Feeding More Than Hunger

CASSIAN LETHE, SNAP-ED, AND THE STRUGGLE TO KEEP COMMUNITY CARE ALIVE

Receiving SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) benefits is one thing. Knowing how to use those resources most beneficially is another. The role of SNAP-Ed, a federally funded grant program, is to bridge that gap and help people make their SNAP dollars stretch, teach them how to cook healthy meals, and lead physically active lifestyles. In Michigan, SNAP-Ed programs are run through the Michigan Fitness Foundation (MFF) and are present in all counties throughout the state. This program channels valuable resources into local organizations that aim to make a positive impact on the health of their communities, particularly in low-income areas.

Cassian Lethe is the food navigator at Growing Hope and runs the SNAP-Ed program. Each Saturday, Cassian goes to the Ypsilanti Farmers Market (which is run by Growing Hope). It distributes flyers containing information on resources for low-income community members, educates people on how to enroll in SNAP and how their benefits work, and prepares a recipe of the week, along with free samples to hand out. She describes the SNAP-Ed program as “a springboard for people’s agency,” a way for individuals to have their basic needs met, which then gives them the freedom and time to learn new things about food preparation and even grow their own food.

Cassian is passionate about helping people access food assistance because she grew up in a food-insecure household that did not access any benefits. She grew up in rural Texas, where she describes it as being very taboo to receive benefits. “You either don’t receive them or you do get them and you lie,” because of a perception that “if you need assistance, you are a burden.” Kids with reduced school lunches would be bullied, and cashiers at stores would harass people when they would pull out an EBT card and take much longer to serve them and check them out.

Because her family was food insecure but refused to receive benefits, Cassian began farming in her early teens as a way to help support her family. She raised cattle to sell at market, showed and sold chickens at 4H, and started researching permaculture, square foot gardening, and anything else that would make things easier for the family–and that would also work around her school schedule, since she was still only 15 when she began completely managing the farm.

At the time, she felt proud of what she had accomplished on the farm and of providing for the rest of her family. Still, she also started struggling with a myriad of health problems, including severe anxiety. At the time, she didn’t connect this to the fact that she was working basically from 6 am to 10 pm every day, and that all of her responsibilities were very high-stakes: if she didn’t provide lunch for her younger brother to bring to school, then he wouldn’t eat; if she burnt dinner, there wouldn’t be dinner; if she weren’t able to bring in enough money, her family wouldn’t have money for basic necessities.

Cassian is passionate about connecting people, through SNAP-Ed, to resources for basic necessities, so they have the time and resources to experiment with new foods and recipes. One of the things she has noticed about the SNAP recipients who take samples from her at the farmers market is that they frequently ask, “Are you sure they’re free?” Cassian emphasizes to program participants that the samples are free in multiple ways: the samples don’t cost any money, but they’re also free in the sense that people haven’t lost out on anything if they don’t like the sample. They didn’t waste money, waste food, put out their family, or any of the other things people experiencing food insecurity often worry about.

Fortunately, most people do like Cassian’s samples! They almost always run out, and many community members return week after week to try the next thing she has prepared. The recipes focus on ways to incorporate more fruits and vegetables into cooking, with a special emphasis on items people may not be familiar with, such as using beets to make “pink pancakes.” Food-insecure people with children often wouldn’t be able to risk making new foods like this at home; if the child doesn’t like it, then it would be a waste of food. But with the free samples, there’s no risk, and Cassian can immediately see the relief on parents’ faces when the kids seem happy with the sample. The parents then have the ability to take a recipe card with them and feel confident that if they cook this new recipe at home, their family will enjoy it. Through the free samples and accompanying recipe cards, community members can try new foods, gain knowledge about food, and take that knowledge home in an actionable form.

However, the members of the community Cassian serves as the SNAP-Ed coordinator at the Ypsilanti Farmers Market are worried about their future and often ask Cassian if she will have to stop coming to the market because of federal SNAP cuts. They are aware that the federal government's cuts to SNAP and other aid programs will affect them, but no one is yet certain how. Cassian’s worst fear is having to turn people away, because she knows what it’s like to feel like if you try to reach out for help, there won’t be anything there. SNAP-Ed is part of the something that she needed growing up, and she values being able to be that something for other members of her community.

Regardless of the federal cuts, Growing Hope will continue to do at least some of its food access work. Cassian explained that Growing Hope is like a field of various produce, where if there is a drought, some things will make it through, but not everything. She shared that every time a support system fails, it is the people who are most vulnerable who are hurt the most, and that Growing Hope can’t, on its own, save everyone, even though it would like to. She wants community members to feel safe and secure in the knowledge that they won’t be turned away, but due to the federal cuts, she is unsure if she’ll be able to provide that security anymore.

Cassian repeatedly emphasized how SNAP-Ed, SNAP, and other benefits programs work together to make the community as a whole healthier, and how the government’s recent cuts are relevant to us all:

“We’re not just individual points on a map, we’re pins stuck in a corkboard, which are all tied together. [Cutting benefits] will put strain on everyone, even if they don’t think that includes them. You’re going to be experiencing tension. Even if you feel like you’re not in any way tied to these government programs, you still need to go through the effort of advocating for those who do. Even in small ways.”

This post is part of a series by Emma Rose Hardy, a PhD Candidate at the University of Michigan and the Rackham Local Food Systems Intern at Growing Hope. The series aims to highlight the essential role that SNAP and other food assistance programs play in the Washtenaw County local food system.

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Mother Earth is Asking Us to be Present

By Julius Buzzard • April 1, 2026

Beloved community, April arrives the way it always does in Michigan; tentatively at first, then all at once. One morning, the ground is still stubborn and cold, and the next, something is pushing through. We call it Earth Month, but Mother Earth does not need a month. Mother Earth is always working. What Earth Month does, at its best, is return us to attention; to the slow, faithful labor happening beneath our feet, whether we notice or not. This month, I want to talk about that labor. Not just the labor of growing food, but the labor of staying whole while doing this work. The labor of belonging to one another. The labor of grief. Food sovereignty has never been only about food. It has always been about the conditions under which people live; who controls the land, who decides what is grown and for whom, whose hands are trusted to tend it, and whose labor is rendered invisible in the process. When we plant together, across our differences, we practice a different way of being in relationship with the earth and with each other. We are rehearsing the world we are trying to build. This is food sovereignty at its fullest: not a policy framework alone, but a practice of restoration. Of the land, yes. But also of people. Of community. Of self. Earth Month, then, is not just a celebration of the natural world. It is an invitation to remember that we are part of it; that the health of our soil and the health of our souls are not separate questions. This spring, I am carrying something heavier than usual. And I suspect many of you are too. Our community lost Melvin Parson. And that loss has settled into me like the coming of spring here in Michigan: quietly, then suddenly, everywhere. Melvin was a farmer, a visionary, and a neighbor. Through We The People Opportunity Farm, he built real pathways of belonging and dignity. He understood that food sovereignty is not only about growing food; it is about restoring people to possibility. Melvin planted seeds that will outlive all of us. In the soil and in the lives he helped rebuild. Rest in power, Melvin. We will keep tending what you planted. But grief does not arrive alone. And I think we need to name that. Something has been accumulating in many of us. The anxiety of not knowing whether your rent will hold, whether the program keeping your mother's medication affordable will survive the next budget cycle, whether the news tomorrow brings another cut, another threat, another loss. The weight of watching war unfold on a screen while packing your child's lunch. The low hum of uncertainty has grown so constant that many of us have stopped recognizing it as something being done to us. Mental health in our communities is rarely one dramatic moment. It is the slow erosion of the conditions that makes life feel possible. And right now, those conditions are under pressure from every direction. We are not imagining it. It is real. And it deserves to be named. I do not want to move past this moment too quickly, because I think it is asking something of us. Those of us who work in food systems, in community organizing, in the daily labor of trying to repair what has been broken, we carry a particular weight. The need is constant. The resources are not. The work is relational, which means every loss is personal. Every family facing hunger has a name. Every policy that fails our community lands in someone's body. We are not separate from the communities we serve. We are one of them. And that means the strains of this moment: economic precarity, political hostility, grief, isolation, and the relentless demand to do more with less all live within us. I have been thinking about what it means to tend ourselves the way Mother Earth tends herself. To acknowledge that fallow seasons are not failures. That rest is not retreat. That asking for help is not a weakness, but the most honest form of community care. Mother Earth is not asking us to be strong; she’s asking us to be present. This April, I am inviting Growing Hope's community into that same practice. Tend your plot, yes, but also tend your people. Check on your neighbors. Come to the farm not just to grow food, but to be held by the community. Let the soil remind you that transformation is slow, and real, and worth it. We are in this together. And together is the only way through. In solidarity, Julius P.S. If this month is weighing on you, you don't have to carry it alone. The NAMI HelpLine offers free, confidential one-on-one support, mental health information, and resources — available Monday through Friday, 10am–10pm ET. Call 1-800-950-NAMI (6264) or text NAMI to 62640. And if you need a reason to get outside and be with people, join us on April 11, 10am–1pm for our Spring Seedling Distribution.

Downtown Ypsi Deserves This

By Julius Buzzard • March 27, 2026

Beloved community, Last season, organizers of all sizes hosted 168 events at the Ypsilanti Farmers MarketPlace, from mutual aid distributions and cultural gatherings to health outreach and food policy conversations. These moments reflect how we steward shared resources to maximize good and meet multiple community needs at once. At the heart of it all is the Ypsilanti Farmers Market itself. If you’ve spent any time at the market, you know that it’s never just been a place to shop. It’s a place to linger. To listen. To organize. To feed one another, body and spirit. Together, we are building a food ecosystem where everyone has access to fresh produce and where advocacy, mutual aid, and belonging intersect. That was especially clear this year when our community faced a sudden gap in food access. When early federal funding shifts threatened nutrition dollars, our community didn’t wait. Together, we rapidly designed and launched the Ypsi SNAP Gap Program, a locally powered response that ensured hundreds of local families could continue to access food. As we move through spring, your support sustains this work; keeping vendor fees low, strengthening food access programs, and maintaining the MarketPlace as a space for belonging. Every gift sustains a place to live, organize, and nourish one another. With deep gratitude, Julius Buzzard Executive Director P.S. Your early spring support ensures we’re ready to respond when our community needs it most.

Nutrition and the Right to Thrive

By Julius Buzzard • February 26, 2026

Beloved community, March is National Nutrition Month, and across the country, we’re told to read labels more closely, count nutrients more carefully, and “eat real foods.” But nutrition is not a trend cycle; it is a question of power. I invite you to join me in curiosity and ask: Who has access to what’s being recommended? Who can afford the “real” food being celebrated? Who grows it, and who gets paid? Are we treating illness, or are we transforming the conditions that produce it? Health outcomes matter, but health equity goes further. Health equity asks why certain neighborhoods have higher rates of diabetes in the first place. It asks why fresh food feels exceptional in some zip codes and ordinary in others. It asks why farmers struggle to survive while healthcare systems expand. If we do not address land access, procurement policy, and economic extraction, then “eat real” risks becoming a quiet moral judgment instead of a structural commitment. Michigan once modeled real structural commitment through 10 Cents a Meal for Michigan's Kids & Farms ; matching school dollars to buy Michigan-grown produce and making local food standard in cafeterias. It strengthened children’s health, stabilized farmers, and shifted institutional purchasing habits. This year, the program was not funded. And as a result, students miss the chance to build lifelong food memories rooted close to home. And still, we are not retreating. Together, we are building a foundation of generational health. Generational health is the long game. It is the work of ensuring that today’s third grader doesn’t just eat a fresh apple; but grows up expecting apples from Michigan orchards in their cafeteria. It is ensuring that a teen doesn’t just volunteer at the market; but understands zoning laws, farm bills, and supply chains well enough to challenge them. This is the foundation of our theory of change. We build generational health by shaping habits early and reinforcing them often; through initiatives like our Teen Leadership Program, where young people gain the skills and critical lens to navigate and influence the food system; through field trips to our urban farm and incubator kitchen, where learning is rooted in soil; through Farm to School programming that normalizes local procurement; and through Power of Produce (POP) Club, where children practice agency by choosing fresh food for themselves. This is how we shift from reactive nutrition work to regenerative nutrition culture. We do this by pairing conversations about Food as Medicine, dietary guidelines, and eating real foods, with: An insistence that farmers are part of the prescription. Guidelines that align with affordability and access. Understanding that real foods need to be reachable, culturally meaningful, and dignified. Nutrition is not simply about what’s on a plate. It is about who has the right to thrive. This National Nutrition Month, I invite you to see nutrition not as an individual burden, but as a collective project that treats fresh food not as charity, but as infrastructure. We are cultivating a community where children expect fresh produce, where farmers are stable and respected, and where health is inherited as legacy. That is generational health. And that is the future we are growing together. In solidarity, Julius P.S. Check out the FoodCorps Policy Action Map or sign up for our Farm to School Newsletter if you’re interested in building generational health.

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