Carbon Credit: An Urban Farmer’s Reflection

I live in the city, but my heart belongs to the soil. Every other day, I leave my urban home and travel to my farm, where I work alongside my team in the fields. There, I see what it really means to plant trees, build soil, harvest water, and grow food in harmony with nature.

Back in corporate and manufacturing circles, I hear words like carbon credit, offsets, and net zero dominating the conversations. I know the mechanics: when one tonne of carbon dioxide is reduced or captured, a certificate is issued—this is a carbon credit. Corporations buy and sell these credits to balance out their emissions, and the results are neatly displayed in glossy sustainability reports.

But where do these credits come from? They are generated by projects that reduce or remove carbon: a wind farm replacing coal power, a forest restoration effort, even methane capture at a landfill. Independent organizations known as carbon registries verify such projects, measure their impact, and issue credits. Each credit is supposed to represent one tonne of carbon dioxide kept out of the atmosphere.

These credits then enter a marketplace. Developers or intermediaries sell them to companies that want to offset their pollution. The idea is simple: if a company cannot cut emissions at its source, it can pay someone else to do it elsewhere. In practice, however, auditors, consultants, and brokers stand in between. The corporate buyer rarely knows where the carbon was reduced—or who actually made it happen.

And this is where the disconnect troubles me.

A significant share of carbon capture is also done by farmers—through practices as old as agriculture itself. By restoring soil, planting trees, and farming with nature, farmers are quietly doing the work that helps cool the planet. Yet they see little of the benefits. While carbon credits circulate between companies and middlemen, the farmer struggles to fund his next season.

Most farmers don’t speak in the language of carbon markets. They speak of soil fertility, healthy crops, and water security. Yet, unknowingly, in chasing these goals they are performing one of the most powerful climate services: storing carbon in the soil.

Soil is one of the largest carbon sinks on Earth. On my farm, I have seen how every handful of compost, every cover crop, every mulch layer helps. Plants pull carbon from the air through photosynthesis, and farmers—often without realizing it—lock it away underground as organic matter. Every root system, every earthworm, every microbial colony becomes part of this quiet storage system.

Here’s what it looks like on the ground:

• Ploughing less or practicing zero tillage keeps carbon underground.
• Planting trees and agroforestry systems capture carbon in trunks, roots, and leaves while providing shade and fruit.
• Using organic manure, compost, and green cover builds humus—carbon-rich soil that holds water and nutrients.
• Crop rotation and diversity keep the soil alive year-round, improving its ability to store carbon.
• Water harvesting structures keep soils moist, helping microorganisms thrive—and microbes are key to stabilizing carbon underground.

For farmers, these practices bring healthier land, higher resilience, and sometimes better yields. For the planet, they mean millions of tonnes of carbon stored safely below ground instead of heating the atmosphere. Yet in the carbon market, these contributions remain invisible.

It does not have to be this way. If corporations are serious about offsetting their footprint, they should be able to work directly with farmers. Imagine if instead of buying distant credits, companies supported farmers to:

• Plant trees and nurture biodiversity.
• Invest in soil health and regenerative practices.
• Build rainwater harvesting systems.
• Transition to low-energy farming methods.
• Or even supply employees with food sourced from regenerative farms at a fair price.

Every one of these actions could have an equivalent carbon value. The company would still meet its offset target, but the impact would be direct, tangible, and fair. The farmer, in turn, would gain recognition, livelihood support, and dignity for his role in healing the planet.

For this to work, transparency is key. Governments and policymakers must create frameworks to certify farmer–corporate partnerships, monitor outcomes, and prevent exploitation. Existing carbon credit agencies can still play a role in measurement and verification, but not as gatekeepers controlling the flow of benefits. With digital tracking and local cooperatives, it is possible to monitor soil carbon, trees planted, and water conserved in real time.

If streamlined, such a model could transform carbon crediting from a distant paper trade into a grassroots movement—one that acknowledges the farmer as a central player in climate action.

Because here is the truth: every time a farmer plants a seed, nurtures a tree, or restores a patch of land, he is not just feeding people. He is quietly cooling the planet. And until the world learns to credit him for that, carbon markets will remain only half the story.

Copied from the linkedin post of Soumya N Dayakar