“I’m glad I don’t have your job,’ laughs a student as I drag a stray spoon out of the compost bin at lunchtime. I’m up to my elbow in ranch dressing and canned carrots, but I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.
Although we’re composting today as usual, this is also the first week I’ve gotten into 
Rosebud classrooms for a short lesson on nutrition education. This has been a top priority for the last six months, and even spatters of chocolate milk on my clothes can’t mar this monumental accomplishment. I’ve spent hours trying to befriend administrators, chat up teachers, and attempting to get those damn greenhouses functional. For this region, the ideas that I am espousing are radical, and this community moves at its own pace. This has produced a fair amount of frustration and tears, and at times it was hard not to believe that my time could be better spent elsewhere.
The successes I’ve had in Rosebud school this week shows me that my time has not been wasted, although the results were not immediately apparent. Perhaps my work would be a little more fun if I didn’t have to climb Mount Everest every time I tried to alter the status quo, but in the end I’ve learned far more learning the hard way. During the last couple particularly agonizing weeks, I’ve been reflecting on a lesson I learned a couple of years ago.
In high school, I was an active member of the U.S. Pony Club, a national organization which teaches English riding and horsemanship. The summer following my junior year, I took my C3 test, which is a Pony Club national-level rating requiring advanced riding skills and demanding extensive knowledge about horse health, nutrition and care. Despite my dedicated preparation for this test, I failed, and was absolutely devastated. I spent the next year riding and studying like a maniac, and when the following summer came and I retook the test, I not only passed but I totally owned it.
This was the most powerful experience I’ve ever had where not succeeding taught me far 
more than success ever could have. Not getting my C3 on the first try induced me to take lessons riding bizarre horses, study with crazy instructors and spend weekends forcing obscure facts into my brain. (Did you know that bot flies have no functional mouth?) Though passing this test on the first try would have been infinitely more pleasant, I am confident in saying that I learned far more by failing than I ever could have in passing right away.
I am reminded of this lesson as I negotiate on a daily basis with the school administration. Since the communities I’m working with are reluctant to move too quickly, I’ve had to use every iota of enthusiasm and creativity I have to make things happen. I sometimes can’t help but be envious of my Montana FoodCorps peers building school gardens and holding vegetable taste-tests with students, but mine has been an equally valuable experience. For someone who hopes to pursue a career as a food activist, I can’t imagine a better education than the one I’m receiving right now, which is equipping me with the skills to deal with all the challenges that accompany being an activist. (For a chance at success, I am applying for a FoodCorps position in Oregon once I’m done in Montana, where I hope I might have a little more of the fun that is part of building local food systems and not just the obstacles.)
