Composting collapse into capacity

I don’t romanticize change. It’s disruptive by design. In practice, it’s slow, nonlinear, and rarely clean. But when you start to think in systems, you stop expecting it to be anything else!

At Mama Kuku’s Homestead, Texas first escargot farm, we aren’t chasing breakthroughs. We’re building feedback loops. Designing for continuity. Testing the edges of what’s possible when ancestral knowledge meets ecological infrastructure. This work isn’t born from desperation or branding—it’s the outcome of deliberate, decades-worth, of pattern recognition. Long-range thinking. Structural imagination.

The cycles that brought us here—extractive agriculture, social atomization—are functioning exactly as designed. That clarity is helpful for me. Because it frees us to focus not on fixing a broken system, but on composting it! Feeding the next one!

And to be clear: the next one doesn’t have to be theoretical.

We’ve seen what happens when care, labor, and land are aligned. When young people inherit tools, not just trauma. When food becomes a vehicle for memory, not just market. When community is treated as infrastructure, not an afterthought.

That’s not utopia. It’s viable strategy.

At MKH, we’re not here to “empower” anyone. Power is already present in our lineages, our microbes, our meals. What’s needed is space—held intentionally—for that power to reorganize itself. To build adaptive capacity. To cohere.

If you’re also asking deeper questions about how to live through collapse without becoming it, I see you. Not because I have the answers, but because I’ve committed to staying with the questions. Not out of confusion—but out of design.

This isn’t about going back to the land. It’s about going forward with it. Thoughtfully. Collectively. And with enough imagination to outlast the systems we’re replacing.

🌱 — Ozi