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Food Sovereignty and Emotional Refuge: The Power of the Community Garden in Rivas Vaciamadrid
18-08-2025
In Rivas Vaciamadrid (Madrid), a community garden next to CEIP José Saramago has transformed an empty plot into a productive space open to the neighborhood. It is one of the initiatives promoted by Humana’s 3C Program: Cultivating Climate and Community. Within it, stories like those of Alicia and Ramona unfold—two women with different backgrounds, motivations, and rhythms—who share a space that has changed how they see the world and themselves.
Alicia studied Environmental Sciences and has followed a plant-based diet for years. Her interest in joining an urban garden wasn’t random—it was the result of a personal and professional journey tied to sustainability. Her motivation went beyond learning to grow tomatoes: she wanted to be part of something collective.
From the first sessions of the project, she was especially drawn to the social aspect: learning about the origins of these community gardens, which emerged as a neighbourhood demand for abandoned spaces and a commitment to agroecology. “I really liked that they talked about the social movements behind all this, how they started in cities to build community, not just to grow food,” she explains.
This perspective connects the garden to a long tradition of urban struggle and collective transformation of space, which in the 1970s and 1980s led neighbourhood movements and citizen groups to occupy vacant lots, abandoned plots, and rooftops to turn them into parks, gardens, and community gardens.
Today, the urban gardening movement in Spain continues to grow and expand nationally. These gardens not only promote citizen participation and environmental education, but also respond to the ecological emergency and the growing interest in reconnecting with nature and creating sustainable collective spaces. Urban gardens have become a stable social and environmental practice, gaining strength in parallel with current socio-economic and ecological crises.
For Alicia, participating in this project means cultivating more than vegetables: it means building relationships, preserving knowledge, and advocating for a more sustainable and humane urban model. In her daily life, the garden has become a refuge and a space to disconnect: “The day the power went out, I came to the garden to water and read,” she recalls. This simple act holds a powerful dimension: in times of crisis such as blackouts, heatwaves, or during the pandemic, the urban garden emerges as a vital space for resilience and autonomy.
Being able to produce even a small portion of one’s own food reduces dependence on industrial and globalized supply chains, which are often vulnerable or unsustainable. Additionally, these spaces offer thermal comfort and a safe environment to maintain social bonds and care for physical and mental health, acting as climate and community shelters in the face of adversity. Thus, the garden becomes not just a place to grow food, but an essential resource for facing extraordinary events that challenge our ways of life. “It’s beautiful to go from nothing to creating something as important as feeding yourself,” she summarizes.
Ramona: From Rejecting the Garden to Finding a Calling in Flowers
Ramona’s story is different. A Romanian mother and worker, she came to the garden almost unwillingly. “Paula, my friend, signed me up. I didn’t want to go; I thought it was a terrible idea,” she admits with a laugh. Her life at the time was a whirlwind of rushing, work, and responsibilities. The idea of spending time working the land seemed impossible.
In the early days, she barely showed up, and when she did, it was more out of obligation than conviction. Until she discovered something unexpected: being alone working on the garden beds relaxed her. “When there weren’t people around, I felt good. I came home calmer. That’s when I started to like it,” she explains.
Over time, the garden not only eased her stress; it also awakened a vocation she hadn’t imagined: creating a flower farm in Romania. “I saw Instagram profiles of women with flower farms and thought, ‘This is what I want to do,’” she recalls. From her participation in the 3C Program, she gained practical knowledge about soil quality, irrigation, efficient water use, composting, and the importance of mulching—lessons she now considers key to her future project. Although her family situation still keeps her in Spain, she dreams of returning to her country and applying what she’s learned to transform a small plot into a productive and sustainable space.
Cultivating Is Also an Inner Change
Ramona’s time in the garden has even changed how she sees life: “Before, I wouldn’t even look up to see the trees. Now I stop, observe insects, take photos,” she says. She’s changed her diet, reducing meat consumption, and gained something she says she lacked: patience. These changes align with studies showing that gardening activities improve psychological well-being, increase mindfulness, and promote healthier habits (Soga et al., 2017).
Alicia, meanwhile, maintains her vegan commitment and sees the garden as a way to live that coherence. “Knowing you’re not contributing to systems that harm the planet is very powerful,” she affirms. Scientific evidence also shows that community gardening promotes self-efficacy, a sense of purpose, and connection with others, which are associated with better mental and physical health indicators.
Ramona and Alicia’s experiences illustrate how participating in a community urban garden acts as a health asset that not only improves physical habits (diet, activity) but also strengthens internal dimensions of well-being (patience, coherence, purpose).
Why Are These Gardens Important?
When asked why community gardens deserve support, Ramona answers without hesitation: “They teach you to value food. When you grow a tomato, you understand what it takes. And you learn to care for the land, which we often take for granted.” Her experience reflects a growing eco-social awareness, recognizing the interdependence between people and the ecosystems that nourish them. This everyday learning is closely tied to food sovereignty, advocating that everyone—regardless of income level or neighbourhood—should have the right to decide what, how, and where to produce and consume their food, ensuring it is fresh, nutritious, and responsibly sourced.
Alicia, meanwhile, emphasizes the role of institutions: “We need funding, more spaces like this, and to raise awareness that this goes far beyond just filling the fridge.” Her words point to the need for public commitment that goes beyond simply providing land, actively supporting community processes where people can engage in caring for and regenerating their environment. The proposal to expand these gardens to other neighbourhoods or cities reflects a vision of urban life where nature and community are intertwined, and where collective action—supported by municipal resources—becomes a driver of ecological learning, social cohesion, and urban resilience in the face of challenges like climate change.
Both agree that these spaces offer something hard to find elsewhere in the city: the chance to pause, to learn from nature and from others, and to feel that—even on a small scale—you can be part of the solution. Through everyday actions, participants become agents of change, capable of transforming habits and relationships with their surroundings, and driving tangible climate action through local practices of sustainable cultivation, biodiversity care, and ecological footprint reduction.
