A Journey with Tomatoes, Farming, and Conscious Living

It was meant to be a cultural exchange, a brief foray into the pastoral life at the “Centro Studi Bhaktivedanta” in Ponsacco, Italy. Founded by Marco Ferrini in 1996, this Institute of Indo-Vedic Studies seemed like the perfect escape from the daily grind, offering a serene opportunity to explore the connections between humanity, nature, and perhaps, a deeper connection with myself. So, I signed up as a volunteer through Workaway, ready to immerse myself in the simple life and gain a richer understanding of what it means to be grounded—both physically and spiritually.

I’ll be honest: the first few days were a bit of a shock to my system. Farming life was not something I was used to. Getting up at 5:30 a.m. to pray wasn’t new to me, but the 7 a.m. breakfast? Well, that was something I hadn’t experienced since my school days. And while the early morning meals didn’t exactly excite me, what followed was a quiet awakening I never expected.

Let me set the stage: me, a Muslim woman, standing in the middle of an Italian farm, working alongside others who practiced different spiritual paths. And yet, despite our varied beliefs, there was a shared reverence for the earth. It felt as though we were living in sync with something much older, much deeper than any one religion or cultural tradition. But the real turning point—the moment that changed everything for me—came in the form of a humble tomato.

Yes, you read that right. A tomato.

It had been years since I’d picked vegetables from a farm. On this particular day, I found myself among rows of ripe, red tomatoes, their scent suddenly transporting me back in time. I had forgotten what real tomatoes smelled like. I asked the farmer, Mr. Giovanna—a man with an infectious sense of humor—if I could eat one. He smiled, and with a simple nod, gave me the go-ahead. I picked a small cherry tomato, popped it in my mouth, and was instantly overwhelmed by the taste.

“What is this?” I thought. The flavor wasn’t just rich—it was familiar, like a forgotten memory suddenly resurfacing. By the second and third tomato, it hit me: this was the taste of ‘real’ food. The taste I had lost somewhere along the way, buried beneath years of industrially produced groceries that, while convenient, had numbed my senses to the authentic flavors of the earth.

That tiny tomato sent me into an existential spiral. How had I gone so long without realizing that I had forgotten the true taste of something as basic as a vegetable? It made me wonder: what else have I been missing? What other aspects of my life have been quietly reshaped by the industrial systems that surround us, turning us into what I can only describe as “systemic humans” rather than free souls?

I wasn’t just eating tomatoes that day—I was unearthing a truth about how disconnected we’ve become from our food, our nourishment, and, ultimately, ourselves. I began to think about how easy it is to go through life unquestioning, accepting whatever’s packaged and presented to us, from food to culture. It’s all too easy to walk into a supermarket, fill our carts, and never once stop to ask: “Where did this come from? What’s in this? What does this do to my body?”

In those eleven days on the farm, I not only worked the land, but I also started questioning everything. Every meal, no matter how simple, left me feeling more energized and clear-headed than I had in years. I would work long hours and still feel light, not just in my body but in my spirit. It was as though the food I was eating—nourished by the sun, soil, and hands of people who cared—was unlocking a part of me that had been dormant.

Then came the weekend, my chance to explore Tuscany. I wandered through picturesque cities, eating at restaurants and street vendors, excited to indulge in local Italian cuisine. But something was off. The pasta, the sauces, even the pistachio and basil—foods I would have typically loved—felt flat, flavorless. It was as if my taste buds had been rewired by those eleven days of fresh, organic food. The contrast was jarring, and, frankly, a little frightening.

That’s when it hit me: we are being controlled by industries that package convenience at the cost of authenticity. We’ve lost touch with the most basic, vital aspects of life—what we eat, how we live—and we don’t even realize it. If we can forget the true taste of a tomato, what else have we forgotten? What other parts of ourselves are we sacrificing without even knowing it?

The experience left me with more questions than answers. But one thing became clear: we need to reconnect. Not just with nature, but with the things that feed us, physically and emotionally. We need to start asking questions again, to stop accepting the pre-packaged life and dig a little deeper—whether that’s in the soil of a farm or the recesses of our own minds.

With my humble knowledge and studies of various religions, beliefs, and cultures, I’ve found a universal truth: they are all aligned on one key point—healthy nutrition leads to a healthy life. Across traditions, from ancient teachings to modern wisdom, the message is clear: a healthy body supports a healthy mind. In Persian, we say: *"عقل سلیم در بدن سالم"*—a healthy mind in a healthy body.

So, don’t let the industrial lifestyle rob you of that health. You have only one chance to live your given life, and nourishing your body with real, whole foods is an essential part of that journey.

The next time you eat something, really taste it. Ask yourself where it came from, how it was grown, and what it’s doing to you. Because once you rediscover the taste of real food, you might just rediscover something real about yourself too.

This integrates the point about the wisdom of healthy living found in various cultures and beliefs, while maintaining a professional and reflective tone.

Simin Shams