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Got sticker shock over the price of locally sourced food? Let's talk about it.

written by

Michelle Sroka

posted on

December 2, 2021

Have you ever found yourself staring at a product, wondering: Why does this cost that?

Maybe it’s just me. I’m not mathematically inclined, and although I did pass Economics in high school, I couldn’t tell you anything about it. I do know how to keep a budget, but marrying a finance major has been one of the blessings of my life.

But I don’t think that my confusion about cost can simply be reduced to numbers. When I feel this way, I’m often reacting emotionally. I’m responding to what I feel the cost of this product should be. But why do I feel this way?

I’ve been conditioned to associate a certain price with a particular product. I imagine those of you who are well-versed in economics could explain this to me technically, but what I know is this: I have an expectation, based on what I’ve seen or experienced. And when the price is outside of that expectation, it gives me pause.

Lest you think this is about to become a lecture on the cost of pasture-raised foods, let me assure you: I routinely struggle with how much it costs to truly shop locally and sustainably. Like many of you, we are on a budget. My best intentions for what I want to purchase – the organic bed linens that are 100% grown and produced in America, for example – are often at odds with what we can actually afford.

I know – and agree! – with many of the counterarguments to this discussion. It’s certainly true that we have significant externalized costs that aren’t factored into our prices. Likewise, the quality, in either the improved nutrition or extended life of the products, justifies the higher cost.

But this doesn’t necessarily counteract the sticker shock. What I’ve come to learn is that the prices I’ve been conditioned to expect are artificial. The real cost – the higher cost – is being paid for. Just not by me.

When you buy food from the grocery store, the farmer who produced that food has likely received a substantial government subsidy in order to get that product placed on a shelf at a certain price. In fact, it may not even be someone working the land who’s getting that money: Bill Gates is just one of many “farmers” who have purchased land to boost their already enormous independent wealth. But whoever it goes to, what that subsidy does is important: it keeps the price within our conditioned “expectation”, regardless of the external economic circumstances.

Despite the merits that the subsidy program has, it creates an endlessly problematic cycle for farmers, consumers, and the government. Consumers learn to expect prices that are not sustainable, especially given the manner of producing that food. Farmers are increasingly reliant on what the government provides, and not on a viable model for what their farm can actually manage. And the government, of course, perpetuates debt by continuously borrowing money for the ever-increasing farm subsidy costs.

One of the reasons it’s important to shop local is that it breaks this cycle. When we break down the cost for a product, it’s based on the real costs of our business: the price of supplies, any local feed, gas, labor, and time. It’s difficult, of course, to keep prices the same when things like inflation occur. But it’s also a real reflection of what it takes to produce a product. It’s something that we can be transparent about.

I encourage you to think of shopping locally from this framework. It’s not just about reducing environmental impact or quality. It’s also about recognizing the real cost of running a business, and supporting and valuing that cost. It’s about breaking the cycle of artificiality. After all, given the climate crisis, our artificial expectations can only last for so long.

This isn’t an easy task. In fact, one of the things I’ll be focusing on over the next few weeks is how to eat pasture-raised food while on a budget. In the meantime, though, I’d love to hear from you. What are your thoughts on the cost of shopping and eating locally? How have you made it work for your own circumstances?

All the best,

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.