Food Security and Climate Change

Some years peppers are abundant; others, not so much.

This June our local weather here in Vermont has been abysmal. Rain is about two inches over the average for this month, and the month isn't over yet. 

Our deluge appears to be the result of a Persistent Arctic Cyclone of unusual duration. Speculation is running rampant as to whether this is tied to global climate change, and climatologists and sea ice specialists are intently discussing the relationship of the cyclone to sea-ice breakup and a rising thermocline in arctic waters. 

Be that as it may, my garden is seeing record rains. My pepper plants, so fabulously lush last year, look like drowned rats. Several eggplant plants have died. Yet other things are thriving. All the greens, from lettuce to cabbage, could not be happier. I've never had this many peas in all my  years of gardening. And I've been eating beets and turnips out of the garden a month earlier than usual. 

My home food security relies on resiliency arising from planting a wide diversity of food crops, sprinkled with a substantial layer of flexible attitude. I don't dictate to my garden what it will produce. I let my garden tell me what is going to grow well, and just roll with that. 

I never know from one year to the next whether this is going to be a hot dry summer or a cold wet summer (or heck, as it is so far this year, a hot wet summer). So I plant sweet potatoes and kale, hot peppers and overwintering cabbage, tomatoes and arugula -- things that like hot, and things that like cold. I see how the weather is going.  I see what withers and what flourishes. I watch the sky and the almanac and eavesdrop on the farmers in the diner and then take a risk and throw in an extra row of peas or an extra flat of basil. 

I may not get the same produce every year, but whatever I get is a bounty and a blessing and I figure out what to do with it. Last year I had more hot peppers than I'd imagined possible in my small Vermont garden. I dried a bunch, made mountains of salsa, and then looked at the last bucket full and decided to try making hot sauce, which turned out wonderfully.  This year does not exactly look like it's going to be a hot pepper year, but I'll be using that hot sauce on my abundance of turnip greens tonight. 

In bad tomato years, I've made zucchini salsa instead, or batches of apple-green tomato chutney. When the brussels sprouts never came in, we ate the tender delicious greens off the top of the brussels sprouts stems. When the radishes started bolting early instead of forming radishes, I yanked them out, threw them to the chickens, and swiftly planted some heat-loving summer squash in their place. 

Our industrial food system, however, is so large and commercial-market-driven that farmers -- agricultural industrialists -- are not responding to the land and letting the earth and climate guide their hand in what to plant to produce healthful abundance. The drive to deliver X amount of wheat for processed white flour, or iceberg lettuce to decorate burger buns, or watermelons of a certain size and color to meet a contract with a huge supermarket chain, means that the resiliency I've built into my garden is utterly lacking. Flexibility and redundancy are not watchwords of our current food economy. And that puts our large-scale food supply at risk. 

While this risk can be seen as driven by commercial agricultural interests, it can also be seen as responding to market forces. The American consumer demand for white bread, white potato fries, and corn means that vast quantities of these monocrops will be grown -- at least until they fail.

Anything that you can do at home to diversify your food sources will help to ameliorate this large-scale risk. Grow some salad greens or sprouts on a windowsill or porch; buy from a farmers market or swap with a local gardener; even buying types of produce that you haven't tried before (kohlrabi? parsley root?) will help to encourage diversity in food markets. Go for the locally baked multi-grain breads, the brown eggs, the cornmeal from a small regional company. Your choices will help our food systems weather the storms of change.