The other day, as I was driving with my husband, Matt, I found myself adjusting the equalizer in our car, trying to amp up the bass. He smiled and pointed out that I didn’t actually have to keep adding more bass. As a lifelong musician and writer, he had dealt with normies like me constantly trying to muscle the nuanced and complex aspects of technical sound. Instead, he said, I could just turn down the treble a little, adjust the other elements, and that would bring the balance I was looking for.
It hit me in that moment: This is a perfect metaphor for our lives and, indeed, for our industry.
We’re so used to piling on more—more hours, more effort, more of the same old strategies—in the belief that this is the only way to get results. But sometimes, what we really need is what my husband calls a remastering—a practice that producers and sound technicians use with modern tools to bring older music back to life; a chance to rebalance and rethink rather than just add more of the same.
In the fresh produce world, we stand on generations of tradition. That tradition is our strength, but if we rely solely on it without adapting, we risk becoming stagnant. Just as remastering an old song with new technology allows us to take what we know and love and give it a fresh spin, we can do the same with our knowledge and experiences in fresh produce. That means exploring new tools and technology, new conversations, and new relationships, all while still honoring where we came from.
Because where we come from matters. As the generations in fresh produce turn over, the new faces, ideas, minds, and hearts that shape where we go next must first gain their balance standing on the stones laid before them.
You may hear the phrase “audio archaeology” at times when referring to remastering. I do believe that we will leave a legacy of tradition, stories, and gifts in our industry’s wake. You are each stewards not just of crops, but of culture—of regional wisdom, generational knowledge, family-held practices, and the relationships that root this work in meaning.
But I also believe that we are greater than our artifacts. How we evolved, and that we evolved at all, may leave the most enduring lessons to be learned by those who come after us.
The reality is that we are lost if we remain static. Produce is attuned to motion, reading the land, the weather, and the market in anticipation of what is to come. The courage to remix, to reevaluate, to respond to a changing world—that’s where the real legacy lives. In the end, it’s not about throwing out the bass or the treble. It’s about finding an equilibrium that makes the whole piece of music—and our industry—come alive.
