In mid-February, there was a warning about the imminent depletion of avocados in the U.S. market within two weeks. This was a consequence of a threatening call made to a USDA inspector, allegedly linked to a crime syndicate. As Steven Colbert humorously suggested, it was time to stock up on avocados and then forget about them.

I found myself thinking, perhaps this is a lesson we need. When, just a week later, the ban was lifted, I felt a sense of disappointment at the lost chance to adjust our expectations regarding food availability.

The IPCC’s Sixth Assessment Report, released at the end of February, underscores the urgency of this issue. It dedicates an entire chapter to “Food, Fibre, and other Ecosystem Products,” detailing serious risks.

The potential consequences of climate change on our food supply include soil deterioration, heat stress on crops and livestock, unpredictable pests and diseases, reduced yields, and damage from extreme weather events. There is even a risk that climate change could render our food less safe by creating favorable conditions for harmful microorganisms.

Moreover, transportation systems, food storage, and pricing are all vulnerable to extreme weather conditions. This means that even if the foods we cherish can still be cultivated in a changing environment, there’s no assurance they will reach our grocery stores or be affordable.

Having worked on small organic farms, I find myself drawn to thinkers like Wendell Berry, who advocate for a return to small-scale agriculture and a rejection of technological fixes. I’ve highlighted various passages in Berry’s work that emphasize personal responsibility in how we engage with the world.

I would readily abandon social media to start homesteading if I believed it was the answer to our agricultural challenges. My ideal scenario would involve communities reconnecting with their food and each other. However, I question whether this dream is truly feasible.

To seek answers, I turned to Amanda Little’s recent book, aptly titled The Fate of Food. Little, a seasoned journalist, explores the complexities of our food systems with the same curiosity many of us share.

She openly states, “I enjoy farmers’ markets, but I primarily shop at my local Kroger and don’t hesitate to give my children out-of-season fruit or public school lunches. We buy organic occasionally, but often we don’t.” Little’s neutral stance throughout the book lends it a refreshing perspective.

Like many middle-class Americans, Little is accustomed to an abundance of easily accessible food. Products sourced from various parts of the globe line our store shelves with little fanfare.

The pandemic has disrupted some of the supply chains, revealing how much we take this abundance for granted. Recently, my father was baffled to find only a specific type of Fritos available, commenting that “nobody uses Scoops for Frito pie!”

As climate change intensifies, the likelihood of food shortages will likely grow more frequent and severe. Tim Gore, head of food policy and climate change for Oxfam, notes, “The primary way most people will perceive climate change is through its effects on food—what they eat, how it’s produced, the prices they pay, and the availability of options.”

This leads Amanda Little to pose the pivotal question in The Fate of Food: “How much trouble are we in?”

In The Unsettling of America, Berry dedicates significant pages to criticizing former Secretary of Agriculture Earl Butz, who infamously advised farmers in the 1970s to “get big or get out.” Butz championed technological advancements, arguing for their application to benefit both humanity and nature.

Berry contests this view, stating, “By dismissing the ecological implications, how much can we ‘modify’ the environment before we fatally ‘modify’ ourselves?”

Initially, I shared this skepticism. The environmental fallout from the green revolution and agribusiness—including tractors, synthetic fertilizers, and monocultures—raises questions about the impact of technology on agriculture, leading to exploitation and profit-driven motives.

However, small-scale farming has its drawbacks. Berry contends that “large farms do not produce as abundantly or efficiently as smaller ones,” providing evidence for this claim. While this assertion is debatable, critiques of small-scale agriculture often center on its pricing.

The farms where I worked typically catered to high-end markets or affluent CSA members, seldom benefiting poorer or middle-class community members.

This isn’t due to price gouging; rather, cultivating local organic produce demands considerable time, labor, and upfront investment. The high costs barely allow these farms to survive.

I recall visiting one of my previous markets and thinking, “I can’t afford any of this.”

In Berry’s ideal scenario, that concern wouldn’t exist, as everyone would grow their own food. However, the chances of such a transformation occurring before the predicted crisis is daunting.

Thus, we must embrace a more nuanced and less romantic perspective: technology is not inherently incompatible with a healthy food system, especially in light of the pressing circumstances.

Little spent three years traveling nationally and internationally to investigate potential solutions to our food system’s looming crisis and to engage with innovators.

The approaches she finds most intriguing do not entirely reject technology nor overlook the natural order. This middle path is what she refers to as “third-way agriculture.”

She explores solutions such as alternative proteins, wastewater recycling, genetically modified crops, robotic weeding, cloud seeding, sustainable fisheries, 3D-printed food, and permaculture.

Most of these strategies embrace modernity in ways that figures like Wendell Berry, and my younger self, might dismiss. Conversely, many reject or disapprove of them due to their unconventional nature, such as the “gross factor” associated with recycled wastewater or insect proteins, or concerns over GMOs.

However, not all third-way solutions are equally viable. Concepts like vertical farming, advanced robotics, and intricate water treatment show promise in affluent nations, but they remain costly and limited in scope for now. Technology alone will not resolve the issue.

The pressing question is how we can support populations already experiencing the worst effects of climate change, including severe famine.

It’s reminiscent of the saying, “teach a man to fish.” “Eventually, food aid will not suffice,” Alemu Manni, a field coordinator at the U.N.’s FAO, tells Little. “Only communities with built-in resilience will endure these droughts.” This means communities equipped with the resources and knowledge to drill wells, acquire equipment, and cultivate seeds—those that blend technology with an understanding of their land.

This approach makes both practical and financial sense, as Little elucidates: “Providing food rations for a family costs about twenty times more than seed supplies. Likewise, vaccinating livestock and creating fodder-supply programs is significantly cheaper than replacing deceased animals.”

This represents a third option, somewhere between an embrace of technology and a return to the past. It’s about negotiating and managing crises in agriculture.

From an academic viewpoint, third-way solutions may seem appealing, but they will likely require adopting practices one may deeply oppose.

This could involve CRISPR-modified crops like “iron-fortified beans” or “super bananas” enhanced with genes from a rare plant to increase their beta-carotene content. It might entail utilizing treated wastewater or protein derived from grasshoppers, or even supplementing human labor with robots for weeding or harvesting tasks.

Little even recognizes potential in meal replacement products, like Soylent, despite their seeming representation of the “death of the soul of food.”

The crux of the matter, according to Little, is that a successful third-way agricultural system should generate food for all by emulating enduring patterns in nature while expanding “the bounds of technology with a better understanding of where it has failed us.” In simpler terms, “We need to innovate—with humility.”

Third-way solutions may offer a more balanced alternative compared to the extremes represented by Earl Butz and Wendell Berry. Nonetheless, we cannot continue as we have. Regardless of the path we choose, change is imperative.

We are rapidly approaching a critical juncture, and we must find a way to decelerate our progress toward disaster.

This harsh reality has led me to reconsider whether small-scale agriculture is genuinely the answer, especially if it doesn’t incorporate technology and third-way practices.

In The Fate of Food, Little raises a challenging point: “By purely ecological and socioeconomic (if not culinary) standards, this soulless stuff [referring to Soylent] might represent a more accurate embodiment of a ‘sustainable, equitable food’ product than a locally sourced six-dollar-per-pound heirloom tomato.”

People worldwide are actively seeking solutions to the food and agriculture dilemma. But will these efforts suffice to sustain us? And will the food meet our ideals?

Little notes, “We not only seek assurance that there will be enough food for survival but also that our culinary traditions, including access to fresh food, will endure.”

I often worry that we will continue on our current path, with only a handful of visionaries, like those documented in Little’s book, dreaming of a better future until we inevitably face a crisis. I harbor this concern partly due to the multitude of other climate change challenges we must confront.

The latest IPCC report states in its introduction that “current adaptation efforts may be insufficient for ensuring sustainable development and other societal objectives in numerous communities globally, even under the most favorable greenhouse gas emissions scenarios.” This report emphasizes adaptation and risk management alongside mitigation.

Furthermore, societal and political factors come into play. Little acknowledges that a reimagined agricultural system based on third-way solutions “would necessitate substantial government investment and a groundbreaking approach to land-use and international trade regulations.”

Despite these challenges, Little maintains an optimistic outlook: “It’s more likely than not that there will be sufficient food for everyone, and that we will safeguard our food traditions.” Having conducted extensive research on this topic, she remains hopeful for the future. Perhaps her optimism is justified.

However, I urge caution against relying solely on technology to transform our food systems sufficiently to adapt to climate change while preserving our current dietary preferences. If technology and innovation cannot sustain the quantity and variety we presently enjoy in supermarkets, we may have to say farewell to foods that are more challenging to cultivate, less resilient, pricier, seasonal, or sourced from afar. In other words, we may eventually find ourselves without avocados—or whatever staple food we currently take for granted.

Stabilizing our food systems will require not only a balance between technology and nature but also a recalibration of our expectations. The shifts ahead may compel us to welcome new foods and dietary habits, as well as to cherish our existing bounty. It’s time to appreciate the food we have, when and where it is available.