Searching for bulk meat? Find whole animals and ready-to-order bundles here.

Climate change is here. Can farmers be part of the solution?

written by

Michelle Sroka

posted on

September 2, 2021

If I asked you to envision “nature”, what would you see?

I imagine most of you would picture someplace quiet, calm, and – devoid of human beings. Perhaps you imagine mountains, or a stream trickling through the forest, or waves crashing upon the shore.

I’m willing to bet that very few of you would picture human beings participating actively in this scene of nature.

Think about that for a second. Why do we often separate "people" from "nature"? What does that say about our conceptions of both?

Prioritizing images of nature as devoid of human life is pervasive within our society. In fact, it’s often how many of us would define “nature” – the natural, physical world that is somehow apart or different from human life and culture.

Now let me pose another question to you. If you imagined human beings entering this natural picture, would you consider their entrance a positive or negative event?

In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer, a professor and citizen of the Potawatomi nation, recalls asking her students a similar question. She was startled by the results of her survey: every single student attributed a negative correlation between human beings and nature.

Their lives, education, and culture had conditioned them to believe that not only are human beings and nature separate, but that human beings inherently destroy or spoil nature.

Kimmerer, like many other indigenous writers, points out that such a perspective prevents us from understanding how human beings might effectively combat climate change.

Yes, the conditions and conveniences of our lives are largely to blame for the climate catastrophe we face.But as multiple councils, scientific studies, and panels have stated, human beings are also central to healing the land.

In fact, the earth depends upon human beings embracing and practicing regenerative land management in order to heal the planet.

To do such a thing, Kimmerer argues, requires a paradigm shift. In fact, her work as a botanist suggests the necessity of human imposition upon the land. Without human beings managing and working the land, she has found, many native plants suffer or disappear.

Seeing human beings as part of nature invites us to envision a reciprocal relationship between people and the earth. We can learn from the land by observing it, respecting it, and carefully tending to it. However, we are also obligated to give to it.

This is in fact one of the first things that regenerative farmers learn: that their primary job is to feed the soil, to give to the land, rather than extract anything from it. In other words, responsible land management requires giving more than you take.

Understanding this can help us better manage the land and become better consumers. Rather than measuring something by the "eco-friendly" labels, we can ask: How was this made? What kind of relationship to the land did it facilitate? Did it give to the land in any way, or did it simply extract?

One of the realities of this world is that we often must make many compromises. But asking these questions can help us be more discerning when it is possible to choose more wisely: our food, our water, our infrastructure, and even our clothing.

There aren’t easy answers to these questions, and embracing this paradigm shift will likely take a long time. But I invite you to join me in imagining how human beings might not only be part of our visions of nature, but also might serve as a solution to our problems.

 

More from the blog

Can we care about animals - and still raise them for food?

I probably spend the most time with the pigs on our farm. Part of this is practical: since pigs can’t sweat, we spray them down twice a day to help them wallow in the mud and stay cool.  But part of it is emotional, too. I enjoy being around the pigs. When there’s a lot on my mind, or I’ve spent too much time on the computer and need to get outside, wandering over to that week’s pig paddock is one of the ways I can clear my mind.  Pigs are highly emotive and responsive. When I spray them down with the hose, they like to sit back on their haunches, prick back their ears, and snap playfully at the water as it showers down on them. And then joyfully roll around in the mud afterward, of course.  But they’re responsive to humans in general, too. They are naturally curious and, in the case of our heritage breed Red Wattles, gentle. They’ll come up and sniff you, rub their mud-streaked bellies over you, and let you scratch their ears.  And maybe this is the part where you start to wonder: But aren’t you raising them for food?  Why would you want an emotional connection to an animal that you are raising for food?  I understand where this question is coming from. I was a vegetarian for nearly a decade because I didn’t like the thought of killing animals, especially within the framework of our industrial food system.  But actually, it isn’t a problem or moral quandary for me. Yes, we grow fond of and attached to our animals, including our pigs.  Yes, we still send them to the butcher or process them on our farm for food. And yes, this still makes sense to me.  I would gently suggest that the idea that we shouldn’t have any emotional connection to our food - that we can only eat meat that comes from animals we withhold our emotions or affection from - is a sign of our disconnection to the way food is grown.  That is, after all, one of the premises of industrial agriculture. Designate animals with one sole purpose - “becoming food” - and then shut them away in buildings, cramped quarters, or far away from humans who might interact with them beyond the farmer.  And the farmer, too, should be as disconnected as possible. After all, this is an efficient machine.  The problem, from a regenerative perspective, is that growing food is never just about growing food. Food is the gift you receive at the end of your work, but it’s the work itself - and the consequences of the work beyond the food - that is the point.  The work, on our farm, is caring for the land. That means working alongside animals to nurture native plants, clear forest areas to make existing trees healthier, and create habitats for birds, pollinators, and wildlife.  And that means becoming attentive and thoughtful - to animals and to the land. Watching, learning, and yes, developing bonds with the habitats you’re nurturing and the animals that are helping you do so.  Is it sad to load up animals and take them to the butcher at the end of the season? Yes, it often can be. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I know that we’ve given them the best life possible, and that we’ve partnered with them to leave our farm better than we found it each year.  And if that doesn’t make sense, that’s okay. I’m not saying that everyone has to agree with me. I’d simply like to advocate for a way of farming and consuming meat that includes this experience - one of affection and bonding between animals and humans.  After all, this is one of the many ways we try to do things differently on our farm. We don’t want to just provide you with food that meets your standards - non-GMO, no vaccines, no antibiotics, grass-fed and pasture-raised.  We also want to help you reconnect with that food. And part of that is knowing the animals, hearing stories about them, and yes, maybe even having an emotional connection with them, despite the end goal of providing meat to you.