Food can be a powerful anchor for communities

I recently watched a PBS segment about the Lenape tribe of Native Americans, and one line in particular stuck with me. While sharing a traditional meal, an elder said, “Food anchors a community.”

That hit home in a way I didn’t expect, especially when considering food’s role in both cultural identity and community connection.

From a local agricultural perspective, food truly does serve as an anchor. No matter the size of the farm, food production shapes the fabric of a community in deep and often overlooked ways.

Farmers and ranchers do more than just feed us; they provide stability, jobs and a shared sense of purpose. The act of growing food connects people to the land and to each other in ways that echo through generations.

Beyond economics, food fosters identity, celebrates tradition and supports infrastructure.

Local food events, especially in rural America, are powerful reminders of how food brings people together. Just look at the festivals that wear it proudly in their names: Sweet Corn, Rhubarb, Strawberry, Milk, Peach and Horseradish, just to name a few.

And beyond those countless other gatherings throughout the year are anchored by food, drawing communities together around shared tables and traditions. These events are a social and cultural glue that ties people together.

Where I grew up, every small town had its own annual picnic. I remember well when my 80-plus-year-old great-grandmother rode her neighbor’s beautiful stallion in the parade that kicked off the Glasgow Picnic.

She sat high and straight in the saddle with grace and confidence as the horse pranced proudly through the streets. I still have the trophy she took home that day for her parade entry.

There were homemade pies and cakes, women slicing tomatoes from their gardens and that signature “Glasgow Picnic Slaw” made with freshly harvested cabbage.

Men stayed up all night tending fires under big iron kettles, stirring burgoo soup with long wooden paddles.

My dad would come home smelling like wood smoke — just long enough to feed the livestock — before heading back to fry fish.

Aunt Shirley and Uncle Jerry, along with their band, played country music on the bed of a gooseneck trailer, the sound rolling out across the old school grounds in the center of town.

Families gathered on lawn chairs and spread out on blankets to listen. When night fell, the older couples began to dance.

I can still picture Slip and Lela Hester, and Art and Maggie Shafer, floating across the grass under the stars.

Everyone local came to those picnics, as did friends and relatives who had moved away or had some connection to the community.

They caught up over shared meals, but it was never only about eating. It was about rituals, memories and a shared sense of place passed down and reinforced with every bite.

Food knows no age discrimination — it nourishes the young, comforts the old and brings joy to us all. At every stage of life, a shared meal has the power to connect.