My name is Eric Buhne (he/him), I live and came of age upon the territories of the Lekwungen speaking peoples. I am now finishing up my time working with CRFAIR through a Youth employment and training program; while my time with the team has been all too short, it has yet been an experience fruitful as summer’s berries. For two days I had the honour of participating in CRFAIR’s largest annual event, the Good Food Gathering. I attended events, aided how I could, and captured brief moments of change-making bliss across sessions in the form of photos. The Gathering provides space and time for members of the Good Food Network, people and organizations with the common mission of good food, to meet, share, and grow together. Meet, share, and grow with others I certainly did.
When I started the morning of day one, I prepared for the journey as I listened to a podcast interview with Dave Goulson on the alarming rate of insect death – 75% of their populations within 5 decades. The host, Sam Seder, recalled the breadth of dead insects on his windshield as a boy, and the relatively perfect shimmer it now maintains throughout Summer. As the event began and I attended the opening panel discussion on the event’s theme, “Listening to the Land”, Mark Albany spoke of the same matter – albeit differently. He talked of how, growing up, his environment was filled aplenty with butterflies, bees, and more. However, to see a butterfly now seems a special moment, one that fleets evermore. Reflecting now, I recall a dream I once had, one in which I was surrounded by neon butterflies that flew about me like a celestially inspired murmuration. A dream for me; beyond the imaginary for children of tomorrow, I fear.
In the afternoon, I had the delight of walking with and hearing from Judith Arney, and Sarah Jim, of PEPÁḴEṈ HÁUTW̱, a restoration project at SṈIDȻEȽ (Tod Inlet) and ȾIX̱EṈ (Cordova Spit). While we absorbed various aspects of their project, one in particular stood out to me. Our two guides spoke, once more, of the disappearance of native pollinator species. To provide food and habitat for their return, Judith had constructed several cedar fences that formed open boxes. Within each, the soil had been rid of invasive flower species and planted with native flowers. The goal: to create bastions for these plants, bastions in which they may develop seed layers to propagate themselves and thus spread throughout the remaining area. Soon after, we were invited to spread leaf mulch around one of the sites. When asked why we did this, I responded, “to keep the invasive species from growing and provide nutrients.” While not fully wrong, the correct answer was not one I might have anticipated. To provide habitat for wintering insects.
Before the group left the site in our since-developed mini clusters, we ended as we had begun, amongst each other in a circle of sharing. When it came my turn to share what I had learned and experienced on our walk, I thought of the day’s through line – insects. I told them of the podcast, Mark’s story, and about how the session had pieced it all together with threads of hope. There was a moment in which I paused to hold back tears; a task I feel no need to pursue as I write now.
To tie together this story, bare with me as I share a bit more about myself first. I began my interest in food security for just that purpose, security. I had grown increasingly aware of our utter fragility, aware of the gaps in our food system that could leave it to rupture far too quickly, and I wanted to do something about it. I started the initiative, Curbside Farms Coop, with some friends towards the aim of encouraging people to use space already available – lawns and boulevards – to grow food. Soon, the idea snow-balled into a vision of community ownership over the local food system, an ownership that could see its members as both producers and consumers. A vision of a city partnered with other towns, villages, and regions; partnered to grow food with and for one another, partnered to rebuild soil, decommodify life’s necessities, and embolden communities through reciprocity. As my concept of what could be built changed over time, I spoke of it differently. Apart from nourishing our bodies with the tangible, I slowly developed an understanding of the transformative potential in the intangible results of growing and sharing together, in community.
I remember fondly the first time I experienced the intangible results of growing food. In Fall of 2019, I planted spinach to be overwintered for Spring consumption. One summer evening I sat with them in reflection; they’d since been left to bolt. I touched their leaves and felt their soft texture, contemplating the end of their lifecycle. As I sat with them, every memory I had of watching them grow, from seed to stock, returned to my mind’s eye. I thought of the compost I had helped make, the compost that had helped make them; I thought of watering them when they needed it; and I thought of the pests I’d delicately plucked and rehomed from their bodies. For a long moment, I felt the personal relationship we had developed over the many months; the body I had helped it build, and that which it had nourished. I mourned the impending loss of my friend but rejoiced in the time we had spent together. Once more again now, I shed a tear in memory of a loved one.
Recentring my thoughts now back onto PEPÁḴEṈ HÁUTW̱: as we prepared to leave our conclusionary sharing circle, our guides called upon us to do one more thing, to share what we had learned with another person. In case I have not already done so as you’ve read my words, I will now be concise. The work of building food sovereignty, the penultimate solution to food security as I understand it, is about more than food’s consumption. It is about our direct involvement and engagement with the food system; we must be active decision makers – proper participants. My vision is of a life where the origin and growth of our food is intimately woven into our everyday experiences. Woven such that we may feel what I felt for my spinach, though not for a moment, rather everyday as we live in place. Perhaps it is impossible, but I have to believe that the love I experienced with that one plant may be available to all of us as more than a fleeting experience.
It is experiences such as those at the Good Food Gathering that harken me to recall the roots of my passion, those that I often cannot sense as they are intangible and yet realized – the somatic destination I am pursuing. In one day, I was transported from the digital realm of destitution, transported by the prompts of my day’s guides and experiences, back into the internal space that I endeavor to help build with and for all of us. For the plants, for the insects, for myself, and for more I hope. PEPÁḴEṈ HÁUTW̱ spoke the meaning of its name to me that day, Blossoming Place. May there be yet more moments in which the many possible colours of life bloom in full. Thank you for your time, and for holding space for me.
Be well, friend
Eric
