I'm the Farm Manager for Opal's Farm - a non-profit5 acre urban farm in Fort Worth that grows for neighborhoods denied access to fresh, nutritious produce through food apartheid. I firmly believe that not only is healthy food a human right, it is also what brings us together Everyone has a seat at the table!
To say I’m excited
would be an understatement! Several years ago, Ms. Opal Lee had a vision
for an urban farm. The Tarrant Regional Water District offered Unity Unlimited,
Inc. (our non-profit!) land near downtown. All it was waiting for to make it a
reality for was the right time. That time has come!
Opal’s Farm is ready to start planting our first crop!
In honor of the big day, Opal’s Farm is having a ribbon cutting ceremony on Friday, February 15th, 2019 at 11:00AM.
Opal’s Farm is an agricultural intervention to bring fresh produce
to area food deserts and revitalize Fort Worth communities. Our mission is to improve
the overall health and welfare of local communities through food access, jobs,
job training, education, and self-sufficiency – in keeping with old saying, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a
day. Teach a man to fish (or farm, in this case), and you feed him for a
lifetime.”
Come be apart of the journey beginning with our ribbon
cutting on February 15th.
I’ve attached an invitation. Please park in the vacant lot
in front of the entrance to Opal’s Farm and join us for the big day!
Thoughts from the Porch: It’s the last day of January. It felt like it on the porch. Still, I can enjoy my porch time unlike our neighbors to the north. The record low temperatures remind me how lucky I am to be a Texan where we complain about the cold when the high is in the forties, not forty below. Prayers of warmth are being sent up for the folks in the Midwest. Hang in there, guys…
Being from Texas, I’m
genetically predisposed to be a football fan. Football is most certainly a
religion here. Our football fervor has inspired countless books, several movies
and even a television series, “Friday Night Lights”. Visit any small town on
Friday nights in the Fall and you’ll see what I mean. In the big cities there
are multi-million dollars high school stadiums filled with frenzied fans. Winning
coaches and star players are often held in the same worshipful regard as Davy
Crockett and the heroes of the Alamo. Fans know the stats of every player on
the home team. For a few months of the year, football is king.
When I moved to Colorado in my
early teen years, I was baffled that high school football seemed to take a back
seat to basketball. My dad informed me that football wasn’t revered by the heathens
north of the Red River. Though that might have been true about high school, it
didn’t seem to apply to pro ball. Denver Bronco fans were intense! Colorado had
some redeeming qualities after all!
For many years, my Sunday
afternoons were spent at either the stadium or in front of the television. I
was happy to play Monday morning quarterback with coworkers and friends. God
forbid that I ever miss a Super Bowl, regardless of whether my teams were
playing. I was a football fan!
This coming Sunday is Super
Bowl LIII. It’s unlikely I’ll be tuning in except to see the new crop of Super
Bowl commercials for the year. They’re far more entertaining even if they are
about rampant consumerism. Things have changed over the years. I may see part
of one or two games per season, if I think about it. Watching for a few minutes
seems to be a waste of time. It’s just not the same.
I still make high school games.
I love the school spirit, the energy, and the love of the game. High school
players still play ball because they enjoy it; for the most part anyway. People
still fill the stadium because that’s what we do: support our kids, yell at the
opponents, and then go out for dinner with them after the game. There’s a
certain purity to that.
I don’t follow professional
football much. Not only are the Dallas Cowboys (my favorite team) absent from
the playoffs most years, watching a bunch of prima donnas do put on end zone
theatrics, kind of turns my stomach. It’s far more about money and celebrity than
it is love of the game. Real players and role models are few and far between.
I have mixed emotions about the sport today. The medical community has begun to understand the long-term consequences of the game. It’s not just bad knees and back problems anymore. There’s traumatic brain injury and early onset dementia to think about. I sometimes wonder if allowing my son to play was in his best interests. His college scholarship hopes were cut short by an injury during his senior year.
Despite his injuries, I still
believe in high school football and the purity of the game. He learned a lot
about teamwork, sportsmanship, and perseverance playing ball. Watching most
(not all, mind you) pro players today those things seem to be absent. I have no
desire to give my time or my dollars to such foolishness.
So, this Sunday will find me
working around the house, catching a movie on Netflix, or sleeping in my
recliner. You won’t find me watching the “Big Game” but, if it’s a Friday night
in November, you might just see me under the Friday night lights.
It’s a beautiful morning out on
the porch. Margaret left in the pre-dawn hours to stay with a friend who’s four-month-old
is undergoing a procedure this morning. In respect for HIPPA laws, I won’t name
her friend, but I will ask that all lift them up in prayer for a successful
outcome.
One of the things that always
attracted me to Margaret (we knew each other for several years before we
married…) was her love for others. In the years since we married, I’ve been
blessed to see it up close. She’s much better at it than I am. I’m grateful for
the example she shows me every day. She is truly an amazing lady and the very
best of God’s gifts to me.
Her absence left me more time on the porch this morning than usual. I watched the sun rise and enjoyed a rare warm January morning. The birds were particularly soulful in their songs today. They were probably enjoying the mild weather as much as I was. The weather will change later this morning so I’m sure they’re soaking up the sunshine as much as I am. One learns to relish in the warmth anytime they can here in North Texas since it will change in an instant – a reminder that nature can never be tamed to our liking…
Three Dog Morning…
I get the rare opportunity to enjoy the solitude of the day and an empty house. Our dogs ran outside to send Margaret off earlier, but they didn’t hesitate to run back inside so they could have the bed all to themselves. I couldn’t even make the bed.
The “To Do” list is long today. After all, it is Monday, but the unusual quiet is nice. My thoughts seemed to be about everything but the day’s business ahead of me. Sometimes that’s a good thing…
Thoughts From the Porch: I try to avoid writing on Saturdays. I really do. I try to avoid anything having to do with work or sitting in front of the computer so I can tinker about the house. I believe in “Sabbath” rest. Ironically, rest seems more work at the time. I’m not good at it yet…
Here in Fort Worth, the Stock Show and Rodeo is going into its second week. I was coming home from the farm on Interstate 30 and saw the long line of trucks and livestock trailers waiting to exit and set up shop. Most of the trailers were marked with various Future Farmers of America (FFA) signs from various small towns in the area. Someone unfamiliar with rural life won’t appreciate it the way many of us in Cowtown do.
Every time the Stock Show comes
around, I spend more time than usual thinking about Mom and Dad. After Dad
died, my brother-in-law finally accepted a job promotion in Atlanta. My sister’s
family moved off to Georgia and I don’t get to see her as much as I’d like. He’s
since retired, and they built a house on some acreage outside a small rural
town near the Alabama-Georgia state line. I’m so thankful for cell phones and
email even if their reception is sometimes spotty.
She emailed me a song a few
days ago that really hit home, especially now. “Beat up Bible” must have been
written about Mom and Dad. I wanted to share the link https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=JvPBUH65EzI.
I
hope it brings the same joy, the same sweet memories to you.
No family is perfect. I butted heads with Mom and Dad often. I had to work through some resentments I had held onto over silliness on my part. I’m so grateful that those things were worked out when Mom passed. They weren’t when Dad died in 2002. Grief changes us, at least it did me. I’ve since come to a place of peace. My heart is refreshed by knowing my father was the best example of God’s love here in this place. Walking through my grief has left me with only the wonderful memories of the parents I love so much.
In his latter years, Dad would
sit on the back porch with me and share about our family. He grew up without a
father in his life. I think that’s why my own failed marriage worried him so
much. He missed having his dad there. Maybe that’s why he was so good at loving
my sister and me. I’d like to think so…
My sister and I are both adopted.
Mom and Dad never ceased to remind us of how special and how loved we were. We
were wanted desperately. I know today that I was blessed far beyond anything I
could imagine having the parents I did. That isn’t always the case for everyone…
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the
song. I hope it brings back happy memories. If it doesn’t, I hope it helps you
make happy memories for your kids. Happy Saturday everyone!
Thoughts from the Porch: We had another Arctic visitor yesterday. It’s the time of the year for frequent, though thankfully short-lived, visitations from our far northern neighbors. I awoke to a chill in the house. When the wind chill drops the thermometer, our heater takes a while to catch up in the morning. Jumping out of a cozy, warm bed to shut off the alarm is a bit of a shock on days like these. Such is January in North Texas…
This week was one of the few Wednesday’s
I missed my Fort Worth Development
Group meeting. Ms. Opal and I had a meeting causing a time conflict. The
good news is that I got to spend the drive time with one of my heroes for two
days in a row. That doesn’t happen often enough for me. Sometimes I just need
“Ms. Opal time”.
We were able to spend some time
together yesterday discussing business and having good conversation. I brag
about Ms. Opal only because she lives the kind of life that I hope to lead: one
full of love and service for others. It’s one of the main reasons I’m so
passionate about Opal’s Farm. It’s a reflection of the loving service of Ms.
Opal and the realization of a dream and doing something tangible for the
community.
We were speaking about the
events of Martin Luther King Day. It’s not simply a commemoration of Dr. King,
but a National Day of Service as well. She told me that, according to the Fort
Worth Star Telegram, over 800 people showed up at her small church to meet
prior to going out and serving various non-profits throughout Tarrant County.
Over 800 people giving up their day off to serve others!
Many of you know that I’m a bit
of a politics junkie. I usually spend some time on the newsfeed after my
morning quiet time. Sometimes I’m not sure why I do. It’s a long string of
cultural insanity, full of stories of human suffering, violence, and
hatefulness, particularly as it pertains to our current administration in
Washington, D.C. While it usually spurs me on to action, it’s often
overwhelming and leaves me feeling a bit hopeless. The future is bleak at
times. But…
Then I read or hear things like
800 people that gave their time to serve others. Despite all the negativity
that bombards us about society, there is an amazing amount of goodness out
there. I forget that sometimes…
It reminds me of the biblical
story of the prophet Elijah in I Kings 19. It seems that speaking the truth to a
corrupt King wasn’t a good idea, even if it was the right thing to do. In fact,
the King was so angry he put a price on Elijah’s head. Poor Elijah ran for his
life until he was hiding out in a cave, crying out to God that he was the only
good guy left in the world.
I get it. Doing the right thing
can be tiring at times and it can feel terribly lonely. Frustration keeps me
from seeing any good in the world. Fortunately, that wasn’t the end of the story
for old Elijah. You see, God answered him in a still quiet voice, assuring him
there was still a remnant of good, godly people in Israel: seven thousand to be
exact. He wasn’t alone. It just felt that way.
That isn’t the end of the story
for me, either. I guess that’s why I love my “Ms. Opal Time” so much. She
reminds me of the goodness in people. God hasn’t spoken to me in a cave (at
least not yet), but He always sends me someone like Ms. Opal. I’m not alone. I
know of at least 800 other folks working to make our little world a better
place…
gregoryjoel.com 