Seeds of Resistance: A Conversation on Queer Land Justice
Plus Abuela Maria’s sofrito recipe!
This week, I had the joy of connecting with Sea Matias of Serra Vida Farm and Kitty from Iridescent Earth Collective—two incredible land stewards who are part of the West Branch Commons community land trust in Delaware County. We talked about the five Ps of Queer Aperitivo, ancestral foodways, and how farming becomes a form of resistance when done in community.
Ora: I was just in Detroit talking to some of my oldest comrades about Queer Aperitivo, and we came up with what we're calling the five Ps: place, people, pleasure, principles, and price. This is our screen or filter for how and what we do, who we do it with, and who we do it for. I'm so excited to learn more about Serra Vida Farm, Iridescent Earth Collective, and West Branch Commons because it speaks so much to place and people—wanting everything we're eating, drinking, the spaces we're in to not only reflect our values but actually generate resources and deepen connections with the people and place we're part of.
Sea: What an awesome way to begin this conversation! We resonate heavily with everything you just said. I'm Sea Matias, they/them, a queer trans new farmer, educator, artist, visionary, dreamer, plant enthusiast—but mostly lately, rock picker and servant to the soil. I'm founder of Serra Vida Farm, a three-acre farm that grows food for mutual aid, mostly culturally relevant food for Caribbean and African diaspora communities in the Bronx and Delaware County.
This is my second year. In my first year on an acre and a half, we produced 10,000 pounds of food specifically for mutual aid. This year, expanding to three acres, we're already halfway there and the season just started.
"Serra" is Taíno—it means barter or exchange—and "vida" in Spanish is life. It's literally the spirit of reciprocity in action, something I learned through my Abuela Maria. In her passing, she projectiled me into this movement. I was trying to find her, trying to continue her legacy through learning how she engaged with community—how she always had her door open, serving anyone who walked through immediately - “I don't know who you are, I don't know where you came from, but here's this plate of food, nourish yourself.”
Ora: Yes! So often when I talk to fellow radical food workers, it's often the radical hospitality of our grandmothers that taught us how to gather and care for community. I appreciate you naming that legacy.
Sea: Serra Vida is a micro piece of this beautiful macro dream called the West Branch Commons—a community land trust of 157 acres on the foothills of the Haudenosaunee lands. What's beautiful about being here in Delaware County along the Delaware River is that the land didn’t specifically belong to one tribe. It was a shared hunting and gathering ground of many different tribes, and I think that's a beautiful reflection of how West Branch Commons shaped itself—a culmination of different stakeholders, land stewards, people passionate about food movement work, wanting to preserve farmland so it continues to be accessed by different groups.
Ora: For those of us not taught about non-capitalist ways of doing life—what makes a community land trust (CLT) different?
Sea: As a CLT, we're the landholders promoting farmland to stay in perpetuity, but we're also providing security through long-term ground leases for land stewards who want access to land at affordable rates. You can build equity through infrastructure, knowing you won't be kicked off. It's investment and access to land that historically hasn't happened for queer, trans, BIPOC folks.
What's crucial is having a large part of the board be voices of folks stewarding the land. We have stake in this, we have autonomy. As land stewards, we work together finding the benefit of this land use—how can we maximize our joy, experiences, and security while paying forward to the environment and feeding our people equitably?
Kitty (Iridescent Earth Collective): West Branch Commons offers exactly the opportunities for land stewardship, mentorship, and intergenerational knowledge exchange that our communities thrive on. Here we have affordable land lease, access to water, storage, office space, and technical assistance from other farms. We hit it off with Tom [Hutson] pretty quickly nerding out about soil and farming—our values were aligned. The team is made up of radical, local folks committed to community-owned land stewardship and food sovereignty.
I'm Kitty Williams, they/them, a Black, queer farmer and activist from the Bronx. I co-founded Iridescent Earth Collective (IEC) with Jessica—we're a queer, Black and Latinx led farm duo growing food for the Bronx in rural New York. I actually grew up growing vegetables with my family at Taqwa Community Farm, a community garden founded by my parents and grandfather to provide safety and food to the Highbridge community. That curiosity about the world around us and desire to share knowledge has stuck with me—I've been a horticultural and farm educator for over a decade, working with students young and old across NYS to grow food for mutual aid and share skills.
IEC is dedicated to increasing our communities' capacity by growing food upstate for distribution in the Bronx and through community skill-shares. We engage QTBIPOC farmers in collaborative planning of our communities' future food system. We believe vulnerable members entering agriculture should have agency and support from folks who share similar experiences and values. We're supporting queer folk in growing food for the Bronx through intentional resource sharing, mutual aid farming, and holding space for queer NY-based farmers of color throughout their journey.
Ora: How are you finding nourishment and joy in such hard, uncertain times? I'm also here for sharing any ways that it’s difficult—I'm a big proponent of not just performing positivity but being honest about our grief, our fear, our sorrow while being radically hopeful –that's our duty as revolutionaries.
Sea: What I'm nourishing myself with is delicious salads, collard greens, recao (culantro) from the field that I've proudly been able to save seed from for three seasons now. I've been sharing it with other farmers—it's called the Recao Project. Today I had arroz con gandules that I saved seed from last year. It's not just nourishing my body because I need protein and carbs—it's nourishing my soul because of the deep cultural significance. Every bite reminds me of my abuela, my first experience with this food.
Being able to have that here as diaspora, separated from home and what's happening in countries all around the world—planting that seed with intention of improving the memory so it can coexist with other food being grown for mutual aid for communities that have uplifted and inspired me. Being able to say, "Here you go, here's something we've been missing, something we deserve"—we deserve a dignified experience with food.
Planting that seed is an act of resistance. Thinking about next season, harvesting seeds to save and hand out to Bronx community gardens like I did last year—that's resistance, keeping lineage going. Me existing and doing this work is resistance, which allows moments of gratitude and joy, even though it's really hard. Some days I go into the field, put my hands on soil, and cry and scream because everything is so unknown. But plants want to exist too, they deserve that existence.
Kitty: Community comes in many forms and ours is led by awesome radical queer activists, artists, dancers, musicians, farmers, cooks, and chefs. One thing that's stood out, including within our team at WBC, is there's a growing community of queer and BIPOC folk leading the charge in mutual aid farming. We're building something beyond just food production.
IEC loves dream/culture work—we see ourselves as leaders of culture work. Our focus is collaborative visioning and planning for our future as a people. Here, farming isn't an isolated entrepreneurial effort—it's resistance to individualism, a daily attempt to rebuild life grounded in community. Now we belong to a large community that breaks bread together once a week minimum, whose commitment to food sovereignty and mutual aid care is unshakable.
Ora: I think about how most people here have historically been disconnected from their ancestral foodways—indigenous folks, enslaved folks, folks displaced by war and poverty... This country has deliberately denied our communities food sovereignty as a tool of control. And queer and trans folks from diaspora communities especially often have lost access to family recipes from families they've been shut out from. The more each of us reclaims and shares these traditions, the more we help reduce the inflammation of trauma and grief in our collective queer body.
Sea: Absolutely. It's abundance and keeping memories alive. Anything that's lost, someone paying it forward can fill that gap. It's super healing.
Ora: Would you share a recipe with us? How cute would it be to include your sofrito or something passed down?
Sea: I'm so down! It's passed down, very special. Would be happy to pay it forward. My mom and I just made some together yesterday. This is a way of keeping it alive, to share it.
Ora: My parents were the opposite of proprietary about family recipes. They'd make copies for guests, always ready to hand out my mother's challah recipe or my father's hot sauce. We can remember that there's no scarcity—we'll never make it the same as you and your mother, we'll just be honoring and tasting you, thinking of you as we do it.
Abuela Maria’s Sofrito Recipe
4 bunches of cilantro
4 bunches of culantro (recao)
8 cubano (cubanelle) peppers
1lb of aji dulce (ajicito or cachucha)peppers
4 green bell peppers
4 red bell peppers
1 red or white onion
1 bunch of oregano
4 cups of garlic (peeled)
3/4 cup of olive oil/or avocado oil
Materials needed: Food Processor
1) Start off with blending garlic, onions and olive oil. 2) Add herbs and peppers (one or two at a time so everything is blended finely) 3) Top off with more olive oil/avocado oil to reach desired consistency (either a salsa or paste)
Storage: Freeze for future use or eat within 7 days if in Refrigerator.
Uses: You can eat fresh, use for marinades, stock base for beans/soups/guisados or arroz con gandules, and more! ¡Que Rico y con mucho Sabor!
West Branch Commons will be one of the beneficiaries at tomorrow’s Queer Aperitivo at Rodeo. Come through to taste their work and support this beautiful project that's making land justice real.
