my [food]print

An in-depth look at the greenhouse gas emissions my most commonly eaten foods produce.
For a lot of folks, the term carbon footprint is synonymous with driving their car. But it actually extends into what a person eats. Certain foods have higher carbon impacts than others. For example (and generally speaking), cheese has a higher impact than almond milk, but both have higher impacts than a tomato. So, before I changed my diet to locally grown foods, I wanted to look at my general impact currently. 

A BBC article with a carbon footprint calculator allowed me to look into thirteen of my most commonly eaten foods (though they offer thirty-four). The program also includes the water consumption required to produce a certain food (which I did not include in my food pyramid, but is certainly interesting to look at). The numbers they offer only look at the production of the food though (which in of itself varies dramatically by situation), not all that’s required to get it onto a grocery store shelf, and ultimately, into my home. Which, in theory, seems like it should be a big factor to consider.

So, what happens if that food is grown and produced within 100 miles of where I live? Does it lower my carbon footprint? Truth be told, only maybe. Purely based off food miles (the distance a food item travels from a farm to get to a person’s plate and serves as a way of tracking its emissions), I could lower my footprint by four to five percent (even though most food in the United States is estimated to have been transported an average of 1,500 miles according to this site). Even then, that percentage depends on whether the food was brought to me by a ship, plane, semi-truck, or train. And the remaining 95 percent or so of what I’m going to call my foodprint depends mostly on what I’m eating (seasonality, for example, or if I'm a vegan) and how that food is produced. That’s because the production of food makes up the majority of its footprint (check out this article to learn more about that.)

On face value then, it would seem as though my mission is doomed before the word go (as seen here). And maybe it is. But buying local does mean that I’ll have more direct contact with the production of my food. Not quite to the extent of Colin the Chicken perhaps, but it does mean I have the option of meeting the farmer. It means I’ll be playing a role in what Joel Salatin, in Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, describes as “relationship marketing” (looking the grower of my food in the eye and getting to know them), or in other terms, a standard of trust.

Pollan believes that when folks decide to eat locally, the market produced from such decisions will open up room for more diversified farms which "can give up most of their fertilizers and pesticides, since a diversified farm will produce much of its own fertility and its own pest control." And the local food market is growing (see CSAs, farmers markets, farm stands, etc.) According to the Farmers Market Coalition, the number of farmers markets in the United States has grown to more than 8,600 from just under 2,000 in 1994.

And buying local food does what buying local anything does: It helps keep local dollars local as a way of maintaining the local economy (who knew "local" could be used so many times in a sentence?). Theoretically, it should mean the conservation of both the earth and of rural communities. Which makes it just one small stepping stone in the overall picture of the global foodprint. And as one person, my decision is really about the equivalent of a grain of sand. But why not make a beach.

Pasta la vista.

Best,
Clarissa

PS—I recognize that, for a variety of reasons, eating local isn't an option for everyone, or at the very least, more difficult. We'll get to that, too.

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