permaculture

[Lawrence London <lfljvenaura@gmail.com>]

The Seas Will Save Us: How an Army of Ocean Farmers are Starting an
Economic Revolution — invironment — Medium
https://medium.com/invironment/an-army-of-ocean-farmers-on-the-frontlines-of-the-blue-green-economic-revolution-d5ae171285a3#.mr2toeizn
Bren Smith
Bren Smith is the owner of Thimble Island Ocean Farm and executive director
of GreenWave.

The Seas Will Save Us: How an Army of Ocean Farmers are Starting an
Economic Revolution

I’m a fisherman who dropped out of high school in 1986 at the age of 14.
Over my lifetime, I’ve spent many nights in jail. I’m an epileptic. I’m
asthmatic. I don’t even know how to swim. This is my story. It’s a story of
ecological redemption.

I was born and raised in Petty Harbour, Newfoundland, a little fishing
village with 14 salt-box houses painted in greens, blues, and reds so that
fishermen could find their way home in the fog. At age 14 I left school and
headed out to sea. I fished the Georges Banks and the Grand Banks for tuna
and lobster, then headed to the Bering Sea, where I fished cod and crab.
The trouble was I was working at the height of the industrialization of
food. We were tearing up entire ecosystems with our trawls, chasing fish
further and further out to sea into illegal waters. I personally have
thrown tens of thousands of pounds of by-catch back into the sea.

It wasn’t just that we were pillaging. Most of my fish was going to
McDonald’s for their fish sandwiches. There I was, still a kid, working one
of the most unsustainable forms of food production on the planet, producing
some of the most unhealthy food on the planet. But God how I loved that
job! The humility of being in 40-foot seas, the sense of solidarity that
comes with being in the belly of a boat with 13 other people working
30-hour shifts, and a sense of meaning and pride in helping to feed my
country. I miss those days so, so much.

But then in the early 1990s the cod stocks crashed back home: thousands of
fishermen thrown out of work, boats beached, canneries shuttered. This
situation created a split in the industry: the captains of industry, who
wanted to fish the last fish, were thinking 10 years down the road, but
there was a younger generation of us thinking 50 years out. We wanted to
make our living on the ocean. I want to die on my boat one day — that’s my
measure of success.

    I grew up shooting moose out of my kitchen window. I never thought
climate change had anything to do with my life. But it does. From my
vantage point, climate change is not an environmental issue at all — it’s
an economic issue.

So we all went on a search for sustainability. I ended up in Northern
Canada on an aquaculture farm. At that point aquaculture was supposed to be
the great solution to overfishing, but when I got there I found more of the
same, only using new technologies to pollute local waterways with
pesticides and pumping fish full of antibiotics. We used to say that what
we were growing was neither fish nor food. We were running the equivalent
of Iowa pig farms at sea.

So I kept searching and ended up on Long Island Sound, where there was a
program to attract young fishermen back into the industry by opening up
shell-fishing grounds for the first time in 150 years. I signed up, leased
some grounds from the state of New York, and re-made myself as an
oysterman. I did this for seven years. Then the storms hit. Hurricane Irene
and Hurricane Sandy thrashed the East Coast. Two years in a row the storms
buried 90 percent of my crops in three feet of mud, and 40 percent of my
gear was washed away in a sea of death. At the same time, lobster were
being driven northward by warming waters, and acidification was increasing
faster than at any other time in 300 million years, killing billions of
oyster seed up and down the American coast.

Suddenly I found myself on the front lines of a climate crisis that had
arrived 100 years earlier than expected. For a long time I’d seen climate
change only as an environmental issue because environmentalists were always
framing it in terms of birds, bears, and bees, but I’m a fisherman. I kill
things for a living. I grew up shooting moose out of my kitchen window. I
never thought climate change had anything to do with my life. But it does.
>From my vantage point, climate change is not an environmental issue at all
— it’s an economic issue.

The same years my farm was wiped out by hurricanes, 83,000 people lost
their jobs in New York City because of flooding, many of those in
manufacturing. Unemployment claims doubled in Vermont along the storm’s
path, and 80 percent of U.S. farmland was shriveled by drought, driving up
food prices for middle and working class families. It turns out there will
be no jobs on a dead planet.
Vertical underwater farming

After my farm was destroyed, it was clear to me that I had to adapt because
I was facing a serious threat to my livelihood. I began to re-imagine my
occupation and oyster farm. I began experimenting and exploring new designs
and new species. I lifted my farm off the sea bottom to avoid the impact of
storm surges created by hurricanes and started to grow new mixes of
restorative species. Now, after 29 years of working on the oceans, I’ve
remade myself as a 3D ocean farmer, growing a mix of seaweeds and shellfish
for food, fuel, fertilizer, and feed.

    My job has never been to save the seas; it’s to figure out how the seas
can save us.

That’s how I got to where I am today. Now let’s dive in and take a look at
the farm and deconstruct why it’s designed the way it is. Imagine a
vertical underwater garden with hurricane-proof anchors on the edges
connected by floating horizontal ropes across the surface. From these lines
kelp and Gracilaria and other kinds of seaweeds grow vertically downward
next to scallops in hanging nets that look like Japanese lanterns and
mussels held in suspension in mesh socks. Staked below the vertical garden
are oysters in cages and then clams buried in the sea floor.

If you look for my farm from ashore, there’s almost nothing to see, which
is a good thing. Our underwater farms have a low aesthetic impact. That’s
important because our oceans are beautiful pristine places, and we want to
keep them that way. Because the farm is vertical, it has a small footprint.
My farm used to be 100 acres; now it’s down to 20 acres, but it produces
much more food than before. If you want “small is beautiful,” here it is.
We want ocean agriculture to tread lightly.

Our 3D farms are designed to address three major challenges: First, to
bring to the table a delicious new seafood plate in this era of overfishing
and food insecurity; second, to transform fishermen into restorative ocean
farmers; and third, to build the foundation for a new blue-green economy
that doesn’t recreate the injustices of the old industrial economy.
Eating like fish and transforming an entire workforce

First: food production. As ocean farmers, we reject aquaculture’s obsession
with monoculture, an obsession similar to that of modern land farming. Our
goal is diversity. It’s a sea-basket approach:We grow two types of
seaweeds, four kinds of shellfish, and we harvest salt. But with over
10,000 edible plants in the ocean, we’ve barely scratched the surface. We
eat only a few species, and we grow basically none in the United States. We
intend to de-sushify seaweed and invent a new native cuisine, not around
our industrial palate of salmon and tuna but around the thousands of
undiscovered ocean vegetables that are right outside our backdoor.

Native seaweeds contain more vitamin C than orange juice, more calcium than
milk, and more protein than soybeans. It might surprise those of you on the
hunt for Omega-3s to learn that many fish do not create these heart-healthy
nutrients by themselves — they consume them. By eating the plants fish eat,
we get the same benefits while reducing pressure on fish stocks. So it’s
time that we eat like fish.

We’re working with chefs to cook up kelp noodles with parsnips and bread
crumbs in barbeque sauce; green sea butters and cheeses; kelp-based
umami-filled bouillons. Our new ocean dinners are fun, they’re creative,
and they’re delicious. This is our opportunity to rearrange the seafood
plate by moving ocean plants and bivalves to the center and wild fish to
the edges. Imagine being a chef in 2015 and discovering that there are
thousands of vegetable species you’ve never cooked with. It’s like
discovering corn, arugula, tomatoes, and lettuce for the first time. As one
of my partner chefs — and the former punk-rock drummer — Brooks Headley
says, “As a chef it feels frightening, daunting, and exciting all at once.”
Ocean greens such as kelp are not small boutique crops. We can grow
incredible amounts of food in small areas: 25 tons of greens and 250,000
shellfish per acre in five months. If you were to create a network of our
ocean farms totaling the size of Washington state, you could feed the
planet.

This is zero-input food that requires no fresh water, no fertilizer, no
feed, no arid land. It is hands down the most sustainable food on the
planet.

And as the price of fertilizer, water, and feed goes up, zero-input food is
going to be the most affordable food on the planet. The economics of it
will drive us to eat ocean greens. The question is, will it be delicious
food or will it be like being force-fed cod liver oil? As farmers, it’s our
job to grow this new cuisine, and for chefs it’s their job to make it tasty.

Ocean farming isn’t just about food. It’s about transforming an entire
workforce, transforming fishers into restorative ocean farmers. My job has
never been to save the seas; it’s to figure out how the seas can save us. I
say that because millions of years ago Mother Nature created two
technologies designed to mitigate our harm: shellfish and seaweeds. Oysters
filter up to 50 gallons of water a day, pulling nitrogen — the cause of our
oceans’ spreading dead zones — from the water column. Our farmed kelp,
called the Sequoia of the sea, soaks up five times more carbon than land
based plants. Seaweeds could be a powerful source of zero-input biofuel;
feasibility studies suggest we might produce 2,000 gallons of ethanol per
acre — that’s a 30 times higher yield than soybeans and five times more
than corn. According to the Department of Energy, if you were to take a
network of our farms equaling half the size of the state of Maine, you
could replace all the oil in the United States.

Our farms function as storm-surge protectors, breaking up wave action to
reduce the impact of hurricanes and rising tides. And they serve as
artificial reefs, attracting more than 150 species of aquatic life. Sea
horses, striped bass and grey seals come to eat, hide, and thrive on our
farms. My farm used to be a barren patch of ocean, now it’s a flourishing
ecosystem. As fishermen, we’re no longer pillagers, hunting the last fish.
We are a new generation of climate farmers who have joined the fight to
restore our planet. We’re trying to break down the seawalls that separate
our land-based and ocean-based food systems. Even the best land-based farms
pollute, sending nitrogen into our waterways, so we use our kelp to capture
that nitrogen, turn it into liquid fertilizers, and send it back to organic
farmers to grow their wonderful vegetables. When the nitrogen then runs
back into Long Island Sound, we capture it again.

We are also working on new forms of livestock feeds. For example, there’s
exciting — though still preliminary — research that suggests adding algae
to diets could reduce methane output in cattle by up to 90 percent. The
idea is to build a bridge between land and sea in order to close the loop
between our food systems. Too often our thinking stops at the water’s edge.
A bridge is needed.
The blue-green economy

Our goal is to build a just foundation for the blue-green economy. Saving
the seas is not enough. There is 40 percent unemployment in my hometown. I
wouldn’t be doing this work unless it created jobs for my people, unless it
opened up new opportunities for the 3 billion folks who depend on our
oceans to make a living.

    For the first time in generations, we have an opportunity to grow food
the right way, provide good middle-class jobs, restore ecosystem, and feed
the planet.

Our old economy is crumbling. I can’t get cell service in half of the
country, let alone decent health care or a healthy meal. The old economy is
built on the arrogance of growth at all costs, profiting from pollution,
and the refusal to share economic gains with 99 percent of Americans. But
out of the ashes of the old economy, together we are building something new
based on new-economy principles of collaboration, community-driven
innovation, shared profits, and meeting social needs. Because ocean
agriculture is still in its infancy, we have the unprecedented opportunity
to build a model from scratch, to build from the bottom up an economy that
works for everyone, not just a few. We have the opportunity to learn from
the mistakes of industrial agriculture and aquaculture. This is our chance
to do food right.

We addressed the first question of farm replication and scale, not by
patenting or franchising — those are tools of the old economy — but by
open-sourcing our farming model so that anybody with 20 acres and a boat
and $30,000 can start his or her own farm. One of our new farmers is a
third-generation lobsterman who was unemployed because climate change had
pushed lobsters northward. We got him up and running, growing and selling
the first year. Among our other farmers are former Alaskan salmon
fishermen, an Iraq war veteran, and a Latino family whose ancestors were
driven off their farmlands in Mexico. We replicate and scale by
specifically designing our farms to require low capital costs and minimal
skills. We seek simplicity not complexity. We believe that replication is
driven by setting low barriers to entry so that people from all walks of
life can grow and prosper with us. At the same time our farmers receive
startup grants, access to free seed, gear donated by Patagonia, and two
years of free consulting from GreenWave. What is most important, we
guarantee to purchase 80 percent of their crops for the first five years at
triple the market rate.

We intend to create stable and secure markets that give our beginning
farmers time to learn the trade and to scale up their farms. They keep
farming because they know they’ll get paid well for what they grow. Our
vision is hundreds of small-scale ocean farms dotting our coastlines,
surrounded by conservation zones. Imagine a Napa valley of ocean merroirs
dotting out coastlines.

We envision 3D farms embedded in wind farms, harvesting not only wind but
also food, fuel and fertilizers. We envision using shuttered coal plants —
like the one closing in Bridgeport, Conn. — for processing animal feed and
salt. We want to repurpose the fossil-fuel and fishing industries so that
they will protect rather than destroy our oceans.
Getting out of the boutique food economy and recreating an industry

The second question is how to build the infrastructure needed to ensure
that ocean farmers and communities will reap the rewards of the blue-green
economy. For too long, farmers and fishermen have been caught in the
beggar’s game of selling raw commodities while others soak up the profits;
too many of us are locked in the boutique food economy, selling as CSAs and
at farmers markets, with the majority of us not making an adequate living
and having to hold down multiple jobs to make ends meet. But now, in our
unexplored oceans we have a chance to plan ahead and to build an
infrastructure in the right way. One of our new farmers, a 65-year-old
fisherman, whose family has fished in Rhode Island for 300 years, put it
this way: “The last thing we want to do with 3D farming is re-create the
fishing industry.”

    We can invent new occupations, shift entire workforces out of the old
economy into the new restorative economy.

Instead of repeating history we’re building infrastructure from
seed-to-harvest-to-market. We’re starting nonprofit hatcheries so that our
farmers can access low-cost seed. We’re creating ocean seed banks so that
the Monsantos of the world can’t privatize the source of our food and
livelihoods. We cap the price of a sublease at $50 an acre per year so that
low-income ocean farmers can access property. But by “property” we do not
mean privatization. Our farmers don’t own their patch of ocean; they own
only the right to grow shellfish and seaweeds there, which means that
anyone can boat, fish, or swim on their farms. I own the process of farming
but not the property, and this keeps my farm as shared community space.
We’re also building in levers of community control. Leases are up for
review every five years so that if I’m farming unsustainably, my rights can
be revoked.

At the same time, we’re building the country’s first farmer-owned seafood
hub, which is not only a place to process, package and ship the raw
commodities we raise but also a space to leverage the unique qualities of
our seaweeds. The power of kelp is that it’s not just food; there is a
whole range of products we can produce that meet environmental and social
needs: organic fertilizers, new livestock feeds, kelp biofuels, and even
medicine. With thousands of yet undiscovered ocean plants, farmers and
scientists can join together to discover and grow new forms of medicine.
Pushing injustice off the table

If we provide our communities with the right mix of low-cost, open-source
infrastructure, our hub will become an engine for job creation and the
basis for inventing new industries. It will also be an engine for food
justice, a place where we embed good jobs, food access, and nutrition into
the structure of ocean agriculture. This means, for example, working with
local grassroots groups like CitySeed in New Haven, Conn., to ensure that
low-income folks can use food stamps to carry double the value at our
Community Supported Fisheries (CSFs) and our Beyond Fish retail store. It
also means using our hub as a hiring hall where local workers can find jobs
on our farms, in our startups, and in our kitchens. If you come to the hub
for a job, don’t bring your resumé. We don’t care if you are a former felon
or an undocumented immigrant; we’re going to put you to work.

The final challenge is how to re-arrange the relationships between those of
us who produce food and those of us who buy it. Failure would be to
recreate the power dynamics of the old economy. Just as we need to
re-arrange what’s on our dinner plates by moving ocean greens to the
center, we need to move farmers, food workers, communities, and protection
of the planet to the center of our plate, and push the destructive, unjust
old economy off the table. We’re putting farmers and buyers on equal
footing by negotiating with institutions to guarantee forward contracts so
that we get paid before we grow, and if our crops fail, then both the
farmer and the buyer share the loss. It’s time for everyone to share the
risk in the risky business of growing food in the era of climate change and
globalization.

The relationship between farmer and buyer has to go even deeper.
Reformatting the food system is going to be costly. It’s going to be
complex. Simply using purchasing power will not be enough. Anchor
institutions such as hospitals, universities, wholesalers, and retailers
have a new role, a new set of responsibilities in the new economy. They
have a duty to invest aggressively in our farmers, our infrastructure and
our communities. This involves donating a portion of their profits and
their endowment to building hatcheries, seafood hubs, logistical and
transport systems, incubation, and R&D. This will mean less profit for the
private sector and a lower rate of return for universities. But it will
also mean more value in terms of social and environmental good. All around
us we can see that “business as usual” will not save this planet. It’s time
to divest from the old economy and invest in the new.
The new economy: Rethinking “the politics of no”

Finally, we are insisting that markets reward the positive externalities of
our farms. We’re working in places like Connecticut to include ocean
farmers in existing nitrogen trading programs. New farms are being built in
polluted areas like Bridgeport and the Bronx River in order to soak up the
nitrogen and carbon, pull out heavy metals, and re-build reefs. Instead of
harvesting food, these farms harvest ecosystem services. While others
pollute, we restore — and as farmers we should be paid for the positive
externalities of our work. In the new economy, markets have to reflect the
environmental benefits we provide.

    We could set aside the entire world’s oceans, and our ocean ecosystems
would still die. Conservation alone is no longer environmentalism.

In 1979, Jacques Cousteau, the father of ocean conservation, wrote: “We
must plant the sea and herd its animals using the ocean as farmers instead
of hunters. That is what civilization is all about — farming replacing
hunting.” This dream of Cousteau’s and of Green Wave’s is frightening to
some environmentalists. The idea of hundreds of ocean farms dotting our
coastlines and the idea of 3D farms embedded in wind farms are unsettling
to many because of the scale. As a result, the instinct of
environmentalists is to do everything they can to protect the oceans from
any and all forms of economic development. They shield themselves with a
“politics of no.” I’m sympathetic to these fears, especially given the
history of industrial aquaculture in the 1980s; yet in the era of climate
change, it’s an illusion for environmentalists to think they can save our
seas by relying on a conservation strategy alone while continuing to ask
the oceans to feed our hunger for wild seafood.

Conservation represents its own form of climate-change denial. We all know
it’s real, but the true significance, the implications, the urgency,
haven’t sunk in. Just look at what’s happening on land and sea: rising
water temperatures and acidification threatening one out of four marine
species with extinction; drought and extreme weather expected to make U.S.
corn prices go up by 140 percent in the next 15 years alone, while
agriculture is responsible for one-third to one-half of all carbon
emissions and uses 80 percent of the fresh water in some areas, making it
the primary cause of droughts, rising food prices, and food insecurity.

If there is one lesson we should learn from the 2015 water wars in
California, it’s that our food system is going to be driven out to sea.
Yes, we need marine parks, but we could set aside the entire world’s
oceans, and our ocean ecosystems would still die. Conservation alone is no
longer environmentalism.

The climate crisis demands that we use our fears as a catalyst for change.
For the first time in generations, we have an opportunity to grow food the
right way, provide good middle-class jobs, restore ecosystem, and feed the
planet.

This is the new face of environmentalism. As our food system gets pushed
out to sea, we can come together to block privatization, to protect our
commons and to spread the seeds of justice. We can invent new occupations,
shift entire workforces out of the old economy into the new restorative
economy. This is our chance to recruit an army of ocean farmers to grow a
new climate cuisine that is both beautiful and hopeful so that all of us
can make a living on a living planet.