Growing Food, Growing a Virtuous Self

The rich agrarian benefits of growing (some of) your own food

“Growing our food, unlike buying it, is a complex activity, and it affects deeply the shape and value of our lives.” - Wendell Berry, Family Work.

Photo by Theodor Sykes on Unsplash

“What can I do?”

Nine times out of ten when conversing with someone about agrarianism, this question will be asked at some point during our conversation. If offered in good faith — and if it is not simply an evasion strategy along the lines of “But what could I possibly do?” — then this is a question I love to hear. It means this person is thinking, perhaps for the very first time, about how they can live a more wholesome, sustainable, and healthy lifestyle — a lifestyle better for both the land and their own body. Their affections have been kindled and, more importantly, the desire to change their life has risen to the surface — a disposition all too rare in our change-resistant society where any suggestion that we should change our lives is normally swatted away from our thoughts as if it were an annoying fly.

“What can I do?” The question is thus a golden opportunity. Much positive and enduring good for this person’s local place could result from the answer that I give. The trouble, though, is how should I respond.

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As I look back to how I have answered this question in the past, I must confess I often fall back on my standard answer of “buying better” whereby I encourage folk to get into the costly habit of buying what is better for farmers, for the environment, and for animal welfare. Let us be under no disillusion, this form of good consumption matters. A lot. Over the course of one’s life, consistently “buying better” does make a significant difference to one’s place as it financially supports the good local farmers who labour hard to steward their lands and creatures well. Our lifelong consumption choices are the single biggest impact, for good or for ill,¹ that we have on our planet and our local areas. An agrarian must commit to “buying well”.²

However, though much good results from altering our consumptive behaviours, my stock and standard answer to “what can I do?” is deficient. Modern-day consumption is all about dealing with the land through proxies, and the number one proxy for most of us is the supermarket (and the industrial farms which feed them). And though the agrarian-minded person’s proxy may be the local farmers market, it is debatable whether simply buying good food is enough to turn one into a fully-fledged agrarian. As Wendell Berry states, “Agrarianism can never become abstract because it has to be practiced in order to exist.”³

A core part of agrarianism is, then, the reformation our personal connection to our local lands. An agrarian should not deal with the land solely through proxies; there must be some direct, affectionate, and skilful involvement with the place where you are — its soil, its creatures, its farmers, and its fellow agrarians.

The agrarian must get his or her hands dirty from time to time.

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How, then, should my answer to “What can I do?” be different? How can it be less abstract and more tangible to the soil and to place? As I have reflected on this, one other practice has impressed itself upon me as something that should characterise the lives of all agrarians. And whereas not everyone can afford to buy well (or buy like an agrarian) all the time, this is something that is accessible to all and everyone who owns a plot of land, no matter how small it is. Even a balcony or a windowsill in the midst of the urban jungle will suffice.

The want-to-be agrarian should learn how to grow (some) of their own food. The reasons for this are as deep as they are extensive…