What We’re Rebuilding
We didn’t grow up on farms. We grew up in supermarkets.
Wrapped plastic. Neatly shelved. Everything available all year round. Strawberries in winter. Lettuce in a bag, pre-washed, pre-cut, tasteless.
It was normal.
It was convenient.
And we called it progress.
But progress has a cost. And most of us didn’t realise what we were trading away until we couldn’t ignore it anymore.
At first, we weren’t trying to change anything. We just wanted to grow a bit of our own food. Understand where our dinner came from. Maybe get back to something simple.
But once you plant a seed, you start asking questions.
Once you taste something pulled fresh from the earth, you start noticing what doesn’t taste like food anymore.
And once you start looking at the system—really looking at it—you can’t unsee what’s there.
In the UK, we import nearly half our food.
Most of what we grow on our land doesn’t feed people—it feeds animals or engines.
In Canada, the average meal travels over 2,500 kilometres. In the US, it’s often more.
We have land, we have hands, we have need—but still, we ship in apples from South Africa and tomatoes from Spain.
Meanwhile, food bank use rises. Communities go without.
And somehow, we're told this is the best we can do.
This isn’t about personal failure.
This is about a system that was never designed to feed us.
It was designed to sell to us.
And it works beautifully for those profiting from that.
We traded compost for packaging.
Recipes for ready meals.
Farmers for marketing teams.
And we forgot the soil beneath our feet is the only infrastructure that actually feeds us.
Healthy soil holds carbon, holds water, prevents floods, grows life.
It isn’t dirt.
It’s the most powerful living system on the planet—and we’re treating it like a nuisance.
We till it, poison it, strip it, ignore it.
And every time we do, we pull another thread from the tapestry that holds our food, our health, our climate together.
Without soil, there is no civilisation.
History proves this. The Sumerians, the Mayans, the Romans—they all rose on the backs of fertile soil. They all collapsed when they destroyed it.
And yet we keep repeating the same mistake, now wrapped in greenwashing and tech promises.
Lab-grown meat. Hydroponic towers. Imported vertical lettuce.
It sounds clean. Controlled. Efficient.
But we know the truth.
It’s just a new factory with better branding.
Another attempt to take nature out of food.
Another way to keep us from touching the ground.
Real food doesn’t come from a lab.
It doesn’t glow under LEDs.
It comes from earth, rain, sun, seed.
From rhythm. From roots.
From work.
That includes animals.
Not in cages. Not in factories.
On pasture. In cycles.
Where chickens follow cows, pigs turn soil, sheep graze between hedgerows.
It’s how land heals itself.
And when we remove animals entirely, when we push toward a sterile, animal-free food system, we don’t solve the problem—we just shift it.
We trade one broken system for another and call it innovation.
We've seen what food can do.
We’ve seen our own children transformed—moods shift, speech returns, energy restored—not from supplements or treatments, but from food that grew in our backyard.
Eggs from hens we could name. Meat from animals raised with care. Vegetables pulled hours before we ate them.
And we’ve met families who haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.
Because the food system doesn’t care whether they eat.
So we are building something else.
- A way to feed people that actually feeds them.
- A way to restore land while restoring relationships.
- A way to bring back dignity, connection, flavour, health.
Not through petitions or apps.
Through soil. Through stewardship. Through starting again, slowly.
We believe this is a God-given responsibility—not in theory, but in action.
We were given a world that feeds us if we tend to it.
We were told to keep it, not pave over it.
Stewardship is as important as the air we breath.
This is why we’re here.
Because we’re not waiting for someone else to fix it.
We’re not waiting for the government to pass a better bill, or a supermarket to suddenly start caring.
We’re not asking for permission from a system that was never built for us in the first place.
We are growing food.
Feeding neighbours.
Saving soil.
Rebuilding what was broken.
One tray of greens.
One backyard garden.
One Harvest Hub at a time.
If you’ve ever stood in the grocery store wondering how your basket cost that much…
If you’ve ever tasted a tomato and wondered why it tasted like nothing…
If you’ve ever looked at your kids and wondered why they’re tired, wired, and always hungry…
Then you’re already part of this.
Start where you are.
Grow one thing.
Buy one thing local.
Cook one more meal from scratch.
Talk to one neighbour about where their food comes from.
Ask questions that make you uncomfortable.
Notice things you weren’t taught to notice.
Because change doesn’t come from systems.
It comes from people who’ve had enough.
People like you.
People like us.
People who still believe that food is more than a product.
That the land still matters.
That we are not helpless.
And that maybe—just maybe—we were made for more than shopping and survival.
“We don’t need fake meat and plastic veg.
We need dirt under our nails, flavour on our tongues, and food grown by people who know our names.”
This is why we’re here.
And why we’re not going anywhere.