by Innes Hope
What will people be eating in 2063? I think as I stare at our pantry, blessed with nutritious, tasty foods and ingredients from around the world. ‘And how will it relate to the past?’ I wonder, recalling my mother’s store of preserves. Everything is of inter-generational relevance.
When the Māori people first landed in Aotearoa, how on earth did they discover what plants were safe to eat? What skills they must have had! I drift back in time …
She is busy planting potatoes, pumpkins, cabbages, and a walnut tree. Flour and sugar are hauled in by bullock wagons. Rabbit fills her humble pies. “Life here is challenging,” she tells me. Only three of her twelve children survive.
It’s 1863; my great-great-grandmother arrives in the barren goldfields of Central Otago. Seasonal temperatures are extreme, but the weather is stable. She is unaware that Irish physicist John Tyndall has recently discovered the greenhouse effect and, even if she was, it wouldn’t seem relevant to her life.
The next two generations
Things improve for my great-grandmother as irrigation trenches are dug. Fruit trees are now doing well in the semi-desert heat, cabbage and kale survive the freezing winters, and walnut trees are yielding.
It’s 1896, and Swedish scientist Svante Arrhenius is predicting that industrial-age coal burning will see the “man-made greenhouse” expand – a few degrees Celsius for a doubling of CO2 (as today’s climate models show). My grandmother was born and grew up with no idea of such things. Time passes, and she marries.
By 1930, as the global population reaches two billion and the great depression hits hard, Granny manages – just – to feed a large family, casual farm workers, and occasional homeless wanderers through the dark times. I hear her musing, ‘My grandchildren will be born into a world of plenty!’
1963
It’s a hundred years now since my great-great-grandmother immigrated. I am entering my teens. Charles (Dave) Keeling, measuring atmospheric CO2 in Hawaii and Antarctica, is about to provide proof that CO2 concentrations are rising. The US President’s advisory committee issues a warning that climate change is of ‘real concern’. There are now three billion people on Earth. Dinner at our house is basic: meat ‘n three ‘veg,’ and a simple dessert.
Granny lives with us and makes me lemon sago pudding. Yum! Our family knew nothing about climate change, yoghurt, pecan pie, cashews, or peanut butter. Tofu, hummus, olives and avocado have yet to enter the scene, and falafel, tacos, and Pad Thai are unknown words in a different language.
“Remember the treats you loved so much?” my mother smiles. Canned guavas and fresh pineapple from Australia. Wow! What luxury!
2021
I’m in a supermarket, assailed on all sides by new, processed foods ‘made with love’ or ‘created with passion.’ This fashionable promo-talk seems hollow and superficial when I think of my family history. I recall how secure and loved I felt as a child as I watched mum cook a simple dinner. She, Granny and my great- and great-great-grandmother were masters of resourcefulness. I feel proud of them and want to follow their example.
The human family now numbers nearly eight billion, and at only a 1°C rise, Earth is now hotter than any time in recorded history. On track towards 3°C, we’re already ‘shattering the temple of life, with a million species on the edge of extinction.’ In late June, Al Jazeera accesses a leaked UN report. In it, the IPCC warns that ‘Devastating climate effects are accelerating and are bound to become painfully obvious before a child born today turns 30.’
Waves of despair wash over me. Trying to lower my carbon footprint helps. Enjoying delicious plant-based meals cheers me up and spurs me on. I know the climate crisis will bring many unexpected challenges, and I want to gain more of the skills my ‘earth mothers’ had and put them into action. I’ll also need new skills. I gaze into nowhere, pondering on what they might be.
“Understand and value the optimum use of food,” my great-great-grandmother whispers across the distance. Time seems suspended … The kettle whistles loudly, calling me back to daily reality and a warm, friendly kitchen. I make a cup of tea and browse the pantry shelves once more. Cashews, quinoa, linseed … hmm. I currently use these without much thought. What would their optimum use be?
I decide to ask them! Maybe it will give me some clues as to what we might be eating in 2063. Maybe that will see our grandchildren more able to enjoy them too. I tune into the cashews, curled up like beautiful little embryos … like a new generation. “So what is your special role in the scheme of things?” I ask the cashews.
I wonder what they’ll tell me. I’ll let you know. And if you’re slightly quirky like me and talk to your food supply, I invite you to write & tell me what the voices in your pantry tell you.
