It's October. Welcome to 425+ years of Filipino American History. While reflecting on our community's legacies and connections to this land, we shed light on just how deeply this story is woven into the story of food and agricultural systems. This is true whether talking about the first Filipinos in the bayous, Alaskeros in the salmon canneries, to the struggles of farmworkers for dignity. That history, that story of connection, isn't over yet.
Last week, I was invited to lead a seeds lesson to 2nd and 3rd grade classes. While preparing the lesson, I felt surprisingly nervous, more than if I was going to address a room full of young adults. I knew this wouldn't be the time to get into topics like Monsanto and agribusiness, the benefits of sustainable farming, seedsaving, or the current debate around the right to know campaign on GMO foods.
How do you get to what a seed really is? How to touch its essence, and not define it by the complex issues surrounding it? This felt like turning a novel - a whole library, really - into a haiku.
So when I entered the classroom and faced 20 pairs of friendly eyes, I asked them to close those eyes for a minute and imagine a world without plants. To really imagine it. What would that world look like, smell like, be like? When they opened their eyes, they shared some of their ideas.
We couldn't breathe any air, said one girl. Everything would be dry and nothing would be green, added a boy. There would be no flowers. There would be nothing for us or the animals to eat. (Later, we talked about how even our clothes are from plants - many of us were wearing cotton). I heard this one repeated often: we need the plants to make our earth more beautiful.
I asked them who could tell us what a seed is, what it does. "A seed is the part of the plant that grows into another plant." And what does a seed need to grow? So many eager hands shot up. They knew: air, water, space, good dirt, and sunlight.
We talked about the seeds we knew and loved to eat. They named fruits like kiwi, and dishes like refried beans and rice. Jars full of seeds to smell and touch were passed around the circle, full of red rice grains, millet, multicolored heirloom corn, bright lentils and whole, sweet-smelling vanilla pods.
At the end of the day, reorganizing the little jars of seeds, I couldn't help but think about the adult world outside this school classroom. How we get ourselves so confused at times. It's trite, but talking with the very young is perhaps the most potent reminder of what adults need to be reminded of. There is so much noise we either cut through or get caught in. I wondered:
To the boy who answered that seeds are the things that grow into other plants - what would he think if he later learns that some seeds have been engineered so the plants do not produce viable seeds?
To the kids who said seeds simply need good dirt, sunlight, space, water and clean air - what would they think about agriculture that leans on artificial fertilizers and pesticides, and poisons people and those very things needed to survive?
The truth is that if we do not shift course from where things are now, in a major way, that reality will continue and is exactly what they will inherit. The youngest and most vulnerable of our society see and know the simple truths. We owe the best we can do to restore and protect the promise of seeds.
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