Since I was about 10 years old, I’ve had a strong interest in

being outdoors and living an environmentally friendly

lifestyle. As I got older, I honed my interests to be focused
towards gardening, agriculture, and food. As I continue to
learn and explore in the world, I’ve come to recognize the
position of privilege that I’m in as a middle-class white
person.

This photo was taken on Cedar Rock Farm in Canby, OR

(2016). I had the opportunity to work on this permaculture
farm during my spring break. Many of my fellow
work-traders were homeless prior to moving into tents on
this farm. The 15 or so of us who worked there shared
lunch and dinner together, much of which came from food
banks or the farm itself.

This was an amazing experience and highlighted the

interesting dynamic between people with the ability to
choose to live and work on this farm during a break from
my daily routine and college life (me) and people who came
to the farm in need of a place to live and work. Even still,
this particular farm operates separate from the problematic
system of migratory farm workers, many of whom are
illegal immigrants, and are underpaid, job insecure, face
high exposure to pesticides and other harmful work
environments, and receive little if any benefits for their
work.
After studying abroad in Italy, I made my way to Ireland, where I spent one week WWOOFing in Donegal (left and
middle left, 2015) and three weeks WWOOFing in Crosshaven (middle right and right, 2015). Here I learned, amongst
many other things, beekeeping, foraging for wild herbs and medicinal plants, and how to use them. While medicinal
plants have a long and rich history (as they were once our only form of medicine!), again, this is a mark of my privilege
that I can travel across seas to learn how to use plants and work in gardens. Both of my hosts were comfortable
financially and maintained healthy diets. Each had the ability to grow or forage for medicinal plants.
This past September, I travelled to the Valle del Elqui in Chile (left and right, 2017).
This experience was a lot different than my first visit to Chile. My hosts both had
full-time jobs, and I was mostly left to my own devices as I weeded and trimmed the
garden and orchard they had in their yard. Their food production, while much more
extensive than the average garden, was more of an intense hobby, and they did not
rely on this for any source of income.
One of the major
elements of my hosts’ landcare was their beekeeping.
They had probably around fifty homemade beehives
(pictured in the wheelbarrow, right) which they would use to transplant hives from trees (middle) into a location of their
choice. The way that my hosts’ see their relationship to the land reflects the way that I see mine- we have a responsibility
to care for it, but it is also a testament to the opportunities we’ve had in life that we can consider beekeeping or food
production to be a hobby, not a livelihood. We are healthy, educated, and have consistent access to nutritious diets. We
are not part of the paradox of the massive amounts of farm workers who face food insecurity and malnutrition.
My first time in Chile, I WWOOFed in Comuna Río Claro on
a blackberry and flower farm (top and bottom, 2016). I
believe this was a very important experience in developing
my views on the relationship between food and inequality,
and marks a crucial turning point from putting myself in
situations that match my own lifestyle to pushing myself
out of my comfort zone into someone else’s way of life.

Though my host family had a large amount of land, it was

far from any town and the living conditions were more
rustic than I am accustomed to- we had a pit toilet,
showers were cold, and we slept in sleeping bags near the
fireplace in the back shed.

My hosts rely on this farm for their livelihood. Their

workers are only themselves and unpaid volunteers (like
me), who are fed and housed in tents or the back shed in
exchange for work.

Once again, this highlights a big divide between people like

me, who have the potential to romanticize the farming life
and have the opportunity to choose it, and people who are
born into this lifestyle and may not have the opportunity to
live any other way.
My time studying in Bahía de Caráquez in Ecuador was another eye-opening experience in my development towards understanding
the relationship between food, health, education, and inequality. Though the 7.8 earthquake that rocked Ecuador in April of 2016
was more than a year ago, this once popular resort town for expats and retirees is still working on rebuilding itself and its community.
While I was there, my school program partnered with the Planet Drum Foundation, and worked in their greenhouse. The photos
show our transplants being planted in coconuts and reused soda bottles (left and middle, 2017) as well as our hand-painted
“Welcome to the Planet Drum Greenhouse” sign (right, 2017). The greenhouse was relocated after its past location at a nearby
university crumbled in the earthquake and has been closed since. Many of Bahía’s residents are still displaced following the
destruction. By contrast, empty high-rise apartments that used to house the expat, retiree, and seasonal vacationer population stand
pristinely rebuilt above crumbled buildings and makeshift homes where locals live, likely without consistent access to food.
I think that this photo (Otavalo,
Ecuador, 2017) is a
near-perfect representation of
the way our food systems have
changed as we’ve globalized
and created more striking
disparities in terms of food
security, health, access to
education, and inequality.
These four Otavaleña women
sell fruits, vegetables, and
other foods on the outskirts of
the massive Otavalo market- a
major draw for tourists who
come primarily for clothing,
art, and other souvenirs (seen
behind the women). This is a
clear example of the disparity
in income and ways of life-
foreign travelers like me versus
these local women who may
have little other option but to
sell their goods in the market.