I do not own an eco-mug. I think compost is kind of gross. I have personally prepared The Bacon Explosion twice. But I recently drove two hours and gave up a whole Saturday to attend the Vermont Statewide Farm to Plate Summit. Now, why would a guy about as crunchy as a Twinkie smothered in nacho cheese find himself in the People's Republic busily taking notes on micro-wholesale, community-supported distribution co-ops?
In January, I read an article that reported on the Farm-to-Dartmouth program, which is part of a three-year initiative to increase the College's consumption of local food, ("Program inspires local food buying," Jan. 22). According to the article, "Rising environmental and social awareness has led to burgeoning demand for locally-grown agricultural products in the United States in recent years." Not long before this, I was suspicious of the same local food movement. Like anything born of "rising environmental and social awareness," for me it evoked self-applauding activists padding their socially progressive rsums at others' expense. In my experience, food issues revolved around too many claims and counterclaims, and too few facts. Ultimately, I found the flurry of conflicting opinions about which foods we should be eating, all voiced in the same tones of moral superiority or paranoiac urgency, distasteful.
My general skepticism aside, local food seemed to have its economics backward. Why even bother growing tomatoes in New England when they can be grown better (more red than beige) and cheaper (even after shipping) in California? I had heard of the indirect costs of food like environmental impact, but such indirect costs are more difficult to quantify, and therefore that much less compelling, than the clear benefits of abundance and variety. But a critical second look at the food market has changed my mind.
Human economic behavior continually reflects that we have dearer concerns than maximizing our financial utility. Charitable giving, health care spending and hospitality are prime examples of monetary investments that do not necessarily pay financial returns. We show a consistent willingness to exchange money for other goods that represent values like generosity, health and relationships. Consequently, an ideal food market would tend to maximize those other forms of utility as well. In short, food should be for more than making money; it should contribute to overall quality of life. How could a more robust market for local food help?
Buying local combines the business relationship between producers and consumers with a personal relationship between members of a community. In the impersonal world of corporate farms and supermarkets, the type of mutual accountability fostered by personal relationships is impossible, since large companies can only respond to major shifts in market forces. Personal relationships, on the other hand, can be based on trust and mutual understanding between individuals. When producers and consumers meet as neighbors, producers are held responsible for providing a high quality product, and consumers are held responsible for paying a fair price. Furthermore, the expansion of the national and international food market tends to blur regional distinctions in cuisine, effectively homogenizing the food culture. Reliance on locally available products could help resist the gravity toward the lowest common denominator caused by assimilation into larger markets. That leaves more room for distinction and excellence. Finally, money spent on local food stays local, and the more regularly that money is cycled through the local economy, the more sustainable and profitable the cycle becomes. Buying local can turn your grocery bill into an investment in your community.
Though I see some potential advantages in buying more local food, I am not trying to spin them into a sales tactic. Buying local food just because it's local would defeat the purpose. Its ability to enhance quality of life is dependent upon actually engaging in the personal relationships that enable it. That means getting to know producers, then buying what you like from who you like. This can be part of a pragmatic approach to maximizing "food utility." It certainly requires an adjustment, but if we are in agreement that community, accountability and efficiency are values worth aspiring to, then rethinking our roles as consumers is a step in the right direction, and that right direction (to our next meal, of course) might not take us that far away.
