To see the origin of this post, go here. Today, I continue to lay out a positive vision for what I would like my community and nation to become.
I envision a country where people value the labor that goes into bringing the food they eat to their table. In this country, people know the origin of their food and perhaps grow some of their own.
This vision might seem a bit dated at this point in our history. In the early 2000s, people like Michael Pollan wrote extensively about the industrial food complex, how it destroyed the environment, produced low-quality (nutritionally) food, and was demeaning for practically all the laborers who worked within it.
And then, for the first time in many citizens’ lives, high levels of inflation, fueled by a pandemic, raised the price of food rapidly and across a broad array of products.
Cheaper food, no matter its source, is now de rigueur.
And a new pandemic—highly pathogenic avian influenza—threatens critical food industries, making some wonder if certain foodstuffs will become less available.
And yet, the warnings of Pollan et al. remain relevant. And, like many things, they start with people. I cannot remember a time when both sides of the political aisle have so demonized immigrants. It has been a literal race to the bottom to see who can be tougher on those seeking the safety and hope of our land.
But from the mushroom farms of Delaware to the packing houses of the Midwest, the strawberry and produce fields of California and Florida, and the apple orchards of the Northwest, food is literally brought to you by people like these.
The canning tomato harvest in my home county ended just a few weeks ago. The canneries are still busy turning out the tomato sauce and paste that we all use every day. From the planting to the weeding (for organic tomatoes at least), the harvest and processing , real people—many of them migrants—toil. This is going on literally in my backyard. But I spare scant attention to the value these laborers provide to me.
Perhaps the traditional family blessings over a meal should return—less as an offering of thanks to God and more as an homage to those who provide for us.
One does not have to go to a local farmers market to consider the origins of our food. We can always ask that question and learn the answer. Knowing the origin is not essentially about promoting local eating (though that has merits that I will not go into here).
Thinking about our food more broadly, considering the labor that goes into producing it, and translating that knowledge into an attitude of thanks is the heart of this vision.
Our food system employees work the hardest in the most challenging work environments for meager pay, often without health insurance. They are voiceless, faceless, and frequently live in fear.
Our casual ignorance of their plight needs to change. If not, no matter the taste of food in our mouths, it will leave only bitterness in our hearts.
Traveling at the Speed of Bike 