by Karina Vennonen
Dear food cooperative,
Did you know my heart is yours?
Don’t worry, I won’t be surprised if you didn’t…
I never guessed that these tall walls, this concrete floor, this open roof with snaking ducts, cool-room engine whirring, lights blinking with little beeps, and doors cyclically clasping and clicking, I never guessed that this place could hold me like it does…
Who else knew, the first time they walked through the doors, that they would be enveloped by something more than one person could imagine? These colourful walls, swirling stories of
nature, our world, wild with possibilities as our human nature pushes up and up, like a life jacket thrown into this tumultuous sea…
See the farmers who grow the food; taste the way fruit tastes when it gets what it needs — fresh water and sunshine, none of these chemical pesticides, fertilisers, growth hormones, factories fitting into the smallest square inch, as the human working conditions get scraped out further and further. Who else here knew that this place could teach them lessons so deep you can’t pay for them? That you don’t leave people to do the work alone here. Let me say that again. You don’t leave people to do the work alone here. I could keep learning this lesson all my life and still move forwards with it.
There’s something so beautiful about finding hope in an almost hopeless world; it means your life can become an act of worship to nurture that growing chance. Among the years of learning a hundred different ways to cook lentils, of the sweetness of macadamia nuts, of sprouting all kinds of grains, from the last calls for chai to baking without eggs or wheat, swapping anecdotes and recipes with other shoppers as the sun sets and rises, sets and rises.
As you watch yourself and the people around you grow too, grow wiser, grow braver,
summoning every shred of love and courage we have as we turn to face the climate crisis,
pressing on with all our members, from those one day old to those nearing a hundred years old. Maybe we can all see it clear enough, the veil being lifted from this hyper-extractive, nature-eating, human-crushing war machine.
Maybe we can all imagine something better than this, as we come in to fill our jars with the
nutrients we need, as we let our hearts rise at the sight of those humans we cherish, as we pull back chairs to sit down with bowls steaming a way ahead, as we lay our dreams on the table to be crafted into something for all of us, and when we are mopping the floor after a long day — we lean back and smile at each other, feeling tired and ready to do it all again tomorrow.
Maybe this revolution begins with a seed, ready to take root in a backyard, a human mind, or an economic system. Ready to reforest a world with ways that nourish all of us, as well as bring carbon back down to the soil. Maybe, just maybe, this food cooperative knows the ways of your heart too…