Category: Culture

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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!

Community, Connection, Culture, Faith, Family, Generations, Gifts, Grandchildren, Gratitude, History, Parents, Recovery, Role Models, Songs, Stories, Thoughts From the Porch

Forty Two

gregoryjoel

It’s rained about 4 inches in the last two days with more to come. I gratefully sat down to write this morning. It seems like it’s been far too busy to do so given our unseasonably warm winter. The winter crops don’t know what to do – some have even bolted (gone to seed) – and the Spring crops are beginning to poke their heads out of the soil. It’s too muddy to work today so I get to sit back in my office and spend some quality time by myself. My playlist is going, the coffee’s hot, and I have all four dogs curled up around my feet. I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.

My playlist this morning is mostly Texas country. A Matt Hillyer song, “If These Old Bones Could Talk”, came on and I thought about the old box of dominoes in my drawer. It was a gift from my father – a box of old “bones” white with black pips and embossed with the green logo of Burlington Northern Railroad – a gift from the Burlington Northern Veterans Club (long before BNSF). The white marble-like dominoes are slightly discolored from years of body oils they’ve absorbed from years of shuffling and playing. It’s one of the few things I’ve managed to hang on to despite the chaos of active addiction that plagued me for so long.

Dad’s been gone since 2002 and I got clean and sober in 2005. The old box of bones is one of the few constants in my life – one that has seen the best of days and the worst of days. I’ve really been thinking about Dad this morning. I wish he could have lived to see me today. My wife reminds me that he does see me. I get it. It’s not the same though. I miss him. It’s my earthly father’s love that taught me how much my heavenly Father loves me. But I digress…

My dad was a railroad man. He worked for the old Fort Worth & Denver Railroad, which was owned by the Colorado & Southern Railroad was in turn, owned by the old Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad. Long before the merger with the Santa Fe Railroad – the SF in BNSF – was a merger with the Burlington Route and the Great Northern Railroad (among others) in 1970. My father could tell you the complete history and even had pictures of the old Fort Worth & Denver and Burlington Route trains as they moved through the train yards and stations. He took “early” retirement in 1981 at age fifty-seven and forty years of service. For many years afterwards he and mom attended the various BN Veterans dinners. Railroading is a different way of life – a subculture difficult to explain to outsiders. The railroad is family.

Our other family was the Church of Christ, a non-denominational body that has churches all through the state. That’s where the dominoes come in. First of all, please understand that dominoes, specifically the game of “Forty-Two”, is the state game of Texas (by a law passed in 2011). They even have a State Championship played in Halletsville, Texas every year. Texans, especially in protestant religious organizations like the Church of Christ and old railroaders take dominoes seriously.

Our family has deep roots within the Church of Christ. My great- great-grandfather was a travelling circuit preacher. My great-grandfather was a farmer and helped build the church in Navarro and Ellis counties. My parents and the majority of their friends were members of the Church of Christ and most of them grew up together. Since they were good church folks none of them played cards. That was the devil’s game. I’m told that dominoes were invented in the 1880s as a way to play cards without cards. Good fundamentalist Christians are good at finding loopholes to what they deem poor moral behavior…

My parents and all their friends would get together every month to have a “Forty-Two” night. It would always be held at someone’s house (never play games in the church building) and would include a huge potluck. Everyone would come, multiple tables would be set up, and parents would break off into tables of four to play. Kids would be running all over the yard (we still played outside – even after dark – back them). During the occasional game break one or more of the parents would come out to check on us and then return to the next game. They’d play all night – at least ten o’clock – and us kids got to stay up late. It was a win-win for everyone.

Dominoes disappeared after my dad was transferred to Denver (when the Colorado & Southern bought the Fort Worth & Denver ) – that is until they discovered a host of ex-patriate Texans and Church of Christ folks who became their new circle of friends. They got together religiously (no pun intended) on most holidays and Friday nights to play “Forty-Two”. The location changed but the game remained the same.

 I had become a teenager with better things to do than hang out with the “old folks” playing dominoes. I probably should’ve have stayed. It might’ve prevented a lot of bad choices. I never learned how to play “Forty-Two” and the kids I met in Colorado weren’t much interested in “shaking the bones”. It was the seventies and as I got older life became about sex, and drugs, and rock & roll, but that’s a story for another time.

Fast forward to my return to Texas as a young adult. I played a lot of dominoes down in the ‘hood with my using friends. It was never “Forty-Two”, but it was “straight” dominoes. Later, my recovery friends often played after recovery meetings, and I would play with my two sons occasionally (Jeremy always found a way to win but I never caught him cheating…).

I don’t play dominoes as much as I used to. Life has gotten full of good things, but it leaves me little time for the game. Besides, many of my old friends who played have either moved off or passed on. I’m sure my grandkids know how to play and next week is Spring Break. I think I’ll shuffle the old bones and see how well Jeremy taught them how to play. After all, the game remains the same.

Communication, Community, Culture, Down On the Farm, Family, Farmers Markets, Neighbors, Non-Profits, Opal's Farm, Relationships, Simplicity, Texas, Thoughts From the Porch, Uncategorized, Urban Farming, What Can I Do

Everyone Needs Community

gregoryjoel

It’s been a great week around these parts. My Assistant Manager, Joey, and I were in San Antonio earlier this week for the 31st Annual Texas Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association (TOFGA) Conference. We spent two days learning and sharing with other growers from all over the state. On Tuesday, I was part of a panel discussion on Agrotourism. We’d love to thank Kristin Song from Delve Experiences and the other panel members for helping us (and you, we hope) grow our agrotourism business. We are thrilled to be a TOFGA member!

The weather here has been unusually mild for Texas in February. The long-range forecasts, both from NOAA and The Old Farmers Almanac, point to a cold spell in the middle of this month and a last frost date of March 18th. I can’t wait to start getting the Spring crops in the ground. It’s been in the upper sixties and low seventies the last week. Spring Fever firmly has me in its grip. Still, it is February in North Texas…

This has been a week about community. We had our annual membership meeting of the Cowtown Farmers Market yesterday after the market. One of the questions put to all the members was, why do you sell at Cowton Farmers Market. My reason was clear – it’s all about community.

I spent the first part of the week at the TOFGA Conference. This was my fifth one and I’ve come to know people from all over the state of Texas. I look forward to being with them every year. I often learn more from the conversations outside the meeting rooms and that makes the conference expense more than simply worthwhile. It’s a community of farmers and food justice advocates I am so blessed to be a part of.

Cowtown Farmers Market is the same – both with the farmers and with our customers. A member of the market – another farmer – made a comment yesterday that explains the ethos at Cowtown Farmers Market. He said, “I don’t view anyone else there as competition”. This same member I’ve often seen help, or even sell, for another member farmer when they were sick or needed to be off.

We don’t operate from a paradigm of scarcity. We don’t need to stress and fracture relationships through constant competition. Farmers constantly refer customers to other customers who might have something they don’t have. I have benefitted from the wisdom many of our experienced farmers shared so freely. I’ve become a better farmer and a better person by knowing them.

I’ve also come to know many of our customers because they are there every week (and they usually tell me when they’re not going to be there for whatever reason).They’re there in the cold winter and they’re there during the heat of a Texas summer. I come to know what’s going on in their lives, their likes and dislikes, and they mine. Genuine conversations start – what’d you do this week, how’s the family, or asking about something they’d told me about a few weeks ago. There’s a continuity and a sense of community you simply will never find at your local Kroger or Albertsons.

I’d love to see you all come out to the market on Saturday mornings. Come join our wonderful community. Enjoy great people, great fun, and great food! If you can’t make it there, please come out to our new farm stand at 2500 LaSalle and be a part of the neighborhood community we’re proud to be a part of. Don’t worry. The community can never be too big, and besides, there’s always room for one more farmers market, right?

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.