Fort Worth’s Near Southside held Gallery Night a couple of weeks ago. Fort Works Art, which represented my son Jeremy several years before his death, held their tenth anniversary on the famed Gallery night. They curated many of the artists who have been a part of the last ten years and included some of Jeremy’s work. Jay Wilkinson, Jeremy’s former business partner and family friend, and a phenomenal artist, painted a grand portrait of Jeremy as “The Painter” and took a moment for this picture of my grandkids and himself in front of his piece.
Top: Jay Wilkinson and our grandkids in front of Jay’s work “The Painter”
Below:Jeremy’s piece announced the 10th anniversary
I just want to say thank you for an incredible evening for Margaret and our family. It’s a happy reminder of Jeremy’s place in the Fort Worth art community and that he’s not forgotten but lives on through his work and his friends. Five years after hissing passing I still bear the grief with comes with such a loss, but days like this remind me of the joy he brought to others as well as his family.
Farming has its challenges. The weather is either too wet or too dry, too hot or too cold; equipment breaks down at the most inopportune time; pest pressure; the list goes on. The latest challenge – water level on the Trinity River, which provides water for irrigating our crops, dropping lower than our pumps can reach, leaving us high and dry with new Spring seed in the ground. The Tarrant Regional Water District has construction going on by the Fourth Street dam just upstream from us and had to lower the water level in our section of the river to complete the work. It may be a month before the water level returns to a normal level. The farm can’t go for a month without water, and the weather forecast isn’t looking favorably for us. “Houston, we have a problem…”
The immediate issue was getting water on the new seed as quickly as possible. To make a long story short, it was too muddy to get our other pump close enough to the water to get to suction hose in, so I filled four fifty-gallon water barrels at home each morning, drove to the farm, and hand watered the new seed, all the while praying to seek a better solution. The process was long, slow, and really hard work for this old man.
I trust that God hears my prayers and always answers even though I don’t always listen very well (and if I’m honest, I’ll still try to figure out things my way because I don’t like the answer, but that’s another story). Still, I’ve gotten better as I’ve gotten older at watching and listening for God’s instructions.
This week, the answer came from one of our regular volunteers and friends of the farm, Amir (I haven’t asked his permission to use his full name and picture on social media yet). Amir is one of my favorite people. He comes most Thursdays and Saturday mornings to help at the farm and often brings his young son as well. He believes his son needs to learn the value of helping others (that won him Father of the Year in my book). When he saw our problem, he called to meet me at Opal’s Farm on Friday morning. He wanted to put our heads together to see if we could find a solution to the irrigation problem.
We pondered our options and then it occurred to Amir that we could pull the pump from its pipe to the river, extend the Pex piping and electrical wire and push the pump farther into the river. Great idea! I was fully expecting Amir to have to go on to his work and do it over the weekend. He looked at me and said, “If we can get the parts this morning, we should have water this afternoon”. Needless to say, after a very long Friday and very cold Trinity River water we have irrigation again.
The reason I mention this is because I need to tell you how blessed I am to have great volunteers, and especially Amir. He sees his time as an investment in Opal’s Farm, our mission, and our future. He gave up his work time to help at a critical moment. That’s the kind of people that God has blessed me with over the last seven years at Opal’s Farm. I just want to give him a special shout-out.
Texas Farm Bureau Day
We were also blessed to have a group of college students from around the state and the Texas Farm Bureau come by on Saturday morning. Many of these folks have production farming experience so the amount of work and the initiative they brought to Opal’s on a Saturday morning was beyond amazing. Thanks to these young people our tomatoes are planted, most of the trellises up, and the beds are weed-free (at least until the next rain…). Thanks to Kyndal with the Texas Farm Bureau for putting all this together!
If you would like to volunteer as an individual or as a group, please feel free to call 817.602.8225, but hurry as Spring dates are going fast.
I always celebrate Thanksgiving with mixed emotions. If I look at the real history of the holiday it leaves little to celebrate. I’m sure that when the Wampanoag People feasted with the pilgrim colonists, saving them from a dreadful winter of starvation (because that’s what human beings do for one another) they had no idea what lay ahead. I’ve sure the pilgrims were thinking “thanks for the food. Next year we kill your women and children and steal your land.” It’s no wonder Thanksgiving is a day of mourning for my Indigenous brothers. True history is usually hard to celebrate.
However, I grew up in a middle-class, white, suburban, and fundamentalist Christian home in Texas. That’s not the Thanksgiving story I was told. Mine was much more pleasant than the reality and had a white supremacy spin put on the whole thing, but that another story. Thanksgiving became a holiday to be celebrated with too much food, family, friends, and Dallas Cowboy football. My Dad was transferred to Denver in 1969. Coloradoans didn’t take to Texans moving there (after skiing with them I understand why…) so all my parents’ friends (mostly ex-patriate Texans and mostly from church) got together each Thanksgiving to feast together and watch the Dallas Cowboys.
We communally held our breath as Clint Longley threw his “Hail Mary” pass to Drew Pearson to win the game against the hated Washington Redskins on Thanksgiving 1974. Clint was the son of one of our church members and big brother to one of my friends. He’d also graduated from Abilene Christian College which is where all of most of our friend’s children either went or would go. We all watched the number one moment in Thanksgiving history. I’ve never seen such excitement, and given what professional football has become, may never see again. I’m quite sure Jerry Jones is the anti-Christ…
Years have passed and many Thanksgivings have drifted in and out of my memory. Grown kids and grandkids make planning Thanksgiving difficult. This year I’ll put a smile on my face and hope January 2nd comes quickly. The holidays have become a difficult time for me. My son Jeremy died two years ago. He was born on Christmas Day during the Denver “Blizzard of ‘82” so the holidays bring a lot of melancholy with them. I miss my son. Grief is a bitch…
Last year, Margaret and I celebrated Thanksgiving with my “birth” family in Kentucky. It was amazing to be with so many people that looked like me. That helped me through so many difficult days. This year I got a phone call from Momma that took the wind out of whatever sails I had – the cancer has returned, and the prognosis is not good (Momma was quick to remind me not to count her out yet. They’ve said that before.) I’ll be spending Christmas in Kentucky this year, making new memories with my people, my Momma. Sometimes I think that Jeremy’s behind all this. I don’t think he wants this to be a depressing time of year for his family. I know Momma doesn’t. Maybe the new memories will make a difference. I hope so.
I’ve often thought Thanksgiving was more of a commercialized greeting card holiday. I strive to be grateful each and every day, not just on the fourth Thursday of November. Thanksgiving may be a special day to say thanks for the many blessings we have, but gratitude is something to be exercised all the time – 365 days a year. Gratitude is a verb, it’s action. Gratitude is taking care of the things we’ve been given – our world, our families, and each other.
We spent this Thanksgiving with friends, many of whom I haven’t seen in a couple of years (thanks to COVID). Our host reminded me that we were celebrating with our family of choice. It made me smile. It also reminded me to show my gratitude for the wonderful friends I have by being more accessible. I’m not going to wait for New Years to start on that resolution.
I hope that all of you had a blessed, peaceful Thanksgiving and the holidays bring you cheer, peace, and appreciation for all that’s been given each of you. I do appreciate so very much those of you who take a couple of minutes out of your busy day to read the ramblings of some old guy in Fort Worth, Texas!
I’ve been working on this post for a week, and to be honest, I wish I didn’t have to write it. I’ve kind of been dreading August. It’s a little long so please bear with me…
Things are going well at Opal’s Farm. We’ve held on to the tomatoes and peppers through this crazy hot summer and even have new crops coming in. Thanks to Grow SE and the Rainwater Foundation we have a new Kubota MX 5400 tractor, a Land Pride tiller attachment, and pallet forks to facilitate our future growth and composting. They have also helped us hire an Assistant Farm Manager who I’ll introduce soon. We have wonderful volunteers who brave the intense Texas sun to come out and work at the farm (early in the morning of course!). The Cowtown Farmers Market has a new place to go to that even has shade and picnic tables. We are truly blessed!
So, what’s so difficult to write? This all sounds great! Well…
One of our (especially my) best friends and mentor, Charlie Blaylock with Shines Farmstand will be leaving Fort Worth and moving to New Mexico next week. We’ve known the move was coming for many months but now it’s too real. Laura Blaylock retired from the Tarrant Regional Water District on Friday (and I noticed that most of the furniture was already gone when we had our last Grow SE Zoom meeting) and they had their last day at the Cowtown Farmers Market this past Saturday. Although I’m thrilled for their new adventure (it was 72 degrees last time I talked to Charlie in New Mexico! I’m so jealous.), I’m sad to see them leave.
I’m not sure Opal’s Farm would still be growing had it not been for Charlie. When I pulled around the corner for the first time and saw the five acres plowed I thought “What have I gotten myself into? I’m so over my head”. Fortunately, I had the pleasure of meeting Charlie outside a Grow SE meeting a few months earlier. I had a feeling it was going to be okay. Some people are just destined to cross one’s path. They are truly a gift.
Over the last three-and-a half years, Charlie has helped guide me through the process of making Opal’s a going concern. He’s taken hours out of his schedule to meet with me, listen to my problems, and helped find solutions to make Opal’s a successful urban farm. There have been times I thought we weren’t going to make it and Charlie was always there to cheer me on. Most importantly, he and Laura took time to invite me into their lives and build an incredible friendship.
I know I’m not the only one that has benefited from knowing Charlie and Laura. Charlie has been a blessing to the local farming and food community. His work with the Tarrant County Food Policy Council, the Cowtown Farmers Market, the Tarrant Area Food Bank, and Grow SE has helped start several urban farms in Fort Worth. His commitment to access to fresh, local food and the farmers in and around Fort Worth will be missed. I can only hope that I’ll be able to follow in his footsteps and help others as he has helped me.
Charlie and Laura made sure their farm was left in capable hands. Becca Knutson, the Cowtown Farmers Market manager will be moving in and taking over Charlie’s labor of love. She’s been making the transition for several months now. She’ll continue bringing great organically grown fresh produce to Cowtown each week (and she’s a fantastic manager as well!).
Cowtown Farmers Market will be having its first market at the new location at the Grand Pavilion in Veterans Park this Saturday. It’s somewhat bittersweet for me. Charlie and Laura will be stopping by to be with us one last time, but not as vendors. They’ll be leaving the following week to new endeavors and much cooler weather. I’m not sure I’ll know what to do without my Laura hugs to get me through market (she gives the best hugs ever!).
Charlie and Laura, please know you’re loved and appreciated so much for all you do. I know that New Mexico will be better for your residence there and frankly, I would be right behind you if I could. It’s beautiful there and I’m happy you both get to enjoy mountain living. I may not have Apple Facetime but I already have an app for my Android so I can see your smiles. I promise I won’t be calling every day, but I can tell you I’m grateful for cell phones (this once anyway…). Be safe in your travels and keep me updated on the new adventure.
P.S. – Tell Dusty to call me. He has a place right here for the holidays. I love you both and already miss you!
I came home a little early today to get stuff together for Earth Day at the Health Sciences Center tomorrow. I have a large volunteer group coming and a doctor appointment for Margaret as well. My brain has been running like crazy – at least until a moment ago.
My wife sent me You Tube link (attached below) and the tears have slowed enough to sit down and write. Every now and then a song comes along that you swear was written for you. Maybe it’s about your life, your loved ones, or your friends, but it’s like the songwriter was inside your head. That’s the case with this one…
My Maggie was a ball of fur that I bottle fed until she ciould eat solid food. Her mother and the rest of the littler were taken to the shelter. She grew into sixty pounds with a beautiful gray merle coat and a raccoon mask across her face. Maggie was half Catahoula and half coyote – rebel was an accurate adjective, and her wild side was endearing to anyone who met her. Squirrels knew better than to set foot in our yard!
Maggie was my dog. She tolerated everyone else, and could even be affectionate toward them, but she loved me, and I loved her. She would curl up beside my desk and follow me everywhere I went – especially if I was going to the kitchen. We learned quickly not to leave anything we intended to eat on the counter. She assumed it was hers – even the birthday cake Margaret made for a friend. Maggie had an incredible radar for food. She could be outside and no matter how quietly I crept into the kitchen she would be sitting there waiting before I had a chance to finish opening whatever I was going to cook or eat.
On the Monday before Thanksgiving last year, she walked in and laid by my feet. I reached down to pet her and noticed her eyes didn’t look right. I knelt and took her head in my hands to love on her. She started to have a seizure and died right there in my hands. She was only five years old. We suspect she had an aneurysm.
I wrapped her in a blanket and gently carried her out to a place by the garden close to wear my Sheltie, Missy, is buried. I cried quietly as I laid her to rest. Sadie, our other rescue was her “sister”. I looked out the window later and saw her sitting and staring at Maggie’s grave.
I’m trying not to get tears on the keyboard as I write this. The last two years have been marked by some devastating losses – my son, my best friend, and others who I came to know and love over the last twenty years or so. Maybe Maggie’s Song will lead me through the grief even if it doesn’t fill the hole in my heart.
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