July 23, 2021 — On a chilly Sunday in June, Sarah Redmond steers her pickup outside of an old sardine cannery here in Gouldsboro, Maine, leaps out, and pulls from the truck bed what looks like lobster traps oozing with slimy, withered vegetable matter. “I’m doing research on dulse,” she says, about the tough, purplish seaweed that is higher in protein and lower in iodine than other varieties. Seaweed is popular in Japan, she says, but Americans find it too intense. “We sell it mostly as an ingredient and as seasoning,” she says. “It’s a flavor enhancer, in chips, bread, cereal — you can sprinkle it on as a barbecue rub. It’s got vitamins, minerals, fiber.”
Wearing thick rubber muck boots, jeans, and a camouflage baseball cap pulled low over a loose ponytail, Redmond looks every inch the farmer she is. But unlike most farmers, her crop is seeded on ropes strung through 55 acres of saltwater. Redmond, 40, owns Springtide Seaweed, the nation’s largest organic seaweed farm, based in this onetime cannery on the shores of Frenchman Bay. In addition to dulse, she grows sugar kelp, skinny kelp, and alaria kelp.
Redmond’s farm is part of a state-supported effort to build an edible-seaweed farming industry. Maine is home to the bulk of the country’s kelp farms; the state’s seaweed harvest is expected to grow from 54,000 pounds in 2018 to 3 million pounds in 2035. It’s an audacious experiment in a country that does not traditionally eat much seaweed, but it is seen as essential to bolstering Maine’s fragile economy.
Driving this investment is fear: Last summer, the Gulf of Maine recorded its all-time hottest temperature — 69.85 degrees. The Gulf is one of the fastest-warming bodies of saltwater on the planet, and the locals know full well that as water temperatures continue to rise, lobsters — by far the state’s most lucrative fishery — will abandon Maine for cooler Canadian waters. Lobster brings over $400 million dollars in direct revenue to Maine each year, and lures visitors from all over the world to restaurants, seafood shacks, and festivals. But perhaps not for long: In 2018, the Gulf of Maine Research Institute and several research partners estimated that by mid-century Maine’s lobster population will plummet by as much as 62 percent.
To fend off economic disaster, Maine is striving to wean itself from its dependence on lobster, and on all wild fisheries. It has little choice. Wild Atlantic salmon all but disappeared from the state decades ago, as have cod and northern shrimp. Sea urchins have been harvested to near extinction, and wild clams and mussels are increasingly scarce. As one wild fishery after another falters, a growing number of ambitious, far-sighted people like Redmond see the future of Maine — and in some sense the future of food — in the cultivation of water-dwelling plants and animals.