Freedom to Know: Reflections on Cotton Candy, Glyphosate, and Independence Day

By the time my kids arose on July 4th, I had practiced yoga, spent time with my self-help readings, contemplated how un-free I felt in my unstable housing situation, shifted my mind back to gratitude, and picked up the cotton candy machine. That's right—we were preparing for my 11-year-old daughter's first business venture during Hailey's Independence Day parade.

At 10 a.m., we dumped four Mason jars of organic flavored cane sugar—cherry, root beer, coconut, and pineapple—into the trash. The sugar had been stored in a friend's basement for a few years, so we were making a fresh batch. As we reviewed the recipe, we discovered a problem: flavored sugar is supposed to dry for six hours after being mixed with liquid extracts. Oops.

The night before, we had been up late testing the machine on our friend's porch, the scent of toasted coconut drifting through the summer air as daylight faded. Under the glow of our headlamps, we twisted paper cones and watched clouds form from spinning sugar.

To be clear, cotton candy is not my jam. I can't stand the stuff. My kids were drawn to this business idea after hearing how successful this venture had been for our friend's son. I kept nudging them toward a kombucha stand or something nourishing, but our culture loves sugary treats. And so do my kids.

The last thing I wanted was to contribute more sugar to the candy-tossing tradition at parades—a tradition I despise. It distracts children from the floats carrying local government officials, nonprofit volunteers, firefighters, dancers, musicians, and others who help make our community thrive. It also turns parents into traffic monitors as children dart into the street after candy, often oblivious to horse hooves, wagon wheels, and multi-ton floats.

If I were a politician, I'd ban the candy-tossing tradition altogether. It's wasteful, distracting, and, in my view, misses the point of gathering as a community in celebration.

I'd also prohibit many things that make us sick, including toxic agricultural chemicals that have raised concerns among scientists, health advocates, and consumers for decades. Like, you know, much of what’s in American food.

As we worked to dry the sugar quickly using the oven, searched unsuccessfully for natural food coloring on a holiday when most stores were closed, and rewrote our signs, I wondered whether I was being hypocritical. Just because the cotton candy was organic, was it really better?

I drew the line at artificial dyes.

"Mom, cherry needs to be red!" my daughter informed me.

"Darling, Red Dye No. 40 has been banned," I replied.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it’s made of petroleum, messes up your gut and brain, causes cancer—amongst other things.”

I’m not a mom who sugar-coats reality.

At the very least, the organic sugar and flavorings we were using weren't produced with synthetic pesticides or herbicides commonly used in conventional agriculture. Organic farming isn't chemical-free, and environmental contaminants can reach organic farms, too. Still, I find comfort in knowing the farmers and workers growing these ingredients are generally exposed to fewer toxicants. That matters to me.

But does it matter to our government? Last week, the U.S. Supreme Court issued a 7-2 ruling in a case involving Bayer-Monsanto, the manufacturer of Roundup. At the heart of the case was whether state-law claims could require warnings that differ from federal labeling requirements approved by the Environmental Protection Agency.

Because the EPA has maintained that glyphosate does not require a cancer warning on its federally approved label, the Court's decision makes it difficult for states and individuals to pursue certain claims based on the absence of such warnings. Critics argue the ruling limits states' ability to provide stronger consumer protections.

The decision raises an important question: How much information should consumers have about potential risks associated with products used throughout our food system?

I believe we should have the freedom know everything our government and science knows.

Glyphosate remains the most widely used herbicide in the world. While regulatory agencies continue to debate its safety, numerous studies have linked glyphosate to cancer and other health effects. The controversy has resulted in restrictions or bans in dozens of countries globally and has generated hundreds of thousands of lawsuits in the United States.

I've long been bothered by the fact that packaged foods must disclose certain ingredients and nutrition information, yet consumers often know very little about ingredients used to produce our food. Which pesticides were used? What chemicals were involved in processing? What residues were added or might remain?

On Independence Day, as we celebrate our freedoms, I find myself thinking about the freedom to know. To ask questions. To educate ourselves. To advocate for transparency. My own response has been to support farmers I know, seek out foods grown to standards I trust, and help others learn more about where their food comes from, and why it matters.

As for political action, only two days after the Supreme Court ruling, lawmakers introduced the bipartisan People Over Poison Act, legislation intended to preserve states' ability to hold pesticide manufacturers accountable for harms alleged under state law.

Meanwhile, back at the cotton candy stand, my daughter counted the money we made—it was nowhere near what she paid for the business—with her own money. She asked whether it would be a mistake.

"Maybe," I told her. "But with hard work, good marketing, consistency, and time, it's possible to make money."

That's part of the American story, too: entrepreneurship, commerce, risk, and the pursuit of opportunity.

Later, as Main Street returned to normal and spectators drifted toward the park's next celebration, we packed up the table, umbrella, cotton candy machine, and jars of flavored sugar. My kids, hot, tired, and wired, disappeared toward the music while I wrapped extension cords and picked up trash.

As I cleaned up, I found myself thinking about the future. Not whether I'll be here for America's 300th birthday, but whether we'll continue expanding the freedoms that matter most—among them, the ability to know more about what we eat, how our food is produced, and which aspects cause harm. If independence means anything, perhaps it begins with the freedom to know.