Category: Consequences

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The Shutdown May be Over but the Pain Is Not

gregoryjoel

“When people were hungry, Jesus didn’t say, “Now is that political or social?” He said, “I feed you.” Because the good news to a hungry person is bread.” – Desmond Tutu

In October of 2018 I shut down my business to work full-time as the Farm Manager for Opal’s Farm. I knew from my first meeting with Ms. Opal that the farm is where I was called to be, but the first time I saw the whole five acres tilled I wondered how I’d ever “eat the elephant” in front of me. Thanks to my dear friend and mentor, Charlie Blaylock, I didn’t have to. He told me to take one bite at a time, plant one row at a time, and do what I could do each day. If I did that the “elephant” would turn into a glorious farm.

Charlie was right. Nobody wanted to donate to a dream that first year, so money was scarce. All we had were donated tools, donated seeds, and one volunteer to help start our first acre (We love you, Brendan!). The two of us built beds, planted those donated seeds, and with help from the weather that year we had our first harvest on the first acre of Opal’s Farm. What started as a vision of what could be has become a reality over the last seven years. Ms. Opal reminds me that “we’ve done so much with so little for so long that we can do anything with nothing.”

Once we had something to show the funds started coming in slowly and we added more tools, equipment, and crops each season. More volunteers came to the farm and became valued members of the Opal’s Farm community. We were even able to add some paid farmhands (my back was celebrating!). We’ve been proud members of the Cowtown Farmers Market since 2019, hosted events and pop-up neighborhood markets, and opened our own Opal’s Farm Stand in 2024. We became an authorized Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program – SNAP – retailer in 2023 and recently added the Double Up Bucks program this year thanks to Texas Health Community Hope and Double Up Texas.

The past ten months have seen many changes in the political and social climate we live and work in. It came to a head when the federal government came to a screeching halt for forty-three days while the Democrats and Republicans argued about policies and funding issues. On October 27th, SNAP Benefits halted to forty-two million Americans in addition to the many federal workers going without paychecks during the shutdown. Food insecurity and hunger became an even harsher reality for more low-income households, seniors, and children. People face tough choices – food or medicine and bills, – even if the shutdown has ended for now.

I have private opinions regarding the debacle but the bottom line for me is that food is neither political nor social in nature as so eloquently in the above Desmond Tutu quote. Food is a basic human right for everyone. It’s not whether one is Democrat or Republican, wealthy or poor, but for everyone. No one, especially our seniors and children, should have to go hungry.

Opal’s Farm is committed to helping those affected by the government shutdown through our farm stand at the Funkytown Mindful Market and the “Doc” Sessions Community Center. In partnership with @Sustainable Food Center (SFC), we are launching

Double Up Fresh Bucks / Dólares Frescos, a temporary program to support farmer sales

and food access for families at our market. 💚

Double Up Fresh Bucks / Dólares Frescos provides [$30 or market amount] worth of

market dollars for shoppers to buy any food or drink item.

Any market shopper affected by loss of services and/or income due to the government

shutdown can receive Double Up Fresh Bucks / Dólares Frescos. Double Up Fresh

Bucks / Dólares Frescos expire on December 31, 2025.

How to Participate:

1️⃣ Visit us at Funkytown Mindful Market (1201 Wesleyan St.) on the 1st Saturday of the month and at Opal’s Farm Stand (“Doc” Sessions Community Center 201 S. Sylvania) every other Saturday from 1pm to 3pm

2️⃣Ask to receive Double Up Fresh Bucks / Double Up Dólares Fresco

We’ll see you there!

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Bumps in the Road

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.

Children, Choices, Consequences, Emotional Health, Family, Generations, Grandchildren, Grief, Recovery, Relationships, Storytelling, Thoughts From the Porch, What Can I Do, Writing

The Way It Was…

gregoryjoel

It’s hard to believe September is already here. Labor Day is the unofficial beginning of Fall so the temperatures here have dropped to the nineties instead of the triple digits and we might even celebrate Labor Day with some rain. I’m hoping but it is Texas after all…

I haven’t written much lately. The heat and oppressive humidity dulled the thinking, and work has taken all the energy I may have. Getting out of sweat-soaked clothes and laying in front of the air conditioning has been norm the last month or so. It’s also the end of our fiscal year at work so evenings are filled with year-end reports and audits. It’s rare to stay awake through the ten pm weather report but that’s okay. The forecast doesn’t change in August. It’s just going to be hot and dry.

My youngest grandkids started school in the middle of last month. Things have changed since I was young. The school year started the day after Labor Day and ended the day before Memorial Day. We didn’t have Monday holidays, so we celebrated them on whatever day of the week they fell on. It seems a bit cruel to send kids back to school while the swimming pools are still open, but I digress…

I have had the privilege of picking my grandkids up from school for a couple of years now. My oldest, Baillie, is working in Alaska, but both of the others are in high school, although they attend different schools. Lucas is close enough to walk to and from Pascal High School where he’s a freshman this year. I get to pick him up on the days he stays late.

Izabella was accepted into the Visual Performing Arts program at I.M. Terrell Academy, which is only two minutes away from the farm. I.M. Terrell was the black high school for many years in Fort Worth when schools were still segregated. Moreover, it’s Ms. Opal Lee’s alma mater. She’s thrilled that Iza is there. It hasn’t hurt Iza that her grandfather works for Terrell’s most famous alumnus.

I’m reminded daily how much I love my grandkids and how much I miss their father. He would (and I’m sure that on another plane he is) be so proud of them. I hope he would be proud of me as well for being there for them. I often wasn’t there for him when he was that age. Addiction has stolen so much from us. It stole both my son’s father and my grandkid’s father. The only difference is that I get the opportunity to make living amends. Jeremy, my son, lost that opportunity on May 29th, 2020.

It’s been four years since he passed. His car still sits in my driveway: another daily reminder that I keep meaning to get to someone else, but still find hard to let go of. Grief has its own timeline. While the daily intensity of the emotion has lessened to a point, there are still days when I retreat by myself to the end of the farm to have a good cry. I don’t feel as overwhelmed as I did in the months after his death, but I still grieve. I know grief’s a process and I’m told by others that have lost children that it doesn’t ever go away. It simply changes.

I have a fellow blogger friend, Mitch, who shares his real memoirs from time to time. I enjoy reading them. I’ve often thought I should share my own stories in some way. Jeremy once told me that he and I should write a book. “Dad, no one would believe that crazy shit”, he’d tell me. Life was certainly not dull, at least outwardly. As my own addiction progressed, life became an extremely dull routine of using, finding ways and means to get more, and repeating the process over and over with greater consequences and self-hatred.

Jeremy and I found a way out and shared that path for several years until he ventured down his own path that included relapsing into active addiction. I stayed on the recovery pathway and prayed that Jeremy would join me once again. He did from time to time but couldn’t seem to stay. I miss him terribly.

I thought that maybe I too, should share some stories – crazy as they may be – in hopes that someone relates and maybe, just maybe, it can make a difference in their journey as I’m sure it will in mine. I still don’t know what to call them. It would be inappropriate to call them my “real memoir” – don’t want to step on anyone’s toes – but they are real and definitely a time of remembering. Maybe writing will ease the grief and make some sense out of the craziness.

Look for them from time to time and pray to keep me honest. One of my favorite lines from a recovery book I read frequently is that “Honesty is the antidote to our diseased thinking”.

Maybe the stories will reflect that…

Children, Choices, Consequences, Emotional Health, Family, Generations, Grandchildren, Grief, Recovery, Relationships, Storytelling, Thoughts From the Porch, What Can I Do, Writing

The Way It Was…

gregoryjoel

It’s hard to believe September is already here. Labor Day is the unofficial beginning of Fall so the temperatures here have dropped to the nineties instead of the triple digits and we might even celebrate Labor Day with some rain. I’m hoping but it is Texas after all…

I haven’t written much lately. The heat and oppressive humidity dulled the thinking, and work has taken all the energy I may have. Getting out of sweat-soaked clothes and laying in front of the air conditioning has been norm the last month or so. It’s also the end of our fiscal year at work so evenings are filled with year-end reports and audits. It’s rare to stay awake through the ten pm weather report but that’s okay. The forecast doesn’t change in August. It’s just going to be hot and dry.

My youngest grandkids started school in the middle of last month. Things have changed since I was young. The school year started the day after Labor Day and ended the day before Memorial Day. We didn’t have Monday holidays, so we celebrated them on whatever day of the week they fell on. It seems a bit cruel to send kids back to school while the swimming pools are still open, but I digress…

I have had the privilege of picking my grandkids up from school for a couple of years now. My oldest, Baillie, is working in Alaska, but both of the others are in high school, although they attend different schools. Lucas is close enough to walk to and from Pascal High School where he’s a freshman this year. I get to pick him up on the days he stays late.

Izabella was accepted into the Visual Performing Arts program at I.M. Terrell Academy, which is only two minutes away from the farm. I.M. Terrell was the black high school for many years in Fort Worth when schools were still segregated. Moreover, it’s Ms. Opal Lee’s alma mater. She’s thrilled that Iza is there. It hasn’t hurt Iza that her father works for Terrell’s most famous alumnus.

I’m reminded daily how much I love my grandkids and how much I miss their father. He would (and I’m sure that on another plane he is) be so proud of them. I hope he would be proud of me as well for being there for them. I often wasn’t there for him when he was that age. Addiction has stolen so much from us. It stole both my son’s father and my grandkid’s father. The only difference is that I get the opportunity to make living amends. Jeremy, my son, lost that opportunity on May 29th, 2020.

It’s been four years since he passed. His car still sits in my driveway: another daily reminder that I keep meaning to get to someone else, but still find hard to let go of. Grief has its own timeline. While the daily intensity of the emotion has lessened to a point, there are still days when I retreat by myself to the end of the farm to have a good cry. I don’t feel as overwhelmed as I did in the months after his death, but I still grieve. I know grief’s a process and I’m told by others that have lost children that it doesn’t ever go away. It simply changes.

I have a fellow blogger friend, Mitch, who shares his real memoirs from time to time. I enjoy reading them. I’ve often thought I should share my own stories in some way. Jeremy once told me that he and I should write a book. “Dad, no one would believe that crazy shit”, he’d tell me. Life was certainly not dull, at least outwardly. As my own addiction progressed, life became an extremely dull routine of using, finding ways and means to get more, and repeating the process over and over with greater consequences and self-hatred.

Jeremy and I found a way out and shared that path for several years until he ventured down his own path that included relapsing into active addiction. I stayed on the recovery pathway and prayed that Jeremy would join me once again. He did from time to time but couldn’t seem to stay. I miss him terribly.

I thought that maybe I too, should share some stories – crazy as they may be – in hopes that someone relates and maybe, just maybe, it can make a difference in their journey as I’m sure it will in mine. I still don’t know what to call them. It would be inappropriate to call them my “real memoir” – don’t want to step on anyone’s toes – but they are real and definitely a time of remembering. Maybe writing will ease the grief and make some sense out of the craziness.

Look for them from time to time and pray to keep me honest. One of my favorite lines from a recovery book I read frequently is that “Honesty is the antidote to our diseased thinking”.

Maybe the stories will reflect that…