Farm your connections

It started with the fiddle. My boot clad toes tapped the smooth wooden floor (perfect for sliding across once the boots come off).
The banjo joined in with the other strings and my hands couldn't keep still either.
Harmonizing voices filled the rafters.
The saltiness of the ocean mingled with the smell of wood fires and pines, the occasional whiff of cannabis hung in the air. The stars hung above the shores of Monterey as we danced into the night.

The (unofficial) dress code for the night:
Ladies in cowgirl-ish button ups (cleaned of dirt and chicken shit) and organic cotton layered tops, a few prairie/hippie girl skirts but mostly jeans with boots (with a little of that dirt and chicken shit clinging to the bottom perhaps).
Gents in jeans and t-shirts with eco-friendly logos ranging from farming to surfing to beer. Lots and lots of good local beer. And plenty of plaid flannels to go around. So many beards you would think some of the guys were transplanted straight from Williamsburg (some were) but these hipsters are actually working the land instead of workin their rugged good looks at the dog run in McCarren Park.

The participants at this ecological farming conference kicked up their heels for the final night of the yearly gathering. Music and chatter and stomping (those boots again) filled the high vaulted ceilings of the hall. Out into the chilly night we would run after a lively song full of swinging on arms and twirling and clapping and Yee-hawing and laughing.
Catching our breath we would launch into all the possibilities before us: education of new farmers and food justice activism and building backyard gardens and growing micro veggies for renowned eating establishments and teaching little kids where a carrot comes from and growing grain to sell to local brewers and crafting healing herbs to aid an ailing population and starting a worker owned rooftop garden restaurant.

Growing food.
Eating food.
Loving food.

Back into the "real world" I stumbled the next day. My first dose of the reality of the struggles and challenges we have before us: my family.
Fam: "Why would I pay $4 for a head of lettuce if I could get the same thing for $1?"
Me: "Even if you knew it was grown organically and sustainably by someone getting a fair living wage for their work?"
Fam: "Yah. Why would I pay more? It just doesn't make economic sense."
Me: "What if it tastes better?"
Fam: "OK, maybe if it tastes better."

So price first, taste second, human beings third.
Check.
(And this was coming from someone who can definitely afford the true cost of food.)

As hard as that was to hear after a four days of communing with like minded folks, in some ways the immediate disillusionment was good. Work needs to be done to expand the choir.
It's harder to instill compassion, but dammit, I'm an idealist, I will keep trying.

My solution for now? Dinners. Potlucks, sit-down four course meals, hands-only, veggie or meat based, whatever. Let us take a plate and a chair and talk.
And eat. Because I'm convinced once one has had lovingly raised vegetables full of actual nutrients, it's hard to go back and justify that tasteless nameless $1 head of lettuce. Better yet, meet your farmer. Look into the eyes that watched that vegetable grow from seed to soccer ball sized edible. Shake the hand that pulled that lettuce out of the ground.
Make the connection between food and people and earth.

Connections. That is all we have.
How beautiful, delicious, giving can you get?