Curiosity, Soil, and the Art of Living

For over twelve years now, I have been immersed in permaculture, a path that started spontaneously, yet one I have never questioned or turned away from. From the moment I stepped into that course, I understood something fundamental: we need to get real about food, about our choices, and about the long-term impact those choices create. At the time back in 2011, I had no clue about the abundant life in soil systems. I had never paid attention to soil, nor did I know that living soil even existed. I had always loved food and explored different cuisines, but I had never stopped to ask how it grows, what it looks like from seed to harvest, or what care and effort go into it along the way.

Even as we explored various aspects of design and shifting perspectives, getting our hands into the soil, this Montessori teacher had no idea of the world she was about to dive into, quite literally digging into! I was a Montessori teacher stepping into another kind of classroom! Just as I had unlearned parts of the education system while stepping into Montessori philosophy and teaching, I was beginning to unlearn conventional methods of farming. It was a real and much-needed disruption in mindset, a curiosity that bridged two seemingly separate worlds: Both worlds, Montessori and permaculture, value observation, curiosity, and gentle guidance. Both ask us to listen, to sense, to intervene only when necessary, to let life reveal its own logic. It felt familiar, even comforting: a reflection of the way I had always seen life, curious, fluid, never bound by rules, attentive even in silence.

As I type away, I am sitting on our patio, overlooking a canopy of trees, listening to the birds and the gentle stream, and I am struck by the beauty of combining ideas and seeing them manifest. I am constantly weaving patterns, connecting dots, making small adjustments without interfering too much. When it came to food, I realized that while I had always enjoyed eating, I had never paused to consider the conditions under which it was grown, from meat, eggs, and dairy to vegetables and fruit. We devour, often without connecting the dots to the growers or to the soil itself.

Farming and gardening, to me, are a form of counterculture. They are creative, a manifestation of freedom that stands apart from the mainstream. And yet, there is a crucial practicality to it all, if global supply chains fail for even a few days, weeks, or months, these farms, big or small, become essential, feeding communities when conventional systems cannot. This was vital information that reshaped my understanding of food, society, and resilience. I began to read more, learn more, and intervene in my own choices around food and consumption. Slowly, I started to cultivate conscious habits.

Alongside this, I've explored the relationship between mental health and food, witnessing the disconnect in the health system where nutrition is often overlooked, and medication prescribed without understanding the power of what we eat. I learned that practitioners could collaborate and find solutions that disrupt the monoculture mentality, creating functional approaches to wellness. It seems like common sense, but convincing people of this remains a challenge. Small, natural interventions can disrupt unhelpful patterns and make lasting habits stick.

Even terms like “diversity” are often misused, floating around without context or meaning. There is still much work to do in understanding what foods we inhabit, how they are grown, and the impact of those practices. Local and organic labels are not guarantees of health. Conventional methods, even under organic or sustainable branding, rely on inputs and can strain the land.

Misused terms abound, from regenerative to sustainable, and we need to deconstruct their definitions to truly understand their significance. In our courses at Harvesting for Good EA, these discussions are powerful, they spark reflection, raise eyebrows, and shift thinking. I invite participants to let go of automatic assumptions or general definitions and to think in systems. Each conversation sets the tone for the day, guiding how we pivot and adjust naturally, without rigid templates. Urban contexts, in particular, require simplicity and immediacy. People need strategies to “just start” where they are, and it works beautifully when framed in realistic, practical ways.

My Montessori background continues to inform these holistic approaches. It helps me integrate development principles with urban realities, creating interventions that are meaningful and actionable. Returning to food, I have seen firsthand that local is not always enough and that the methods of cultivation are far more important than labels. Bio-nutrient food, whether store-bought, market-sourced, or homegrown, varies immensely depending on growing systems. Regenerative and bio-intensive methods, which include cultivating multiple varieties together and improving soil health, produce food that tastes different and is richer in nutrients. Organic alone cannot guarantee this, despite the “organic lifestyle” that has become popular. Even organic farmers may be unable to explain the nuances of their growing practices, often relying solely on the absence of chemicals. Regenerative systems go further, producing bio nutrient-dense food with minimal external inputs, relying on soil biology, crop rotation, and plant-based pest control.

Dan Kittredge’s work highlights the importance of measuring and valuing these differences in soil and food systems. Recently, I had the honor of attending an event at Brown’s Cheese Farm, exploring these very ideas. They invited and brought together a brilliant mix of farmers, growers, functional medicine practitioners, wellness folks and food lovers to reconnect with what truly nourishes us and explore vitality. From the moment we arrived, we were asked to slow down, sip the coolest botanical tonics, and explore one powerful question: Do we really understand vitality, from soil to plate?

The heart of the event was Dan Kitteridge’s talk on bio-nutrient dense food, a reminder that the future of farming and wellbeing lies in soil intelligence, microbial life and the invisible forces that determine real nutrition.

Then came a wildly sensory, what they like to call, “discombobulated soil-to-table” experience designed to make us feel, question and taste how microbes, environments and farming practices shape our food. A playful way to experience how deeply interconnected we are. Workshops rolled from stone milling to fermentation, ancient grains and beneficial microbes, hands-on, curious, and rooted in one truth that vitality isn’t manufactured, it’s cultivated.

Grove & Meadow, a branch of their work dedicated to whole foods and ancient grains, exemplifies doing the work, producing products that reflect true nutrition and flavor. Their stone-milled flours, diverse grains, and thoughtful practices result in foods that break down more easily, nourish deeply, and remind us of the profound connection between soil, plant, and human. For someone seeking intention in food, it is an absolute joy.

Even on our small balcony garden, growing a diversity of crops makes a tangible difference. The nutrient density in what I harvest is significant, and while I hope to measure it further, the difference is already apparent. My approach is simple: grow what you can, even a small percentage of your own food. It enhances nourishment, teaches observation, and reconnects us to the source. Smallholder and small-scale farming are achievable and transformative. Farms full of color, diversity, and creativity are countercultural hubs, quietly shifting perspectives, restoring ecological balance, and offering resilience to communities. They remind us that life is lived outside, under the sun, in rhythm with seasons and soil, and in connection with those who grow and tend the land.

Even without a farm, every meal offers an opportunity to make intentional choices. Visiting local markets, knowing your artisan bakers, coffee roasters as well, and connecting with growers creates awareness and accountability. It is a simple, tangible way to understand impact and participate in a nourishing cycle. Small, local farms are about creativity, authenticity and resilience. They aren’t trends to chase; they’re ways of living, deeply, consciously and beautifully.

That’s really the spirit behind Restore, a branch of our work that brings growing together with mindful cooking, something I’ve been passionate about for years. I want to see people rooted in place again, rooted in meaning, connection, and eventually food because that is where the best conversations start around. Imagine community supported cooking and CSA systems that are fun, communal, and speak to people because they feel grounded, creative and noble. Urban or rural, we need stewardship, and we need to bring that nobility back.

There’s a real starvation today, not just of good food, but of belonging, of gathering, of knowing our growers and our landscapes. Chefs need to immerse in the soil too. And as I keep sharing conversations with friends in food and wellness, I can feel what’s possible. Collaborations that connect growers, cooks, teachers and health practitioners and systems that nurture both people and the planet.

2026 feels like a year where these ideas stretch their roots, through curiosity, questions, observation, and simply starting where we are. That’s how we restore. 

Because in the end, food is life. And life, like soil, is most abundant when it’s alive.