For the Birth of Food for Us

This is not a program.
This is a pulse.
The whisper of dandelions in cracked concrete.
The soft revolt of sourdough passed hand to hand.

This is not a launch.
It is a planting.
A table set for ancestors and future children alike.
A prayer baked into bread crust, eaten in community halls,
beneath flickering lights and full hearts.

You are not starting from scratch.
You are starting from soil—
already full of memory, microbes, and mothers’ songs.

This work is not new.
It is ancient.
It is what we did before the spreadsheet.
Before the powdered meal replacement.
Before "progress" severed the root from the tongue.

You are not alone.
The land is listening.
The trees are witnesses.
The seeds have been waiting for your yes.

So let this be your vow:

To nourish without permission.
To grieve without shame.
To center the child, the elder, the fieldhand, and the forgotten recipe.
To plant policy in compost.
To feed futures that smell like rain on thirsty dirt.

Let the name rise from the steam of the stew pot.
Let the vision ripen at its own pace.
Let your joy be proof that regeneration is already underway.

And when the world says,
"But is it scalable?
But is it bipartisan?
But is it realistic?"

You will smile,
and keep ladling soup into bowls,
and say,

“It is alive.”