I’ve been thinking about hope a lot lately. I spent the past few days in New York City for Climate Week, which can feel like a tidal wave. The schedule and pace are nonstop, to say nothing of the sheer scale of the climate crisis. It’s overwhelming to say the least. However, there’s a powerful reason to keep going: Hope. Today, I had the honor of joining @jennifersiebelnewsom, @alicelouisewaters, and @edibleschoolyard for a Climate Week Farm to School Luncheon celebrating California’s Farm to School initiatives, which bring fresh, local, organic and regenerative food from California farmers to California schools. During a panel discussion, First Partner Jennifer Siebel Newsom asked me to reflect on hope and my family’s work to accelerate the transition to a regenerative organic food system. Hope is inherent in my Great-Grandpa Albert’s farming philosophy, “Leave the land better than you found it,” which led our family to farm organically and regenerative organically. But, as my dad says, ”hope is not a strategy.” It’s not because he’s a pessimist who doesn’t believe in hope. Heck! Earlier this week, he was playing the ukulele in his hip waders while singing about regenerative organic rice farming. He’s a pretty happy, hopeful guy. Instead, I think my dad agrees with professor and environmentalist David Orr, who says, “Hope is a verb with its sleeves rolled up.” Earlier this week, @chefdanbarber said, “we need the farmers and the poets.” As a fourth-generation farmer who studied poetry in college, I agree wholeheartedly. One of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, describes hope as “a fighter and a screamer.” And Emily Dickinson writes: “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all -“ That’s the thing about hope. It’s not passive. By nature, it exists in opposition. It rolls up its sleeves. It fights and screams and sings. And, like everyone working toward a regenerative organic future, it never stops at all.