The Factory in the Field: A Story of Modern Farming
It was a hot morning in July—somewhere in Kansas, if memory serves—and I was driving past an endless field of corn. Now, 'cornfield' sounds rather quaint, doesn't it? You picture amber waves, red barns, a child perhaps waving a straw hat in the distance.
But this wasn’t quaint. This was industrial. An ocean of monoculture, stretching to the ends of the earth, as though God Himself had said, ‘Let there be ethanol.’
And it made me think—about food. Not what we eat, mind you, but where it comes from.
You see, the American farm has changed more in the last hundred years than it did in the previous thousand. We have taken the barn and turned it into a factory. We’ve replaced the farmer with a spreadsheet, and the seed with a patent.
Once, the taste of a tomato could tell you the story of the soil it came from. The bitterness of a green pepper told you the rain had been light that year. But now? It tells you nothing.
Because it was grown not for taste, or memory—but for shipment. For shelf life.
And that, to me, is where geography becomes not just about maps and place names, but about meaning.
Geography teaches us that where things are matters. That food from here is not food from there. That climate, culture, and economy all come together in a tomato—or a taco.
So the next time you're in a supermarket, picking up a plastic clamshell of strawberries in December, just pause for a moment. Think of the man on a ladder in a field in Mexico, the truck driver watching the frost roll in over Bakersfield, the refrigerated container ship idling in the Port of Houston.
And realize: you're not just buying fruit. You're buying a network. A miracle of modernity, yes—but also a kind of amnesia.
The kind that forgets that once, taste had a place. And it mattered."
TLDR You bite a tomato today and it tells you… nothing.
ReplyDeleteNot the rain. Not the soil. Not even the season.
That’s because we no longer grow food for flavor. We grow it for shipment.
The family farm has become an industrial spreadsheet—designed not for people, but for supply chains.
But geography? It remembers.
It tells us taste had a place. That a pepper from Puebla is not the same as one from Pittsburgh.
And maybe that’s what we’ve lost. Not just flavor—but origin.
And that matters more than we think.