Category Archives: Food

Avoiding Stings, or, A Lesson in Feedbacks

I was picking stinging nettles the other day, wanting to get my fill of them before their season is over. I was also hurrying a little, feeling in a rush, feeling the pressure to go faster, do more, be somewhere. My mind was not on what I was doing. I had one hand snipping with scissors and one hand holding a bowl, positioning the two elements of the operation in such a way that the nettle leaves would fall into the bowl without dropping on the ground, or stinging me. Reaching into the patch with the bowl hand to catch what I was snipping, I was paying attention only to the juicy nettle leaf-bud I was reaching for, and not to my situation, my environment. Focussing too much on my snipping hand, I stuck my bowl-holding hand into the front of the nettle patch where I’d already snipped.

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A Garden Mystery!

In the spring push of gardening and teaching, this here blog hasn’t been getting the attention it deserves and I bet it’s feeling a little neglected.  I’m sorry, blog.  It’s just that the world is so full of cherry blossoms and that yummy spring rain smell that my computer just doesn’t hold my attention.  It’s not you, blog, it’s me.  Really.

But I couldn’t help posting this lovely little piece of Permaculture magic that came my way this evening, left by a mysterious garden faerie at the garden where I’ve been lucky enough to teach a couple of hands-on workshops this past month:

Who left this lovely note in the garden?

Mystery garden love!

Garden gifting economy!

Who could the mysterious zucchini faerie be?

Amazing!  For all you cynics and misanthropists out there, soothe your bruised and lonely hearts with this little act of garden kindness.  You could even come on out and share with us — don’t worry, there will be LOTS of zucchini.

Food Justice – Permanently.

Permaculture is about a lot more than just food. But food is something that comes up a lot in Permaculture simply because Permaculture is about people, about meeting the needs of people in the immediate moment without damaging the ability of ecological systems to meet our needs in the long term, and so of course that leads us inevitably to food. And because food is so integral to our basic living as people — it’s our Zone One, the place we begin from — many people come to Permaculture through food. As our globalized food system is showing now on a daily basis the symptoms of its tragic absence of ecological principles and sensible design, food is getting a lot of peoples’ attention and through that is bringing people to more wholistic and less destructive methods of meeting our needs, like Permaculture. Indeed, so much of our public conversation these days seems to be about food that many people are going so far as to say that we are in a “food revolution” in Western culture right now.

But I see a gap in a lot of the public discourse about food, and without addressing this gap I don’t think that anything very revolutionary is going to happen in our food system any time soon. It’s a collective blind spot that’s based on two trends that I encounter again and again in my work as a Permaculture activist, and even within Permaculture movements.

The first trend I see is that where I am in Vancouver (Coast Salish Territory) and in many places across the English-speaking world we almost always see that talk about changing our food system remains squarely within a capitalist understanding, framing the issue in terms of consumer choice. Stories that we hear about changing our food system often focus on educating the public about the importance of buying local and organic, giving farmers new ways to access their market, and other approaches that are rooted within food as part of a supply and demand economy where people have free choice about what they access (read buy). But what about people with less choice, with less power in our consumer society? Differentials in power that are based on historical dynamics of race, class, gender, ability, and other factors work to marginalize many people and disenfranchise them from having meaningful choices about their participation in our food system. We need to ask who, exactly, is being reached by these exciting new consumer choices that are being offered.

I would even go so far as to say that the idea of consumer choice in food is a myth for most of us. Capitalism as we see it today has brought us a corporate-controlled food system in which economies of scale allow big players to limit our choices, where just as the rich tend to get richer, the big players tend to get bigger and accumulate more control over what food we are able to choose from as consumers. Industrial food producers, commodity traders, giant supermarket chains, and others who play on the globalized market where food is treated as a commodity like any other are able to externalize their costs — social, environmental, and health costs — to bring us cheap food that undersells smaller producers who have to pay their real costs and pushes them out until corporate food is all that’s available to us. So how much choice do we really have, anyway? Many folks are working to change these dynamics by changing what kinds of markets we access our food through, which is certainly important work. But by itself, it’s not going to create a food system where everyone eats well and with dignity because a market model that’s absent a social justice lens doesn’t address the root causes that differentially limit the choices of people and communities. And as my friend Jen Fisher-Bradley of the Women’s Food and Water Initiative says, “If you have food security and nobody else does, then you’re in trouble!”  (For more about WFWI, keep your eye out for my article in the upcoming May issue of Briarpatch Magazine).

Framing of the problems in our food system within the rhetoric of consumer choice brings us to a second trend that is emerging in the so-called “food revolution” that’s coming into our public consciousness. As food moves more to the centre of our public discourse it becomes depoliticized, shedding language or ways of acting together on these issues that challenge the political and economic status quo that created the problem in the first place. Social power dynamics based in historical systems of domination and subjugation are implicated in every step of our food system, from agricultural workers’ rights to inequities in global trade systems and the destruction of water, soil, and other natural resources related to agricultural practises — and that’s before our food even gets to the supermarket. Sadly, an “organic” label doesn’t mean that the food you’re buying is exempt from these problems, as many large-scale organic producers have been shown to remain irresponsible with their natural resources and especially their labour practises. So if we are talking about food, we are talking about human rights; we are talking about Indigenous peoples’ rights and lands; we are talking about women’s rights; we are talking about workers’ rights. We are talking about race and class and gender and ability because these factors limit peoples’ ability to access food in a market- based economy where poverty marginalizes people based on those factors. We are talking about environmental justice. Depoliticizing our concern about food and abstracting it from the social fabric that our food system operates in, with all of the discrimination and marginalization that’s part of that social fabric whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, creates a system where yet again those who have more privilege are enfranchised to “take back” our food system while those with less power are kept from gaining equality and agency within the social movements that are coalescing around food.  Look around you at the next food movement event (or Permaculture event, for that matter) that you go to and notice who’s there — and who’s not.  How might that be effecting the kind of movement that we’re building, and the kind of food system that it’s going to create?

The tragedy in these two trends that are befalling the otherwise exciting movement to take back our food system is that we risk wasting the potential that food issues have to bring people together perhaps more than any other issue because everybody eats. It’s a common ground that matters to every community, that effects everyone — but to work with that, we need to be able to acknowledge that it effects every community differently based on the uneven social playing field that we’re all starting from. We hollow out the core of potential in the food movement if we divorce food from social justice and don’t teach ourselves to see and learn to uproot the power dynamics between communities that effect how, when, and with what level of agency people participate in the movement. The concerns that a single parent or a low-income person of colour has about their food may be very different from the concerns of a young white university student or a middle-aged cancer survivor who beat their illness by changing what they eat. This is not a personal criticism of people who, through the accident of their birth, have more privilege or power in our society. But it is a call to all of us to be honest about these truths, and learn the ways that we perpetuate systems of oppression by ignoring them and continuing to act out the social patterns that replicate them. To do this, we have to listen to each other, we have to learn to notice whose perspectives are dominating the conversation and take responsibility for making space for the voices that we can then see are missing. It might mean that we have to hear, or have the strength to stand up and say, things that are politically or personally uncomfortable. It also might mean that we need to turn a critical eye on the internal dynamics of our movement as much as on the corporate and government forces dominating our food system that we are trying to fight.

Permaculture is very much an art and science about observing patterns and learning how to work with them. One of the core things that we must learn to notice when we are doing Permaculture is that patterns repeat across orders of scale, so what we see on one level we are likely to see writ larger or smaller but similar in form on another. A tiny creek displays the same branching pattern as a huge river system, the same pattern repeating itself but on a bigger or smaller scale. Likewise, the patterns that we see in our small personal interactions and within the social movements that we build will be repeated on the larger social scale. The responsibility lies with us, then, to make sure that we are enacting the patterns that we want to see get bigger. I want to see a food system where everyone participates, where everyone gets to eat what, where, and how they want in a spirit of sharing and mutual responsibility, celebration and gratitude. I want to see a food movement that includes and values everyone, that is able to be honest about the problems of where we’re starting from so that those problems don’t follow us into the future. We cannot do food now, and social justice later; food is social justice, and only a movement that builds them both at the same time can possibly succeed at either.

The Climate Change Diet?

wild foods from West Coast rainforestMy latest article is appearing in the newest edition of Edible Vancouver, just released around Vancouver and online. The article is titled “Gardening Where the Sun Don’t Shine,” which is much more clever than I would have come up with, I’m terrible with titles — thanks to Debbra for editorial wizardry on that one. In it I talk about using native perennial edibles to get early production out of your edible landscape in this “hungry” time of year.

Everyone I’ve talked with lately seems to be starting to get some of the early spring jitters, that feeling that comes around this time of year that makes us want to do something, although we often don’t quite know what it is. I chalk it up to the earth waking up after the winter sleep, kind of like that feeling when you lie in bed awake but not quite ready to get up yet. As a gardener it usually manifests in the desire to put seeds in the ground way too early, inevitably leading to dissappointment, or at least far more work than it would have been if we’d simply been patient. I’ve resisted the temptation pretty well — the fact that it was snowing and sunny at the same time yesterday helped remind me to keep myself in check and save my energy for when the big spring push really starts.

But I did get out the day before yesterday and relocated our nettles, noticing the spiny little babies starting poke out of the mulch and knowing that we want to move them further away from our walkways now that they’re getting to be a sizable patch. Playing — carefully — with the nettles on a warm sunny day, bracketed on both sides by freezing cold and wet West Coast snow reminded me of what first inspired me to write the article for Edible Vancouver, which was my experience last year of eating from the forest in our horrible spring. South coast gardeners all shudder at the mention of it — try it, it’s kinda fun! Find your nearest gardener and say “Spring of 2010” and watch them cringe. No joke. But when my garden was underwater and all my annuals were struggling just to stay alive, the forest was full of food and kept me fat and happy and out of the grocery store. Fiddleheads, thimbleberry shoots, spring mushrooms, and all manner of superpower greens were on my table every day, so that even though I had nothing growing in the garden I still got to eat fresh food right out of the earth. The photo above is the produce of a couple of hours of wandering and gathering.

It got me thinking about climate change, and how important it is that we learn to work with what grows best where we live, and although that didn’t end up being what I really focussed on in the article for EV, that sense of how climate change will effect how we eat really stayed with me. A changing climate means that many of our familiar annual food plants will start requiring more and more work and resources to produce, and may become more unreliable. This isn’t really news to Permaculturalists, since annuals pretty much equal “more work and resources” in every respect compared to perennial polycultures. But as the effects of climate change become more and more pronounced, turning to native or naturalized wild edibles to keep ourselves well fed might become a lot more familiar to folks outside of Permaculture circles. I hope so, anyway.

So why is it that the forest managed to do just fine, thank you, when my garden was so hopeless? I’m sure there’s a seasoned forest ecologist out there that would have lots to say about that, but here are a few of my thoughts, filtered through a Permie gardener’s eyes:

Increasing diversity over time

A forest generally becomes richer and more diverse as it ages, adding more and more layers and niches for different kinds of plants and creatures. So since my garden was a first-year garden (and only year, it turned out, since I ended up moving), it didn’t have the diversity of different things happening to make sure that there was always something that I could eat. We design our Permaculture systems to have that feature as well, so that we get more out of our system for less work as it ages.

Annual vs. Perennial

This is the part that’s most familiar to Permaculturalists; established perennials will produce more, sooner, and in a greater range of challenging climates, than most annuals. Because all their supportive architecture is already in place — root systems, growth habits, etc. — they can sit tight until the right conditions show themselves, and then grow quickly. Make hay while the sun shines, as they say.

Microclimate Moderation

A forest moderates its microclimate in a thousand different ways, sheilding its inhabitants from the worst of the swings that we can expect with a changing climate. Overstory trees break the wind and rain, protecting the lower layers — where most of the things we eat grow — from wind damage, and distributing the rain slowly and evenly in ways that prevent sudden inundation. And because there is so much diversity of plant life, there’s a lot more happening to draw that water up and store it in the plant tissues, so it’s less likely to create waterlogged soil. Also remember that a tree generally grows just as far down as it does up, so a lot of water is stored deep in the soil in the trees’ roots, again keeping the forest floor from getting caught up in flood/drought cycles. The temperature inside a forest tends to remain more stable for many different reasons, not swinging from hot to cold and back again in ways that stimulate tender plants to sprout in a brief warm period and then die back when it gets cold again before they’re established enough to handle it.

I could go on, but you get the idea. Basically what I’m saying is, climate change is scary; perennial polycultures designed like forests make climate change less scary. Or even more basically, plant more trees. And then plant stuff with them that you can eat. Feast and be happy.