Who’s Your Farmer? Bringing Farming Back into Our Communities
- growfortheland
- May 9
- 4 min read
Growing up near downtown Los Angeles, I didn’t know any farmers. But I knew fresh food. I still remember the large trucks that would park on our street, their side doors swinging open to reveal crates of vibrant fruits and vegetables. It wasn’t a farm stand in the traditional sense, but it was how fresh produce made its way into our neighborhood. We didn’t ask where the food was grown or who grew it—it was simply there, brought in by a system we didn’t think twice about.
Years later, as an adult living in rural Western Massachusetts, I experienced something completely different. Out there, farmers weren’t hidden behind delivery trucks or supermarket shelves. They were your neighbors. You’d see them at the farmers market, on tractors down the road, or at local fairs. The connection between land, farmer, and food wasn’t abstract—it was visible, tangible, and personal.
One thing that stood out to me living in New England was the sheer love people had for apples. Who knew there were so many apple varieties? Back in LA, I grew up on Fuji and Granny Smith apples—maybe a Gala here and there. But in New England, apple season wasn’t just about fruit; it was a cultural moment. I was introduced to names like Macoun, Honeycrisp, Cortland, and Northern Spy. People knew their favorites, debated them, and made annual pilgrimages to orchards. It was a whole world of local food I hadn’t experienced before.
And then there were the tobacco fields. Driving near the Connecticut side of the Massachusetts border, I’d pass rows of tobacco plants stretching across the landscape, their broad leaves drying in old wooden barns. Farming wasn’t just something that happened “out there”—it was woven into the fabric of daily life.
Thinking back on these experiences, I’m struck by how normal it felt to see farmers in a rural setting. But recently, while talking to a close friend about bringing sustainable micro farms to cities like Denver and San Francisco, I realized how foreign the idea of a local farmer feels in an urban environment. We imagined repurposing empty office buildings into vertical farms, growing fresh, organic produce right in the heart of the city.
But as we talked, it hit me: for many city dwellers, the idea of a farmer down the block sounds almost bizarre. It’s like trying to mix oil and water. Farming belongs “out there”—on fields, in wide-open spaces—not in the middle of a city surrounded by concrete, glass, and steel. The image of a farmer tending towers of greens under LED lights inside a former office building just doesn’t compute for most people.
That made me wonder: Can people in big cities support—or even believe in—the idea of rekindling a relationship with a local, sustainable farmer? Could they embrace a vision of farming that’s not far away, but literally part of their neighborhood?
My friend pointed out something important: people need to see proof of concept. I agreed. But I couldn’t help asking: is this really a new concept? Or is it an old idea, reinvented for a modern world?
Urban farming isn’t new. It’s ancient. The Aztecs built chinampas—floating gardens to grow food in the middle of a lake. The Maya used terracing and slash-and-burn farming to create fertile plots right near their communities, adapting their methods to the land so food could be grown close to home. Throughout history, people have always found ways to grow food where they lived. It wasn’t a novelty—it was a necessity.
Industrialization and global supply chains pulled food production farther and farther from our cities, until we lost sight of the farmers who fed us.
Now, with rising concerns about sustainability, food security, and climate change, we’re being called back to something we once understood: food grown by us, for us, close to home.
But perception remains the biggest hurdle. In rural areas, farmers are a normal, expected part of the community. In cities, a farmer feels like a novelty—or worse, a relic. We’ve become so disconnected from food production that we forget food doesn’t just come from store shelves. It comes from soil, water, light, and care.
Imagine walking past a repurposed office building that’s now a thriving vertical farm. Inside, leafy greens grow skyward, tended by urban farmers who live right in the community. Imagine buying produce grown three blocks away instead of 1,000 miles away. This isn’t science fiction—it’s already happening in pockets. But to make it mainstream, we need visibility, access, and, most of all, trust.
Here’s the question I keep circling back to: How do we rebuild trust and connection between urban communities and the people who grow their food? Can a farmer in the middle of the city feel like our farmer? Can we rewrite the narrative of who a farmer is—and where they belong?
Maybe the idea of a local farmer in a big city isn’t weird at all. Maybe it’s what we’ve been missing all along.
And maybe, just maybe, we’re ready to welcome them back.
Ready to Bring Farming Back to the City?
If this vision speaks to you—if you’re curious about how urban farming can transform your neighborhood, your building, or even your city—I’d love to connect. Whether you’re a school, restaurant, business owner, or simply passionate about fresh, sustainable food, we can explore ways to make it happen.
Visit our website to learn more about my work in urban farming or reach out directly if you're interested in starting something like this in your community.
Together, we can rebuild the bridge between people and the food that sustains them—right where they live.
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