I am an undergraduate Geography and Environmental Resources major at Southern Illinois University. My research interests include sustainable agriculture, environmental resource management, sustainable development, and local food systems.
A year ago I read
Micheal Pollan’s “
The Omnivore’s Dilemma.” In an attempt to systematically track the origins of different food items, Pollan traveled to a small, corporatized grain farm in Iowa owned by George Naylor, a confined animal feedlot operation (CAFO) in Kansas, industrialized organic farms in California, and the most unique operation of them all, Joel Salatin’s
Polyface Farm near Swoope, Virginia. Through his adventures and research at each location, readers are shown a glimpse into a world often misquoted by supermarket labels and misrepresented in Washington, D.C. What Pollan uncovers is sobering. Readers are alerted to the high levels of petroleum consumption of grain operations, the heavy use of antibiotics and inhumane conditions of CAFOS, and the expensive and unseen energy price tags of organically grown foods that are shipped hundreds, if not thousands, of miles from farm to fork. A question is asked by Pollan,
“Is there a better way?” Does there exist a different option for food production in America? Can the mouths of consumers and the wallets of producers be adequately filled without compromising the delicate relationship between animal and plant, and without threatening the health of soil or water systems, or even the general public? Which food production system is healthiest for all involved? Pollan suggests the answer may come from the odd-man out, Joel Salatin, a self-described “Christian-conservative-libertarian-environmentalist-lunatic grass farmer” whose farming methods are well off the beaten—err, country—path (Pollan 125). Salatin is a humble man, but he adamantly believes that his farm can be a model for American farming. And as a farm-girl from the Middle-of-nowhere, Farmbelt, USA; I agree.
I grew up in a flat place. The roads were flat, the creek beds were flat and flooded easily, the pitch-black fields were flat. Growing up, my eyes knew three colors and three crops. In the springtime, the freshly-plowed earth was dark and black, eventually giving way to strips and then vast expanses of green. The corn, soybeans, and bare alfalfa fields would turn brown in the fall. It was an easy and repetitive cycle. It seemed that the entire county, beyond the city-boundaries of the country-seat, farmed. The pick-up trucks around me bore bumper stickers that read, “Farmers Feed America,” “Ethanol, America’s Homeland Security,” and, “Eat Beef: The West Wasn’t Won On Salad.” It was a patriotic place, to be sure.
Because of my rural roots, Pollan’s book hit close to home for me, and I found myself viewing each “case-study” presented with a degree of personal opinion and experience. I understand Naylor’s grain farm and the obscurities and injustices of the corporate American farming system, as implemented by the United State’s Department of Agriculture (USDA) and government subsidies, as well as the small-farmer persona and neo-environmentalist ambitions of Salatin. Finally, I consider myself an environmentalist (an idealistic one at that) who hopes for a more sustainable tomorrow. My inherent farm-girl practicality and environmentalist ambitions often clash, leaving me with indecisive perspectives towards the agricultural system in America.
Pollan called George Naylor's vast expanse of corn and soybean fields a
“food desert.” While at first the term seems to be juxtaposed and misplaced, the more I pondered it, the more I realized that I too grew up in an area that was very much a food desert. I thought back on another bumper-sticker from home, “No Famers, No Food.”
Well, here were the farmers, but where was the food? The crops my father and our neighbors raised were for animal feed, synthetic products like plastic and high-fructose corn-syrup, or bio-fuels. Even my father’s Black Walnut plantation was for wood production, not to harvest the walnuts. Our refrigerator was full of food-products from chain grocery stores. The only food products my family ate which my father grew were beef products, sweet-corn, and fruit from our orchards. Like Naylor in Iowa who Pollan visited,
I was surrounded by food but with nothing to eat.
And then I moved to
Southern Illinois, where the agriculture system is closer to Joel Salatin's model rather than the grain operations upstate.
Being in Southern Illinois has given me great exposure to small produce and livestock farms. The climate and rolling hills of the area makes it more conducive to such farms in place of the larger-scale row-crop operations that take up most of the landscape farther north. Because there is such a large population of farmers, gardeners, and consumers supporting local food operations, I sometimes forget that this
locavore (a fun, fairly new term I stumbled across) world is a fairly small one, and many people don’t understand the implications of what they purchase and eat. I’m often amazed by two contrasting findings. The first is the vast and diverse amount of people who are adopting this lifestyle of growing your own food, supporting local farmers, simplifying your plate, and eating in coordinance with the seasons. The second is the vast and diverse amount of people who either do not understand the motivation to local food, or those who do not understand the implications.
I remember standing with friends in front of the wall of produce at a local chain grocery store not too long ago, attempting to decide which fruits to buy for our breakfast. One wanted strawberries, the other blackberries. My food conscience cringed. I reminded my friends that the two fruits were local, and could just as easily be bought at a local farmer’s market. The blackberries, in fact, could be picked from any of the wild bushes which grew in the woods beyond our backyards. “Why buy a carton that was shipped from Mexico when you could buy a carton from a local farmer?”
“These aren’t from Mexico,” my friend contradicted, “they’re from Walmart.”
Unfortunately, this is the view many of us have developed concerning food. Our fork is no longer connected to a farm, but rather to a store.
Let’s State The Not So Obvious
First, what is local? Ideally, local food begins in your garden. Many people however, have neither the time nor resources to grow the food needed to support their families. Many have chosen to start small, with herb gardens in their kitchen window-sill or a tomato plant or two in their backyard. Local food next comes from farms in or around your community. Supporting local farmers helps you to narrow your palate according to seasons and decrease the travel-miles and gasoline used to ship your food. Finally, local can extend in your state and regionally. The closer to your home your meal originates, the less energy is needed to ship it and keep it cool. However, just because a product is local, it does not make it sustainable. Ecologically, sustainability refers to the ability for a product or action to endure in its present state repeatedly, remaining diverse and productive without negatively affecting the environment around it. Not all local foods are grown in a sustainable way. Not all organic foods are grown in a sustainable way.
Currently, food systems are vast and confusing things which contain multiple variables.
The Main Mission:
My goal this summer and as I continue to research local food and sustainable agriculture at SIUC is to examine the local food systems of Southern Illinois, discovering what is currently available, what direction this food system will take in the future, and who is involved. I will be visiting local farms, markets, CSAs (community supported agriculture), and gardens. I will also be working with University Housing administrators through a
SIUC Green-Fund supported project which aims to bring more local food to SIUC Resident Dining.
I am a farm girl returning the farm, trying to learn more about what is on my fork.
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