This community was built with diversity in mind," says Lynda Angelastro, her face bright with pride. All around the room, the heads of her neighbors nod in agreement. There's Susan Stewart, a retired third-year resident, sunk deep in a cushioned chair. Hob Calhoun, a sixth year resident hailing from the East Coast, leans in the doorway. Vicky Wason and her teenage daughter Grace sit together on a couch. Lynda continues speaking for the group. "Our neighbors are Mormon and Unitarian. They are from Ghana, England, California, New England. You don't find that anywhere else in Salt Lake."
It may look to the casual passerby like an urban sacrifice zone—the area encompassing foundaries, factories and warehouses that have seen better, more purposeful days. Along with the concrete silos, abandoned scrap iron recycling yard and an auto body shop with guard chickens, the industrial and railway corridor of Salt Lake City that extends from 6th South to 10th South, and from 3rd West to I-15 also houses a Tibetan Buddhist temple, an excellent restaurant, an alternative music all-ages venue, a pyramid with mummies in it, a cupcake shop, a couple art collectives and, soon, Utah's first net-zero mixed-use building with onsite solar production.
Spread out on my kitchen counter, a bowl, bag of bread flour, salt, glass of tepid water, and jar of pasta madre (sourdough starter), vie for space among cocktail glasses and half-empty food plates. I shout over the noise of conversation: "Pour in your madre, weigh out 400 grams of flour and 300 grams of water." Only a handful of people in the room gather close to watch my demonstration. It is an informal classroom.
You could say Appenzell Farm started in 2008, when Jesse Corbridge and his mother Barbara read Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma and decided to dedicate their 10 acres to the sustainable farm movement. You could say that the Appenzell Farm really got it's start a year later, when Jesse's grandmother leased her fallow 70-acre lot to the farm.
Calling all "citizen scientists."
—by Alice Toler
Refugees nurished by the food they grow—and the opportunities it represents. Fourth in a series.
by Adele Flail
Insect-husbandry might not be the first place one’s mind goes when considering local farming operations... but where better for would-be locavores to start than with the goody whose producers symbolize Utah’s human inhabitants’ industrious nature? Bees' Brothers family operation in Cache Valley was awarded a Slow Food Utah micro-grant this spring. Their application was written by Nathan Huntzinger, just 13, with brothers Sam, 12, and Ben, 9.
Mike Evans, director of Real Food Rising, gathered us volunteers into a circle. We were going to play a game in which he would read a statement about food and food production. If it pertained to us, then we should move to a different spot in the group.
Thanks to Slow Food Utah’s micro-grant program, locally focused projects that increase biodiversity, provide access to more healthful food, or contribute to our community’s knowledge base are springing up on farms and community gardens (and backyards) all across Utah.