Ch-ch-ch-changing Directions

Winter has finally arrived, dumping a foot of snow onto Forsyth and dropping us into sub-zero temperatures. Springtime gardening could not look more distant.

So, what does a FoodCorps member do during this time when nothing grows?

That is an interesting question. Like the bears, all residents of eastern Montana are hibernating. This is a time of year to stay inside by a warm fireplace (or bar, as is the majority preference in Forsyth). There could hardly be less interest in gardening or cooking, and no one’s willing to even discuss agricultural policy with me. Enthusiasm is waning for the Hysham grocery store, and the school garden evokes little excitement at Rosebud. I’ve nearly maxed out both communities’ ability to cope with me and my never-ending enthusiasm for getting something done. Residents have made it clear that they are not ready to adopt the models of local food I’m offering.

Although I’m continuing this battle for my projects in both communities, I can no longer delude myself that this is a full-time job. I’m lucky to get in five hours of work a week, while I flirt with harassment charges from the faculty at Rosebud School and act mainly as cheerleading captain for Hysham’s eternally-sleepy Grocery Advisory Board.

After much brainstorming with my supervisors, it appears to be time for me to branch out on my own. This leaves me in the interesting position of having to come up with a project relating to food which gives back to the community while keeping me busy and enthusiastic for the next six months. What I most crave is hands-on, in the mud, never-go-near-a-computer work (or to be an artisan cheese-maker), but I realize that these are not likely options.

Existing projects relating to food within a hundred-mile radius are few. Forsyth Schools are adamantly opposed to any suggestions I might have. The Forsyth Food Bank is only open one day a week, and already has well-organized food drives, so it can’t offer me more than two or three hours of work. I’ve been promised leadership of the community garden, which consists entirely of secretarial work and advertising. Neither of the two people with functional greenhouses in the area has shown any interest in my help. Miles City has a new Bountiful Baskets site (a fresh produce co-op) which takes place once every two weeks, but again can only offer a couple hours of work. I’ve contacted the Billings Food Bank for volunteer opportunities, but the distance will make it difficult to devote myself to it.

As far as scholarly endeavors go, I’m somewhat interested in researching whether growing subsidized crops has increased food insecurity in Montana since the 1950s, and putting my results into a document that FoodCorps might be able to use in the future.

Some people have suggested making a cookbook with recipes that use local ingredients. This sounds like a fantastically fun project, but I’m not sure that it is an effective way to get locals to more carefully consider what they’re eating.

Ideas? I need something I can work on for the next six months, which I can do mostly independently and will have to potential to influence local attitudes about food.

My Vision for Rosebud

This week, in a peaceful coup d’état and in anticipation of spring’s arrival, I took over Rosebud School’s garden site. Although the school has shown an interest in having students take on this project, no action has been taken in my nearly 6 months of lobbying, and I doubt anyone is eager to work outside this time of year.

Except me.

Thanks to a well-timed lunch with the shop class substitute teacher and Rosebud’s superintendent, I learned the specific dimensions of my garden site and actually heard the superintendent say, “Do whatever you want with it.” Yes, Sir! After being kept at my desk for months, I couldn’t have been more excited to layer up and march my way to the garden armed with work gloves, a rake, garbage bags and a radio.

There are two small greenhouses, neither of which is airtight, that sit behind the school. They are equipped with heaters, although a 100% fatality rate of our tomato plants demonstrated that they aren’t reliable. Cardboard and duct tape will make an adequate temporary fix for the small holes in the greenhouses, and with close supervision of the heaters we’ll hopefully be able to regulate the temperature despite Montana’s volatile weather.

I spent hours picking up garbage, sweeping out leaves and organizing potting containers and making a space that I can see students working in. With a little more TLC, these buildings will be ready to start our garden vegetables by spring!

The ground surrounding the greenhouses is littered with junk; the skeleton of an old play structure, including a curly slide; a barbeque; tires; large plastic waste containers; and a giant blue bus. All of this is blanketed with mountains of leaves, pieces of plywood and assorted garbage.

Surveying all of this, I can see why no one has really shown any interest in starting a garden before. It takes me hours to pick up garbage, rake leaves and stack all of the wood I uncover into a pile. How could this possibly turn into a space that the school can be proud of, let alone a successful vegetable garden?

This is my vision.

The garden will be a narrow strip of land to the east of the greenhouses between a high fence and the basketball court, where our compost bins currently sit. I plan on adorning the entire fence line with vines and climbing plants, since the small space necessitates we go vertical. This upcoming week, my supervisor and I will attempt to move the compost bins behind the greenhouse so that raised beds can go where the bins now sit.

I see the white-washed fronts of both of the greenhouses covered in murals painted by students of flowers, food, and sunshine, and I want a bright sign proclaiming this the Rosebud School Garden.

I envision raised beds of all different sizes and shapes built out of scrap wood bursting at the seams with produce. Lettuce, tomatoes, squash, maybe even kale, exploding out of soil fertilized with the compost we’re making now. Teepees of beans and peas will offer secret hideouts, while enterprising students can browse for strawberries along the garden edges. I even see the purple curly slide dissected to build planters full of flowers and herbs.

I want to use the old roof of the play structure to build a shed where we can safely lock up tools and gardening equipment, also decorated with student artwork. What is now an abandoned gravel site can become a wonderful place for students to learn about growing and eating healthy food, take class projects or simply enjoy during recess.

How exactly am I going to accomplish all of this, since the total number of volunteers I have on this project, including me, is one? Although there are some things I can’t do, like move the compost bins, there’s still a great deal I can accomplish on my own. Cleaning up the garbage makes it a little easier to envision a workspace. Tearing down the dead vines makes it possible to imagine vegetables growing here. Lining the site with something permanent makes a declaration, that “this land is committed to the garden.”

What's This All About, Again?

It’s 2012, and I’m back in Forsyth ready to get to work! Two weeks at home have me refreshed and re-energized for the the challenge of promoting new perspectives on food in this community. Even with my renewed energy, however, I can’t ignore how hard it has been to introduce the value of eating local and healthy so far. At times I definitely have a lurking suspicion that I’m not making a difference. Despite my successes, I’m not changing anyone’s mind, even the people with whom I engage in discussion most often.

Because of the isolation of my service area and the fact that what I’m suggesting is so foreign, people struggle to see the incentive for making these lifestyle changes. No one wants to hear why they should pass by processed foods in favor of fresh produce or spend the extra time cooking a meal rather than using the microwave. No matter what I say, I can’t convince them of the positive benefits these practices could have upon their bodies (and quality of life!). Whether it’s because I’m young and blonde or a little too liberal for this area, I’m not getting through.

Walking to work this morning, I had a revelation.

I passionately believe in the ideas that I’m trying to teach, and I feel responsible for sharing this knowledge with others. I’ve worked hard to discuss my ideas and the reasons behind them. I hope that by doing this, community members don’t feel like I’m forcing anything upon them, and might learn something which makes them reconsider their own eating or purchasing tendencies.

My revelation this morning was that this doesn’t work. People have their set habits and beliefs about food, and no argument I come up with is going to induce them to change. If they alter the way they eat, it will be because of a personal decision to do so, and not through anything I said. Although I would never say I’ve been wasting my time, I realize now that my efforts can be better spent elsewhere.

Thus, for the New Year I resolve to go straight to the students. The excitement I’ve seen in first graders learning to compost, seventh graders planting tomatoes, and high schoolers building compost bins shows me that these kids are where the changes will happen. Open-minded students listen to what I have to say, and test these ideas for themselves to see if they're true. This is, of course, why FoodCorps works with schools instead of other institutions. Perhaps it is a little obtuse of me to only figure this out now, but I argue that there’s so much to do in these communities that it’s hard to maintain a narrow focus.

Granted; to reach the students there are a couple of adults that I will have to go through. But now I know I don’t need to win them over. I will simply work to educate the people who are most open to it, who right now are the students.

I’m going to have to step up and take more authority for the projects I want to enact. Instead of waiting around for consensus among the powers that be, I’m simply going to ask for permission and get to work. This will demand significantly more effort, but the chance to get my hands dirty instead of making endless suggestions is all the incentive I need. I’ll continue to coordinate with the administration, but I’m going to stop worrying about us being on the same page. If I’m lucky, students will go home and share with their parents the fun they had gardening, or composting, or harvesting, and perhaps encourage their families to reevaluate their food choices. I’m not the one who’s going to change any minds, so I’m going to dedicate my energy to the people who can: the students.