. 

There are numerous obstacles when building this type of cross-sector network. One of the biggest is that most leaders, no matter what sector they are in, are fully focused on the success of their individual agencies, departments, and organizations. How can they justify prioritizing the time and effort to be part of a network? To be effective, FPCs require members to devote the time to work together in good faith, sometimes with competitors, whether for market share, grant funding, or legislative attention. The emphasis on collaboration often results in compromise that can feel off-brand. On top of that, the cost of not participating can feel fuzzy and far-off to leaders who are laser focused on maintaining their immediate stability while trying to find time to plan strategically for the next year or three. 

The fact is, those leaders can’t afford not to work within FPCs.

The fact is, those leaders can’t afford not to work within FPCs. Even the best organizational leaders in the nonprofit sector have a limited ability to focus on systemic change. Without the structure and support network of an FPC, individual progress may be haphazard, and lack the structure and shared purpose that can produce efficient, intentional, and visionary systems change. 

Over 20 years ago, Margaret Wheatley, in her book Turning to One Another, saw the potential for significant change in the actions of a few individuals: ““[T]he world only changes when a few individuals step forward. It doesn’t change from leaders or top-level programs or big ambitious plans. It changes when we, everyday people gathering in small groups, notice what we care about and take those first steps to change the situation.” 

FPCs create the space for these individuals to band together to create and implement the solutions required for significant food system change to occur. 

Enter the ‘food systems leader. Skillful network leaders practicing in the food system space focus on advancing the entire system, with all of its moving, interconnected parts. They honor each individual’s and organization’s challenges and goals, while cultivating their ability to consistently see and value ‘the big picture’ at the same time. They facilitate connection, conversation, and relationship-building. They craft invitations and create spaces where organizational leaders can take a breath, share challenges and opportunities without judgment, listen to new ideas, and gain the vision they need to do their jobs better. This is the demanding work of participatory democracy, focused on the food system.  

FPCs create the space for these individuals to band together to create and implement the solutions required for significant food system change to occur. 

In an age where organizations increasingly need to prove their impact, the benefits provided by networks are incredibly valuable. Philanthropic decision makers and funders who care about any aspect of the food system – food access and nutrition security, food business and economic development, or the intersections of food, climate, and environment – should invest in backbone food networks and encourage all of their food-focused grantees to join them. This is a path to achieving significant food system change in the next several years, regardless of what happens with the Farm Bill.

Nessa Richman is the executive director of the Rhode Island Food Policy Council and an adjunct professor at the University of Rhode Island College of the Environment and Life Sciences.

The post Opinion: A More Resilient Food System Starts at the Community Level appeared first on Modern Farmer.