Category: Uncategorized

Children, Community, Depression, Faith, Generations, Grace, Grandchildren, Grief, Honor, Letting Go, Love, Parents, Prayer, Relationships, Spiritual Deserts, Spirituality, Survivors, Thoughts From the Porch, Uncategorized

A Pain That Doesn’t Go Away…

gregoryjoel

Friday, May 29th, was the most difficult day of my life. I received a phone call around noon. It was my daughter-in-law. She said, “I’m so sorry Pops, but they found Jeremy (my youngest son) and”. She couldn’t finish. The sobbing swept the words away and I knew…

I had filed a “Missing Persons” report the day before. No one had heard or seen him since the previous Friday, and friends and family were concerned. Honestly, I had a picture in my mind of Jeremy popping in with that big grin of his and asking what all the fuss was about. Then he’d be mad about the fuss. He’d been known to disappear for a couple of days before. He’d get a wild hair and go camping without telling anyone. Everyone would be angry with him for not letting anyone know. His response was always, “Why is everyone all bent out of shape?” This time it was different…

We had a photo shoot at Opal’s Farm last year. That day is full of happy memories…

His apartment manager found him the following morning. I don’t feel up to answering questions or discussing his death right now. I can’t even begin to describe the depths of my sadness and grief. Every time I look into the faces of my grandchildren – Baillie, Izzabella, and Lucas – my heart breaks down even more. He loved his children so much.

Fortunately for me, there’s much to do when a loved one dies – funeral arrangements, legal stuff, and so forth – busy is good. It keeps the grief from becoming completely overwhelming.                                        

Parents are not supposed to bury their children. They shouldn’t have to tell their grandchildren that Daddy isn’t coming home. I never thought I’d have to deal with this. Their adult children are. That’s the way it’s designed to work.

Unfortunately, designs and plans fly out the window when they meet the real world. I know I am not the first to lose a child (grown or not), nor will I be the last. That’s reality, but it’s my child, my son, and my heart has been ripped has been ripped from my chest…

Jeremy, Baillie, and our friend Kristen…

In the coming days, or perhaps the coming weeks, I will write about this. That’s what writers do, right? I need to tell you about Jeremy – about his impish humor, his incredible artistry, and the bravado that hid the tender soul that he was. Unfortunately, I’m unable to do so right now. There’s no timetable for grief. I’ll know when I know…

Right now, there are no words to convey the sense of loss our family feels. The family funeral is today. The local art community is planning on a huge outdoor celebration of Jeremy’s life when more of the COVID-19 restrictions are lifted and it’s safer for everyone. Thank you to those who were close to Jeremy for helping the family through this.

We are so grateful for the outpouring of love and support so many have given. There will come a time for the thank you letters and emails. As it is, we can only put one foot in front of the other and wander through the dark days that are no longer filled by Jeremy’s smile.

Community, Coronavirus, Donations, Down On the Farm, Faith, Fighting Poverty, Food Equality, Food Insecurity, Food Justice, Gifts, Giving, Gratitude, Hope, Neighbors, Non-Profits, North Texas Giving Day, Opal's Farm, Regeneration, Service Organizations, Service to Others, Uncategorized, Unity Unlimited, Inc., Urban Farming, Volunteers, What Can I Do

A Special Day of Giving

gregoryjoel
North Texas Giving Day

Please help support Opal’s Farm on this North Texas Giving Tuesday Now. Go to www.northtexasgivingday.org or to Unity Unlimited, Inc. at www.unityunlimited.org.

Help us grow and help others!

Connection, Emotional Health, Gifts, Gratitude, John Prine, Listening, Music, Quotes, Songwriters, Stories, Uncategorized

Hello In There

gregoryjoel

People don’t listen to Rock FM radio much these days. It’s become outdated by the plethora of streaming services, satellite radio, and internet radio. However, it wasn’t always that way. There was a day when FM was the Wild West of rock and roll radio. Casting aside the mono pop radio of the AM bandwidth, stations popped up across the FM dial. It was perfect for rock and roll – they refused to follow convention, shunned playlists, and introduced new artist regardless of their spot on the Billboard Top 100.

By the time I started high school in the early seventies much of rock FM radio was listed as Adult Oriented Rock (AOR) and had begun to develop playlists for said genre. Still, there were the musical rebels that played all the albums (yes Virginia, there is such a thing as vinyl recordings) and tracks not found on the AOR stations. They tended to be somewhat obscure – hidden on the dial by their limited range and smaller broadcast wattage. When I found one it was a true treasure. It’s where I discovered everything from Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention to Bob Marley or Jackson Browne. It’s also where I discovered John Prine.

I was driving down the highway in my ’67 Chevy Impala SS, listening to one of those maverick stations when I heard “Hello In There” for the first time. It was by this guy named John Prine and honestly, it brought tears to my eyes. If it could elicit that kind of emotional response, I had to check this guy out. I bought his debut album the next day. It started a relationship with his music that still goes on today and I still say “Hello In There”.

Fast forward to 2020 – FM radio is a stereo version of AM pop music and vile talk radio. What’s now considered “classic” rock is anything but classic. It was commercially successful among Baby Boomers back then and lacks any of the substance of FM radio’s glory days. The hidden treasures I once valued died an ignominious death at the hands of corporate media giants.

Sadly, not only is FM radio gone, but the world lost another treasure – John Prine. He died of complications from COVID-19 last Tuesday. I was in my truck on the way back from the farm when I heard the news. I still listen to FM radio, but I’ve traded the commercial crap for National Public Radio and some local Red Dirt radio (if I need to explain, you wouldn’t understand…).

I, like so many others, have spent the week listening to tributes, old interviews, and a constant stream of a lifetime of John Prine music. The songs took me back to the first time I heard “Illegal Smile” and knew exactly what he was talking about. That smile faded as I became older and began to identify with his classic “Sam Stone”. Originally titled “Great Society Conflict Veterans Blues” it became one of his greatest protest songs. For me, it became too real. “There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm where all the money goes…”

Thank you, John Prine, for a lifetime of sarcasm, wit, reality, and truth. That’s why he was inducted into the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame. That’s why he’s an American treasure. That’s why I miss him…

Belief, Children, Choices, Connection, Emotional Health, Faith, Generations, Gifts, Grace, Gratitude, Grief, Heroes, Love, Opal's Farm, Peace, Quotes, Recovery, Relationships, Role Models, Serenity, Spirituality, Stories, Thoughts From the Porch, Uncategorized, Urban Farming, Writing

Chevrolet Heaven

gregoryjoel

Thoughts From the Porch: Sometimes I wonder if my memories of childhood are mine or they were my father’s. His recall of the past was beyond my understanding. Heck, I find it difficult to remember what I had for breakfast a couple of hours ago, but Dad – he remembered everything. On more than one occasion I’d wish his recall didn’t work so well. Embarrassment is one emotion I’d rather not deal with.

I sat on the porch this morning, drinking my coffee, watching the rain fall, and letting my mind wander across my memory landscape. It always seems cloudy the farther back I walk. The mental pictures become blurred and I don’t know if the memory is real or a story my father told me. They must be real. Dad would never had lied to me about anything. Still, everything in my experience seems just out of reach.

The one thing I’m sure is real is the green pickup truck my father had. The picture is crystal clear. It was a ’52 Chevrolet Apache, hunter green with high sideboards my father had made and put on. He had a second job delivering a Sunday paper called “The Shopper” and the sideboards were to hold all the newspapers. The papers would come off the press around two o’clock in the morning on Sunday. He’d fill the truck bed with papers and two assistants and off they go to throw the paper on their assigned route.

I was almost always asleep when Dad went to work so I don’t recall his absence, I remember the truck. I loved that truck. It always seemed to me that the truck didn’t belong in the city. It belonged on a farm – a big farm with wide, open meadows, horses, cows, and chickens – the kind my uncles and cousins had.

Suddenly remembering that truck this morning seemed so random, but little in life is random. Experience has shown that there’s usually some pattern, some order to life that can only be understood in hindsight. To quote Soren Kirkegaard, “Life can only be understood looking backward, but it must be lived forwards.”

I miss Dad. He passed away in 2002. Eighteen years later I find myself thinking of him regularly. It’s happy thoughts most days – he was quite special – but sometimes it’s a deep sadness that he’s no longer here. Today is one of those days.

When Dad passed, my life was total chaos – in and out of jail, unemployment, and degradation. It was a downhill slide for the next three years, until I hit bottom. I hurt my father in so many ways. He only wanted the very best for me and it was gut-wrenching to watch his son self-destruct. I know. I hurt when my kids hurt. Call it co-dependent if you’d like. I call it parenting…

Life changed for me on December 1st, 2005, and with it came the sadness that Dad wasn’t here to see it. He, above all people, deserved to see the change. I would give anything to hear his embarrassing and oft repeated stories one more time. I’d give anything to have him enjoy the peace that life offers today.

Thinking about that truck doesn’t seem so random anymore. It was always meant to be on a farm. Today I know Dad and I would be driving down to Opal’s Farm, working side by side, and telling stories. We’d laugh together and maybe he’d sing one of his silly songs. The dogs would be piled in the back. It’d be a gorgeous Spring morning. Life would be how it was meant to be.

It’s funny that old green Chevrolet shows a glimpse of the promised “new heaven and a new earth”. Sadness has turned to joy today thinking about that truck and Dad. I’m pretty sure he’s got her gassed up and ready. We’ll hop in and take for a spin around the farm. Life how it’s meant to be…

Uncategorized

Start to See the Bigger Picture

gregoryjoel

Down On the Farm…

The official start of Spring is still a couple of weeks away, but Spring planting is well under way. The onions (both Texas 1015 and bunching varieties), potatoes, some herbs, and radishes went in the ground before this morning’s rain came. Tomato and pepper beds are prepped and waiting. They’ll go in a couple from now. One of our fantastic volunteers worked over the weekend on getting our compost piles in order and wood chip borders and walkways are almost finished (Thank you Jay! It looks great on is working quite well).

Thanks for the pic Jay!

We were also privileged to have the “Circle of Winners” from the Northside Inter-Community Agency. The “circle of Winners” are high schooler kids who will be first generation college students. They came a week ago as part of the community service they give all around Fort Worth. They did a great job!

True Winners!

It’s far too easy to get focused on the immediate work at hand (the field work) when Spring is rapidly approaching. Nature provides a seemingly brief window for preparation and planting. We’re blessed to have temperate climate and longer growing seasons. Our pool of volunteers, our “farmer’s”, is growing. New expansion into our second acre is beginning. Opal’s Farm is on the move, and in more ways than simply addressing food insecurity and lack of access.

On February 26th, I had the honor and the privilege of meeting Malik Yakini from the Detroit Black Community Food Security Network. He toured Opal’s Farm and spent some time with the growers from Grow SE before speaking at TCU on Wednesday evening. I can only speak for myself, but I was left with desire to see the bigger picture of what we’re doing.

Malik told of meeting a village elder, or chief, in Mali, West Africa. When it came time to leave, his party was told to go across the road and greet the farmers. The elder told him, “Those who work in the sun make it possible for those who work in the shade”. Farmers provide the real fuel for all of us.

When I meet people, they often ask what I do. When I tell them I’m the Farm Manger for Opal’s Farm they either don’t stare at me with a deer in the headlights look or they look at me condescendingly as “just a farmer”. That response is typical of most urban populations lacking access to fresh produce or knowledge of where their food comes from or how it’s processed. When I tell them it’s an urban farm near downtown, I can see their doubt and disbelief.

Moreover, they’ve lost their connection to the world around them. That lack of connection, of harmony, causes a myriad of physical, mental, and most importantly, spiritual problems. That’s one reason I always refer to Opal’s Farm as a great place for “dirt therapy” – something happens to us when our hands get dirty and a plant grows as a result. We have a little less anxiety and a little more peace. The problems that seemed so pressing before shrink in size. We begin connecting to the world around us.

Farming isn’t always easy. We’re in one of the busiest times of the year. It’s a lot of hard work getting the Spring crops in, but there’s quite as rewarding. If you’d like to volunteer or donate to Opal’ Farm, please go to our website, www.unityunlimited.org and click on the Opal’s Farm page. You can choose either and we’d love to see you at the farm.

Shane Claiborne, in The Irresistible Revolution, tells of asking Mother Teresa about her work in the poorest parts of Calcutta. Her response was two words – “Come see”. I would urge each of you, whether volunteering or simply donating to Opal’s Farm to come see our work; to join us in our mission of ending food insecurity and building real community. Maybe you will want to be a farmer alongside us…