The machinations of our modern industrial food system are largely invisible to the consumer, until… A pandemic means interrupted supply chains, price gouging, and empty shelves. Ice storms wipe out electricity to a region’s homes and businesses, restricting access to groceries and basic supplies. A headline about a food contamination outbreak of unknown source and scale means that understanding where our food comes from, where it travels and all the steps before it reaches our family's plates really matters. The crisis passes, but we're left not knowing what to trust, where to turn or how to prepare for the inevitability of the next one. Suddenly, a system we take for granted—yet depend on for our most basic needs—no longer feels stable, safe or resilient.

Resiliency depends on diversity: overlapping processes, backup options and the capacity to respond quickly and nimbly to both acute crises and chronic stress. The industrial, just-in-time food system that delivers unthinkable tonnage of food around the world isn't going away and will continue to meet most of our food needs. But it's in moments of crisis that the resiliency of shorter supply chains—those with fewer steps between farm and fork—becomes apparent. Around the world, open-air markets are often the first, and sometimes the only, places to reopen after a crisis, connecting people to one another as much as to essential food and products. During COVID, farmers markets thrived precisely because they could adapt so quickly: spreading out, creating safe places to shop, and responding directly to community needs.

The recent cyclosporiasis outbreak makes the point concrete. Tracing the twists and turns of a complex global supply chain—even for a single ingredient—meant the outbreak dragged on for weeks and sickened thousands before officials could pin down a source, and uncertainty still exists. As of mid-July 2026, the outbreak had reached roughly 7,000 confirmed or suspected cases across 34 states, with Michigan accounting for the largest share. State and federal investigators have only recently, and tentatively, traced a multi-state cluster to one supplier's lettuce—distributed to countless restaurants and retailers under many brand names—though the full reach and precise sources of the contamination are still unclear. Meanwhile, at a farmers market or farm stand, you can ask your farmer directly about their water source, food-safety protocols, and growing practices. At the farm stop, food hub or food co-op, regional growers deliver right to the door. In your backyard or community garden, food is not only the tastiest but the shortest supply chain possible—zero steps between farm and fork.

This isn't to say small producers are immune from outbreaks. Food safety protocols and practices are essential from field to fork, and issues do occur across supply chains short and long. But, when one occurs, traceability is faster and far simpler the shorter and more transparent the supply chain. As a southeast Michigander, I spent these weeks worrying about whether my preschooler would get sick from the supermarket berries (among the past culprits of cyclospora outbreaks) she'd devoured recently. But the local produce right next to them in our fridge? We knew exactly who grew, touched and sold us those ingredients, so if any issue arose, we could pin it down without a months-long national investigation.

In moments like this, when tracing an outbreak's source is difficult, costly and slow, local and regional supply chains—especially direct-to-consumer settings where the farmer hands the product straight to the customer—are by nature more traceable. And the transparency and trust in that transaction, the simple ability to ask a farmer about growing practices, water sources and food-safety protocols, is night and day compared to a product pulled off a supermarket shelf. At a farmers market, I can easily pivot to a different stand if a grower ever does have an issue—or even just a poor growing season. At a supermarket, when a major supplier who owns many brands has a product pulled, it might mean empty store shelves.

We shouldn't need a crisis to remind us to keep our next meal closer to home—and we shouldn't have to wait for the next one to build the systems that make that possible, affordable and accessible for all families.

Small, local farmers embody the spirit of "know your farmer, know your food" more than ever—even as many are reeling from federal grant cuts, rising fuel and input costs, and the broader uncertainty of an unstable world. Investment in infrastructure and capacity building for local and regional food systems, from farms to farmers markets, food stops to food hubs, can mean the difference between vulnerability and resilience the next time crisis strikes.

Amanda Maria Edmonds is a faculty member in U-M’s Program in the Environment and the faculty lead for the U-M Sustainable Food Systems Initiative.