The Hidden Farmer

The good all around us is the product of many unknown but faithful stewards

Photo by Carles Rabada on Unsplash

That there is wholesome food on your table and fertile soil in the fields, is half owing to the multitude of Good Farmers who have laboured with ceaseless motion from sunrise to late in their hidden fields, and who will come to rest in forgotten parish graves.¹

---

The majority of our farmers are nameless, unthanked, unknown individuals — at least to those of us for whom the supermarket is where we purchase the fruits of their tireless labour. The farmers who supply these mega-stores may simply exist as a code on the corporate buyers’ spreadsheets — dehumanised by a corporate food system that loves to squeeze them out of existence². In this day and age, we may even remain ignorant of the very country from which our food originates; this information being hidden and obscured by a hyper-globalised food system, where geographically disparate food stuffs are aggregated into place-anonymous mass-tradable commodities. Our farmers, and their farms, are thus nameless to us and neglected by the food system. And rarely do we notice.

In previous eras, residents of a community would often have known of, and most probably would have known well, the farmers of their locality³. Besides the fact that many of these residents would have found their vocation as farmhands and labourers, the community members were dependent on their local farmers for a substantial portion of their daily sustenance and would have to interact with them (or their associates) to acquire what they need. It was local farm produce that predominantly lined the shelves in the local shops — the butchers, the greengrocers, the dairies, and the market — and it was local farmers who walked the road to the local church to sit in its pews and local farmers who gave their patronage to the post office, pub, and village store. Everywhere one turned, one was reminded of the local farmers who graced the community. All this meant that it was almost impossible to think of produce without also thinking of the grower. In such an environment, a spirit of gratefulness was fostered between the Good Farmer(s) and the local population — a fitting disposition for a relationship that concerns the provision of one’s daily bread⁴.

There still exist pockets of our society — often tucked away deep in rural hinterlands — where this first (and second) name familiarity persists. I had a first-hand experience of this earlier in the year when I was in one of my favourite parts of the UK, the Longsleddale valley in the heart of the Lake District. Outside of the award-winning (yes, really) public toilets in this remote valley, I started up a conversation with the lady whose turn it was on the rota for the upkeep of the “public facilities”. She was a resident of the valley and as I mentioned the family name of my aunt (who was kindly driving my wife and I around) a smile of recognition reflexively lit up this woman’s face. She knew my aunt’s extended family, who lived at the mouth of the valley, and ran over to see her. What followed was an impromptu ‘village grapevine’ session where news of the inhabitants of the valley was shared, old memories and stories recounted, and farmers and their histories were mentioned by name. Everyone in the valley — farmer and non-farmer — knew each other intimately. It was a delight and joy to witness — and it is heartening to know that this ancient habitus of name-knowing and communal affection is still alive and well in the 21st Century.

Long may it continue.

---

It is not just in the rural hinterlands where farmers are known by their names. Even in the most surprising of places, a revival of naming is starting to blossom. For in the glistening halls of the corporate food regime, tentative efforts are underway to dignify (some of) our farmers. A positive development I have observed is that on some vegetable packaging in my local supermarket, the name of the grower is printed in small print on the front. It may only be a small victory (and may just be a marketing ploy), but it is a step I shall celebrate. It is a small gesture by which the corporate giant begins to dignify its suppliers. It is a mark of respect that implicitly says “This is who to thank for producing your food. Your food does not come from Tesco, Walmart, or Lidl — rather it comes from the soil on this named man or woman’s farm.”.

However, it is only on a select few packages that the name of the farmer is given. On most labels, the name of the corporation and its brand takes pride of place, while the name of the farmer is nowhere to be seen. And this does something to us. We may not be aware of the disposition that is effected in us but this anonymisation of the farmer, and this disconnect from grower and produce, removes the human connection from our food turns it into a mere fuel or commodity for our consumption rather than a gift to be received with thanks⁵. The food we grasp in our hands is the product of the farmer’s countless hours of care and attention coupled with the productive energies of sunlight and soil — but how often do we think of this? And how often do we give thanks? Probably rarely, if ever.