Saturday, January 25, 2014

Giving it up

Source: http://www.sweetgreen.com/blog/tag/bread-for-the-city/
I moved to a smaller, predominantly rural community about four years ago after living in large, metropolitan areas for about thirty-one years. Where I live now is in a town of about 3,000 residents, which is minuscule in size compared with even the town I grew up in, a town that I've often described as representative of "small-town America."

I moved for a job, and was very happy to make the relocation. And, anyone who has been following my updates on Facebook and my postings to the various blogs I maintain would know that I am living a life that I am quite happy with. I spend my days writing, working with my husband to grow our own food, teaching, volunteering in the community in which I live in a number of ways, and running, swimming, cycling, doing yoga and getting eight hours of sleep. Life couldn't be better.

Yet, sometimes my life seems out of synch with the research agenda that fuels my passions: searching out suppressed histories, seeking alternative ways of understanding America, serving youth and adults in inner-city urban neighborhoods, being a part through teaching and activism of hip-hop's movement toward social justice. How do these interests jibe with an environment where more people listen to country-western music and drive pick-ups trucks than understand the layout of an urban bus system or subway map?

My husband urges me not to draw such hard and fast lines between the urban and rural, noting that raising one's food is an act of social justice and that opting to share it before selling it is a way of igniting thought outside of capitalist economic structures.

His view was reinforced today in the words of Bill Bennett, a farmer who is based in the far northern stretches of New York and was named the "Farmer of the Year" by the Northeast Organic Farmers Association of New York.

He opened his keynote address at the annual NOFA-NY conference today with a reference to Detroit and Flint. I don't have his exact words etched in my memory, but essentially he said that if one destroys farms, the nation would die. If one destroys cities, cities will rebound. Then, referring to Detroit and Flint, he noted that both of these cities, suffering mightily from the deindustrialization that has rocked the Rust Belt since the late 1970s, are undergoing a sense of rebirth through a reestablishment of smaller communities centered on urban agriculture. The farm essentially was helping to rebuild the city, after the farm had almost been destroyed by the push to industrialize earlier.

Bennett grew up in Indiana, like me. Unlike me, he grew up on a farm. He quipped that his mother hated farms and said she feared one of her children would grow up to become a farmer just to torment her. He fulfilled the prophecy by completing a bachelor's of fine arts degree and then declining a scholarship to a prestigious art school in order to fulfill his dream of farming. His wife cried. A lot, it appears, based on the personal story he told.

He was a good speaker, with a great sense of humor. But one point that he made particularly hit home. Your only wealth is what you have available to give away. This bit of wisdom seemed to capture a sense of abundance in an amazingly clear way.

How might it unite my research passions with my way of life? One way to approach this answer is to consider how hip-hop and farming connect.

The way I am coming to understand hip-hop is that it at its core is about connecting through sharing, essentially giving what you have to help others learn as you once did to create something new. The hip-hop artist is always innately a teacher, and a learner, one who participates in a cipher through sharing knowledge and receiving its benefits, too. Yesterday, at the NOFA-NY conference, I ran into two farmers -- Steve and John Otrembiak -- who are regular vendors at the Saratoga Farmers Market. We have struck up a friendship over the past few summers over karela -- the Indian name for the bitter melon vegetable that few people in their immediate customer base purchase. Because they grow bitter melon, they sell it, and because I am quite fond of bitter melon, I buy it from them. Over the years, they have shared seeds, starter plants, and any kind of advice they could give me about how to grow it successfully. My husband and I finally had some limited success over the past summer when one plant bore three or four fruits.

I encountered Steve at the conference in a workshop for beginning farmers. I was very surprised to see him in a beginner's workshop and introduced him during a break to one of the other workshop participants -- a dietitian from Long Island -- as one of my local farmer mentors. During that same workshop, I had asked the presenters what suggestions they had for building a community when one was a newcomer to a place where everyone else seemed to have long, deep roots and family members all in the immediate area.

Later, I ran into John and when he asked if we had started planning our garden, I told him about our plans to brood baby chicks for meat. I also mentioned that I was surprised to see Steve in a beginner's workshop. John's response was that even though they were seasoned farmers they could afford to learn more about the business sides of farming. He then asked me where we were going to brood our chicks, and when I mentioned our upstairs bathroom (where the heat and natural light are fairly good), his face crinkled with worry. "You know, they're going to kick up a lot of dirt and debris when they start learning to fly," he said. "Your house might get pretty dirty."

Later, I saw Steve. He told me he had heard we were going to raise baby chicks and reiterated his brother's concern. He suggested we keep them someplace where they could be warm and messy, so they would grow up fairly freely without turning our house into a dust bowl. He then mentioned that he had some large wash tubs and a heat lamp we could borrow. "You know where we're at," he said. "Just stay in touch."

I walked away from the conversation feeling floored both by the knowledge he had shared and the generosity he'd extended. Reflecting on the moment and comparing it with hip-hop, I could see the connection. In a sense, the conference had created a cipher based on the premise that your wealth resides in what you give up. Steve heard the call and offered a response. Like the party flyer from an urban block party that illustrates this post, giving what you have up is a way to create more wealth all around.