Regenerative Didn’t Taste Very Good

It keeps happening, especially to me, the contrary farmer—–that words don’t equate to actions.

Some say I’m too sensitive, too argumentative or too much of a dreamer to change the status quo. I contain, within me, the burden of silence. But today it spills out onto paper.

American cultural anthropologist, Margaret Mead said, “Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For, indeed, that’s all who ever have.” Seems I may have history on my side.

The back-story, because there’s always one, was my attendance at a prominent NY university for a forum where a “regenerative” agriculture track was highlighted and interpreted by individual farmers, ag organizations and conservation folks. The keynote speaker inspired the guests by saying, “Resilience is about connection”.

Each speaker talked about what regenerative practices looked like on their landscape within their context and how it has helped them achieve their holistic goals. Organizations took the opportunity to speak on the narrative of regenerative, climate change, environmental funding mechanisms, and lots of new programs and gobs of money that are going to “support” farmers on the ground to help save the planet from ourselves.

It was all good and relevant information to learn until I picked up a plate and saw the false narrative as I joined the buffet line.

Pundits would say “Your lucky to have a good, safe meal at a reasonable price so just put your attitude to bed and eat”. Others would agree that I could boycott the feast and not eat the offering because I have choices about my food selections.

Frankly, I didn’t labor at the buffet and embarrass myself among my peers, UNTIL, I went to get a beverage to wash it all down. There in front of me was water, tea and vending machine soda but no milk for the thirsty, New York, Dairy-State, 5th generation, “regenerative-minded” farmer.

I sorta lost it from the inside, if I could be quite honest. When I asked about the milk, I got the signature eye-roll that indicated, tough s***.

At that point, I had to make a decision. Press for a serving of nature’s goodness to the chagrin of the server or let it go till another day. The problem is for me as a New York farmer is the burden to sequester your emotions and the honesty and realization that many don’t “get it”.

My experience at these types of venues is “it’s always about the milk”. It seems to be the forgotten one. However, it’s my rallying cry, my line in the sand, because NY dairy products are the easiest items to source, without question. Wanna inspire some regeneration? Serve a glass of New York milk and tame this beastly farmer.

I must admit, this is not an isolated situation, I’ve written about this kind of experience in the past, much to the annoyance of another university claiming to be planet-friendly in my editorial to the Ithaca Journal entitled “This Apple Tastes like Diesel Fuel”.

The hackles went up back in 2008 when I wrote about a fall, NY Agriculture conference at a Finger Lakes hotel chain who also couldn’t muster any local harvest season fare. 15 years ago I said, “Is it me or have we lost our connection with the farmers and the land to which we serve when we don’t eat the food from our own state. We’re not eating our words.”

Naturally, the experience drew me into the plate of food before me, as I sat alone wallowing what must be expressed. I started to ask questions of the plate. Was there anything here from a New York farm? Was there anything here produced from a regenerative-minded farm? Truth be told, the USDA-inspected food came from a truck amalgamated from who knows where at a price point folks at the venue could afford. However, it lacked an inspiring story and connection to the theme of regeneration and a New York State farmer.

I totally get feeding people on a budget but for the narrative of sustainability, climate, consumers and the farmers, couldn’t we practice some leadership for the messaging and give it the ole college try?

The plate to me, represented commodification not regeneration especially during the abundant “harvest season” in New York.

When I brought my sulking, plight home, my wife whipped up my excitement with a local NYS menu in 5 minutes. It included red and sweet potatoes, squash, soups, grass-fed beef, farmstead chicken and pork, greens and a cornucopia of vegetables, quiches of all varieties and of course, abundant artisan breads and plenty of fruit pies and cobblers topped with ice-cream, maple syrup or honey.

The point to the exercise was to say, “it’s totally possible” to walk the talk but it’s going to take a committed effort by all who want to have a resilient connection to the stewards and the lands they manage. Ya wanna talk about or preach the merits of a regenerative future? It starts from the soil to the plate. To which I say, “stick a fork in it, I’m done”; for now. . . .

In honor of a certain Madison County farmer who detests not having milk at events!