Author: gregoryjoel

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!
Adoption, Depression, Emotional Health, Events, Generations, Gratitude, Grief, History, Parents, Relationships, Songs, Stories, Thoughts From the Porch, Writing

The Prodigal Son…

gregoryjoel

I was enjoying some time on the front porch last night before going to bed. It was still warm at 9:30 PM here in Texas so I didn’t intend to spend too much time, but grief had other plans…

I lost my mother a couple of weeks ago. I returned to Kentucky last weekend for the funeral. I visited with my brothers at Momma’s house for a while on Saturday. The general consensus being we were all simply trying to process that Momma was gone. The air was filled with sadness and the emptiness was an oppressive reminder of why we were there.

My little sister arrived and promptly ignored any of the things Momma and I had talked about concerning my brother Danny who is deaf. She made it clear that Danny wasn’t coming to visit, and they had it all under control. My other brother voiced his support as well. I guess I felt a little blind-sided. It dawned on me that things were going to be far different with Momma gone. The events at the funeral were further confirmation of this fact.

I know we all have a different grief process. Funerals are not for everyone. The grief is far too raw and mostly keeps the family in a numb state. There are things to be done in preparation for the event and the choreography of remembering one’s loved one requires some degree of detachment from the one lost just to make it to the day of the funeral.

The funeral (or the politically correct term – “celebration of life”) followed the pattern of most such occasions – the viewing, the family reception line, and the line of friend of the deceased walking past the family to pay their respects. I chose not to stand in line until my son insisted that I go up there and stand with the family – my family. I wasn’t in line long before it became apparent (at least felt like) I wasn’t welcome in the reception line. I returned to my seat (which was in the family section) and spent the remaining time talking to Margaret and my cousins who had come from Texas to send Momma off.

When the funeral was over, we followed in the procession to the cemetery. There was a brief graveside service and my brother-in-law, Adam, who is the go-to expert on family history (he’s an amazing wealth of knowledge) told me about all the folks and relatives buried around Momma. We then went to Flint Ridge, the family farm, and ate a meal provided by Momma’s church. Afterward, goodbyes were said, and we all left to return home and begin the full process of grieving.

I returned to Fort Worth the next day and the hours of the return drive were mostly filled with silence and occasional conversation about the feelings I had. My wife Margaret and I are both in recovery and one of our mantras is “feelings are not facts”. Just because I felt isolated and uncomfortable doesn’t mean that my brothers and sisters tried to make me feel that way. By the time I got home the farm had so many things going that I was lost in trying to play catch-up. Maybe that explains last night’s flood of sobs.

Suddenly, I felt a loneliness I haven’t known in a long while. The losses hit with the force of hurricane winds – my momma, my mom and dad, my son Jeremy, my dear friend and mentor, Jim, my best friend David, and my friend Eduardo. It didn’t seem to matter that my life is still full of people I love dearly and that love me – my wife, my oldest son, my step kids, my sponsor and confidant, Edgar, Ms. Opal, Dione and my Unity family. It just felt cold and alone. The tears welled up and when the dam broke, I couldn’t stop crying and slinging snot. I wanted to hold my grandchildren (teenagers probably wouldn’t like that) and call my son, Adrian, right away.

The last few years have seen unimaginable loss for me. It shouldn’t surprise me. My family, good friends, and I all qualify as senior citizens (young senior citizens I might add), and these things happen as we get older. It’s how life is. I don’t know what the future holds. I’ve learned to live in the moment, one day at a time, so I don’t have to figure out my Kentucky family right now. I simply need to feel my feelings, love my family and friends, and carry on the work God has given me to do each day. Amid it all I need to find the things for which I’m grateful.

Some days will be easy. Some days will not. I’ve walked this path before, and each loss affects me differently. I simply need to let it be until the feelings are more stable. Grief is a rollercoaster and while the ride finds its end, the memories (and the scars) remain.

I came in and the stereo was playing “The Funeral” by the Turnpike Troubadours. God must love irony because He couldn’t have timed a better song to hear. It’s how I felt at Momma’s funeral. Maybe you get what I mean…

Christianity, Community, Culture, Emotional Health, Faith, Humility, Jesus, Marginalized, Opal's Farm, Prayer, Responsibility, Revival, Seeing Others, Service to Others, Songs, Songwriters, Spirituality, Thoughts From the Porch, What Can I Do

Too Late to be a Good Samaritan

gregoryjoel

Fall is normally my time for self-introspection. North Texas summers usually keep that habit away – one can only think of finding air conditioning! It’s been above one hundred degrees for most of the summer with constant excessive heat warnings. Nights have stayed above eighty degrees since the first week of July so there’s little relief when evening comes. Most of North Texas is in severe drought. I suspect the media is right when they refer to this as the “new normal”. The sad thing is that everyone seems to accept it and do little to mitigate the problem, but that’s another blog post…

Back to reflection…

It was 111 degrees according to my truck thermometer when I left the farm. I cranked the air conditioning and headed to the house for a Zoom meeting. It was a brief hour break on a hot summer day to enjoy the AC, grab a snack, and change out of sweat-soaked clothes. I headed towards the turn to Interstate Thirty and there he was – lying next to the entrance ramp – sun beating down on him a mere three feet from the shade of an overpass. He was on his back and his arms outstretched slightly to the sky above. He was in the direct sunlight with shade only a couple of feet away. It was obvious he wasn’t merely sleeping. He was dead. His arms were stiff, rigor mortis had set in, and his body bloated from the afternoon sun.

One officer from the Fort Worth police came followed by the Tarrant County Medical Examiner’s van. I stayed long enough to give a statement and notice all the cars going by. How long had he been there, and no one noticed, or cared enough, to stop and call 911? I remembered the parable of the Good Samaritan. I guess I wouldn’t qualify here. I didn’t get here soon enough. I wondered what I would’ve done if I did…

The crime scene tape was never put up, no investigation made, and the ME loaded the body to take back to the morgue. The whole affair was over in about thirty minutes. The police seemed put out that the ME was taking so long. Just another homeless guy. No signs of violent trauma so time to get on to more important things like the comfort of air-conditioned squad car.

The scene has been seared on my brain ever since. I can’t help but wonder who the man was – what was his name, where was his family? Few people are totally alone in this world although many feel that way. He was somebody’s son, maybe a father, or maybe a brother. Would they find his family and report his death? Would he be missed? Would anyone grieve over his passing? Would anyone care? The news came on that evening. No one talked about the passing of another homeless person. I wasn’t surprised. Anonymous dead homeless guys simply aren’t newsworthy.

The farm is close to the night shelter and Union Gospel Mission. The city has worked hard to isolate the homeless (or more PC – “unhoused”) population to the “mission district”. Still, there’s far more homeless people than there are beds. Around the bend in the river there are several acres of thickets between the old drive-in and Gateway Park. There you’ll find several homeless camps and their number is growing every year. If you look closely, you find camps all around the city – under bridges, wooded areas, abandoned houses. The Tarrant County Homeless Coalition reported that “more than 5,000 households experienced homelessness throughout 2022 in Tarrant County” (Fort Worth Star- Telegram, February 13th, 2023).

We often have some homeless folks who make their way along Trinity Trail above the farm. They will occasionally ask for a bottle of water or rest in the shade of the farm’s only tree. Sometimes they carry on loud, and sometimes angry conversations with people unseen by us. Mental illness accounts for a significant portion of the homeless population. Panhandlers covered all the main intersections from the freeway to the farm. It’s easy to look past them; to avoid eye contact and hope the stoplight changes before they approach the car. I know. I’m guilty at times.

I’ve been praying about that a lot the last couple of weeks. I’ve been in their shoes and yet I forget all about them when my life got back on track. Suddenly, I’m too busy “doing good things with the farm” to notice them, to really see them, or to have a kind word. I become the priest or the Levite in Jesus’ tale of the Good Samaritan. It’s not that I don’t care. I’m just in too big of a hurry and don’t want to have any distractions from the day ahead. I have important things to do – at least in my own mind – and I fail to see Jesus right in front of me (see Matthew Chapter 25…?). Nothing is too important to not to see and acknowledge the divine in each of God’s kids.

Joan Osborne recorded a song in 1995 that resonates with me today especially. It reminds me that I can see God everywhere. He might even be panhandling on the street corner.

Awe, Climate Change, Community, Connection, Creation, Down On the Farm, Environment, Opal's Farm, Relationships, Seasons, Simplicity, Spirituality, Summer, Thoughts From the Porch, Trinity River

Egrets, Yep, Egrets

gregoryjoel

I’m sitting at home alone tonight. That’s not a bad thing. It just is. Margaret has been in the hospital and moved to a rehab hospital for a couple of weeks. I’ve daily trips to the hospital, Opal’s Farm, the hospital, and back home to work. Add to that all the Juneteenth festivities and I can safely say its’ been a crazy busy June!

I’m harvesting between 400 and 600 pounds of tomatoes per week since everything started to come in during May. Sales have been great at the market, but with so many tomatoes I’ve had to start selling them to another non-profit that serves the WIC clinics in Dallas and to the Tarrant Area Food Bank. Delivering to Dallas has not been one of my favorite tasks although I love the folks at Owenwood Farm. I still maintain that the best thing to come out of Dallas is Interstate Thirty West…

Needless to say, this is the first opportunity I’ve had to sit down and write for the last two months. It’s also the first chance I’ve had to catch up with many of the blogs I follow as well and sit down to go through my personal email account. If you haven’t seen a like or comment, please don’t take it personal. I simply haven’t had time to read.

 I’ve said all that so I can now talk about what’s been on my mind the last month – Egrets. Yep, birds. After a couple of months of silence, one would think I have more to say but… Egrets -those beautiful, long-legged white birds related to Herons. We used to call them cowbirds when I was little because of the way they hung around, and on, the cattle to eat insect pests. I see them frequently at the farm. Mostly nesting and wading about searching for food on the far bank of the Trinity River.

Photo by Mohan Nannapaneni on Pexels.com

We even have some state wildlife and research students with a tracker following the birds they’ve tagged. I’m happy to report that they shall have an abundance of birds to tag this year. There was an unusually heavy baby boom this Spring. The farm is often covered in groups of young Egrets walking about and I’ve become acquainted with some of them. At least I think I have…

This probably doesn’t mean anything to anyone else, but since my cataract surgery in May I’ve been able to see better than I have in many years. My vision is so clear now that I’ve been able to see things I’ve never noticed before like Egrets and their personalities. I’m fully aware of the human tendency to anthropomorphize other creatures but I’m convinced they are much like us – at least the young ones anyway.

Juvenile Egrets are smaller in stature as young ones tend to be. Unlike their parents (who by the way both take care of the nesting and young) they aren’t all white. They have a tan section on their head, breast, back feathers. Occasionally they will raise their head feathers to reveal a small, tan mohawk. It fades to white as they grow older. They always hang around in groups of ten to fifteen. They have one young guy who they’ve appointed leader – they seem to follow pretty much everywhere. If he moves north, they all move north, if he takes off, they all take off in file behind him – that is, all except for one.

I love this little guy – I imagine him to be a bird version of me. He’s always the last one to fly or walk away when I come down the road or walk up to the pumphouse. I can relate. I was usually the one picked last or left behind. The others sense danger approaching and tend to take off as soon as I get close, but this little guy hangs around. He’s allowed me to get closer each day. Each day he grows more curious about this big, flightless biped that talks to him as if we share the same language. His head tilts one way and then the other. He’s even ventured a couple of steps toward me if I stand still long enough. I’m sure passers-by would find me a tad insane standing in a field talking to a bird. I’m okay with that. The young fellow makes for good company on a hot day.

Over the last week the groups of young birds have gotten smaller and less frequent. It appears that most have moved on to do what it is that Egrets do. I’d move on too with the triple-digit heat we’ve had of late – at least somewhere with some shade. There’s been some hangers-on. I’m sure they live with mom and dad. Most of the remaining young birds are professional students of some kind – they never seem to graduate and move out on their own. That’s been my experience anyway…

I wish them all well as they move on to adult things. I’ll miss my companions but like everything else in life, there are seasons for everything and everyone. The farm is a great teacher about the cycle of life all flora and fauna, and people, go through. It’s also been a sage, teaching me how interconnected the world is – how interdependent we are. I learn daily the need for responsible stewardship and just how awesome God’s creation is.

With that I’m off to the farm to irrigate. We’re fortunate that our water is virtually free. It takes a lot to survive the Texas summer, especially in the days of climate change and warming temperatures. The UV rays of the sun have been exceptionally strong this year – a constant reminder of the new normal and our responsibility to keep it from getting worse. After all, I want to have the Egrets around to talk to for a long time…