The island community of Haida Gwaii knows something about resilience. When I visited last autumn, Elder Florence Lockyer showed me her garden where traditional food cultivation methods are being revitalized alongside climate-adaptive practices.
“Our ancestors understood how to live with the land through changing seasons and harsh times,” she told me, digging her hands into soil enriched with seaweed compost. “Now we need that wisdom more than ever.“
Her words have stayed with me as I’ve researched how our food systems are buckling under climate pressures. The recent floods in Valencia that destroyed thousands of hectares of orange groves, the record-breaking heat waves withering Canadian wheat fields, and the expanding range of crop pests are all signals of a food system increasingly vulnerable to climatic shifts.
Climate change is already disrupting food production worldwide. According to the latest Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change report, global warming has slowed growth in agricultural productivity by 21% since 1961. Meanwhile, extreme weather events have become more frequent and more intense, destroying crops and livestock when farmers can least afford the losses.
The effects aren’t distributed equally. In northern British Columbia, Indigenous communities that rely on salmon have watched declining runs threaten both food security and cultural practices. Along the coast, ocean acidification is impacting shellfish harvesting—a source of both income and traditional foods for many communities.
“We’re seeing multiple systems failing simultaneously,” explains Dr. Hannah Wittman, professor at the University of British Columbia’s Centre for Sustainable Food Systems. “When ocean temperatures rise, when pollinator patterns change, when rainfall becomes unpredictable—these stressors compound one another.”
What makes this particularly challenging is that our current food system is itself a major contributor to the problem. The global food system generates about one-third of all human-caused greenhouse gas emissions, according to research published in Nature Food. Industrial agriculture, food processing, packaging, transportation, and waste all contribute significantly.
Yet amid these challenges, there are emerging pathways forward that combine traditional knowledge with climate science.
When I spoke with farmers at the Richmond Food Security Society, I met growers experimenting with drought-resistant crop varieties and water conservation techniques. Their community gardens serve as both food sources and living laboratories for climate adaptation.
“We’re selecting for resilience now,” explains urban farmer Jess Henry, showing me rows of heat-tolerant vegetables. “Ten years ago, we grew what tasted best. Now we’re growing what survives best while still nourishing people.“
Dietary shifts represent another powerful lever for change. Research from the University of Oxford suggests that moving toward more plant-based diets could reduce food-related emissions by up to 70% by 2050. This doesn’t necessarily mean everyone becoming vegan overnight, but rather a cultural shift toward more plant-centered eating.
The health benefits of such shifts align with climate goals. A study published in The Lancet found that diets higher in fruits, vegetables, nuts, and legumes and lower in red meat consumption could prevent approximately 11 million premature deaths annually worldwide while reducing environmental impacts.
Dr. Siyuan Wang, a nutrition researcher at the University of Toronto, told me: “The fascinating thing about food system transformation is that what’s good for planetary health often aligns with what’s good for human health. The challenge is making these healthier, lower-carbon foods accessible and culturally appropriate for diverse communities.”
This last point is crucial. Food is never just fuel—it’s identity, connection, and culture. Any viable path forward must respect diverse food traditions while adapting them to new climate realities.
In Vancouver’s Chinatown, I recently attended a workshop where elder cooks demonstrated traditional preservation techniques alongside younger community members introducing climate-friendly adaptations. Together, they created dishes that honored cultural heritage while incorporating locally grown, low-carbon ingredients.
“Food sovereignty means communities define their own food systems,” explains Melina Laboucan-Massimo, founder of Sacred Earth Solar and member of the Lubicon Cree First Nation. “Climate solutions must center Indigenous knowledge and local control of resources.”
Government policy will need to evolve as well. Canada’s Food Policy Advisory Council has recommended integrating climate considerations into our dietary guidelines and agricultural subsidies. Some municipalities are already leading the way—Toronto’s Climate Action Strategy includes provisions for urban agriculture and local food systems development.
The path forward requires both individual and collective action. Personal dietary choices matter, but they exist within systems that can either enable or obstruct sustainable options.
As consumers, we can reduce food waste (which accounts for about 8% of global emissions), choose more plant-based options, support local food systems, and advocate for policies that address agriculture’s climate impacts.
When I returned to Florence Lockyer’s garden on Haida Gwaii this spring, new seedlings were pushing through the soil. She told me about the community seed library they’ve established, preserving varieties that have proven resilient through changing conditions.
“We’re not just growing food,” she said, gently transplanting young shoots. “We’re growing knowledge for what’s coming.”
As our climate continues to change, that knowledge—shared across generations and cultures—may be our most valuable crop of all.
