Growing Greener doesn't produce money for farmland preservation

Hear, O listeners, the words of Ed Rendell, once governor of Pennsylvania, who spoke with candor of the limits of policy: “Growing Greener doesn’t produce money for farmland preservation or open space preservation.” At first glance, this may seem but a dry statement about budgets and programs, but in truth it carries a weightier lesson. For it speaks of the eternal tension between vision and resource, between the dreams of man and the coin needed to sustain them. It is a reminder that noble ideals, left unfunded, wither into empty words.

The meaning of this saying is clear: though Growing Greener, a program aimed at restoring and protecting the environment, was a step toward caring for the land, it did not provide the financial lifeblood required for farmland preservation and the guarding of open spaces. In other words, it carried promise, but not provision. Here Rendell reminds us that good intentions alone cannot preserve the earth; they must be joined by sacrifice, investment, and the will to act. Without these, the fields are sold, the forests are paved, and the inheritance of future generations is lost.

The origin of these words lies in the policy debates of Pennsylvania in the early 2000s. The Growing Greener initiative was designed to clean rivers, reclaim abandoned mines, and restore land scarred by industry. Yet while it did much good, it did not cover the preservation of farmland or the safeguarding of wilderness against development. Farmers, who bore the weight of feeding the people, still faced the pressure to sell their lands. Natural sanctuaries, which had stood for centuries, still faced the encroachment of asphalt and steel. Rendell’s remark was both acknowledgment and warning: programs must be matched with resources, or they will fall short of their noble aims.

History, too, bears witness to this truth. Consider the Dust Bowl of the 1930s in America. There were many voices who warned that farmland must be preserved through careful stewardship, but their words went largely unfunded and unheard. When the storms came, they swept away millions of acres of soil, driving families into despair and migration. The lesson is as sharp today as it was then: without true investment in the land, both earth and people suffer. Preservation is not mere poetry; it is survival.

And yet, Rendell’s words also stir a heroic challenge. They remind us that each generation must decide what it values more: fleeting wealth or enduring land. To fund farmland preservation is not merely to protect soil, but to protect culture, sustenance, and life itself. To guard open space is to keep alive the spirit of freedom, to ensure that men, women, and children may still walk under open skies and breathe air not yet suffocated by concrete. Programs like Growing Greener are beginnings, but without full measure they remain unfinished songs.

The lesson for us, O listener, is this: do not be lulled by words without substance. If you believe in the preservation of land, rivers, and sky, then know that belief must be backed by action. Noble speeches and lofty visions, without provision, are like empty wells. To preserve what is sacred requires sacrifice—of wealth, of convenience, of ease. But the reward is priceless: a living earth, fertile fields, and wild spaces where the soul may find rest.

Therefore, in practice, let each one ask: what will I preserve for those yet unborn? Support not only words but deeds; give not only approval but resources. Plant where the soil is bare, protect where the forest is threatened, and demand of leaders that programs be matched with true funding. For as Rendell teaches, Growing Greener is not enough without commitment, and the future of farmland and open space depends not on words alone, but on the living sacrifice of this generation.