The Friday before the storm, our little farm stand was busier than ever. Not because people suddenly committed to sourdough, organic bread, farm-fresh eggs, or milk from our cow, but because the grocery store shelves were empty. The phone started ringing nonstop. People were not looking for local food. They were looking for food, period.
I saw the same thing during the COVID-19 pandemic. Our vegetable box program exploded when people were afraid to go to the grocery store. While restaurants were struggling, the farm expanded. We bought delivery vans. At one point, more than 500 families were getting organic, regeneratively grown vegetables delivered to their doors.
And then, as soon as people felt safe again, they went right back to the grocery store.
Here is the hard truth: Small farms, small businesses, and local food entrepreneurs cannot survive on emergency support alone. If we want them to exist when the system cracks, we have to support them when everything feels fine. A resilient food system needs customers year-round, not just in moments of fear.
So many times, people have thanked me during an emergency because we could provide what the larger system could not. But when the emergency passes, I never see them again. No business can survive that pattern.
I do not share this as a victim. I am deeply honored to do this work. It is a privilege to feed my community, to steward land, to care for animals, and to show up when people need us most. But I want the privilege of continuing to do that, and that takes a community that sees what we offer as an ongoing contribution, not a backup plan behind glass to break in case of emergency.
After the flood in Kerrville, Texas, I received a beautiful hand-delivered letter from Rep. Chip Roy (R-Texas), who represents our district in the House. In the letter, he referred to what we were doing to feed our community as a ministry. That word stayed with me. I think it is more revealing than we realize. There is something about the relationship between land, man, and God that naturally draws us toward reverence.
Working with the land, feeding people, caring for animals in their most vulnerable moments, it reminds us that there is an order to things, a design, a way that life is meant to be lived in connection and responsibility. When we step into that role, it feels less like a job and more like a calling.
I am grateful to be seen and appreciated. But what would mean even more is if, as people get back on their feet, they return the favor by spreading the word, by choosing to support local farms regularly, and by making farms such as ours part of their normal routine.
The cracks in our food system are there even when we cannot see them. What appears to be a free market is heavily shaped by subsidies, regulations, and policies that favor large corporations, middlemen, packing houses, and multinational players. Meanwhile, small family farms are being squeezed from every direction.
And when emergencies hit, those same small farms do not get to shut down and stay cozy inside.
Farmers are out in it.
They are collecting eggs multiple times per day, so they do not freeze and crack. They are hauling water across the farm when pipes are frozen or drained, so livestock can drink. They are breaking ice in troughs over and over again. They are using torches to thaw water lines and trying to keep equipment running in temperatures that make metal stiff and unforgiving.
Everything becomes harder when the power goes out or the water stops flowing. Feeding animals that might take a few minutes on a normal day can stretch into hours in extreme cold. Every bucket feels heavier. Every step on ice is a risk. But when you are a farmer, staying inside is not an option. There are lives that depend on you.
Crops have to be covered. Greenhouses have to be secured against wind and frost. Infrastructure that took years to build can be lost in a single night if not protected. Even with days of preparation, certain things get missed, and farmers carry the weight of those losses.
My husband left before dawn during the last hard freeze. He came in briefly for lunch and then went back out until dark. By the time he finally got undressed and stepped into the shower, his body was bruised and sore from slipping on the ice and pushing himself past exhaustion. Most of his day had been spent just watering and feeding animals, tasks that would normally be simple and quick but had turned into an all-day effort in the cold.
This is the reality behind the food that shows up on a plate.
As the world hunkers down in ice and snow, remember the farmers out in it. Remember that while many of us can stay home, turn up the heat, and wait for the roads to clear, farmers are out in the dark keeping animals alive and crops protected.
Let us remember that work when the sun comes back out.
Let us support it not only when there is no meat or bread at the grocery store, but regularly. Let us vote with our dollars weekly or monthly for family farms to exist, for local food systems to stay alive, and for aspiring food entrepreneurs to have a chance to make it.
The system is not built in their favor, but we can change that. We can be part of the solution. We can show the system what matters to us by how we spend our money and what we choose to eat.
There is so much in this world that we cannot control. Policies shift. Markets swing. Systems fail. But what we put in our mouths and where we spend our dollars is still, for now, our choice. However the future of money or digital systems unfold, today we still have the freedom to choose what we eat and who we support.
On the other side of this emergency, let us not forget. Let us honor the hard work of local family farms by making them part of our normal lives. Let us commit to supporting them consistently, not just when the shelves go empty.
Because if we only show up for farmers in a crisis, one day there may not be any left to show up for us.
