Systems Innovation

Two months on the road had taught us more about the state of farming than a year behind any desk could. The sun had risen and set over 20 farms, each with its own stories, struggles, and secrets buried deep in the soil. We conducted 40 interviews, gathered 4 terabytes of data, burned calories in 10 gyms, and even racked up 3 camping fines. The road, with its endless stretches of farmland and winding paths, became our classroom, our laboratory, our home.

We began with Ethnographic research, understanding the heartbeat of each farm. We weren’t just asking questions; we were living their lives, eating their food, and even sweating in their fields. But this was just the beginning. The real journey was in making sense of the chaos, of diving deep into the myriad of information we had collected and finding the patterns hidden within.

We set boundaries, not of land, but of systems. Inspired by Donella Meadows, we understood that the power of any system lies in its structure, and within that structure, information flows reign supreme. If we could map these flows, we could see where the blockages were, where the information was getting lost, and most importantly, where it could be enhanced.

Framing the challenge for the workshop participants

The Land-Grant System, a relic of the Morrill Acts of 1862, was our first deep dive. It was supposed to be the backbone of agricultural education, research, and extension services, designed to uplift communities through knowledge and innovation. But time, politics, and private interests had eroded this once-mighty structure. The public sector had been divested, and the research once meant to serve all had become the playground of the few. We zoomed in, tracing the shifts that occurred during the Reagan era, when funding priorities changed and researchers found themselves at the mercy of private funders. The system was still there, but it was limping, a shadow of its former self.

But within this erosion, we saw potential. What if we could restore the flow of information? What if knowledge, freely shared, became the most valuable asset to every farmer? What if we could enhance the flow of this information, making it as natural as the rivers that irrigated the fields?

In a small, makeshift meeting room—just a table, some chairs, and a whiteboard—we began our ideation session. Armed with user stories and the ever-powerful “How Might We?” questions, we embarked on a journey of divergent thinking. Sticky notes filled with ideas covered the walls as we mapped out possibilities. Affinity mapping and sketching brought clarity to the chaos. Six user stories emerged, each telling a different tale of how information could be shared, how farmers could be empowered, how systems could be restructured.

We dotted the best ideas, then converged, refining and testing these concepts with the reality of the farmers we had met. The ideas were promising, but they needed to be more than just dreams on a whiteboard. They had to work in the real world, under the sun and in the soil.

As the sun set on our final day in the field, we realized that our journey wasn’t just about farms or systems; it was about understanding the breadth and depth of what it means to connect people, ideas, and knowledge. The road had taught us that systems thinking and UX methodologies weren’t just academic exercises. They were tools that could rebuild the structures that sustained us all, one idea, one farm, one flow of information at a time.

Our vision for the future was clear: a world where every farm could thrive sustainably, where information and knowledge flowed freely, and where the lessons of the past could guide us into a brighter, greener future. And this vision started not in the halls of academia, but on the dirt roads, in the fields, and in the hearts of the farmers we had come to know.

In Partnership with Stanford University