sustainable living

Locavore: What It Means to Me

By | May 12, 2019
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The day they found me under the mango tree.
The day they found me under the mango tree.

I did not choose to be a sustainable edible gardener. The mango, the Seminole pumpkin and the native persimmon chose me. It goes beyond words like locavore and permaculture – it is a way of life.

I was born and raised in Homestead, the youngest of five siblings born to an Illinois transplant couple. My father was from a first-generation family cattle and grain farm, and my mother was the daughter of a Baptist minister. They fully assimilated into South Florida’s version of sustainable living. As early as I remember, we were eating what we raised and wasting nothing. My father grew a wide diversity of fruits and vegetables and my mother used them on our dining table. I would graze on the fruit too insignificant to warrant entry into the house and carry in the mangos, tamarinds, avocados, sapodilla and all the other fruit of the season to be cut, dried, cooked or made into pies. In the winter, the vegetable garden would be planted with lettuce, squash and tomatoes, while calabaza, cassava, chayote and pigeon peas would fill in the months and spaces in between.

What we couldn’t eat at harvest would be hot-packed and put on the shelf. We would wade through the Everglades to collect persimmons and Seminole pumpkins, fish for snook and redfish, and forage and trade for fruit and vegetables in the suburbs. Today, we would be called locavores, but if you had referred to us like that back then, my father and mother would politely smile in quiet amusement. We were living in an edible sustainability; no more, no less.

First meeting of Mango Men Homestead
First meeting of Mango Men Homestead

Waste Not

Nothing left our property except for non-plant-based refuse. All branches, wood, peels, seeds and table scraps stayed in our yard and created organic matter for the future in a circle of life as natural as breathing. Our lifestyle was defined by the nature of our location, the changing of the seasons and the fruits and vegetables adapted to our corner of the world. Some might call it permaculture, but it came naturally. My father’s and my own version of sustainable production was rooted in books and horticultural science, evolving into a structure of experience, trial, error and failure: Grow the crops that are adapted to your climate and avoid those that are not, for you cannot fool Mother Nature. We left as small a footprint as possible.

We experimented with cacao, cashew, mangosteens, durians and fruits adapted to humid, tropical climates and often acid soils. But the square peg does not fit into a round hole. When we paid attention to environmental realities and cues, success was ours. With the square-peg, cold-sensitive and acid-loving crops, we almost always met with failure.

When I owned my own place, I tried again, only to be chastised by my backyard neighbor (my father) and by the cold, the wind and the earth itself. Experimentation is a noble exercise, but too much failure is tough on the soul. I learned my lesson about growing plants adapted to my surroundings. Edible gardening is not about proving anything, but rather about learning to live within your environment.

The Campbell kids.
The Campbell kids. Family photo

Choreographed Dance

Sometimes I lead, sometimes I follow. But I never impose my will at the expense of the laws of nature. Just once, I witnessed my father violate this rule. Overworked and overburdened in resources and time, he applied an herbicide on our home garden. The herbicide came from a neighbor who was convinced that the untidy weeds growing beneath our citrus trees along the property line harbored snakes that would most certainly kill his family. My father acquiesced and applied the herbicides. The weeds died down, only to come back with a vengeance, deeper rooted and more resistant than ever. He never made this mistake again. The weeds were pulled by hand. Justice is swift and uncompromising in the edible garden, where the laws of nature trump the laws of man.

As gardeners and imperfect human beings, we must remain vigilant and resist the temptation of modern shortcuts and labor-saving chemicals that draw us to ruin upon the jagged shores of unsustainability. Instead, look to the chickens, the ducks and the honeybee hive to teach us respect and our place in our edible world. The noble earthworm, toiling away the hours in darkness, provides us with the building blocks of sustainability. Whether you’re a locavore, permaculturist, or just living within your world, fight the darkness, my brothers and sisters. Alluring as it can be, the dark train of the chem-agro mindset leads only to unsustainability and, ultimately, horticultural ruin.