gregoryjoel

Acceptance, Aging, Belief, Christianity, Community, Connection, Consequences, Down On the Farm, Emotional Health, Environment, Faith, Farmers Markets, Food Deserts, Food Equality, Food Insecurity, Food Justice, Gardening, Generations, God's Economics, Grace, Gratitude, Health, Neighbors, Non-Profits, Persistence, Practice, Service to Others, Simplicity, Social Justice, Spirituality, Thoughts From the Porch, Unity Unlimited, Inc., Urban Farming, Volunteers

Bumps in the Road

April 13, 2025 gregoryjoel

It’s been an interesting Spring at Opal’s Farm. I’ve been busier than a one-armed paper hanger as my uncle used to say.

For one thing, I received a letter from the Social Security Administration this week. It said I’ve reached the age where I am now considered retired. I have to laugh when I realize Ms. Opal “retired” the year after I graduated high school. If that’s what retirement looks like, then I’m grateful for it. It means I can focus on loving and serving others full-time just like her. At ninety-eight, she reminds me that she just keeps running forward so the good Lord can’t catch her to take her home. Besides, there’s so much more to do. Especially now…

The other thing that happened is a little less humorous. My left knee blew out on me last Wednesday as I was putting tools away for the day. That wouldn’t have been unusual as it tends to happen now that I’m old enough to suffer the consequences of an overactive youth. This time was different. It didn’t stop hurting the next day and the pain was in a different part of my knee and increasing rather than decreasing. I decided Friday afternoon I had better go to the ER and have it checked out.

Fortunately, nothing is broken, but since X-rays don’t show cartilage or ligament damage, I’ll be seeing the orthopedic surgeon this week. Moreover, the ER doc said I had a lot of arthritis, and the next step was a knee replacement. I feared that might be the case. I guess I’ll find out this week. It’s a pretty big bump in the road.

He also told me to take steroids and pain medicine, wear the immobilizer, use the crutches, and stay off my knee for a few days. I can take medication. I can use the immobilizer most of the time. I can even use the crutches sometimes. However, for a farmer four days of bed rest isn’t possible this time of year. My doctor and I have an agreement – I don’t tell him how to practice medicine and he doesn’t tell me how to farm.

I went market and “Taste the C.U.R.E” class yesterday. If people ask me what happened I simply tell the truth – I got older!

I guess there’s more news to come and a lot of decisions to be made. I’ll just hobble along and work on the farm until then. I’m going to be much slower so I’m extra grateful for the volunteers we have right now. Spring is the busiest time of year for farmers and Opal’s is no exception. The farm still needs daily care. I’ll be there as long as the good Lord lets me, but we need extra volunteer help right now. Please think of us if you have a little spare time and want to get you’re hands dirty. After all, dirt don’t hurt.

Community, Down On the Farm, Environment, Faith, Food Justice, Giving, Gratitude, Neighbors, Non-Profits, Opal's Farm, Persistence, Service Organizations, Service to Others, Simplicity, Spring, Texas, Thoughts From the Porch, Unity Unlimited, Inc., Urban Farming

Tiny Heads of Blue

March 23, 2025 gregoryjoel

I was driving home on I-30 from the farm last Tuesday. Tiny spots of blue caught my attention as I sat in the rush-hour traffic. They were the first Bluebonnets I’ve seen this year. The frustration from the slow-moving traffic vanished; replaced by a sudden desire to pull off to the side of the interstate and take a picture.

Bluebonnets are the state flower of Texas and rightly so. They announce that Spring is finally here and will soon blanket the side of roadways and highways in a carpet of blue. The other wildflowers – Indian Paintbrush, Winecup, Mexican Hat, Indian Blanket, Evening Primrose, etc. – will soon paint the roadsides of the highways and country roads in vibrant reds, oranges, yellows, and of course, blues. Bluebonnets always lay the foundation for nature’s paintbrush.

Families will soon be pulling off the road to take pictures of the family amidst the field of color. This is a annual Texas tradition. I often wonder if photographers consider this one of their busy seasons. The only sad part is that family photographs often leave matted-down holes in the blue-hued fields.

I really needed the Bluebonnets this year. The experts at the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center predicted a mixed wildflower season this year because of the drought facing West Texas. Winter was relatively mild. Even a muted wildflower season reminds me why resilience is one of our core values at Opal’s Farm.

The craziness and in both Austin (our state legislature is in session) and Washington D.C. makes for an uncertain future for many non-profits like ours and small farmers everywhere. I’ve had to take a break from the news lately except for local news stations and that’s mostly for the weather reports. It doesn’t mean that I plan to bury my head in the sand. It simply means there is more time to see the Bluebonnets, to enjoy Spring, and get lots of food out to folks. Opal’s Farm, like the Bluebonnets, will keep growing food, loving people, and building community.

Climate Change, Community, Down On the Farm, Environment, Neighbors, Opal's Farm, Service Organizations, Service to Others, Texas, Thoughts From the Porch, Unity Unlimited, Inc., Urban Farming

West Texas Winds

March 16, 2025 gregoryjoel

Good morning to our Opal’s Farm family. We’ve had a great week down at the farm. We been busy with Spring planting and most of the farm didn’t even blow away! Some empty rain barrels were blown about a quarter-mile down the farm but other than that we suffered little wind damage. I hope you all (and all your patio furniture) stayed grounded during this March outburst.

Folks may place Fort Worth in north central Texas but it is where the west begins. We got a reminder when the wind brought West Texas to us in the form of a major dust cloud. The haze in the air reminded us of old sepia-toned photographs of Fort Worth. When I took my wife to her son’s house in Haslet Friday it was scenes from the Dust Bowl. Given the looming threat of higher prices and possible recession we might be reliving the thirties. History may not repeat itself but it’s definitely circular.

It all reminded me of a song I thought I’d share this Sunday morning. I think of it on windy west Texas days like we’ve had this week…

Choices, Community, Down On the Farm, Education, Faith, Farmers Markets, Food Insecurity, Food Justice, Gardening, Health, Neighbors, Non-Profits, Opal's Farm, Public Policy, Quotes, Service Organizations, Service to Others, Social Justice, Spirituality, Spring, Unity Unlimited, Inc., Urban Farming, What Can I Do

Buy Local – Now More Than Ever

March 9, 2025 gregoryjoel

I apologize for not posting regularly over the last couple of months. Opal’s Farm is going through several changes right now – most notably in staff. Recent cuts to USDA funding and January resignations have left the farm work to myself, my Volunteer Coordinator, Stacey Harwood, and a small number of volunteers. We are still on track for all our Spring planting and looking forward to a great harvest.

The bipolar Texas weather hasn’t helped even though it has kept things interesting. The freezing weather one week and in the eighties the next caused some of the winter crops to bolt. That was followed by seventy-two hours of sub-freezing weather and the plants took it much harder than the first round of freezes. The good news is that it looks like we’ve had our last hard freeze. Tomatoes are coming on the 17^th and the rest of Spring planting is underway. We’re looking forward to bringing the Spring harvest to market!

I would also like to take a moment to talk about the many non-profit organizations working in agriculture and food systems. They have endured financial hardships due to the recent changes at the USDA. Some programs that aid farmers and farm organizations have been shut down indefinitely as funding has been frozen or eliminated entirely. Economic uncertainty faces us all.

The average age of a farmer in Texas is sixty-two. Part of our mission is to incubate new farms and train new farmers. American Farmland Trust has a slogan that says it all: “No farms. No food”. Please consider the importance of our local farmers, the healthy fresh produce they bring to our community, and the education they bring to the next generation of farmers, both urban and rural.

I’ve spent the last two months with our “Taste the C.U.R.E.” students and seen the interest and willingness to be part of the grower’s community. Not only do they want healthy food for themselves, but they want to feed their neighbors. Urban agriculture is a growing alternative to high food prices and the ultra-processed food found at the big grocery stores. We hope the movement continues to grow and that you can become a part of it.

You can support your local farmers and food system through financial donations, calling your elected representatives, volunteering at a local farm, or simply shopping local at your local farmers market or farm stand. Not only is local produce healthier, it ensures that food access is available to your community. Food access is not a “DEI” issue. It should be available to all of us. Healthy food is a basic human right. Your local farmers are working long hours to feed us all. Buy local and support your local farm!

Bad Weather, Children, Christmas, Events, Generations, Gratitude, Parents, Relationships, Stories, Storms, Storytelling

Christmas Stockings

February 9, 2025 gregoryjoel

I don’t know how long it took to get to Swedish Medical Center. I’d never been there before but I knew that on a normal day it was only six or seven minutes from the house. This Christmas Eve night it took hours. It didn’t, but it sure felt like it.

Our arrival turned into a blur though – out of the car with the paramedics grabbing Jennine to steady her across the snow and ice then through the ambulance bay doors and me holding a bundled-up Adrian in one arm and Jennine’s go bag and a diaper bag in the other. Suddenly we were in Labor and Delivery.

I vaguely remember the flurry of activity around Jennine as they got her settled into the labor room. A nurse said something about the labor pains coming much quicker and telling us that it shouldn’t be long now. Someone popped their head in to tell me that my Mom and Dad had a friend bringing them to the hospital in his four-wheel drive. Adrian could stay with them for the night. One problem solved anyway…

The doctor entered the room. Keep in mind that this doctor was a total stranger in a hospital we’d never been to before. He grabbed one of the labor room nurses and asked for an update, never looking or speaking to Jennine or me. That was already two strikes against him. When he groaned and walked back out of the labor room it was strike three. Jennine grabbed my hand and cried out, “Who is this guy? I don’t like him. I want my doctor. It’s all your fault we’re here”.

“It’s going to be okay. I’ll find out what’s going on”. I was a little perturbed to be assigned all the blame for the whole situation. I was pretty damned sure she was present when this whole thing started. After all, it takes two to make this process work. I didn’t ask for the blizzard either.

“Stay here, she barked about the time the latest contraction came on full force. I was thinking no problem as my hand she was gripping went numb. I wasn’t going anywhere.

The nurses finally got Jennine settled in. The monitors were all hooked up and the initial examination was over. The contractions were only three or four minutes apart and our nurse informed us she was almost fully dilated. She was a Godsend. She seemed to be the only one taking the time to pay attention to us. I wish I could remember her name. Back then I would’ve sent her a bottle of twelve-year old scotch and a thank you note.

We had been through La Maze birth classes before Adrian was born and had a refresher course back in October. We had wanted a natural childbirth – at least that’s what I reminded Jennine every time she hollered for drugs as her labor became more intense. I tried to be a calming voice of reason and help her with breathing through the contractions. Apparently, a calming voice of reason wasn’t needed nor appreciated in this situation. They finally came in to do an epidural block.

Our nurse came in and, sensing the tension, she let me know I needed to go downstairs with Adrian; that my parents were almost here. How she knew that I’m not sure as cell phones were still science fiction in 1982. She also mentioned that the doctor had been here since the night before because of the storm. “She’s in good hands.” I thanked her, grabbed Adrian, his diaper bag, and headed downstairs.

I vaguely remember giving Adrian to my mother, hugging my parents – who I hadn’t seen since they got to town – and thanking our friend Mark for getting them here and back home with my son. All I could think of was getting back upstairs. I stayed in the lobby long enough to watch them all drive off into the falling snow and ran for the elevator.

I returned to the labor room and the nurse informed me I better “gown -up”. They were taking her to the delivery room right away. We had been there maybe an hour or so. I said a silent prayer of gratitude for the guy who volunteered his Jeep, the paramedics, nurses, and even the doctor Jennine didn’t like. The time it would have taken an ambulance to arrive would have meant a home delivery. I’d like to think I could’ve done it, but I was so glad I didn’t have to find out. It was going to be okay.

Sometimes I regret not being able to remember all the details of our time in the delivery room. It went so quickly, for which I was appreciative. Jennine had the hard work, but it’s hard to see your wife in pain. The only thing I remember is the doctor saying,” It’s a healthy baby boy”. The nurse took him and cleaned him up. I’m sure they went through all the post-birth baby and mother checklist before he announced, “Here’s your son”.

The one thing I remember quite clearly is that Jennine didn’t want to take him, and the nurse handed Jeremy to me. Her reluctance to take Jeremy was, in hindsight, a red flag but more about that later. I cradled Jeremy in my arms and burst into joyful tears as I saw another beautiful son.

The nurse that had been with us all through labor and delivery took Jeremy back. She told me they were moving Jennine to the maternity ward and taking Jeremy to the nursery. Then she said, “You should try to grab some sleep until we bring Jeremy to your wife’s room. Go into the Nurse’s Lounge and there’s a couch in there to lay down on. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

I said thank you and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. The adrenaline coursing through my body had suddenly shut off and left me drained. It was all over and I had a new son.

I’m not sure how long I got to sleep but when our nurse returned to wake me up, I was suddenly alert and full of energy. “We’re going to bring Jeremy to her room so they’ll both there”, she said as we waited for the elevator. My excitement level made for the longest wait time ever recorded for elevator doors to open – maybe not?.

The nurse opened the door, motioned me in, and closed the door behind me. I entered the room and went to hug Jennine. I was sitting on the bed holding her hand when a maternity floor nurse entered the room with Jeremy. He was stuffed into a little Christmas stocking with a Santa cap on his head. The nurse picked him up and handed him to Jennine. I still have the picture from all those years ago of Jennine as she held our son for the first time. Her smile radiated love and beauty filling the room as she looked into Jeremy’s eyes. A small joyful tear rolled down her cheek.

I can’t recall the rest of Christmas Day in 1982. I know my parents came back to the hospital to visit and take Adrian and I home. We planned to celebrate Christmas when Jennine and Jeremy came home the next day. My sister had spent Christmas Eve at the DFW airport before they finally cancelled all flights to Denver so she wouldn’t be with us that year and spend Christmas alone. Everything else is stored in memory sections of my brain that I no longer have access to.

I can say that it took a week-and-a-half to dig my car out and the alleyway so I could even get to the street where snowplows had left a huge pile of snow. I used my cross-country skis to get to the nearby Seven Eleven only to find bare shelves. The local media had a hay day with the “Hundred Year Blizzard of ‘82”. Everyone had opinions about the city’s response to the storm and the time it took to clear the streets; most of them beyond negative. Blame was heaped on Mayor Bill Nichols, who had been the only Mayor I’d known since moving to Denver in 1969, costing him his re-election later that year.

None of it really made a difference to me. We had another son. Every parent sees their new child as the most beautiful baby ever. The truth is, if it’s a vaginal birth all babies look like little aliens, but they appear much differently to the parents that waited so patiently for them. I had just received the best Christmas present ever and life would never be the same.