Category: Neglected species

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The plants that statistics forgot

FAO has just put out new guidance on capturing wild foods and neglected and underutilized species (NUS) in dietary surveys. It’s very much worth a look, even if your interest runs more to grain landraces on the farm than to greens gathered from the forest. The methodology is built to overcome a very real problem: standard dietary assessment tools are generally designed with the main staples in mind, so anything outside that narrow frame (think foraged, seasonal, localized, thinly documented) tends to fall straight through the cracks.

FAO’s fix is a set of very sensible, practical steps: engage local knowledge holders to compile inventories under their own names for things, survey markets to see what’s actually being sold and eaten, map harvest calendars against agroecological zones and seasons, and build simple identification tools (photobooks, reference databases) that let enumerators and communities work from a shared understanding of what they’re counting.

None of that machinery is specific to wild foods though. The same toolkit could easily be adapted to survey the diversity hiding in plain sight on farms: crops and landraces known only by a few, grown in a handful of villages, marginalized, on their way to be forgotten. And invisible to national crop statistics that only track the main crops and the most common named improved varieties, if that. A market survey designed to catch wild greens sold at the roadside works just as well for catching a local bean landrace in the same market. A harvest calendar built to track when forest foods peak works just as well for tracking when fonio gets planted or harvested, and why farmers still bother with it. Great for quantifying the opportunity presented by “opportunity crops.”

And there’s a useful downstream application: surveys built this way could help flag where crop diversity is thinning out on the ground, or where it’s abundant but under-represented in genebank holdings. In other words, the kind of gap analysis that ought to be steering germplasm collecting missions.

FAO’s framing kind of gestures at this already: wild, managed and cultivated aren’t three separate boxes but points on a continuum. A methodology built to navigate that blurriness for wild foods is also a methodology that ought to work for navigating the blurriness at the cultivated end. It would be a shame if this toolkit stayed confined to the wild-food side of the spectrum when the conceptual heavy lifting behind it applies just as well to neglected cultivated diversity.

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Nibbles: Amaranth webinar, FARA on fonio, Maslin, Gaza genebank, Nepal seeds, Golden Triangle tea

  1. New webinar series from the American Society of Plant Biologists will explore how underutilized (or is it opportunity) crops like amaranth can contribute to nutrition, food security and rural livelihoods.
  2. FARA highlights the tiny West African grain fonio as another crop with potential to improve nutrition, strengthen food systems and create new opportunities for farmers and value chains.
  3. Taiwanese tea has travelled an unlikely route into northern Thailand. It too was an opportunity crop at one time.
  4. Ethiopian farmers may have been practising regenerative agriculture for millennia, mixing wheat, barley and other grains in the same field. The Rockefeller Foundation is on it.
  5. Efforts to restore the Al Qarara Seed Bank in Gaza are offering a small but significant form of agricultural recovery.
  6. In Nepal, indigenous seeds are losing ground to hybrids, but seed advocates are fighting back.
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Brainfood: Mung bean pan-genome, Sunflower resistance, Olive adaptation, Allergic peanuts, Weird coffees, Chinese tea, Measuring selection

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The fruits of migration

As chance would have it, following my recent speculative foray into the possible connection between language and crop diversity, an essay by the great Andrea Wulf 1 has just appeared that tells the story of how a remarkable German naturalist used breadfruit and linguistics to work out Polynesian migration patterns long before DNA or archaeology could confirm them.

George Forster sailed with his father aboard the HMS Resolution on Cook’s second voyage (1772-1775) and encountered breadfruit across the South Pacific. He noticed that the trees were seedless and could only be propagated by root cuttings. And also that there didn’t seem to be wild breadfruit trees anywhere in the islands. That meant every tree he saw, and there were many of them, had been deliberately planted by people.

Digging through the university library back in Göttingen, Forster later found that wild, seeded breadfruit with little flesh do exist, but in Southeast Asia. If the Pacific islands only had the improved, seedless types, he reasoned, they must have been carried there by people. That was proof both of sophisticated Polynesian plant management and of a migration route running from Southeast Asia eastward across the Pacific.

Forster combined this with careful attention to language. He deduced that most Pacific languages he encountered were dialects of a single root language, with small, systematic sound shifts. He and his father also charted how the presence of Malay loanwords decreased the farther east an island was located, which suggested that islands closer to Southeast Asia — the home of Malay — were settled earlier.

Where his fellow naturalist Joseph Banks saw the breadfruit purely as an economic resource (later lobbying to transplant it to the West Indies to feed enslaved plantation workers, hence HMS Bounty and all that), Forster saw it as historical and ethnographic evidence. That’s a strikingly different, more humanistic and — to me at least — more appealing way of reading a plant.

Wulf then jumps forward to modern archaeology and genetics, which broadly confirm Forster’s reconstruction. There was an initial human population in the region of Papua New Guinea dating back 45,000 years. This was followed by a second, Austronesian-speaking wave migrating out of Taiwan and thereabouts around 3,500 years ago. They travelled by the stars in “outrigger or double-hulled canoes loaded with hogs, chickens, root vegetables, coconuts, bananas, and breadfruit seedlings.” And they mixed with the descendants of the earlier wave through Melanesia. Their own descendants eventually reached Fiji, Samoa, Tonga, and, much later, Tahiti, Hawaii, Easter Island and New Zealand.

The essay closes by tying this to Tongan historian Epeli Hau’ofa’s idea of “Oceania” — the Pacific not as scattered, isolated islands, lost in a vast ocean, but as one interconnected “sea of islands.” Exactly what Forster intuited two centuries before it became conventional wisdom.

We’ve blogged a lot about breadfruit over the years. Check out the archive. And in particular listen to the recently-retired Dr Diane Ragone describe her 40-year journey to understand this remarkable tree.

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Fresh out of diversity

“Blueberries are a great example of agriculture as high-tech industry,” argues Daniel Hulls, the boss of AgDevCo, an investment fund. Driscoll’s, an American agribusiness giant, supplies seeds to farmers in Zimbabwe that are the result of years of cross-pollination. Polyethylene covers protect bushes. Storage rooms have optical sorting machines. To maximise profits, firms time production for the summer, after American supply dwindles but before Peru’s picks up.

According to a recent article in The Economist, quoted above, blueberries are just one of an increasing number of examples of Africa’s “industrialisation of fresh,” a concept developed by Christopher Cramer at SOAS with colleagues John Sender and Jonathan Di John. The article suggests that, if it is implemented properly, “there is huge potential for African agriculture to play the sort of role long envisioned for manufacturing.”

It’s a striking phrase. “Fresh” sounds like the very opposite of industrial. Fresh food is perishable, seasonal and associated with local production. Yet, increasingly, fresh fruit and vegetables are being made to behave like industrial commodities. Agribusiness is using breeding, controlled production, refrigeration, packaging, logistics and retail systems to make perishable foods standardized, predictable and available almost anywhere, anytime.

Think of a supermarket apple. It needs to look right, travel well, resist bruising, ripen predictably and remain edible in storage for months. The tomato needs to survive harvesting, packing and a long journey without losing its appearance. The strawberry needs a shelf life that would have seemed miraculous a generation ago. “Fresh” has become something that can be engineered.

There are obvious benefits. Longer shelf lives can reduce waste, extend markets and make nutritious foods available far beyond their traditional growing seasons. Even foods based on so-called neglected and underutilized species — making them truly “opportunity crops.” That could be good for agrobiodiversity.

But there is a less visible consequence that is not so good: the characteristics that make a crop useful to an industrial fresh-food system can also narrow the range of diversity that gets grown.

Industrialized fresh-produce chains tend to reward uniformity. Grading standards, packing-line specifications, and retailer contracts all push toward a narrow set of varieties that perform consistently — the right size, the right shelf life, the right appearance under fluorescent light. That’s efficient for the production process Cramer et al. and The Economist extol, but it’s also potentially a quiet mechanism of genetic erosion: the traits that make a variety a good fit for industrial handling are not necessarily the traits that make it resilient, nutritious, or adapted to marginal land. A diverse production landscape can narrow disastrously once it’s plugged into export-oriented industrial supply chains.

Uniformity is valuable. Predictability is valuable. Long shelf life is valuable. But genetic diversity is valuable too. And not always for the same reasons.

Genebanks maintain thousands of crop varieties that may not meet the specifications of industrial supply chains. At least now. Some may have unusual flavours or colours; others may be poorly suited to long-distance transport. But they may also contain genes for disease resistance, heat tolerance, drought adaptation, nutritional quality, novel textures or other traits that could become valuable as production conditions and consumer preferences change.

The paradox — or is it the conundrum — is that the more successfully we industrialize “fresh”, the more important it will become to conserve the diversity that industrial systems tend to leave behind.

The fresh food in the supermarket may look reassuringly abundant. The genetic diversity behind it is another matter. The Economist could have pointed out that the industrialisation of fresh selects for what works now. For the system to be sustainable, you need genebanks to preserve what might work next.