It’s been a long week at Opal’s Farm. The Trinity River Water District had to drop the water level in our section of the river so they could work on the dams above and below where the farm is. The sudden drop left our irrigation pump several feet out of the river and no access for our reserve high pressure pump. It’s a problem I’ve never encountered before – no water and new seed in the field.
I’ve often told people that farmers are among the smartest, most resourceful people I know. The farm offers new challenges on a regular basis that require thinking “out of the box”. Now I won’t claim above-average smarts, but I decided to haul water in fifty-gallon barrels and hand water all the new seeds every day. Lo and behold, seedlings are popping up in the new beds and rain finally came yesterday. In fact, Fort Worth set a record for the daily rainfall amount. I feel bad for those who had outdoor plans for Valentine’s Day, but God gave me the greatest Valentine’s Day gift I ever received (said with a sigh of relief!).
Hauling water and watering by the bucket is tedious, tiring, but necessary work. It was a reminder of the importance of patience, of doing the needed footwork, and trust that God will provide. I’m responsible for putting one foot in front of the other, God takes care of the results. Life is so much easier when I simply do the work and leave the results to the God of my understanding.
The time is always now for right action, for doing the footwork to make the farm, and my world, a better place. Sometimes it’s tedious, tiring, even depressing. It seems like it’s never enough, but eventually the seeds, whether they be fresh veggies or changing my community for the better, sprout and grow. The farm reminds me of the importance of being God’s hands and feet right here, right now. It’s like the Zen saying, “Chop wood, carry water”…
My first year at Opal’s Farm was interesting to say the least. I’d never farmed. I’d had lots of experience with community gardens, but I had never farmed. I only had a few hand tools and a BCS two-wheeled tractor, a wide-open space to use it, and I was the only laborer to do so. There was no money in the farm account and even what little seed we had was donated. That also meant I didn’t get paid unless some grant money came through or we had a huge harvest – neither of which appeared to be happening soon.
Fortunately, I had a great mentor come into my life, Charlie Blaylock, who owned Shines Farmstand, guided me through the process of becoming a farmer. A month into the project I received help from our first volunteer, Brendan, who stayed with me every day through that first growing season. He put that BCS tractor to work. Although our first growing season met with some moderate success it was nowhere near enough to get paid so I went without a paycheck for the first year.
I believed in the farm. My wife and I had a very small savings account to draw on, and although it wasn’t near enough to pay all the bills, I went to work each day. The money finally ran out in October, and I was so worried and stressed out to the point that I came home and told Margaret that I was going to have to go work elsewhere. My wife, who is one of the most spiritual and faithful people I know, looked at me and said, “Greg, we prayed for a long time about this, and I know this is where God wants you to be. Give it another month before you decide what to do”.
I exclaimed, “Baby, we’ll lose the house if we can’t make the mortgage payment!”
She smiled and simply said, “We had a roof over our heads when we moved in didn’t we?” Needless to say, I’m still there seven years later and the farm is thriving.
You see, I received a call from our Executive Director at eight o’clock the following morning. She told me we’d received a grant from Visit Fort Worth, and she’d have a check for me later that day. I called my wife and told her the great news and stopped to have a little conversation with God. “God, I’m stubborn and thickheaded. I know you told me not to worry about things like that. You have my back. It’s all yours from now on. I’m just going to do the work you gave me each day and you take care of the rest.”
I’ve told this story many times over the last seven years. I’ve even had to remind myself several times this year when funding cuts led to staff layoffs and irregular paychecks. Texas Health Community Hope and the Conservation and Environment Fund at North Texas Community Foundation stepped up to help us in enormous ways to continue the great work at Opal’s Farm.
I’d like to say that my life is free of worry, but that would be a lie. I just worry less about myself and more about others. It seems there’s a lot to worry about these days with all the chaos, hatred, and harm being directed at folks, but doing what I can to ease another’s burden, especially in food justice and serving the marginalized communities around us, there’s less worry and more action.
I don’t worry (well, most of the time anyway…) about results and just do the work. I also remember I spent way too much of life worrying about things that just didn’t matter. I have “enough” and life’s pretty damn good.
From another patron saint of Texas music and one of Fort Worth’s favorite sons – Delbert McClinton along with the great Francine Reed.
“There are two ways to get enough: one is to continue to accumulate more and more. The other is to desire less.” – G. K. Chesterton
“We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.” – Winston Churchill
“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seed you plant.” – Robert Louis Stevenson
“The world says, the more you take, the more you have. Christ says, the more you give, the more you are.” — Frederick Buechner
It’s hard to believe that December is already here. This year has flown by! It seems like only yesterday I was planting early Spring crops and now I’m getting beds ready for them again. I keep hearing the old Harry Chapin song over and over in my head as I pull out the old summer crops and prepare for the coming year. “All my life’s a circle, sunrise and sundown. Moon rolls through the nighttime, ‘til the daybreak comes around. All my life’s a circle, but I can’t tell you why. Seasons spinning round again, the years keep rolling by…” I keep thinking that things will slow down at Opal’s Farm, but the circle keeps rolling on.
Opal’s Farm Stand went on the road yesterday with all the greens and root vegetables that’re coming in this time of year. We were at the monthly Funkytown Mindful Market on Wesleyan Street. Attendance was strong despite the chilly overcast December day, and a good time was had by all. I got to spend the morning with our stand next to my friend Steven from Tabor Farms and catch up with one another. He and all the Tabor crew have done an amazing job building the farm up and growing some fantastic winter produce. Please go by and visit Tabor sometime for a real treat. Even better than that – volunteer with them!
My friends at CoAct, Jesse Herrera and Ashley Munoz, saw to it that Market Bucks went to every market visitor and any produce left over was sent to the Funkytown Fridge. Everyone’s so busy this time of years that it’s easy to forget that many of our neighbors go hungry during this hectic holiday season. CoAct, Funkytown Mindful Market, Tabor Farms, and Opal’s Farm hope to make the holidays a bit easier for those going without. Food, and good healthy food, is a basic human right and we want to do what we can to ensure that everyone has access.
Please remember too, that Opal’s has Fresh Bucks available through the end of December to help those who were affected by the government shutdown. The Sustainable Food Center has graciously shared a grant to make sure those affected can purchase up to $30.00 per day on fresh food with the Fresh Bucks available until they’re all gone or the end of December, whichever comes first.
Fall saw above normal temperatures and December’s moved in the opposite direction. It’s the coldest start to December in sixteen years so we’ve been covering crops to make we have plenty of winter produce available. The good Lord willing, we will be open throughout the year both Cowtown Farmers Market and Opal’s Farm Stand.
There are some changes coming to Opal’s Farm Stand in 2026 so we can serve more of our neighbors. We’re finalizing those plans now and we’ll be making an announcement about those changes soon. Meanwhile, the circle keeps rolling on. Happy Holidays everyone!
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.
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…
gregoryjoel.com 