Insight and inspiration in turbulent times.
I reiterate my assumption that we will end up with a great degree of simplification in a post-collapse world. My assumption is also that there will be enough steel and energy to forge useful tools for agriculture and that the auxiliary energy needed over and above human muscle power will be a mix of animal traction, biomass, electricity from renewables as well as limited use of fossil fuels, at least where they are regionally available.
I do think we need this feast to return to its roots, as a potlatch, a bonding redistribution of wealth and full bellies, a rapprochement across the great divides, and a coming together in joy to feed each other. We need something that draws us into community, that builds ties, that creates relationship and memories.
East Texas farmers and ranchers are finding out to their dismay that water has become a commodity like so many of our daily needs.
The short, natural experiment we all witnessed reinforces that SNAP is the nation’s first line of defense against hunger and food insecurity and food pantries can only be a secondary and supplemental source of food. Food pantries and food banks cannot substitute for a robust, reliable, government-funded food safety net.
The debate continues, but one certainty is that we must make the production and consumption of meat and dairy more sustainable and realign our agricultural systems with planetary boundaries and dietary guidelines.
We must enforce, fund, and model policies that recognize the forest not merely as a carbon repository, but as the planet’s irreplaceable air conditioning and freshwater generation system.
The world’s cities creep closer to actual water system collapse.
Virginia tree farmers reintroduce an iconic tree that was decimated by blight.
Post-partisan practice is not compromise; it’s a strategy for shared survival. Perhaps the path through this civilizational turning begins with a simpler question: What does this place need, and who else shares that need?
In truth, I’m not massively optimistic that the new dark age will turn out too well for many people, but I think once one has appraised the reality of the surrounding darkness it’s always worth looking for the light as best one can and seeking least worst responses to our predicaments. Whether we find it or not is another matter.
On Gilliard Farms, history isn’t buried. It grows through story, through healing, through heritage. On its 50 acres of Georgia soil, the past is not something to look back on but something still alive beneath every footprint, carrying forward the memory of all who refused to be forgotten.
The call of ‘The Food You Eat Is Poisoned’ brings us to realize that we are all touched by the same industrial system — and healing must be collective.
