How to say my name:

As a cancer survivor, I have a love-hate relationship with voluntary labels.  I diligently read labels to avoid chemicals that might trigger a relapse.  Nevertheless, the time I spend doing this directly encroaches on the time I might otherwise invest making calls or writing letters to my legislative representatives, asking for systemic solutions.

In our society, mothers (especially single mothers dealing with deadbeat dads) bear disproportionate responsibility for emotional labor, the worry of schedules and household management, childrearing, and shopping.  I am busy enough.  I really would rather not also assume more work of scrutinizing labels. Rather than deflecting responsibility onto the consumer, I wish we could rely on a democratic government to regulate food on everyone’s behalf. . . without corporate influence.

The book is dedicated my late father who I lost to cancer while writing it.  His folksy wisdom about his seasonal $100 ear of corn taught me values of autonomy and abundance. My daddy was the eldest of a large family that sharecropped corn in Iowa. Although he escaped farming to become a pilot, he remained a lifelong gardener.  Every season, he frugally kept track on what he spent on seeds or other inputs—ideally less than one hundred dollars for his crops on two acres.  Whenever the garden harvest came in, he would relish that first ear of sweet corn, which he called his “one-hundred-dollar corn on the cob.”

My daddy then considered everything else from the garden to be completely free and generously gave away his harvests to family, friends, and anyone from the community who stopped by and “sat a bit” on the porch in the southern tradition.  Before he died from cancer, my Daddy had his tombstone engraved with the epitaph: “Nearer to God in a garden.”  Memorial donations can still be made in his name to support a Q'eqchi' agroecology high school in northern Guatemala.

While my own gardening skills pale in comparison, I try to live up to his largess by generously sharing my time on the porch of public scholarship to help fix the problems about which I write.  Anyone interested in helping Indigenous groups defend their land, seeds, and forests, please write me at the address below or donate to the Maya grassroots organizations defending their food sovereignty here.  You can learn more about my research and advocacy on my faculty page.

Finally, this book is also dedicated to my miracle daughter who came into this world despite oncologists predicting that my chemotherapied body could never have children.  Born with a severe wheat allergy, I raised her on tortillas, tamales, and well, admittedly, also a lot of organic corn chips.  So, she shares my love of all things maize.  Her other love of weed flowers and “Back to the Future” movies inspired me to think anew (or an-old) about agriculture (small spoiler alert). 

She and I have lost too many family members and friends to cancer.  While I have fiercely tried to protect her health, there is only so much an individual can do alone.  If for every summer garden or act of protective green consumerism, we also took time to call our regulators, write our representatives, or take to the streets with our metaphoric pitchforks, the world’s children collectively will lead healthier lives.  I hope you, gentle reader, gain inspiration to act from this story.

I welcome constructive feedback at kernelsofresistance@yahoo.com.  Corporate trolls will be blocked and reported.