Produce harvested at the Poomaale Collective.
Think about the last thing you ate. Where did it grow? Who grew it? What soil, rain and seeds did it take to reach you?
Most of us can’t answer. It isn’t that we don’t care. It’s that food now reaches us as a product on a shelf. Somewhere along the way, the farmer, the soil and the season dropped out of the picture. So why did we lose sight of that? Perhaps it’s because we rarely pause to notice how we see.
We are learning all the time, from before we are born until our last day. Everything we live through shapes how we see the world, usually without our noticing. That learning helps us find our way. But it can also hold us back when we start to believe our way of seeing is the only one. Then, how do we become aware of our assumptions, loosen their hold, and open ourselves to seeing and responding differently?
This question stayed with us from the Conscious Food Systems Summit in Bhutan this September. What resonated most was the idea that becoming conscious shapes how we relate to ourselves, to other people, to nature, and to the generations still to come.
Sunith at a workshop by the Commonland Foundation.
Another idea echoed across geographies and cultures: food is life itself. It made us ask when we stopped seeing food this way.
Perhaps the answer lies in belonging. What we recognise as part of ourselves, we connect with and care for. What we see as separate becomes a resource to extract or a commodity to trade. Food connects us to soil, water, seeds, biodiversity, farmers, cultures and communities. Yet the moment food becomes just a product, those relationships fall out of sight.
For us at Beforest, becoming conscious starts with intention: what we choose to pay attention to, what we invite others to notice, and how deeply we are willing to look. We don’t want to preach to anyone about what matters. We’d rather start with what you already love, like a good meal, a quiet walk, or a morning on the land, and let the deeper story show itself from there. Somewhere in that experience lies a relationship between you, the landscape and the bigger picture. That is what matters, and in it, you begin to see why.
How do we see the food in front of us? Is it part of us, or something separate that we simply buy and consume? What experiences, habits and beliefs shape the way we choose, cook and eat? And what might we be overlooking: the water table, the soil health, the seed quality, the seasonal changes, the hands that grew it?
These are not questions to answer once and for all. They are invitations to stay curious, to reflect on our choices, and to notice when familiar patterns keep us from seeing food for what it is: life itself.
