Try Something New This Thanksgiving

Civil Eats

This Thanksgiving, Try Something New: Decolonize Your Mind

A Native American journalist suggests that while we commemorate November as Native American Heritage Month, we might also focus on finding the sacred.

By Mary Annette Pember, Indigenous Foodways   November 22, 2018

Entrance to the Oceti Sakowin Camp at Cannon Ball, North Dakota, on January 6, 2017. Photo credit: 7Michael on iStock.
Traditionally, Ojibwe people observe a lunar calendar. Each moon, or giizis, is often named after activities conducted during those times, weather, harvests, or other notable things in Ojibwe life. November coincides with Gashkadino-Giizis or Freezing Over Moon.

Since beginning my career as a journalist, however, I have come to think of November, National Native American Heritage Month, as the Moon of Explaining Indians to White People.

Inevitably I get requests from editors of mainstream publications to write opinion pieces about the Native perspective on the month and the tie to Thanksgiving.

Similarly, local church, school, and civic organizations approach me to present a generic version of Native dancing, crafts, traditional food preparation, spirituality, and/or provide a comprehensive but extremely brief and benign history of Native peoples in the United States. Most of these requests, unfortunately, frame Native folks firmly in the past tense.

Early in my career, I would take on these requests and assignments with a fire-in-the-belly determination to shatter stereotypes, expose the full history of federal policies toward Native peoples, and most importantly, let my neighbors know we are still here.

Mostly, however, folks didn’t want to hear about the diversity of Native cultures, the complexity and history of federal policies affecting us, our sophisticated understanding of our relationship to the earth, or the fact that Native peoples embrace popular culture in addition to their own traditions.

My audience’s eyes would glaze over at these talks. They wanted to learn instead about how Native peoples lived before European contact. They wanted to know about how they could participate in ceremonies, dances, drumming, and spirituality. They wanted me to give them Indian names, identify their power animals, and teach them how to be shamans. Mostly they just wanted to play Indian.

During my long tenure as an Ojibwe woman and a journalist, I’ve witnessed popular culture’s interest in Native peoples wax and wane. I’ve lived through the beginnings of the American Indian Movement, Wounded Knee, Alcatraz, and, most recently, Standing Rock.

Unfortunately, the patterns of public narrative regarding Native peoples show a shocking sameness. We are still regarded as denizens of history, defined by our “plight,” or seen as supernatural noble, selfless defenders of the Earth. Our cultures, traditions, and spirituality have been subsumed into the great buffet of American consumerism; we are food for hipster and New Age appropriation, one in the dizzying blur of passing social memes.

All of it has become too tedious and painful, so I tend to lie low in November and hope to dodge the Moon of Explaining Indians to White People.

This year, however, events on the ground in Indian Country and beyond have awakened me from my cranky sleep of ennui. The fallout from climate change, exacerbated by the unbridled greed of the world’s current politicians and their supporters, is on track to make our Earth uninhabitable. The events at Standing Rock, and the public attention they garnered regarding the importance of safe water and the environmental dangers posed by expanded reliance on fossil fuels, revealed a growing global awareness that business as usual—the colonial model of ever-growing exploitation—is unsustainable.

Although millennials working to forward their own interests and brands and becoming instant experts on Indians were thick on the ground at Standing Rock, there was a flurry of something almost intangible in the camps. People let their guards down and found the sacred, if only for a few fleeting moments.

Therefore, emboldened by this growing awareness, I would like to make a modest proposal for commemorating Native American Heritage Month: Decolonize your mind. Find the sacred.

You can do this easily. You don’t need to buy anything. No ceremony; name change, travel; acquisition of a power animal; funding; community outreach; or creation of a committee, program, or agency is required.

Make no mistake, however: Decolonizing the mind is not without risk or discomfort.

To decolonize is not only an act of humility and acceptance; it requires the courage to take responsibility for our role in this great, relentless process that is our life on Earth. In decolonizing our minds, we embrace the notion that we are a part of rather than apart from the Earth. Whether or not we enjoy camping or prefer to dwell in high-rise apartments without our feet ever leaving pavement, we are all subject to the same natural processes. There is no escape; there is only community and responsibility.

The understanding that humans are merely one part of a huge complex of interconnected creatures is the basic tenet of most Native cosmologies. In recognizing this tenet, we can’t help but love and hold the Earth and ourselves sacred. So how do we begin?

The first Christian missionaries who proselytized among the Ojibwe in the 17th century found the people willing to listen to priests talk of Jesus and the Bible. In their dispatches home, however, the missionaries complained that the Ojibwe spent far too much time in idle visiting, leaving productive tasks undone.

Although unrecognized and appreciated by the missionaries, the Ojibwe were engaged in important work. These spans of unstructured shared time allowed people to engage spiritually and grow to understand needs and formulate paths forward. Ojibwe know and value the power of visiting. Unencumbered by agenda points and outcomes, we trust that through prayer and community that we can determine how to honor and care for the environment, each other, and ourselves.

So during the month of the Freezing Over Moon, why not spend time visiting with others especially those whose ethnicity and social class differs from your own? Eat, drink coffee, let silence fall, and wait to find out what needs to be done. At first, it might be just about being human together; decolonization needs these roots to begin.

This article originally appeared in YES! Magazine, and is reprinted with permission.

Native American Farmers are Growing a Sustainable Market

Civil Eats

Native American Farmers are Growing a Sustainable Market

More than half of Arizona’s farms are run by Native Americans, and they’re now poised to scale up centuries-old sustainable practices to tap into global trade.

By Tayler Brown, Agroecology, Indigenous Foodways – November 21, 2018

Velvet Button, spokeswoman for Ramona Farms and daughter of the owners, discusses how the tepary bean grows and is harvested. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)

Thirty miles south of Phoenix, green fields of alfalfa and pima cotton stretch toward a triple-digit sun. Hundreds of yellow butterflies dance above the purple flowers that dapple the tops of the young alfalfa stalks—to expert eyes, the flowers signal that the plants are heat-stressed and should be harvested soon.

Gila River Farms near Sacaton has been growing alfalfa and high-end cotton—which is named after the Pima people who inhabited the Gila and Salt river valleys—for 50 years. That’s a long time by current standards but merely a flash considering that the roots of Arizona’s agriculture reach back thousands of years.

A Gila River Farms worker harvests alfalfa, a main cash crop. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)A Gila River Farms worker harvests alfalfa, a main cash crop. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)

Today, Native Americans are the primary operators of more than half of all farms or ranches in the state, making Arizona’s agriculture landscape unique compared with other states, according to the 2014 national agriculture census. Native American farmers sold nearly $67 million worth of agricultural products in 2012, about 2 percent of the $3.7 billion in agricultural products sold in Arizona that year, according to the Arizona Farm Bureau.

Native American farmers grow crops as diverse as tepary beans, olives, and squash, some for community use and some sent around the world. The Navajo and Hopi tribes feed their communities by focusing on cultural traditions, including dryland farming.

Centuries-old Tradition Expands Internationally

Stephanie Sauceda, interim general manager for Gila River Farms, said the farm is the original test site funded by the federal government to grow and harvest extra-long staple pima cotton, which is considered a superior strain.

Farming extends back centuries for indigenous people, she said.

“It was just something that Native American people do, not only in Gila River, but also in other tribes. That’s how we survived,” Sauceda said. “We did the hunting of the animals, we grew our corn and our wheat, and that’s how we actually survived—how our ancestors survived.”

The natural next step, she said, is to send crops to the rest of the world.

Gila River Farms primarily grows cotton and alfalfa but in recent years has branched out to increase citrus production and experiment with olive crops, said Garcia, the farm’s assistant general manager.

Gila River Farms will celebrate its 50th anniversary this year. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)Gila River Farms will celebrate its 50th anniversary this year. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)

Sauceda said alfalfa and cotton, which are the farm’s most profitable products, end up in such places as the Philippines, Vietnam and China.

“We represent the community with our products that go out the door,” said Sauceda, who’s only the second woman to be general manager. She and her employees take pride in being able to bring their product into the global market.

“We have a really good name out there.”

The farm is growing crops on 10,000 acres, rotating alfalfa and cotton on much of that land, Sauceda said. It generates about $10 million annually.

Planting Seeds of Native Tradition

In northern Arizona, members of the Hopi Tribe maintain their cultural and traditional heritage through farming, said Michael Kotutwa Johnson, a Hopi doctoral candidate at the University of Arizona’s School of Renewable Natural Resources and the Environment.

“For Hopi, farming is our way of life,” Johnson said.

Hopi farmers own small plots of 1 to 9 acres and use the traditional technique of dryland farming, which means crops rely only rainfall, Johnson said. Dryland farming requires seeds be planted deeper than crops for commercial use, he said.

Hopi agriculture largely is subsistence-based, meaning farmers grow food for their families rather than for commercial sale, Johnson said.

Wrangling Tradition with Women as Leaders

One hundred miles south of where the four corners of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado meet, three members of the Navajo Nation lead a biweekly farm-board meeting.

The two women and one man conduct the meeting in both English and Diné to be sure the older generation can understand policy changes and upcoming projects.

The farm board discusses a five-year project to update fencing, irrigation and farm equipment.

On the Navajo Reservation, farming and ranching work hand-in-hand, said Lorena Eldridge, farm board president of the tribe’s Tsaile Wheatfields-Black Rock Chapter.

Lorena Eldridge, farm board president for the Tsaile Wheatfields-Black Rock Chapter on the Navajo Reservation, explains how the irrigation systems have been updated in recent years. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)Lorena Eldridge, farm board president for the Tsaile Wheatfields-Black Rock Chapter on the Navajo Reservation, explains how the irrigation systems have been updated in recent years. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)

Navajo farmers differentiate themselves from most U.S. farms in a key way: Nearly half of all farms on the reservation are operated primarily by a woman, Eldridge said.

According to the 2012 agriculture census, women represent about 30 percent of the total number of American farmers, but only 14 percent of farms are operated by a woman.

Still, younger generations are moving away from farming on reservations.

One third of all Native American farmers are older than 65. Eldridge is working to secure investments from the Navajo Nation government to attract younger people to farming. The farm board secured $5 million for the five-year project, which will complete its first year in December.

“For me, the farm board connects me to my history and culture,” Eldridge said.

Savoring Tradition in Native Crops

Some Native American farmers carry on crop-based traditions, whether for commercial or community uses.

Blue corn, beans, and traditional teas and berries, such as greenthread tea and sumac berries, are grown on Native American farms across Arizona.

Ramona and Terry Button pulled the native bavi bean, commonly referred to as the tepary bean, from the brink of obscurity in the late 1970s, said Velvet Button, their daughter.

Gila River Farms recently planted olive trees on several acres, which should be ready for harvest this year, said Hector Garcia, assistant general manager. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)Gila River Farms recently planted olive trees on several acres, which should be ready for harvest this year, said Hector Garcia, assistant general manager. (Photo By Tayler Brown/Cronkite News)

Drought had put many other local farmers out of business, but Ramona Farms on the Gila River Reservation survived, in part based on reclaiming a bean that had been around for centuries.

Native American communities had “lost touch” with the tepary bean and other traditional native foods, Velvet Button said.

“We lost our market when large grocery stores moved in closer to the reservations and took over the mom and pop shops that were servicing the rural communities,” she said.

The tepary bean comes in black, white, blue speckled, and other colors, Button said, and is an important staple food for several tribes.

Ramona Farms, family owned and operated, generates 90 percent of its income from such commercial crops as cotton, wheat and alfalfa, but the Button family’s passion is promoting and educating people about indigenous foods.

Water scarcity, the proliferation of grocery stores and a lack of agriculture education and policy have been hurdles to food sovereignty that organizations such as the Indigenous Food Systems Network and the Native American Food Sovereignty Alliance are working to overcome.

“The huge food sovereignty movement has helped connect us once again as indigenous communities and our traditional food sources,” Button said. “Our communities are so remote that we need to be able to sustain ourselves.”

According to 2016 data published by the Arizona Department of Health Services, American Indians are disproportionately affected by chronic diseases, such as diabetes. Native Americans die at three times the rate to diabetes compared with the state’s average the report said.

Refocusing on traditional foods and incorporating them in new recipes has been a stepping stone to improving the community’s health education, Button said.

“When you see the community growing their own food, being involved in the process—it really makes a difference,” Johnson said. “When you give people access to this, you see rates of diabetes going down and you see everyone’s well-being going up.”

This article originally appeared on Cronkite News and is reprinted with permission.

For more stories from Cronkite News, visit cronkitenews.azpbs.org. Cronkite News, the news arm of Arizona PBS, is operated by Arizona State University’s Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communications and staffed by students of the school.

The New Generation of Farmers

Civil Eats

For a New Generation of Farmers, Accessing Land is the First Step Toward Tackling Consolidation

With the help of nonprofits and land trusts, young farmers are staking out the space to change the face of America’s farmland.

By Tom Perkins, Farm Labor and Policy, Local Eats  November 20, 2018

The 22 acres comprising Jupiter Ridge Farm just outside of Garber, Iowa, (population 86) are unique in a state with 99 percent of its soil dedicated to commodity crops. Those acres grow a range of 49 vegetables, many of which are organic and/or sustainably farmed. Shiitake and oyster mushrooms grow on hardwood logs, and the crops are all surrounded by prairie grass.
Jupiter Ridge is also different from most Iowa farms in that it’s run by two farmers in their late 20’s—Will Lorenzen and Adrienne White. Lorenzen says the most challenging part about breaking into farming has been land access. The couple has been farming for eight years, but say they were in no financial position to put down cash for a property that could be worth as much as $200,000 on the open market. Gaining access took a complex deal struck with the land’s retired owner and Sustainable Iowa Land Trust (SILT), which preserves farmland and makes it accessible to young farmers.

It’s rare to see Lorenzen and White’s demographic taking over land. Because retiring farmers need income to sustain them through their later years, they often sell to developers or to large corporate or expanding family farms at a price that small farmers can’t afford, says Neil Thapar, an attorney with the Sustainable Economies Law Center.

“They don’t have a safety net for retirement, but from their farming career they have assets, land, equipment. They can’t sell that to next-generation farmers because [the next generation] doesn’t have access to the kind of capital they need to buy at $7,000 per acre,” he says.

That scenario is the driving force behind a steady consolidation of the nation’s farmland. A USDA report published in March found that large farms own more of the nation’s farmland compared to a few decades ago. In 1987, farms with over 2,000 acres operated 15 percent of the nation’s farmland; by 2012, that number had grown to 36 percent.

“If we don’t do something now to offer new options and new tools, all we are going to see is consolidation,” says SILT director Suzan Erem. “People tend to go with what they know. What’s out there is ‘I grow corn, my neighbor grows corn, so my land will go to my neighbor.’ So that 10,000-acre guy just went to 10,500.”

The USDA report noted that consolidation is also happening through contract farming, as large corporate firms play a coordination role in U.S. farming, particularly in hog and poultry production. Some firms—for example, in specialty crops, cattle feedlots, poultry, and hogs—operate multiple farms.

But there’s also the concern, voiced by The Oakland Institute and others, that huge investors and pension funds, such as TIAA-CREF, the Hancock Agricultural Investment Group (HAIG), and UBS Agrivest—an arm of the bank’s global real estate division—have a bottomless appetite for farmland, purchasing up parcels and adding to a lack of access and affordability.

“Over the next 20 years, 400 million acres, or nearly half of all U.S. farmland, is set to change hands as the current generation retires. With an estimated $10 billion in capital already looking for access to U.S. farmland, institutional investors openly hope to expand their holdings as this retirement bulge takes place,” according to the Institute’s 2014 report, “Down on the Farm: Wall Street: America’s New Farmer.”

The farmland-conservation advocacy group American Farmland Trust echoes this concern. The group notes that people over 65 years old own 40 percent of the nation’s farmland, and a major transfer of the agricultural land and wealth is afoot. As of now, large farms are scooping up most of that property, raising questions of what that means for the average food consumer and the small farmer.

The uncertainty that situation creates is compounded by the expiration of the 2014 Farm Bill at the end of September. Negotiations for a new farm bill are underway, but it’s unclear what it may hold for funding for some of the most effective measures in place to slow consolidation. Depending on whether the version passed by the House or the Senate—or some combination of two—is approved, funding for conservation efforts like those that are part of the Agricultural Conservation Easement Program (ACEP) may double or be eliminated. ACEP provides money for state and local agencies to “buy-protect-sell” farmland, which is one of the most effective tools available in preserving farmland and preventing further consolidation.

Meanwhile, a growing number of nonprofits and land trusts like SILT are using a combination of agricultural conservation easements and other measures to reduce the cost of land to make it accessible to the next generation of farmers.

The face of that generation is increasingly diverse, according to Julia Freedgood, assistant vice president of programs at American Farmland Trust.

Freedgood works with a nationwide network of ag-industry people who are developing a curriculum to teach new farmers financial skills. The old saying that the only route into farming is “through the cradle or altar” is less true these days, as more immigrants and refugees want to start farms in places like Idaho, she says. In California, many Latinx and Hmong farmworkers want their own land. So do young, college-educated people “inspired by the local food movement,” and city-dwellers inspired by the urban ag movement.

“You have this really diverse group that wants to get into farming, but they all face the barrier of land access,” Freedgood says.

Why Consolidation Is a Problem

Land consolidation is tied to power and control—it puts the wealth generated by the nation’s agriculture industry into fewer hands. This directly impacts accessibility: what and how most Americans will eat. Ultimately, the issue is structural, and opportunities for meaningful change lie in addressing the needs of retiring farmers and those entering the industry.

“It gets at the core of our economic system and challenges the notion of capitalism as the way to organize our food economy,” Thapar says. “The consolidation trend will continue until there are significant reforms on how people access capital to acquire land, and how farming can become a livelihood that people can rely on without having to sell land to retire.”

Thapar notes that change needs to happen at a policy level. The good news is that there is a patchwork of laws and funding at the state and federal level to help create that change; the bad news is that the patchwork is patchy—farmers in different states face very different options for financial support.

The federal government hasn’t enacted any sort of meaningful legislation or rules that protect and promote small-scale farming—most recently, Obama pledged and failed to do so during his presidency. The standardization that comes with commodity stock production also over time made it easier for farms to consolidate, leaving fewer operators with greater influence on policy decisions designed to promote commodity stock production. That’s helped lead to the creation of crop insurance and commodity-linked direct payments programs, for example.

A patchwork of laws and state and federal funding that helps address the situation. At the federal level, the farm bill provides $31 million for farmland preservation, but that money is often targeted for cuts by Republicans and lobbyists for big business. In Minnesota, the state provides tax breaks for those who sell or lease equipment to small farmers. Rhode Island launched a program in which it buys farmland from retiring landowners, then sells it to young or new farmers for below-market rate.

Freedgood has worked to enact easement programs in Ohio and Michigan, and is attempting to do the same in other Midwestern states such as Indiana (though she says it doesn’t currently have the “political will”). She also points to state-level programs like California Farm Link and Hudson Valley Farmland Finder, which are “actively working with agriculture service providers and land trusts, and are the brokers to help make deals happen.”

Offering capital gains tax breaks to retiring farmers who sell to younger farmers could be a strong incentive because “it can make a significant difference in the net bottom line,” says Jerry Cosgrove, farm legacy director with AFT.

Thapar suggests a pension program that provides annuity payments to independent farmers so they don’t have to rely on land and asset sales to pay for their retirement.

Making Farmland Affordable

Land trusts are offering “measures to address what can broadly be called land access and affordability issues, particularly for young or other socially disadvantaged farmers,” Cosgrove says.

The measures can be complicated, but they’re working. Cosgrove says AFT helped Zack and Annie Metzger—who are in their mid-30’s—purchase land from a retiring farmer in Troy, N.Y. The land held a conservation easement and affordability deed restriction, and its owner asked for over $650,000. The Metzgers decided to sell the easement and deed restriction to raise capital, but couldn’t do so until they owned the property. That required a bridge loan through Equity Trust. The sales of the easement and affordability deed helped pay off that loan.

The Metzgers sold the deed restriction to a local nonprofit conservation group that holds it and is obligated to enforce its terms. The state of New York provided the funding for the nonprofit to purchase easement, and it can only be sold to a nonprofit or municipality.

“We’re privileged people, we come from a great background, but not to where we have the wealth to purchase a property … with an appraised value [of around $650,000],” Zack Metzger said. On Laughing Earth Farm, the Metzgers now offer humanely and organically raised pigs, chickens, and turkey. Laughing Earth’s vegetables go to local CSAs, and they sell freshly cut wildflowers at farmers’ markets.

AFT typically purchases land or takes a land donation, puts it in an easement, seeks an affordability deed restriction, then leases the land long-term to a younger farmer. So far, about 6.5 million acres of farm and ranch land are preserved in land trusts, according to a 2017 survey conducted by AFT, which the agency says is a conservative estimate. That’s up from about 4.7 million in 2012.

In Iowa, SILT uses a similar strategy. The owner of the land on which Jupiter Ridge operates donated his deed to SILT because he’s interested in preserving it for sustainable food farming. When he decides he no longer wants to control the land (or he dies), White and Lorenzen will enter into a long-term lease with SILT. They can also own the land’s home and other buildings, and they can pass it on to younger farmers or their kids when they’re ready to retire, or SILT will place a conservation easement on the land if for some reason they must sell. Either way, the land is preserved for sustainable farming in perpetuity.

Jupiter Ridge represents 22 of 770 acres under SILT’s protection, and Erem expects that number to grow quickly.

In New Hampshire, Agrarian Trust, a nonprofit group working to increase land access for farmers, will soon begin purchasing land. It’s partnering with local land trusts that will own the properties, acquire a conservation easement, and function as a “farm commons” that will manage a 99-year lease with a young farmer. Agrarian Trust will support and have some level of controlling interest over the local nonprofit. It’s partly focusing on regions in which there is little in the way of agricultural conservation efforts, like the Southeast.

Poudre Valley Community Farms in Colorado is using a slightly different model. The group just made its first purchase: a 109-acre farm with a five-bedroom house, corrals, and outbuildings for $1.3 million. Poudre Valley is controlled by a multi-stakeholder cooperative that board member Zia Zybko characterizes as “truly community supported”—if the farm has a problem, the cross-section of the community that invested in the farm works together to find a solution.

Ultimately, it’s going to take a coordinated effort at the federal level and among those working at the local level, instead of a patchwork of independent agencies operating toward a similar goal Thapar says. “There are some systemic changes that need to happen, and there needs to be a broader coalition working on this,” he notes. Specifically, he suggests reviving the USDA AELOS survey that retrieves landowner information and demographics, farmland rent control policies, re-funding federal and state land preservation programs, promoting state-based land ownership surveys, and providing reliable funding mechanisms for land trusts and land cooperatives.

But beyond that, Thapar says, there needs a collective philosophical shift away from land being viewed as a “financial asset—something that you own to make money from in the future.”

Chef Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins Celebrates the Women Making Mexican Cuisine

Civil Eats

Chef Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins Celebrates the Women Making Mexican Cuisine

Featured on the new season of KCET’s ‘Migrant Kitchen,’ Zepeda-Wilkins’ San Diego restaurant elevates regional Mexican cooking and the hands behind it.

By Annelise Jolley, Business, Food Justice     November 19, 2018

Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins grew up as a border kid, splitting her time between San Diego, California, and Tijuana, Mexico. Her parents worked in Mexico and raised their family in Imperial Beach, a California town located just a few miles from the border. She spent her childhood summers in Guadalajara and learned to cook in her aunt’s pozole restaurant. From a young age, Zepeda-Wilkins’s female relatives taught her the flavors and dishes that still infuse her cooking. Now a mother of two teenagers, she has opened a restaurant to honor the women who raised her.

It’s been a busy few years for Zepeda-Wilkins, who is featured in this season of KCET’s “Migrant Kitchen.” In addition to competing in Top Chef and Top Chef Mexico, she worked in pastry at San Diego’s El Bizcocho and later as chef de cuisine at Bracero Cocina, Mexican Chef Javier Plascencia’s well-loved San Diego outpost. Her new restaurant, El Jardín, which opened in June in San Diego, pays homage to her Mexican heritage by making use of ingredients and recipes sourced from home cooks across Mexico, including her family members.

At El Jardín, Zepeda-Wilkins not only makes food, she tells stories, too—stories of her mother and aunts and grandmothers, of her travels through Mexico, and of the women who carry on Mexico’s complex, nourishing, diverse cuisine. Dishes like “Jalisco Style Pozole Rojo” and “Seared Fish a la Veracruzana” are nods to her family’s history and highlight the distinct regionality of Mexican cooking.

A regional Mexican cuisine dish prepared by chef Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins.Despite El Jardín’s sophisticated take on Mexican food, Zepeda-Wilkins wants to make the dishes her grandma made—like albondigas or meatballs—and she wants to top them with greens grown in the restaurant’s namesake on-site garden, plate them on ceramics sourced from Mexican artisans, and serve them with a story. El Jardín employees are eager to share the history behind each dish, which region it comes from, and the people who inspired it. “Food is the one language we all speak,” Zepeda-Wilkins says, and it’s a language she speaks fluently.

Civil Eats recently spoke to the chef about cooking on the border, the women who inspired El Jardín, and what it means to celebrate immigrant cuisine.

You were taught to cook by female relatives. What story does your cooking tell about the women who carry on Mexico’s culinary heritage?

A lot of the style and the story that resonates with me is the ability to do something out of nothing. I’m pretty sure it’s a mom-talent in general, but the ability to make—with no money—a nutritious, full meal for your family is something that I’ve seen more and more throughout my travels in Mexico. The adaptability of these women is really something that I admire.

What happens to a lot of these women is that their stories go untold if they don’t have daughters. A lot of women die alone in tiny villages because the husbands emigrated to make money and send [it] back to their family. Half the time [the money] stops abruptly, and they never hear from them again. If there’s not a female to carry on the recipes of their family history, everything dies with them.

How do you meet the women who inspire El Jardín’s menu and aesthetic?

I have a really beautiful network of chef friends and photographers and food historians in Mexico who help me get in contact with them, and then I take care of the relationship from there. Because they have to also trust me. When I purchased my plates in Mexico, [for example] I couldn’t just pick up the phone and make an order. [I had to] actually do the work and go to Mexico and shake the person’s hand who makes them. The amount of work that goes into it is unimaginable, but it’s so worth it. For me to be able to help an artisan in Mexico—that’s the point of this whole thing.

Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins preparing a dish at El JardínDid you always imagine opening a restaurant that focused on regional Mexican cuisine?

Mexican food, yes. But the idea of regionality really manifested two years ago. Going [to Mexico] and meeting all these women to get the foundation and inspiration behind [El Jardín] came to fruition two years ago, and now I’m starting to go back, because I need to get another insurgence of creative juice. My feet need to touch that ground. I need to meet these people and eat at their homes again. Even if it’s the same meal, I come back a different person after every conversation, after every story they tell.

How has the changing immigration landscape impacted food communities in the San Diego/Tijuana border region?

You see Haitians who were left in Tijuana a few years ago working at the fruit stands; you go to the airport and they’re working at the tarmac. You see all these beautiful Haitian chicken spots popping up [in Tijuana now], which is really cool. That’s something people really don’t understand about Mexico. We might have all our own problems, and we might be a hot mess politically, but we are a country that accepts anyone who comes in and really embraces [them].

Really, all our cuisine is a mestiza cuisine [from the Spanish word for someone of mixed ethnic ancestry]. If you were to make [strictly] Mexican cuisine, you’d have to cut onion and garlic out, and you’d be left with just tomatoes and chilis—still delicious, but you’d miss the roundness of the flavors that are notorious for us, our holy trinity: tomatoes, onions, and chilis.

Through the seven regions [of Mexican cuisine], you can see where different cultures landed and meshed with our indigenous ingredients, and all the beautiful dishes [that] came about.

What three ingredients can’t you cook without?

At the moment, it’s definitely dried chilis. Also the pit of the sapote mamey fruit. It has a beautiful almond flavor, and most people just discard it—I think it’s Mexico’s hidden secret. And the third would be kombu—dashi kombu broth. Super random, but that’s kind of me.

What gap in San Diego’s culinary landscape does El Jardín fill?

What we bring to San Diego is a different approach to Mexican food. What [the city has] right now as far as Mexican food is tacos from old-school taco shops, [or] everything drenched in canned enchilada sauce.

Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins cooking in the kitchen.It makes business sense to just do tacos and burritos and nachos, but we’re so much more than that as a culture. You go to Mexico state or Mexico City and you have some of the most beautiful food made by chefs who have traveled the world and come home. Why can’t we be that? [Mexicans] learned all these techniques from all these different places, and we made our food.

My cooks are young; I’m young. We’re a contemporary Mexican restaurant with old roots. We’re trying to do our best and also be true to who we are. I want to make the food my grandma made and present it to you on a beautiful plate with greens that come from our garden.

What challenges do you encounter cooking Mexican food in the United States?

Being so close to the border, the theme that I constantly have working against me is the fact that Mexican food is still not perceived as something that you should spend money on. No one values Mexican food this close to the border. But I pay my cooks a living wage. I pay my dishwashers more than minimum wage because they’re taking care of the plates that I handpicked in Mexico.

What do you want people to learn about Mexico when they eat at El Jardín?

We lived in Imperial Beach [less than 10 miles north of the Mexican border with California, but] we were in Tijuana almost every single day growing up. I personally consider myself Mexican more than I do Mexican-American, because my parents always had us in Mexico. My dad worked in Mexico my entire life, and my mother speaks incredibly broken English and never worked in America. I have a very skewed upbringing [in that] we are more proud of our Mexican heritage than the average first-generation [family].

Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins preparing tortillas.We want customers to come [to the restaurant] with an open mind, regardless of where they’re from. Ask us questions and be inquisitive. Learn about who we are as a culture. We do have a lot of knowledge, and we do have a lot of things to say. I always say that we have to educate people—without being pretentious, obviously. So I empower the front-of-the-house team to be the storytellers. Right now in my rewrite of the menu, I’m making it a lot more approachable for people who don’t read Spanish so they don’t fear not knowing what they’re going to get.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Photos courtesy of KCET.

This article was produced in partnership with KCET’s “The Migrant Kitchen.” Now in its third season, “The Migrant Kitchen” will air an episode profiling Zepeda-Wilkins on November 21. The trailer for the full third season is embedded below.

An Indigenous Alaskan Chef Shares Traditional Recipes

Civil Eats

An Indigenous Alaskan Chef Shares Traditional Recipes By Way Of YouTube

Chef Rob Kinneen’s web series ‘Fresh Alaska’ promotes fresh, local ingredients from even the remotest parts of his home state.

By Jody Ellis, Indigenous Foodways, Local Eats  – 
Rob Kinneen with Athabascan Elder Howard Luke, learning about preparing salmon and foraging wild ingredients as p[art of Kinneen’s web series.
Rob Kinneen didn’t take his first bite of fresh asparagus until adulthood, when he was a student at the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) in New York. “That was one of the first times I realized vegetables could taste good,” he says. “The flavor was so different than the canned goods I’d grown up with.”

Raised mainly in Anchorage Alaska, where produce can be hard to find and often very expensive, Kinneen wasn’t exposed to much in the way of fresh fruits or vegetables. His connection to food, however, was always there.

“There was still an affinity with the land and with food,” he says. “We harvested a lot of seafood, we hunted, we went clam-digging.” He remembers his mom baking fresh bread and picking fresh rhubarb and eating it raw, dipped in sugar. And when his dad grew potatoes for the first time, Kinneen helped him harvest them. “We boiled them and ate some that same day, and I remember how earthy they tasted,” he recalls.

These memories, coupled with a desire to connect with his Tlingit heritage, led to an interest in cooking with locally sourced, indigenous Alaskan foods.

After attending CIA, and working in restaurants in New Orleans, Los Angeles, and North Carolina, Kinneen made his way back to Anchorage, where he lived and worked for 15 years. To be closer to extended family, he and his family recently relocated to North Carolina, where he serves as executive chef for both Happy Cardinal Catering and the Italian restaurant The Boot. And he travels back to Alaska regularly and still considers it “home.”

“Getting married and having children helped me realize I needed to know more about my own Alaskan heritage,” says Kinneen.

The result is “Fresh Alaska” and “Traditional Foods, Contemporary Chef,” two web series that show him traveling around Alaska, harvesting and cooking traditional native foods. On screen, Kinneen can be seen doing things like collecting sea cucumber in Sitka, eating salmon berry flowers, catching shrimp in Prince William Sound, cooking with reindeer sausage, and picking berries to make Akutaq (the traditional Alaska Native version of ice cream). He partnered with the Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium (ANTHC) to produce both series.

Rob Kinneen cooking with one of the health educators at the Southcentral Foundation as part of his "Fresh Alaska" web series.Rob Kinneen cooking with one of the health educators at the Southcentral Foundation as part of his “Fresh Alaska” web series.

Kinneen’s series give his audience the chance to see how local foods can be prepared at minimal cost. “Making these videos helped show what food means in different regions of the community,” he says. “It also inspired me to consider how people are finding answers to food sustainability.”

As part of his work, he visited places like Tyonek, Alaska, southwest of Anchorage; the town’s conservation district recently spent a million dollars to build a culvert over a salmon stream to help the fish migrate. Kinneen saw firsthand how the Tyonek Tribal Conservation District has worked to take back health and wellness in the community through sustainability, with programs such as the “seed start” program at the local school.

“They have a greenhouse and an irrigation system that is set up with a solar generator,” he says. “Solar panels have a life of 30 years, which makes them much more viable than using a regular generator and diesel fuel.”

The solar-powered generator to irrigate Tyonek's community garden. (Photo courtesy of Rob Kinneen)The solar-powered generator to irrigate Tyonek’s community garden. (Photo courtesy of Rob Kinneen)

He also visited Meyers Farm in Bethel, where owner Tim Meyer has created a successful organic farming community in far western Alaska, producing hundreds of pounds of produce each season.

“Ninety-six percent of the food in Alaska is imported, which leads to questions about food security,” says Kinneen. “Tim Meyer is growing produce on the tundra. He uses cold-climate farming techniques and grows on a nutrient-rich riverbed. The produce is preserved in an underground cellar with a drip oil pan stove that keeps temperatures at about 34 degrees. If you can successfully grow vegetables in a place like Bethel, I think you can do it almost anywhere.”

Grocery stores in the more remote areas are especially poorly stocked. “It’s not unusual to see a $19.00 fermented [i.e., old] pineapple or a $9.00 head of brown iceberg lettuce for,” says Kinneen. For this reason, making fresh and natural food accessible to all people has also become a passion project for Kinneen, and he has partnered with groups like the Food Bank of Alaska to highlight how Alaskans can use the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) dollars (or “food stamps”) at farmers’ markets.

With one in seven people in the state considered food-insecure, and access to SNAP threatened in negotiations over the current farm bill, helping people eat nutritious, local food whenever possible is more important than ever. And Alaska’s remote geography often means that its communities face additional obstacles in accessing resources, and thus they must rely on wild foods to fill the gaps.

Roasted salmon served on a bed of Tyonek-grown vegetables; only the salt, pepper, and oil came from outside of Alaska. (Photo courtesy of Rob Kinneen)Roasted salmon served on a bed of Tyonek-grown vegetables; only the salt, pepper, and oil came from outside of Alaska. (Photo courtesy of Rob Kinneen)

Kinneen’s work has culminated in his new cookbook, Fresh Alaska. The recipes, such as arctic polenta with razor clams, combine contemporary, upscale cooking with traditional Alaskan food. It’s a big step for Alaska cookbooks, despite the fact that chefs in high-end restaurants around the state have been  incorporating indigenous ingredients such as foraged mushrooms, spruce tips, and locally caught seafood in recent years.

“My main beef with Alaskan cookbooks is that they are either very esoteric or they don’t contain Alaskan ingredients,” he says. “I wanted to promote the people and places I came from, with insight into the subsistence side, [while] also being responsible as a chef.”

While Kinneen and his family enjoy their life in North Carolina, his Alaskan roots are never far from his mind. “The experiences I had at places like Meyers Farm and Tyonek were a huge inspiration for my cookbook,” he says. “To see the efforts of a small village to take back food sustainability and prosper is truly humbling. Food is the connection between all of us.”

Is Eating Locally and in Season Really Better for the Environment?

By Independent Media Institute

Eating Locally and in Season: Is It Really Better for the Environment?

By Reynard Loki     October 29, 2018

Robert Mullan / Canopy / Getty Images

Humans have been moving food around the world for thousands of years. Toward the end of the second century BC, merchants traveled along the Silk Road, transporting noodles from Xi’angrapes from Dayuan and nutmeg from the Moluccas Islands to eager buyers along its 4,000-mile network. While it’s possible to trace the evolution of food through that matrix of ancient caravan routes that linked China to the West, it’s hard to measure its environmental impact. It’s likely that, as with any road, wildlife corridors were disrupted. But greenhouse gas emissions were fairly low, consisting of the methane from the belches and farts of the horses, yaks and Bactrian camels, and the fires that humans burned along the way.

Fast-forward to the 20th-century U.S. Modern transportation and the rise of post-World War II suburban life changed the agricultural trade—and the way we ate. A key driver in this post-war food system has been globalization, which Kym Anderson, an economist at the University of Adelaide, argued “has been characterized by a rapid decline in the costs of cross-border trade in farm and other products, driven by declines in the costs of transporting bulky and perishable products long distances, the information and communication technology (ICT) revolution and major reductions in governmental distortions to agricultural trade.”

After the war, planned communities like the Levittowns in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania—built by the real estate development company Levitt & Sons—sprang up across the country, welcoming returning veterans who were eligible for low-interest, government-backed mortgages. Meanwhile, the Federal Highway Act of 1956 authorized the construction of 40,000 miles of interstate highways to span the nation. Suburban life swelled.According to National Real Estate Investor:

During the 1950’s, land values in the suburbs increased rapidly—in some prime suburban neighborhoods as much as 3,000 percent—while population swelled by 45 percent. Nearly two-thirds of all industrial construction during the 1950’s was taking place outside cities; residential construction in the suburbs accounted for an astonishing 75 percent of total construction.

This new post-war suburban lifestyle was anchored by the supermarket. Stocked regularly by refrigerated trucks rolling into suburban towns, they made one-stop shopping just a short drive away. “After the war, the popularity of refrigerators and automobiles for nearly every household kept feeding the [supermarket] model, so much so that free parking became a necessity at every supermarket,” wrote Ashley Ross in TIME Magazine, adding that the supermarket “was such a marvel that in 1957, during a visit with President Eisenhower, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip visited a Maryland grocery store for 15 minutes to see what it was all about.”

Between 1948 and 1958, average sales per grocery store more than doubled, even after adjusting for food price inflation, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Families moved away from buying locally produced foods and toward processed foods made in centralized plants. During the 1950’s, the marketing charges for processing and shipping farm food products hit a new record every single year. By 1961, the “farm-to-retail price spread”—the difference between the retail price paid by the consumer and the payment to the farmer for equivalent farm products by food marketers and processors—was up 34 percent from 1950. In other words, the market was steadily moving toward processed foods, and away from whole foods.

Today, some urban dwellers don’t even need to drive to go food shopping. If I want fresh strawberries in the middle of winter, I can simply walk down the block to my local grocer and buy some that were grown in California, Florida or Mexico. But if I want one that’s locally grown and in season, I’ll have to wait until June, when farmers at my local green-market start selling berries grown in New York state. Transporting fresh berries across the country or from Mexico is certainly more carbon-intensive than bringing them in from Long Island or upstate. So, I have to ask myself: Do I really need a strawberry in winter?

That’s the kind of question driving the local food movement. While more than half of the fresh fruit and nearly a third of fresh vegetables, wine and sugar purchased in the U.S. is imported from other countries, people are increasingly seeking out food grown near their homes. According to market research firm Statista, 14 percent of Americans consumed locally grown food twice a week in 2013. But just a year later, that number grew to more than 20 percent. The increased demand has mirrored a surge in farmers’ markets, which have grown more than 370 percent in two decades, from 1,755 in 1994 to 8,268 in 2014.

Farmers’ markets are where people go to find food that is locally produced and in season. According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s 2014 National Farmers Market Manager Survey, virtually all farmers’ markets (99 percent) sell locally grown fresh fruits or vegetables. And about two-thirds (66 percent) offer USDA-certified organic produce. The agency’s 2006 survey found that seasonal markets “remained the dominant type of farmers market in every part of the country … accounting for 88 percent of all farmers market in operation.”

Between 2008 and 2014, local food sales in the U.S. swelled from $5 billion to $12 billion, according to Packaged Facts, a food industry research firm. They estimate that local foods will outpace the annual total sales of all foods and beverages, reaching almost $20 billion by 2019. Moreover, while “locavore”—one who eats locally produced food—is a relatively recent term (coined in 2005 and named “Word of the Year” by Oxford American Dictionary two years later), there was a time when all food was locally sourced—before Kobe beef from Japan or pineapples from Costa Rica were shipped to hungry eaters across the globe.

Today, advancements in technology and infrastructure have helped make exporting and importing foods and fresh produce big business. Improved roads and storage technologies have made shipping perishables easier, while international trade agreements have reduced tariffs on imports. In addition, low wages, lowered production costs due to increased scale of production and the monopoly of agribusiness has created cheap labor markets across the food system. Furthermore, in the U.S., many staple foods simply can’t be domestically produced on a scale to satisfy the standard American diet. According to the USDA, more than 95 percent of coffee, cocoa, spices, fish and shellfish products that Americans consume is imported. The growth of personal wealth has also played a key role in the growing demand. “As high US incomes drive consumption,” the agency notes, “the volume of US agricultural imports has increased by 4 percent annually, on average, since 2000.”

But how damaging to the environment is this modern convenience? All those trucks, trains, ships and planes are emitting carbon dioxide into the atmosphere while logging thousands of “food miles”—the distance a food product travels from the farmer or producer to the supermarket and finally, to your dinner table. Wouldn’t it be more eco-friendly to only buy food that is seasonal and locally grown?

When it comes to greenhouse gas emissions (GHGs), it might not make such a huge difference, particularly for certain foods. According the Oregon Department of Environmental Quality, “Differences in agricultural production and the realities of transportation impacts may favor sourcing from other regions from an environmental impact perspective.” The agency wrote:

In general, the contribution of food transportation relative to the total greenhouse gas emissions of a given food product represents a small percentage of the carbon footprint for many foods. Fresh foods transported by air freight can have significant distribution-related carbon impacts, but on average, distribution of finished foods (from farm or factory to retail stores) contributes less than 4 percent, on average, of the greenhouse gas emissions of foods consumed in the US.

Even if you wanted to reduce your food miles, it’s difficult to know which kind of imported food is less GHG-intensive, since different transport options emit different levels of emissions and different foods travel different distances. “Shipping comes out with the lowest emissions, trains second, followed by road transport, and finally with fossil-fuel guzzling air freight having about 100 times the emissions per [metric ton kilometer] than shipping,” reported The Ecotarian, which notes that the “global warming potential” of each mode of transport can be calculated in kilograms of CO2 per metric ton of food, per kilometer.

But they also point out that ships usually travel longer distances than trucks, causing more emissions. Globally, more than 50 percent of freight shipped by air uses the bellies of passenger planes, a tactic that doesn’t put more planes in the sky (though it burns more fuel). Since, as the researchers point out, “it’s almost impossible to know which produce is shipped and which is flown,” they advise consumers that “buying local and seasonal is still the safest option.”

It’s important to note that for many people living in developing countries, buying locally and in season simply isn’t a realistic option. In fact, the dependence on staple agricultural imports like wheat, rice and corn could—if export bans were enacted by major producing regions—create a food crisis that, according to a 2016 study, “would put up to 200 million people below the poverty line at risk.” The study’s lead author, Christopher Bren d’Amour, cited one example: “If Thailand, the biggest exporter of rice worldwide, were to halt its exports, 136 million people from Mauritania to Nigeria would be affected.”

While the transportation of food does contribute to emissions, the production of that food is much more environmentally damaging and GHG-intensive. In their new book, Eat for the Planet: Saving the World One Bite at a Time, Nil Zacharias and Gene Stone point out that the majority of Earth’s arable land is now dedicated to livestock and their feed. “Currently, 260 million acres (and counting) of US forests have been clear-cut to create land used to produce livestock feed, and 80 percent of the deforestation in the Amazon rainforest is attributed to beef production,” they wrote. According to the Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies, “Cattle ranching is the largest driver of deforestation in every Amazon country, accounting for 80 percent of current deforestation rates.”

In Indonesia, the production of palm oil—the most widely consumed vegetable oil, found in everything from breads, chips, cookies, ice cream, chocolate, instant noodles, margarine and pizza dough (and numerous common non-edibles like soap, shampoo, detergent and lipstick)—is “directly linked to deforestation, responsible for the deaths of endangered orangutans and the displacement of communities,” said Kaytee Riek, campaigns director at the nonprofit advocacy group SumOfUs. In 2007, scientists from Wetlands International found that the draining and burning of peatland (a sponge-like type of wetland that stores massive amounts of carbon dioxide) to make room for palm oil plantations in Indonesia accounts for 8 percent of all worldwide annual emissions from burning fossil fuels.

So, while eating locally and in season would help reduce your food miles (and thereby your carbon footprint), the more effective dietary change is to reduce the consumption of foods that require the devastation of carbon-storing forests and wetlands—meat and products containing palm oil being two of the biggest culprits. A 2008 study conducted by researchers at Carnegie Mellon University found that by buying food locally, the average American could only reduce their greenhouse gas emissions a maximum of 4-5 percent. The researchers concluded that reducing your red meat intake “can be a more effective means of lowering an average household’s food-related climate footprint than ‘buying local.'”

Still, there are other reasons to eat locally besides reducing your carbon footprint and saving endangered orangutans. As the Ecotarian researchers noted:

Eating locally has many more benefits than just the reduction in emissions, however. It’s really rewarding to get to know local growers and producers, to learn more about the process that brings produce to your table, and elevates eating to an altogether more wholesome experience. It supports small-scale farmers, who often use more diversified and sustainable farming practices. It keeps money in the local economy rather than dissipating it out into the pockets of, ahem, tax-dodging/exploitative multinationals.

In addition, produce that’s in season and locally grown usually means that the health benefits of those fruits and vegetables are still high, as they haven’t had time to lose their nutritional punch by sitting for days in refrigerated trucks or shipping containers traveling long distances. By contrast, foods that you buy out of season are usually picked before they have reached full flavor and optimum nutritional value, so that they can survive those long-distance trips. Plus, eating in season can help save you money, as you’ll be buying produce that’s at its peak supply, meaning that it’s less costly for producers and distributors, who can then pass along the savings to you.

But the health benefits of fresh, seasonal produce are accessible only to those who can access and afford them, which is not always the case. One issue is the lack of healthy food options in “food deserts” across the country, most of them in poor neighborhoods, where the only options are unhealthy, processed foods and industrial farm produce coated in pesticides. And produce sold at farmers’ markets can often be more expensive than the pesticide-covered fruits and vegetables that are shipped in from Mexico and Costa Rica, where farming operations can lower their prices simply because of their massive scale.

Low-income Americans enrolled in the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) can use their monthly benefits to purchase food in farmers’ markets in all 50 states. In 2017, program participants spent more than $22.4 million at farmers’ markets. But this crucial benefit is at risk on two fronts. First, a dispute over a government technology contract may prevent SNAP participants from using their Electronic Benefit Transfer (EBT) cards to buy food at farmers’ markets. Second, the Trump administration has made a rule change that would deny green cards to immigrants who use food stamps, forcing families to choose between food and family.

Another, less pressing issue, impacts the middle class and wealthy: the danger of too many options. In a 2014 lecture at Bowdoin College, Matt Booker, an associate professor of history at North Carolina State University, asked the question, “Why did Americans stop eating locally?” Part of the problem, he said, is one of abundance, at least for those who can afford it: There’s simply “too much food, too much of a ‘muchness’ in our food supply.”

He said that big agriculture has imposed on Americans “a kind of hopelessness, an inevitability to the ecological collapse we associate with so many food systems and the economic power of these massive forces.” One way to undo that feeling of hopelessness is to simply stop buying foods produced by industrial farms and start supporting local, small-scale growers and family farms. In addition to supporting local economies and cultivating relationships with farmers who are growing food sustainably, those who are able to make a choice about where their food comes from can reduce their personal environmental footprints.

Perhaps you’re fortunate enough to afford a Mexican avocado (that may have ties to organized crime) whenever you crave avocado toast, or a burger made from beef produced on land that used to be Amazon rainforest, or chocolate containing palm oil from Indonesian plantations that were once the homes of orangutans, tigers, elephants and rhinos. But you have to ask yourself: Are these foods really worth it?

Food author Michael Pollan neatly summed up all he’d learned about food and health in seven words: “Eat food, not too much, mostly plants.” Adding “local” and “in season” to that prescription wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Reynard Loki is a senior writing fellow and the editor and chief correspondent for Earth | Food | Life, a project of the Independent Media Institute. He previously served as the environment, food and animal rights editor at AlterNet and as a reporter for Justmeans/3BL Media covering sustainability and corporate social responsibility. He was named one of FilterBuy’s “Top 50 Health & Environmental Journalists to Follow” in 2016. His work has been published by Truthout, Salon, BillMoyers.com, EcoWatch and Truthdig, among others.

This article was produced by Earth | Food | Life, a project of the Independent Media Institute, and originally published by Truthout.

This Community is Addressing Food Insecurity

Civil Eats

This Community is Addressing Food Insecurity, One Grocery Store at a Time

Public school families and others created the United Parents and Students’ Store of Excellence Award, which aims to reward stores selling better and healthier food.

By Lela Nargi, Food Deserts, Food Justice      October 22, 2018

 

This past August, an advocacy group comprised of local public-school families from Inglewood, South Los Angeles, and East Los Angeles held a celebratory shopping day at a three-month-old Grocery Outlet franchise. Some 75 families from the group, United Parents & Students (UPAS), along with a host of other locals, descended on the Inglewood store, boosting its sales for the day; the store also gifted one UPAS family with free groceries.

The event feted the Inglewood store’s second month as a “Store of Excellence,” an honor that commended them for things like being clean and clean-smelling and carrying several kinds of fresh produce. And while this may seem like a low bar, the award grew out of a deep, abiding, and multi-tentacled history of food injustice in certain underserved parts of Los Angeles County. There, residents have long had to rely on a preponderance of small stores for a limited selection of often-sour milk, stale bread—what’s dark-humoredly referred to as “green meat and brown vegetables”—and, more dependably, soda and beer, pork rinds, and candy.

Discolored meat on sale at a grocery store. (Photo courtesy UPAS)

Discolored meat on sale at a grocery store. (Photo courtesy UPAS)

UPAS, which is funded by a mix of philanthropy and service contracts, has 12,000 member volunteers dedicated to strengthening their communities as well as 12 full-time paid employees. In 2017, its food justice committee developed the Store of Excellence award to incentivize its neighborhoods’ few grocery stores to either improve or, in the case of new outposts like the Grocery Outlet, remain satisfactory.

Their efforts represent a renewed fervor among frustrated citizen activists to claim “the power to make changes themselves,” says Veronica Toledo, the organization’s associate director. “These families know they deserve high-quality, nutritious food”—food that has been unavailable in their communities for more time than anyone cares to ponder.

Californians living in whiter and better-resourced areas may take for granted a ubiquity of pristine Trader Joe’s and Ralphs and specialty grocers. But these stores have rarely been willing to set foot in L.A.’s lower-income neighborhoods, claiming they don’t fit their demographic. Instead, these neighborhoods have experienced a preponderance of liquor stores, often hubs for crime and vagrancy that in 1992 bore the brunt of community ire during the uprising that followed the acquittal of police officers in the beating of Rodney King; an estimated 200 were burned to the ground.

To many residents’ relief, the city imposed health and safety mandates that effectively blocked some of those shops from reopening as recovery commenced. Everyone hoped grocery stores would move in in their wake. And they have, on and—more often—off. Currently, about 20 groceries serve the 1.5 million residents of these neighborhoods.

“People lambaste certain individuals and say, ‘Make good [food] choices!’ But first, they have to have a choice,” says Mary Lee, consultant at national advocacy organization PolicyLink, who worked on the liquor store mandates. Although the county hands out public health grades to outlets that sell food, she says they don’t take cleanliness or produce quality into account; instead, they grade only on the condition of prepared foods, freezer temperatures, and expiration dates on baby formula.

The 200 parent and student members of the food justice committee are determined to close the gap in this oversight. To date, they’ve sent volunteers, unannounced, to preliminarily assess 15 stores. At some—even those that earned grades of at least 90 percent from the health department—they’ve found everything from flies in display cases and mold on cheese to high prices and lousy customer service.

Moldy cheese on sale at a grocery store. (Photo courtesy UPAS)

Moldy cheese on sale at a grocery store. (Photo courtesy UPAS)

“There was no true accountability system, so we knew we had to develop our own,” Toledo says.

Developing a Grocery ‘Report Card’

UPAS approached Breanna Morrison, a policy analyst at the Los Angeles Food Policy Council, for her input; she’d previously helped a neighborhood food watch program come up with guidelines for retailers.

The group used Morrison’s suggestions to craft a “report card” that prioritized things like offerings of un-expired meat and dairy and at least 10 kinds of produce in good condition, keeping floors mopped, and making sure parking lots were well-lit. Stores that made consistent improvements would be given a 30-day probation period in which to maintain or further improve conditions, en route to the Excellence seal.

In return, UPAS would pledge to heavily promote deserving stores to its constituents and its 40 partner nonprofits and churches, announcing promotional shopping days on social media and touting the outlet as a good community partner deserving of their business. Toledo reports that many families continue to shop at the Inglewood Grocery Outlet, still pleased with its conditions and service.

“It’s a way to say, not so much [that stores] are good- or bad-quality, but ones [people] want to contribute to,” says Lee, pointing out that Baldwin Park, about 15 miles east of East L.A., had success in getting corner stores to offer healthier foods with a program similar to the one UPAS is running.

Food justice volunteers have also moved beyond their initial incognito assessments to meet with a few store managers, including at a Numero Uno market in South L.A. Volunteers made suggestions for improvements, many of which have been addressed—although as of press time the store remains on probation for an Excellence award. “Consistency is a real issue,” according to Toledo. Nevertheless, a Northgate Gonzalez Market in South L.A. has managed to improve enough to receive the seal, which UPAS will award next month.

Long-Term Goals

Inglewood Grocery Outlet receiving the UPAS Store of Excellence Award. (Photo courtesy of UPAS)

Inglewood Grocery Outlet receiving the UPAS Store of Excellence Award. (Photo courtesy of UPAS)

Over the long-term, Lee wonders, will UPAS “be able to continually monitor compliance and cooperation on the part of merchants?”

Toledo says that’s not their long-term goal. “We don’t pretend to be the grocery police,” she maintains. The group recently produced a white paper recommending that city officials implement and enforce more rigorous health regulations for groceries, according to the standards UPAS has devised for their report card; UPAS hopes they’ll recognize the importance of such oversight, and be compelled to act.

For Morrison, UPAS’s efforts—as well as those undertaken by other advocates over the decades, like bringing in farmers’ markets and community gardens and giving more support to corner stores trying to improve their offerings—are signs that positive, hopefully enduring changes are underway.

“The fact that there’s even a Grocery Outlet in Inglewood is indicative of forward momentum,” she says. “That didn’t exist two or three years ago.”

Perhaps even more heartening, Morrison adds, “Students and parents doing this work in their communities are realizing they have the agency to create the change they want to see in their neighborhoods. That is powerful transformation in and of itself.”

A Change to Farm Bill Conservation Efforts Could Spell Disaster for the Corn Belt

Civil Eats

A Change to Farm Bill Conservation Efforts Could Spell Disaster for the Corn Belt

As lawmakers debate whether or not to merge two crucial farm conservation programs, the future of farm pollution in Iowa—and other Midwestern states—hangs in the balance.

By Julia Poska, Farm Bill, Farm Policy       October 18, 2018

Molly Schintler and Derek Roller of Echollective Farm have been growing a diverse array of vegetables on 19 acres 25 miles outside Iowa City since 2001. While the farm is not certified organic, they use sustainable methods, crop rotation, and other eco-friendly practices and steward 20 acres of woodland in an effort to put people and the environment first.

“Obviously being a viable business is important,” said farmer Molly Schintler. “But it’s also really our priority to be thinking about how we can best feed our community in a way that’s good for the planet.”

To help balance those interests, Echollective recently signed onto the Conservation Stewardship Program (CSP), a U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) program that encourages comprehensive natural resource conservation on working lands.

Molly Schintler and Derek Roller of Echollective Farm. (Photo credit: Giselle Bruskewitz, Food Hub Manger at Field to Family)

Molly Schintler and Derek Roller of Echollective Farm. (Photo credit: Giselle Bruskewitz, Food Hub Manger at Field to Family)

The program will recognize Echollective for its past conservation efforts and requires the farmers to enhance their current practices with additional activities. With the CSP funds, Schintler and Roller will mulch large areas, run soil tests, and plant nearly an acre of native fruit trees and pollinator habitat over the next five years.

“These are things that we want to do anyway, but it’s easy to not make them a priority,” Schintler said. “We signed that contract, so for us it’s a binding agreement that we’ll get these things done.”

The Nation’s Leading Conservation Program

The Conservation Stewardship Program began as the Conservation Security Program in the 2002 Farm Bill, and its current iteration was first authorized in the 2008 bill. The nation’s leading conservation program by acreage, CSP pays farmers to improve their practices in ways that benefit the air, water, and soil without taking land out of rotation like the Conservation Reserve Program requires them to do. It focuses on continual conservation and bases compensation on several factors, including time and resources invested and the expected degree of conservation benefits.

As of 2017, CSP covered an estimated 72 million acres; the vast majority of those acres are on large, conventional farms such as the thousands of Iowa corn and soy operations that surround Echollective—operations where farmers are generally less likely to have conservation practices on their to-do lists without funding.

The future of the program and Echollective’s contract are uncertain, however. The 2014 Farm Bill expired on September 30 after Congress proved unable to agree on a new bill, in part because of disputes over CSP and debate over cuts to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP).

The House of Representatives has proposed cutting CSP and rolling its “best features” into the Environmental Quality Incentives Program (EQIP), a similar conservation program for working lands without a long-term commitment. If this happened, EQIP would absorb $3 billion previously allocated for CSP. The Senate’s more moderate farm bill, on the other hand, would maintain the status quo and maintain the separate programs. Either way, the direction Congress goes will have major implications for farmers and natural resources around the U.S.

Spotlight on Iowa 

In Iowa, farm conservation focuses mainly on the interlocking challenges of soil health and water quality. A lack of crop diversity, reliance on synthetic fertilizers, and the fact that much of the soil sits uncovered by plant life for around six months a year in the ag-intensive Corn Belt make soil susceptible to nutrient loss.

“We know the corn and soybean system is what we call a ‘leaky system,’ so it leaks nutrients,” said Chris Jones, a research engineer with the Iowa Institute of Hydraulic Research.

Jones said the two main nutrients of concern, phosphorus and nitrogen, leak differently. Phosphorus mainly enters streams through overland runoff. As water travels across the surface of exposed soil, it picks up phosphorus particles and carries them into nearby waterways. In Iowa, all rivers and streams eventually drain to the Mississippi.

Highly soluble nitrogen dissolves in the water, and moves through networks of underground pipes called drainage tile. These systems keep once-waterlogged fields dry enough to cultivate but flush nutrients into the same waterways. Not only have nitrogen levels reached a crisis level in Iowa, where filtration costs millions and public utilities have been pitted against farm communities, but runoff from the state (along with 31 others) makes a significant contribution to the algae blooms that have created a massive dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico, where low-oxygen conditions are inhospitable to life.

study Jones and his colleagues published in April found that Iowa contributes on average about 29 percent of Mississippi River dissolved nitrate, though it only accounts for 5 percent of the total land draining into the river.

Conservation practices such as planting cover crops, adding streamside vegetative buffers, and cutting down on tillage can help keep soil and nutrients from entering the water. Ultimately, Jones thinks increasing crop diversification with less leaky options is the best solution.

Jones said government conservation programs like CSP and EQIP are crucial to implementing such solutions in Iowa, where only about 2 percent of land is under state or federal control. Implementing conservation solutions on private land requires accessible programs that incentivize active conservation or land retirement, he added.

“In Iowa this land is so extremely valuable, compared to other farmland in other parts of the U.S. or the world, so land retirement is probably not something that’s going to happen in the short term,” Jones continued. “We need programs that target working lands.”

Some conservationists worry that if the farm bill rolls CSP into EQIP, conservation practices like those needed to solve Iowa’s water problem will take a hit.

“[CSP] is a very vital program across the country because it’s a program that has milestones and benchmarks,” said Alex Schmidt, president of the Conservation Districts of Iowa.

He said about half of Iowa counties invest more money in CSP versus EQIP. The preferred program depends on local needs and the approach of the county’s conservation commissioners. He worries that lapsed a gap in funding between now and whenever the new farm bill passes will further stall a sizable backlog of Iowa farmers waiting for acceptance into conservation programs.

The Farm Bill and the Future of Farmland Conservation

Schmidt said the draft Senate farm bill is the best case-scenario for conservation because it keeps the two programs separate.

Alyssa Charney, senior policy specialist for the National Sustainable Agriculture Coalition (NSAC), agrees. “The Senate really offers a bipartisan path forward for getting a farm bill passed across the line, and that is especially true for conservation programs,” she said.

She also takes issue with much of the public messaging around the House’s proposed elimination of the Conservation Stewardship Program. “It’s inaccurate to call it a merge or ever a consolidation of programs because it’s not keeping the core elements of CSP.”

Those core elements include the CSP’s eligibility threshold and comprehensive nature, which require producers to take the conservation practices they have already implemented “above and beyond.”

Charney said most of the House’s proposed $3 million boost to EQIP likely would not go to stewardship-type contracts, based on language in the House draft. She said that because acreage eligible for CSP is divided based on the proportion of a state’s total agricultural land, states like Iowa in the middle of the country will take the hardest hit.

Conservation practices needed to solve Iowa’s nutrient runoff problems, like diversified crop rotation and cover cropping, are the types of high-level activities CSP currently promotes, Charney said. And losing that would be a big blow to the state, and others like it. Iowa Senators Joni Ernst and Chuck Grassley expressed support for maintaining current CSP funding through their proposed GROW Act in March.

Laura Crowell, the Iowa public affairs officer for USDA’s Natural Resource Conservation Service (NRCS), said EQIP is Iowa’s number one conservation program, though both ultimately help get conservation on the ground.

“All of our programs follow the same standards and specifications,” she said, “so whether it’s CSP or EQIP, it’s going to be the same practices and the benefits will be the same.”

She said there is a lot of overlap in activities both programs encourage, and stressed the importance of soil health for both farmers and nature.

Cromwell said current CSP contracts must legally be funded until they expire regardless of the program’s status in the new Farm Bill.

Farmer Schintler still worries, though. She said Echollective would not be able to complete all their designated projects without CSP funding, and would certainly be unable to re-enroll in the program after five years.

“As a farmer, you’re not paid for your time,” she said. “I feel really respected in a program that says they’re going to pay me for that time and effort. That’s definitely not the norm.”

Schintler said she’d support the potential change if it streamlined processes or helped the overall farm bill budget. But she questions why congress would cut such a reputable conservation program considering the serious water and air quality challenges we face as a nation.

And she notes, conservation matters for everyone who eats, breathes, or drinks water. “The food system allows everybody else to do all the things they do on a daily basis. They should care about food producers and the farm bill,” Schintler said.

Why the Midwest’s Food System is Failing

Civil Eats

Why the Midwest’s Food System is Failing

The heavily agricultural states in the middle of the country aren’t actually feeding their people. But the 2018 Farm Bill offers an opportunity to change that.

By Karen Perry Stillerman, Commentary, Food Policy      August, 2018

If you’ve perused the new 50-State Food System Scorecard from the Union of Concerned Scientists, you’ve probably noticed a seeming contradiction. As shown on the map below, the heavily agricultural states in the middle of the country aren’t exactly knocking it out of the park when it comes to the overall health and sustainability of their food and farming systems. On the contrary, most of the leading farm states of the Midwest reside in the basement of our overall ranking.

OVERALL STATE FOOD SYSTEM RANKINGS

Map: Overall State Food System RankingsSo what’s that about? A couple of reasons stand out to me.

First, much of what the Midwest grows today isn’t really food (much less healthy food).

Greeting card: greetings from corn corn corn USA

Funny/not funny

It’s true. While we often hear that the region’s farmers are feeding America and the world, in fact much of the Midwest’s farm output today is comprised of just two crops: corn and soybeans. There are various reasons for that, including some problematic food and farm polices, but that’s the reality.

Take the state of Indiana, for example. When I arrived there in 1992 for graduate school (go Hoosiers!), I bought the postcard at right. That year, Indiana farmers had planted 6.1 million acres of corn, followed by 4.55 million acres of soybeans. Together, the two crops covered more than two-thirds of the state’s total farm acres that year.

The situation remains much the same today, except that the crops have switched places: this year, Indiana farmers planted 6.2 million acres of soybeans and “just” 5.1 million acres of corn. Nationwide, soybean acreage will top corn in 2018 for the first time in 35 years.

Regardless of whether corn or soy reigns supreme, the fact is that most of it isn’t destined for our plates. Today, much of the corn goes into our gas tanks. The chart below shows how total U.S. corn production tracked the commodity’s use for ethanol from 1986 to 2016:

US Total Corn Production and Corn Used for Fuel Ethanol Production

Reprinted from the U.S. Department of Energy’s Alternative Fuels Data Center.

The two dominant Midwest crops also feed livestock to produce meat in industrial feedlots, and they become ingredients for heavily processed foods. A 2013 Scientific American essay summarized the problem with corn:

Although U.S. corn is a highly productive crop, with typical yields between 140 and 160 bushels per acre, the resulting delivery of food by the corn system is far lower. Today’s corn crop is mainly used for biofuels (roughly 40 percent of U.S. corn is used for ethanol) and as animal feed (roughly 36 percent of U.S. corn, plus distillers grains left over from ethanol production, is fed to cattle, pigs and chickens). Much of the rest is exported.  Only a tiny fraction of the national corn crop is directly used for food for Americans, much of that for high-fructose corn syrup.

All this is a big part of why, when UCS assessed the extent to which each U.S. state is producing food that can contribute to healthy diets—using measures including percentage of cropland in fruits and vegetables, percentage of cropland in the top three crops (where a higher number means lower diversity), percentage of principal crop acres used for major animal feed and fuel crops, and meat production and large feeding operations per farm acres—we arrived at this map:

RANKINGS BY FOOD PRODUCED

Map: Rankings by food producedAs you can see, the bottom of our scorecard’s “food produced” ranking is dominated by Midwestern states. This includes the nation’s top corn-producing states—Iowa (#50) and Illinois (#48), which together account for about one-third of the entire U.S. crop. It also includes my one-time home, Indiana (#49), where just 0.2 percent of the state’s 14.7 million farm acres was dedicated to vegetablesfruits/nuts, and berries in 2012.

Now let’s switch gears to look at another reason the Midwest performs so poorly overall in our scorecard.

Today’s Midwest agriculture tends to work against nature, not with it.

In addition to the fact that the Midwest currently produces primarily non-food and processed food crops, there’s also a big problem with the way it typically produces those commodities. Again, for a number of reasons—including the shape of federal farm subsidies—the agricultural landscape in states such as Iowa, Illinois, and Indiana is dominated by monoculture (a single crop planted year after year) or a slightly better two-crop rotation (you guessed it, corn and soybeans).

These oversimplified farm ecosystems, combined with the common practice of plowing (AKA tilling) the soil before each planting, degrade the soil and require large applications of fertilizer, much of which runs off farm fields to pollute lakes and streams. Lack of crop diversity also leads to more insect pests, increasing the need for pesticides. Moreover, as corn is increasingly grown in dry pockets of the Midwest such as Kansas and Nebraska, it requires ever-larger quantities of irrigation water. Finally, the whole system relies heavily on fossil fuels to run tilling, planting, spraying, and harvesting equipment.

No wonder that whether we look at resource reliance (including use of commercial fertilizers and chemical pesticides, irrigation, and fuel use) or, conversely, implementation of more sustainable practices (reduced tillage, cover crops, and organic practices, among others), most Midwest states once again lag.

RANKINGS BY RESOURCE RELIANCE

Map: Rankings by resource reliance

RANKINGS BY USE OF CONSERVATION PRACTICES

Map: Rankings by use of conservation practices

But Midwestern farmers want to change the map.

To sum up: In general, the Midwest is using up a variety of limited resources and farming in ways that degrade its soil and water, while falling far short of producing the variety of foods we need for healthy diets. Not a great system. But there are hopeful signs that the region may be starting to change course.

For example, in Iowa, more and more farmers are expanding their crop rotations to add oats or other small grains, which research has shown aids in regenerating soils, improving soil health, and delivering clean water, while also increasing productivity and maintaining profits. Diversifying crops in the field can also help to diversify our food supply and improve nutrition.

Back in my alma mater state of Indiana, farmers planted 970,000 acres of cover crops in 2017—making these soil protectors the third-most planted crop in the state. And in a surprising turn of events just last week, Ohio’s Republican governor signed an executive order that will require farmers in eight Northwest Ohio watersheds to take steps to curb runoff that contributes to a recurring problem of toxic algae in Lake Erie that hurts recreation and poisons Toledo’s drinking water.

A recent UCS poll provides additional evidence that farmers across the region are looking for change. Earlier this year, we asked more than 2,800 farmers across the partisan divide in seven states (Iowa, Illinois, Kansas, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin) about federal farm policies that today incentivize the Midwest agricultural status quo. Nearly three-quarters of respondents indicated they are looking for a farm bill that prioritizes soil and water conservation, while 69 percent supported policies (like farm-to-school supports) that help farmers grow more real food for local consumption. More than 70 percent even said they’d be more likely to back a candidate for public office who favors such priorities.

Speaking of the farm bill, things are coming to a head in Congress this summer over that $1 trillion legislative package that affects all aspects of our food system. As the clock ticks toward a September 30 deadline, the shape of the next farm bill is in question, with drastically different proposals passed by the House and the Senate. Critically important programs—including investments that could help farmers in the Midwest and elsewhere produce more healthy food and farm more sustainably—are at risk.

This article originally appeared on the Union of Concerned Scientists blog, and is reprinted with permission.

Iowa farm photo CC-licensed by Don Graham

How the Navajo Nation Is Reclaiming Food Sovereignty

Civil Eats

How the Navajo Nation Is Reclaiming Food Sovereignty

Through cooking classes, outreach, and social media, a new generation of Native Americans are reconnecting to Indigenous foodways.

By Andi Murphy, Food Deserts, Food Justice     October 17, 2018

Chef Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz driving “the mutton,” or the Mobile Unit for Training and Nutrition (MUTN). (Photo courtesy of Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz.)
In the middle of the Arizona desert, within the 27,000-square-mile Navajo Nation, sits a half-acre garden oasis, bustling with fresh-grown veggies and flowers. Planted in 2016 as part of Coffee Pot Farms in partnership with the local Teesto Chapter, the garden now sprouts a plethora of greens as well as broccoli, peppers, tomatoes, and amaranth. The bushy rows of chilies, potatoes, corn, and garlic stand defiant in the dry desert landscape.

At Coffee Pot Farms, master gardener Artie Yazzie and others host gardening classes and tastings in an effort to teach locals about the varieties of fruits and vegetables that grow in the desert and how they can use them in the kitchen. It’s a response to the lack of cooking skills within the Navajo Nation, a result of the hardships Navajo people have long faced, including forced assimilation and poverty.

Collecting potatoes at Coffee Pot Farms in Dilkon, Arizona. Photo courtesy of Cherilyn Yazzie, co-owner of Coffee Pot Farms.

Collecting potatoes at Coffee Pot Farms in Dilkon, Arizona. Photo courtesy of Cherilyn Yazzie, co-owner of Coffee Pot Farms.

Native chefs and farmer all across the country have been working for years to take control of traditional and contemporary foodways in order to alleviate the ongoing problem of food insecurity in their communities. But growing food isn’t enough if people on the reservation don’t have the time or experience needed to prepare it.

“It was sad, here were some people trying to make a difference by growing the food,” says Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz, a chef and holistic healer who has spent time at Coffee Pot Farms. “But [broccoli] was literally going to waste because no one knew how to cook it.”

Ruiz is part of a multitude of Native-led attempts to address the health, nutrition, and access to healthy food in the Navajo Nation. She leads cooking lessons in rural, Native Southwest communities out of a food truck known as “the mutton” or the Mobile Unit for Training and Nutrition (MUTN). In addition to the more traditional gardening-and-cooking programs, video bloggers and Instagram celebrities are spearheading digital-first efforts to bring Native foodways—including culture and traditions associated with indigenous foods—to Native people by way of their smartphones and tablets.

Changes like these are urgently needed in the Navajo Nation—and many other poor Native communities. The Navajo Nation is the biggest and most populous reservation in the country, and is largely considered a food desert. There are just 10 grocery stores serving the 150,000 Navajo people living there—one grocery store for every 15,000 people. There are many more convenience stores that stock cheap foods high in calories and fat, such as shelf-stable pastries, chips, soda, bread, and sweets; and plenty of places to get fried, fatty foods like frybread and Spam-and-potato breakfast burritos.

Chef Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz demonstrates how to properly hold a knife on the Mobil Unit for Training and Nutrition (MUTN). Photo courtesy of Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz.

Chef Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz demonstrates how to properly hold a knife on the Mobil Unit for Training and Nutrition (MUTN). Photo courtesy of Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz.

This lack of access to fresh, whole foods has predictable consequences: Native Americans have the highest rate of diabetes in the country, according to the Indian Health Services and National Health Interview Survey. To try to address these crises, funds from the Navajo “junk food tax”are distributed to 110 chapters on the reservation for health initiatives, nutrition classes, and community gardens.

At the STAR School near Flagstaff, Navajo students learn about growing food and cooking as part of their curriculum. The Navajo involved in the Fruit and Vegetable Prescription Program are prescribed fresh produce as part of the Community Outreach and Patient Empowerment (COPE) program. And at the political level, a Diné Food Policy, currently under consideration by the Nation’s president and vice president, focuses on food sovereignty—or taking control of food in the Nation to promote health, economics, and self-sufficiency. With a food policy in place, the Nation would have more control over the foods that make their way into grocery stores and make it easier for local farmers to sell their crops.

Not only is Ruiz part of this effort to eat healthier, she’s helping Navajo people reconnect with indigenous foods that grow in the desert—such as wild parsnips, cholla buds, wild spinach, and more.

For some, eating these foods has been an eye-opening experience. “So many people didn’t think about food access as [involving] the food available on the landscape,” Ruiz says.

‘Survival’ Foods

In her classes, Ruiz focuses on what the community already has, and doesn’t have. So in addition to using wild, native ingredients, she also incorporates ingredients that are affordable and available in Navajo grocery stores, such as broccoli and sweet potatoes. She says what she doesn’t do is come into a Native community and start teaching people how to make complicated sauces using expensive ingredients. In fact, Ruiz doesn’t even usually describe herself as a chef; she calls herself a cook when she’s out and about in the MUTN.

On the Navajo Nation, lack of access to kitchen equipment and resources can also make cooking difficult. Appliances like food processors and mixers can cost hundreds of dollars, money that is simply not available to the 43 percent of Navajo people who live in poverty.

Ruiz says that some students in her classes had never before used a large knife or had any sort of cooking lessons, like those offered in some public high-school home economics classes. And that, along with the lack of access to fresh food, speaks to the larger challenge ahead of Ruiz and others: Navajo food culture has coalesced around “poor man’s foods” or “survival foods.”

Miss Tse’ii’ahi 2018-2019, Kaylee Mitchell, sports a new BlueBird Flour dress. Photo courtesy of Jerrica Mitchell.

Miss Tse’ii’ahi 2018-2019, Kaylee Mitchell, sports a new BlueBird Flour dress. Photo courtesy of Jerrica Mitchell.

DIY signs advertising frybread, Navajo tacos, Navajo burgers, tortilla burgers, and Spam-and-potato breakfast burritos take up more space than street signs in small Navajo towns. On the reservation, these foods are a favorite. The 11,000 members of the “Navajo and Pueblo Cooking” Facebook group post a steady photo-stream of potatoes, tortillas, and frybread.

And Bluebird Flour, a brand of bleached white flour sold in a white cotton sack, has become nearly symbolic of Navajo culture. The bluebird logo is made into aprons, earrings, entire two-piece dresses, and incorporated into all facets of contemporary Navajo culture.

“Everything we eat today is processed food, and that’s what is killing us,” says Lena Guerito, nutritionist with the Navajo Nation Special Diabetes Project, a program that includes lessons on food nutrition for Navajos with diabetes. The main foods on a lot of Navajo people’s plates are potatoes and bread, she said. And that’s hard to change.

The “survival foods” so common in the Navajo Nation were born in a time of need. In the late 1800’s, the Navajo were forced by the U.S. government from their homelands in New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah to a prison camp in Fort Sumner, New Mexico.

“People returned [to Navajo lands] to find themselves with new foods that were provided by the U.S. government,” including flour, coffee, and lard, says Denisa Livingston, community advocate and community organizer for Diné Community Advocacy Alliance. “We have become accustomed to thinking that’s what food is.”

In her work as an advocate for food sovereignty—Livingston is the first woman to be elected as the Slow Food International Indigenous councilor of the Global North—she spearheaded the Navajo Nation’s junk food tax initiative. She also started focusing on where cooking habits are formed: mom’s cooking.

“When we look back at what our moms cooked and what our grandmas cooked, I think we have the opportunity to question if [what we’re eating now] really is authentic mom’s cooking or if it’s survival food; and also question if we’re ready to change,” says Livingston.

To her, changing the definition of mom’s cooking is part of the larger, Indigenous movement for food sovereignty. On a small scale, this work can take place at kitchen tables, where people teach their children to cook and value food, she says.

“Increasing the biodiversity on our palate,” is key to spicing things up, Livingston says. “When we experience new foods, new tastes, and new food adventures, it lifts up our spirit and it makes our hearts and minds full. I really believe that our people deserve those kinds of opportunities.”

‘The Fancy Navajo’

Experiencing diverse flavors, ingredients, and restaurants also contributes to personal culinary education. But those things can be added to a long list of things many Navajo people don’t have access to, Livingston says.

Alana Yazzie. (Photo credit: Chelsea Toyi)

Alana Yazzie. (Photo credit: Chelsea Toyi)

And that doesn’t mean the passion for food and adventure is not growing on the reservation. For Alana Yazzie (no relation to Artie Yazzie), culinary adventure meant leaving her parent’s kitchen and setting up one of her own.

“When I got to college and I was exposed to more people, I was out there running with it and learning and trying as much as I could,” Yazzie said of her food adventures. For so long “I was on this restricted diet, and then I was no longer under parental control. I had the power and resources to buy things on my own.”

While in college at Marquette University in Wisconsin, Yazzie broadened her food horizons: Not only did she try colorful, sugared cereals like Lucky Charms for the first time, she also learned about other cultures’ cuisines from her new Indonesian and Filipino friends. She found a love and appreciation for fresh vegetables, backyard gardening, and cooking.

Today, Yazzie is a lifestyle and food blogger in Phoenix who goes by the online name, “The Fancy Navajo,” and has 5,700 followers on Instagram. She has posts recipes such as blue corn quiche, blue corn muffins and pumpkin pancakes, and Navajo boba almond milk tea.

She didn’t always eat this way, though. Yazzie grew up on survival foods, including Hamburger Helper and other foods that came with powdered just-add-water sauces, she says. Her family made ends meet and, as a result, there wasn’t much extra money for eating out, so a lot of cooking happened in her house. From her mother, she learned how to cook dinner, and from her older brother, she learned how to bake.

“[Since] a young age, I’ve always been fascinated with cooking,” Yazzie says. “I’ve always thought of cooking as a family, community-type gathering.”

This summer, Yazzie harvested more kale than she needed from her backyard garden and ran out of ideas for how to use it. She asked her followers and fans on social media for suggestions and they responded with dozens of healthy recipes, she says. It surprised her, a little bit, to see so many suggestions coming from the reservation.

“People are eating kale there,” she says. “It made me happy. Whatever is happening, it needs to continue.”

This paradigm shift is about more than just shared knowledge, says Ruiz. Learning to feed yourself well is also about self worth. “People need to feel like they’re in power, which is hard from a colonized view. We’ve been taught that we’re not important,” she says.

Chef Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz keeps an eye on progress on the Mobile Unit for Training and Nutrition. Photo courtesy of Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz.

Chef Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz keeps an eye on progress on the Mobile Unit for Training and Nutrition. Photo courtesy of Felicia Cocotzin Ruiz.

That’s why Ruiz has positioned herself in a role that allows her to speak to other Native people in a way that shows them she  understands where they’re coming from. They’re not being talked at by an outsider who’s telling them to stop eating everything familiar to them. That, she notes, obviously hasn’t worked in the past. Instead, Ruiz believes that Native-led programs that meet people where they are and use a mix of traditional foodways and 21st-century tools can help chart a new course for food and health in Navajo Nation and beyond.

This article was produced in partnership with Dame Magazine as part of their new podcast, The Fifty One, which explores what national issues look like for women at the local level, starting with a first season focused on food access in their communities. The full episode is embedded below; read more about The Fifty One in Dame Magazine, and subscribe to the podcast on iTunes.