whirlwind.

whirlwind. the best word to describe the glorying fury/furying glory of the past 3 days (and 2 weeks).

2 days ago we held hands and shared the body of Christ under a bridge and sang glory to God arrayed in our varying shades of black, brown and beige.

yesterday hands young and old, hearts "poncho-laden and collard-lovin, dug deep into our common roots - betwixt the rhizomes and wriggling things - the deep dark living earth to honor a man whose life lives on and reminds us that we've strayed so far from the garden and grace God intended for us as brothers and sisters.

this morning folks looking their sunday best gathered with those looking their farmer worse-for-wear , kleenex and prayers abounding. what is this power that brings together the satin-laced and the dirt-caked? looking like a pie-piece of the kingdom come. history changed. and yet the goats still need to be milked. the eggs washed.

"Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of."

i left my quiet pastoral iowa town with dreams all up in my head to never resign to the everyday. the ordinary. but to fight the system. never become complacent. so i moved to the southside of chicago and received my true schooling. in the reality of race politics. was schooled daily by very large men recently released from prison. and my heart grew dark (and my speech a bit ghetto now and again).

these past 3 days have given me bit more hope that we - a fallen humanity and christianity - are doing a bit better at reconciling our ways, but my heart (unlike the heart of my fellow farming friend, see previous post) still remains cynical and black.

until the day i can walk down mlk boulevard or mlk drive and do not see a young man selling his future for pocket change and prestige, or a young lady selling her dignity for her baby's future. only when i see a wild stand of collard greens and cabbage sold by high school students who dream of college and will work weekends in windy waco weather to make their dreams of first generation college student a reality - only then will i believe that we are on our way to making mlk's dream more than a forty-year-old forgotten longing.

"Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair."

i haven't become complacent, but i have come to understand that the revolution begins with these small everyday tasks, the stitching of hems and patching of tires. God bless us, farmers and politicians, whoever we may be, as we go about our days, repairing the things in need of repair.


(lines from elizabeth alexander' inaugural poem)

MLK 2009

MLK 2009
“………..THEY WILL NOT BE JUDGED BY THE COLOR OF THEIR SKIN, BUT BY THE CONTENT OF THEIR CHARACTER”
The above quote of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was what was written on the bench we had at our service site.
The MLK day was a great time for me and as usual an opportunity to draw some lessons out of the activities.
Though I learned several lessons from the day’s activities, the quote on our bench kept me thinking about observations I’ve made before today.
I must say that the dream that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had in respect to the quote has almost come to a reality. However, the comment which I picked from my teachers whiles growing up seem applicable here. That is “there is more room for improvement”.
Let us reflect as a people and find out where we still have disparities either in terms of access to food, education, health care, shelter etc and improve those areas as individuals and a corporate body with our God given abilities be it advocacy or general resources.
The day was full of fun and worth remembering.

tales of a turkey.

yesterday the weekend duty-ers wrastled some turkeys down to the nic house pen in preparation for part two of the two part turkey series here at the world hunger relief farm. papa ghana has raised some be-U-T-ful turkeys this season and now they are bound to bless some families further than the farm.

for those of you who are curious, the following is a short and sweet summary to turkey harvesting:

- love and nurture turkeys on a daily basis.
- let them frolic in open fields, and when feeling particularly light-hearted, gather old vegetable scraps from the garden bed and stand in the midst of the turkeys with broccoli leaves in hand like some obscure tree from a seuss book as turkeys nibble your green bits.
- sing to them.
- quietly coo to them one by one as you individually place them in so-called "killing cones."


- with quick movements of hand and knife . . .
- stick bird in a bubble bath of sorts, to loosen feathers.
- tickle the feathers outta the bird with so-called rubber finger "plucker."


- remove feet and neck and most of the good bits from their inside parts.
- stick in a bag.
- thank God for his good provisions.



so are the tales of a turkey here at the farm. and for those of you who are o-so intrigued by the beauty of the story of where your food comes from, gather the family 'round for a short film entitled "consider the chicken" - insert fowl of choice for same effect. merry christmas!


Consider The Chicken from Anthony-Masterson on Vimeo.

(photos from farm volunteer Reatha Thiessen. video from http://www.goodfarmmovement.com/)

Life on the farm...

For those of you who've been to the farm, you know that it is much more than a place where vegetables are grown and goats are milked. The farm is an intentional community. It is a home for twenty or so people. It is a place to learn, a place to grow, a place to find beauty in the broken world in which we live.


I've lived at the farm for quite some time. I've seen people come and I've seen people go. The community is ever changing and yet always the same. There are always AMAZING people at the farm. People that make you laugh, people that challenge you, people to learn from, people to share life with...

I've been thinking about the farm quite a bit as I sit here thousands of miles away visiting my family for Christmas. I started thinking of all the things that make the farm home.

- the 100 steps it takes to get to work in the morning
- filtering goats milk while watching the sun rise
- eating lunch with twenty or so friends, whom you now consider family, every day
- talking about poop while eating lunch
- the sound of fresh goat milk hitting the bottom of an empty stainless steel pail
- sleeping in and still getting up before eight
- eating fresh organic local produce that you helped grow everyday
- Tuesday harvest
- morning devotions
- talking to goats
- sitting around with a bunch of people in the evening, each reading their own book and yet still feeling a sense of community
- making ice cream
- drinking out of jars
- hugs, smiles, and laughter from the youngest members of our community
- trying to figure out how many times one walks up the farm lane in a given week
- knowing that if you make muffins or cookies or brownies, twelve other people will gladly help you eat them
- talking about poop while eating diner
- the daily search for the newspaper in the drainage ditch
- trace minerals and the song that goes with them
- begin able to ask fifteen people for help when you get stuck on a crossword clue
- the almost weekly "Hot and Ready" that appears on the counter in the dorm
- going around the table and having everyone introduce themselves
- the sound of a rooster crowning coming from your roommates alarm clock
- the exhilaration of leaving the warmth of your bed and stepping onto the cold concrete floor in morning
- soup of every kind
- the smell of dirt and grease
- cooking for twenty and not thinking anything of it
- farm fresh eggs
- trying to find my bed in the dark without waking anyone up or tripping over my own mess
- the Waco Trib's headlines
- pulling into the farm and knowing who is around by the cars parked outside the dorm
- the six steps it takes to get to the throne, which is the Nannies composting toilet
- the many sounds of Lolita
- the farm's traveling minstrel playing "Wagon Wheel"
- running down the stairs to get the mail because the mail lady is sitting in her car honking the horn
- warm hugs from good friends
- spontaneous community breakfasts
- Friday morning hymn sings
- delicious Ghanaian Bofrotu
- fresh bread
- sitting around and talking about anything and everything
- my favorite sound in the world - the sound of the t-post driver driving a t-post into the ground
- our buck, Rasputin, and his yellow legs

the stumbles, stutters, and stark-raving wonderfulness of urban agriculture in east waco.

as part of the ever-burgeoning hipster movement bursting forth 'cross the nation - which hopefully proves more everlasting than such - world hunger relief presents urban agriculture. and all the joys and frustrations of uncharted territory - where beer stores are more prevalent than broccoli stalks and church's chicken more commonplace than chard or choi. where community once thrived but now only resides in the heads and hearts of a few from a different era.

urban agriculture is not just the story of sun, soil and water - but the story of a people. people coming together - be they life-long residents of east waco, eager green students from Baylor, or a wayfaring stranger from the dark, dirty corners of the midwest.

stumbles, stutters

• after-school program coordinators who snub their noses at unprofessional farmer-types, because they would rather have their students play guitar hero than dirty their hands and partake in their food system.
• water. and many hundred feet of hose. and weekday working hours, 9am-5pm. when the administration cooperates. (but praise God! we now have water!)
• too many white people. makes the neighbors feel suspicious.
  

stark-raving wonderfulness

• students who defy the expectations of their elders (see stumbling point #1) by talking so much about collard green seedlings that their parents call their teachers to see what's up with their raving child.
  
• conquering an inner-city teenager's fear of bridges by crossing them hand-in-hand, on our way to the garden as part of an after-school program.
  
• a roving fellow who shouts obscenities at low-flying helicopters and passes out literature on the undercover kkk in east waco - and pray blessings over me after we harvest bok choi, head lettuce, onion greens and snap beans for him and his wife.
• a bike-riding neighbor (even tho our government would classify him as illegal) who offers his hands - and his neighbor's horse manure -in the elm ave. garden, excited that some dirty gringa shares similar passions that the world deems crazy.
  
• a redneck-ed amish-looking fellow who also rides a bike. and helps occasionally. also wears a feather in his hair.
• a forth-coming greenhouse/cold-frame, converted from the junked and soon-to-be gutted refrigerator wasting space on the farm (french men eat alfalfa). constructed in true freegan fashion. spending money is not my style.
  
• rows and rows of onions, collards, lettuce, bok choi, carrots, cabbage, broccoli . . .
  
• 1.5 acres of available land. ready for those brave - or naive - enough to dream.

signed lovingly,
the urban madame

(currently seeking abandoned toilets or bathtubs. and locations in need of some guerrilla gardening.)

reasons to be thankful.

1. biking in a farm hand-me-down dress to collect chicken eggs after lunch.
2. milking goats to the tune of the sun-rising.
3. sitting on abandoned couches in the middle of the yard as the big ol' texas sun tucks itself to bed.
4. folks who think dirty farmers are beautiful.
   
5. teaching city kids about compost.
6. having pre-schoolers close their eyes, inhale the scent of 35 tons of turkey manure, and watch the delight/disgust in their eyes.
7. snake-skin boots.
8. progressive tea parties with farmers who look like gypsies when they trade in their overalls and carhartts for skirts.
   
9. wendell berry's mad farmer liberation front.
10. farm-brewed kombucha.
11. friday morning baptist hymn sings.
12. beautiful community composed of broken folks (ie the body of Christ).
13. rocking chairs.
14. laundry lines.
15. the never ending pot o' coffee.
16. others who appreciate agriculture as art.
17. reclaiming the abandoned places of the kingdom by growing vegetables on vacant lots, in front lawns and old busted-up television sets.
    
18. God. neighbors. the opportunity to love and be loved on a daily basis. and give thanks.
    

Give Me Frost

This chilly weekend has offered multiple surprised for the lovely weekenders.

1. Our beloved turkeys, who are growing so fast in body but not brain, have discovered the art of exploring and their cousins the chickens.

2. Our strapping buck, Raz (short for Rasputin), has impregnated two females. Eliza and Frosty. If you have never witnessed a breeding session between goats, I strongly urge you to find a local goat breeder. It is a sight, and smell, to see. We are happy to help produce future kids, but we are also obliged to laugh at goats urinating on themselves for courtship.

3. We say goodbye to Verde Valley School from Arizona. A boarding school that has been living in the Nicarauge House all week and sharing in life with us at the Farm. They worked out, played hard, and were all around pleasant.

4. Saturday afternoon the Freshman Leadership Organization from Baylor University visited the Farm for two hours to volunteer. With thirty-one students we were able to accomplish four very necessary tasks. My favorite moment was watching ten or eleven freshman girls from the suburbs herd twenty goats from one pasture to another. The guys lifted heavy material and thankfully one guy carried knived and tools in his truck that came in handy. They had a good time and we were grateful to have the help and excitement. They finished off their afternoon, like any good college freshman group would: with a wrestling match and huddle. See below.




Cheers and Hurrahs,

Melyssa