Featured Image: Donna Sanders/Where the Food Comes From
Picture this: 6 a.m., July 16, 1969. Three men are making final preparations for what will be the journey of our lifetime. And one highly esteemed journalist—the legendary Walter Cronkite—has just begun his coverage for CBS News in the Media Building at Cape Canaveral’s Kennedy Space Center.
Per Mr. Cronkite, “Three hours and 32 minutes until man begins the greatest adventure in its history… This morning, Man is about to launch himself on a trip to the moon with the expectation of landing there. The dawn of this day heralded the dawning of a new age.”
Fast forward to July 31, 2026–56 years later–and I am standing in that very same media building, remembering my 10-year-old self watching Mr. Cronkite on television, preparing the nation for Apollo 11’s flight to the moon. Yes, you know the one: Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin.
And as I looked around that historic building, I could feel Mr. Cronkite’s presence and hear his voice. Talk about goosebumps. Holy rocket fuel, Batman! But why am I, Producer and Host Chip Carter, and crew of Where The Food Comes From at Cape Kennedy?
I will tell you, but you might not believe me: To film the launch of NASA Crew 11 aboard a Falcon 9 rocket to the International Space Station (ISS). Makes no sense, right? After all, WTFCF is a show about food and farming. Hang on…
A couple of years back, Chip caught wind that the University of Florida was growing Earth crops in 50-year-old moon soil. He wondered, “Why now?” We came to Cape Kennedy in April to check it out—what we saw convinced us this story had to come to air and in a big way.
Following a rigorous security clearance process that lasted weeks, we drove through the gates at Cape Kennedy. Being NASA, it wasn’t like we could just wander around. We had to leave our cars and move all the equipment—checked by a K9 team—into public affairs specialist Leah Martin’s van. Leah was one of our guides and chaperones for the day.
Inside, we were greeted by NASA Public Affairs Specialists Danielle Sempsrott and Stephanie Plucinsky. With a quick right through a pass-protected door, we arrived at the Space Crop Production Lab to see—wait for it—how food will be grown in space!
Fun Fact: I don’t think many of us realize that people have been living in space every second of every day since November 2, 2000. For the future of space exploration, ensuring missions are food-sufficient has become a top priority.
I was a bit surprised when we entered the lab. There were very few plants in sight. I was expecting a greenhouse environment, lights, and a lot of tubing. Instead, I saw huge containers with vacuum-lock doors.
Our first peek into what was going on came from the plant biologist team lead scientist, LaShelle Spencer. LaShelle spoke about the need for crop diversity to keep the astronauts’ diet exciting.
Fun Fact: LaShelle told us the astronauts love spicy food because their senses of taste and smell are dulled in Zero G. Their current favorite? Shrimp cocktail.
So, what’s behind Door #1? Dandelions! And spinach, basil, and other greenery, all
growing under extremely controlled conditions. It’s a new wrinkle on the old idiom, “Variety is the spice of life.” I am sure the astronauts will appreciate it.
NASA scientist 1, Rachel Tucker, was so very patient with me and answered every question. She explained the experiments in each unit mimic traditional farming issues: floods, drought, soil problems… all just in case.
The main challenge is the all-important water delivery system. I chuckle when I think about astronauts trying to catch floating droplets. So how do you water plants?
Easy: A simple and quite effective tubing system that delivers drops directly into the soil from the bottom of an otherwise sealed container that still lets the plant itself poke through.
Each plant has to be precisely measured and weighed. Plant consistency is key because of the tight working conditions on the ISS and future space colonies. Every inch of space, every ounce of weight matters.
NASA project scientist Natasha Haveman took our mission one step further. She explained that nothing goes to waste. Like any good farmer, they’re stewards and make the most of what they have. They even recycle dirty cotton t-shirts into growth medium for mushrooms.
We then made our way to the NASA Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB). Commissioned in 1964 and built in 1966 to assemble the vehicles sent to the moon, it now houses Artemis, which will soon take us back. According to Leah, “Every vehicle that has ever carried a human into outer space was assembled in that building.”
I can only picture what it must look like inside. We couldn’t go in. Even our top-level security clearance didn’t go that far. We filmed a few transitions and other setups for the show with that amazing backdrop, then it was back to the Space Lab for a few more reveals.
Back at the lab, we meet Dr. Tyler Descenza from Florida Institute of Technology. One of Tyler’s assignments was to recreate the lunar soil Apollo astronauts brought back to test what might grow in it. The real stuff is quite rare, so Tyler had to make the substitute. I did ask about the recipe but—no surprise—it’s top secret. There was a lot of that going around.
So you know how they’re going to water and grow plants — what about harvest? Look closely at this white gadget. It works like a pepper grinder; twist and it chops sprouts. The little net captures the greens before they float away. Bonus – the net makes a handy rinsing container. Efficiency at its finest.
After we poked our heads in all the bays and saw all the crops growing in a variety of mediums, some for Zero G, some for a lunar colony, Day One was done.
And now it’s on to Launch Day. T-Minus 26 hours and counting.
We start bright and early, 5:30 a.m. to be specific, and by 8 a.m., during the astronaut walkout, Chip manages to get a couple of pictures of Commander Zena Cardman saying goodbye to her mom. Disclaimer: They are real tear-jerks. Remember, they’ve been in quarantine, so there’s no touching.
Commander Zena Cardman gave her mom an air hug. Nope – no touching. And then blowing Mom a goodbye kiss. So much emotion in this picture, Pulitzer Prize-worthy.
It is still very early, and liftoff isn’t until 12:09. Time to grab another cup of coffee
and interview University of Florida Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences Dr. Wagner Vendrame, whose work is on board the Falcon 9.
Dr. Vendrame is a seed specialist. Watching him stare at Falcon 9, I ask how he feels seeing his babies heading to space. “Excited. I feel like crying,” he replies. Which is understandable—and relatable.
His seeds will return to Earth when the mission ends. After a period of quarantine, he will analyze for nutrient uptake and the effects of Zero G. And we’ll be one step closer to feeding humans in space.
The camera crew and Chip are in positions staked out early that morning. My job is to watch the countdown clock; the crew is far ahead on the other side. My job was to cue Chip, who was facing away from the rocket, to start our carefully timed opening, which we hoped to synchronize with launch.
We knew the launch would be loud, and the end of Chip’s spoken opening would most likely be drowned out. Our solution? Cue cards showing the opening words of every episode.
Now picture this. I am standing there watching the countdown clock, giving hand signals as it drops, waiting for the critical 30-second mark to cue. What happened next still makes my stomach nauseous, and my head hurt: The clock stopped!
My thoughts are racing – OMG! Did it break? Am I missing something? Now what? Let’s face it, it’s not like we can call the rocket back and do a retake or fix it in post!
Chip is looking at me, waiting for a simple signal. But what he sees is me hopping around, waving my arms up and down. He’s as clueless as I am.
The launch is scrubbed. With 33 seconds remaining, an ugly black cloud crept into range, close enough to call it off. Silver lining—we’re on again for the next day at 11:43 a.m. Fun Fact: Launch timing for every mission is critical. If you don’t hit the right window, it’s a no-go.
My first thought is for the poor astronauts. They have to sit on the rocket for a few more hours before going back to quarantine and getting ready to relive the whole day. As a mom, I don’t think I could have handled saying goodbye to my daughter again. As for us, it’s time to check back into the hotel.
The next day arrives with the infamous Florida sunshine and heat that August brings — but the same amount of excitement. As the launch approached, the clouds began to gather. I silently wonder if it will be scrubbed again.
Chip is in the process of getting miked up and asks aloud if we should run the opening with the cue cards a few more times while we wait. It’s getting close. I think he’s a little nervous.
Then we hear it. A very loud siren. I have no idea what it means; it could be the “go” signal or the end of the world. We didn’t hear it yesterday. The veteran crew next to me seems unhappy. The clouds are rolling in, and the wind is whipping up, and… was that a bolt of lightning?
Chip is still nervously running through the opening. I take my position by the countdown clock, ready to give the crucial 30-second signal.
Now I am watching the clock, watching Chip, and I can feel my anxiety level going up. With a minute left to launch, Chip is still rehearsing. I’m already panicking—and now comes a gust of wind that blows the cue cards out of his hands and 20 yards away.
The countdown continues—just seconds left, and our host is reshuffling cue cards while running to his mark. And I am dying. By this point, I have my hands atop my head and am literally trying to scream the countdown over the rising engine noise.
The mission is not scrubbed. As Chip slides back into place, still facing away from the rocket and with no idea what’s happening behind him, he begins the show opening. Falcon 9 launches behind him. He completes the opening. We are done. We are thrilled. We got it. And Chip begins his happy dance.
Until our lead cameraman, very quietly, very unassumingly says, “Yeah, but you missed your mark.”
No! In his scramble to recover the cards, put them back in order, and get back to his mark, Chip slid a full three feet to his right of where he was supposed to stop.
Our idea had been to have him in frame next to the Falcon 9 on the pad. In the chaos, he slid so far over his body that he completely blocked the rocket from view.
We were crushed. Devastated. So much planning. Such high hopes.
But wait a minute… let’s look at that film. And what we see is amazing! Chip’s body does indeed block the Falcon 9. As he goes to the cue cards, at the most perfect moment, the rocket rises over his right shoulder.
What are the chances?!? The host blows it, and somehow it still works. My thought: There had to be a bit of divine intervention. Wouldn’t you agree?
I missed it all. Chip talks about how the ground rumbled and shook, and as he turned to face the rocket and witness the launch, he’s pretty sure he saw the face of God.
I had a job to do. I didn’t see the smoke—in all its flaming glory—coming out of the bottom of the rocket, and the hold-down arm moving away, setting it free to soar into the sky. My heart was racing so badly watching and trying to cue Chip that I forgot to look. When I did finally gather my wits enough to look up, I saw a small streak of light that was Falcon 9 in the sky.
Yeah, I may have missed it all. But I didn’t “miss” any of it – I was, instead, part of it.
Standing with Dr. Vendrame, we are all still looking up at the sky in total and silent awe. The clouds have moved in, and we’re unable to see the boosters separating. A sonic boom and another round of trembling earth tell us what’s happening. As the rocket boosters return and land on a waiting ship, I realize what’s been the opportunity of a lifetime for us is, in reality, just another two historic days on Cape Kennedy.
Our day is done. Our NASA mission is over—at least this one. At least for now.
To Be Continued
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