These in-their-own-words pieces are told to Patricia Lane and co-edited with input from the interviewee for the purpose of brevity.
Casandra Fletcher is executive director of the One Straw Society. This Sunshine Coast, British Columbia elder uses the power of local food to build her community’s health and resilience.
Tell us about your work.
We’re focused on a food-secure future — growing and producing food, protecting and regenerating our soil and planet, making healthy food accessible and building a robust local food economy. Every year, our charity provides 1,600 farm food boxes, hosts 12,000 visitors at our food hub, One Tiny Farm, lends over 200 tools, like egg incubators and food dehydrators, and educates hundreds. We connect elders, youth and cultures around food, manage a food resource map, run community kitchens, gardens, and lead regional crop planning and food distribution. Along the way, we write policy, advocate and collaborate for systemic change.
How did you get into this work?
When I was 19, my mother’s suicide turned my world upside down and pulled me off a path in stockbroking. I started building resources for people with mental health needs and disabilities, and helping non-profits build strategic plans, strong boards and greater inclusion.
My connection to the earth and food is deeply rooted in my lineage of farmer ancestors, and I grew up with a love (and hate) for legumes, kale and homemade peanut butter. We raised our kids on a beautiful farm on the Sunshine Coast, feet in the dirt, canning fruit, and cuddling (and sometimes eating) the chickens we raised. But our region faces critical annual droughts and watering restrictions, opening my eyes to some hard truths.
Climate is deeply impacting our food security, but 30 per cent of emissions are attributable to food production and distribution. Massive monoculture, loss of biodiversity, industrial livestock, overfishing, deforestation, chemical use and soil degradation are making our food system fragile, deeply unjust in its distribution, and contributing to (and ill-equipped to withstand) climate disasters. Wildfires, droughts and floods are everyday news. 2.3 billion people face moderate or severe food insecurity, and yet a third of the world’s food is being wasted.
In 2016, I was approached by One Straw Society, a grassroots non-profit facing dissolution. It had no assets, no policies, no board members, no staff, and only one part-time (but extraordinary) contractor. Even so, I could feel the community’s deep connection to the organization’s legacy and its potential for revival. Their values of long-term food security and caring for the earth aligned with mine, and so I was intrigued. Timing was everything. A cancer diagnosis gave me perspective and time during a year of surgery and chemotherapy, and I poured myself into rebuilding the organization.
What makes it hard?
There are times when we feel like we’re drowning in the harm happening to this beautiful planet that we rely on for survival, and sometimes, all we can do is make a difference in our own backyards. We need to shift mindsets away from seeing the earth, food and fertile land as commodities.
I often believe my voice is unworthy of being heard, don't love the spotlight, and feel out of my depth. Too little funding means managing finance, HR, fundraising, grant writing and administration, and my days are filled with switching hats, bumps in the road, endless research, and learning. But with passionate knowledge-holders and mentors, we solve hard problems.
What gives you hope?
I love inspiring and connecting people, and seeing eyes light up as ideas swirl and form collectively.
I remember a moment last summer with a nurse who had paused her career due to burnout. She had joined us to coordinate the Foodbox Program, packing up and distributing local produce, and coordinating subsidized boxes for low-income folks — anonymously and along with regular customers. One day, a quiet woman walking away with an arm full of colourful produce turned back and said, “You know you’re changing lives, right?” As she left with her carrot tops bouncing, our nurse’s eyes widened. She pointed at her goosebumps and said, “I just realized this is the first time I’ve ever worked in healthcare. I’ve spent my whole career in sick care.” A good day indeed.
I’m moved watching an Indigenous elder glow with pride, watching young learners deeply connect to culture and the meaning of reconciliation, as they preserve salmon together. Traditional knowledge is rooted in a reciprocal and spiritual relationship with the Earth, and when woven with Western science, it reveals not just the crises we face, but the solutions we need.
What do you see if we get this right?
I envision partnering across the country, restoring a sovereign, wholesome and sustainable food system for our physical, social, ecological and community well-being. We need to get this right.
What would you like to say to younger readers?
Keep expressing your opinions and values. Don’t let titles devalue your voice. Practise accountability, commitment and tact. Ask questions that command respect and inclusion. You’re an essential part of the world’s healing.
What about older readers?
Recognize our privilege and understand that people face very different starting lines in life. We have much to learn from each other.
This profile was developed in collaboration with the Elders Circle at Vancouver’s Society Promoting Environmental Conservation.
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