As the northern sun stretched its rays across Fort Smith last Saturday, Hannah Tucktoo knelt in the dark soil, her hands working methodically alongside two dozen community members at the town’s expanded community garden project.
“Food isn’t just sustenance here—it’s independence,” Tucktoo told me, pausing to wipe sweat from her brow. The 67-year-old Dene elder has witnessed decades of economic and climate challenges reshape her Northwest Territories community. “What we grow connects us to this land in ways the grocery store never could.”
Fort Smith’s community gardening initiative has blossomed from three modest plots in 2020 to a sprawling 2.5-acre operation that now features 54 individual garden boxes, a greenhouse, and a community harvest area. The expansion represents more than just additional growing space—it embodies a community’s determination to address escalating food insecurity in Canada’s North.
According to Statistics Canada’s 2022 Food Security Report, northern communities like Fort Smith face grocery costs averaging 78% higher than southern urban centers, with some fresh produce items commanding prices triple those found in Edmonton or Calgary. These economic realities have pushed local initiatives from nice-to-have community projects to essential food security infrastructure.
Mayor Dianne Thomson, who helped secure the $175,000 in territorial funding that made this year’s expansion possible, sees the garden as transcending typical municipal initiatives. “When you’re looking at $8 for a wilted head of lettuce at Northern Store, growing your own isn’t just economical—it’s necessary,” Thomson explained during my visit to the site. “This garden represents food sovereignty in action.”
The project’s impact extends beyond the immediate nutritional benefits. Territorial climate adaptation specialist Mark Reynolds, who advised on the garden’s design, points to the initiative as a model for northern climate resilience. “What Fort Smith is building here represents the kind of community-level adaptation we need to see across the North,” Reynolds said. “With growing seasons extending by nearly two weeks over the past decade, these gardens capitalize on changing conditions while building local food systems.”
The initiative stands apart from similar southern projects through its culturally responsive design. The garden integrates traditional knowledge through dedicated spaces for medicinal plants and indigenous food varieties, including several plots managed by elders from the nearby Salt River First Nation.
Community coordinator Jessie Laviolette has witnessed participation grow from 18 gardeners in the project’s first year to over 80 active participants today. “We’ve created more than just growing space,” Laviolette explained as she showed me the newly constructed teaching pavilion where weekly gardening workshops are held. “We’ve built a place where traditional knowledge and new techniques meet.”
The garden’s expansion comes at a critical moment for northern food systems. The Northwest Territories government’s 2023 Food Security Assessment identified community-based agriculture as a key resilience strategy against supply chain vulnerabilities exposed during the pandemic, when some communities experienced weeks-long delays in food shipments.
For Grayson Miller, a 35-year-old heavy equipment operator and father of three, the garden represents an economic lifeline. “Before starting here, I was spending nearly $400 weekly to feed my family,” Miller told me while tending to his plot of potatoes and hardy greens. “Last summer, we saved almost $2,000 on groceries and put up enough preserves to stretch through February.”
As I walked among the meticulously maintained plots, the ingenuity of northern gardeners became evident. Recycled shipping pallets formed raised beds. South-facing plastic sheeting created micro-climates for heat-loving crops. Cold frames extended the growing season for greens otherwise impossible in this zone.
The community’s creativity extends to their growing methods. Sarah Komak, who leads the garden’s education program, demonstrated their modified season-extension techniques that have allowed gardeners to harvest fresh vegetables nearly four weeks longer than conventional northern growing calendars suggest possible.
“We’re adapting southern techniques to northern realities,” Komak explained, showing me the data she’s collected on germination rates and yield improvements. “Each season we learn more about what thrives here.”
What’s particularly striking about Fort Smith’s approach is how it bridges generational and cultural divides. Every Saturday morning, the garden hosts “Knowledge Transfer” sessions where elders share traditional food preservation techniques alongside younger community members demonstrating modern adaptations.
“My grandmother shows us how she dried berries and fish, and then I show her how to use a vacuum sealer,” laughed 23-year-old nursing student Kiera Nadli. “We’re creating something new together.”
The initiative has caught territorial attention. Last month, NWT Food Security Minister Caroline Wawzonek visited the site, announcing the garden would serve as a pilot model for five similar projects planned across the territory over the next three years.
“Fort Smith has shown us that community-led food solutions deliver more than just nutrition—they build resilience,” Wawzonek noted during her visit, which was covered by CKLB Radio.
As climate change continues altering northern landscapes, projects like Fort Smith’s garden demonstrate how communities can respond proactively. The Northwest Territories Climate Change Strategic Framework identifies local food production as a key adaptation strategy, noting that “community-based agriculture initiatives provide both immediate food security benefits and long-term climate adaptation capacity.”
For community members like Peter Charlo, who grew up hunting and fishing around Fort Smith but now finds traditional harvesting patterns disrupted by changing weather and wildlife migrations, the garden offers continuity in uncertain times.
“When I was young, we knew exactly when fish would run and berries would ripen,” Charlo told me as we walked along the garden’s perimeter. “Now those patterns are changing, but this garden gives us something we can count on.”
As the afternoon lengthened into evening, gardeners gathered around a community firepit, sharing the day’s first harvest—crisp radishes and tender greens that had been planted during the first spring workday. The simple meal represented something profound: a community writing its own food story.
In Fort Smith, they’re growing more than vegetables. They’re cultivating independence, one garden box at a time.
