Vigil

A boy in our neigborhood was killed last night.  when police stopped a car he was riding in, he fled.  police chased him.  there was an altercation.  then the gun shot.  we don’t know details.  all we know is that a young man in our community lost his life today.

Tonight neighbors gather in the back alley, where julius died. we are circled around a small memorial for julius.  A few stuffed bears and a couple dozen flickering candles lie in the place where julius fell. Above, on the fence hangs some flimsy posterboard with penned phrases like, “He’s in a better place” and “RIP julius.” We stand tightly, shoulder to shoulder, holding candles that drip hot wax on our hands.  Pastors from our neighborhood churches cry out in loud, inspired voices, “We serve a god who does not make mistakes.” But this, I wonder?  Even this?  For what purpose is this?

We wonder and we hold tighter to the candles, putting our hope in each small flame, sheltering them from the soft summer nite breeze.  We wonder and we raise the candles together, believing that this life will not be forgotten.  We will not forget.  We wonder and we grasp onto each others’ hands, with a strong sense of connection and purpose:  that only when we truly love each other will we be the community of SHALOM we long for.

We wonder.  And in the loose warmth between our clasped palms, we feel the Spirit nudging us to believe.

New in Town

Titling an interview with Tom and Renee Pastoor “New in Town” is what those in the writing business would call irony, given their thirty one years of residence in the neighborhood.  But that is where they took me, to a time when they were new in town.

“We bought the house dirt cheap.  We met Ray and Isabell Squires, who were our neighbors and really, kind of second grandparents to our children.”

We quickly had to pause our interview for the welcome interuption of neighborhood kids wanting to talk to Tom.  Here is a scene and a continuation of the investment in the lives his neighbor’s children.  And here, in a way, is Ray, who had done the same.

“So Ray and Isabell were like grandparents to our kids.  They took care of them while we were doing projects around the house.  I learned a lot from Ray.  He helped me do some roofing on the garage.  He was in his mid-seventies, and he carried the rolled roofing, on his shoulder, up the ladder, to show me how to do it.  I learned a lot from him about being resourceful and being a gardener.  He had the most beautiful garden.  Basically, we’ve inherited his garden.  He graduated from Michigan College, before it was Michigan State, and had a degree in horticulture and animal husbandry.”

Renee gave me a tour of their backyard, and the garden that Ray planted, and she and Tom had improved on.  It’s incredibly beautiful, almost magical to someone whose imagination tends to carry him away.

“When Ray was a little boy, he had hearing loss.  Six or seven years old.  When he got old, he related to me how difficult that was, to be a boy and not be able to hear.  He got pretty emotional about it, and Ray was a pretty tough guy.  He was one of the original garden boys.  There was a guy named McLouth that had a garden out by Mona Lake, by the Henry Street float bridge.  And these kids from the neighborhood would go there and learn about gardening.  I think it’s pretty fitting that we’re doing the same thing right across the street from his house.”

In the park, across the street from his house, Tom teaches the neighborhood kids about gardening.  I’m beginning to think everyone in the neighborhood is a gardener.  I had no idea when I got involved with McLaughlin that it’s agricultural roots ran so deep.

And in coming full circle, the kids painted a mural on the fence in the new park, right behind the garden where Tom works with them.  And on that mural, they painted Ray’s old house.

Lost Farm Crew Pictures Resurface

My City’s Farm, Part 3

This week, I finish up with the McLaughlin Grows crew…

How long you guys been working here?

Michael:  “6 to 8 weeks.”

You guys like it?

Shaquille: “Yeah, it’s cool.  Teaches us life skills.”

How did you get this job?

Michael:  “At the pocket park, they had something going on, on a Saturday.  I went up there to help, and Michael Espinoza told me about it, that they had a summer job program going on, and would I be interested.  I said yeah.”

Shaquille:  “I got the job because I live in the neighborhood.  Trying to help out the community.”

Just for the summer, for you guys?

Michael:  “Yeah.  They’re trying to work it out so we can stay longer.”

And what do you think of Teri?

Michael:  “She’s laid back.”

Shaquille:  “She’s nice.”

Michael:  “She’s strict on us just enough.  Tells us a lot about the plants.  Most of us didn’t know anything about plants; we just know about the food.  And she told us the different plants, and what they do.”

Is there a lot to learn?  I don’t really do gardening…er, farming, myself.

Shaquille:  “There’s a lot of work.”

AJ :  “A lot weeding.”

Michael:  “Leveling off the beds even.  Watering.”

AJ :  “Turning them over.”

Michael:  “After we got past the hard stuff, all we really do is weed and plant and water.  That’s all.  The first couple weeks were hard.  We had to turn the dirt over, then make all these beds.  Then we had to plant them all, and they cut the tree down.  That’s where all these wood chips came from.  Instead of picking up all the wood chips, we decided to just make a path out of them.”

What do you guys think about the neighborhood in general?  Do you like living here?

Michael:  “It’s a pretty good neighborhood.  Pretty decent.”

Now, are you the football player?

Michael:  “Yeah.”

What position?

Michael:  “Safety.”

What are your plans for the future?

Michael:  “I’m going into the criminal justice field.  Corrections officer maybe.”

Shaquille:  “You’re gonna see me; I’m gonna be a famous lawyer.”

So what are you working on today?

Michael:  “We’re planting these tomatoes we got from the prison.  Those ones we planted are diseased.  Blight, I think it’s called.”

Shaquille:  “And they got bronchitis.  Couple of them have AIDS.”

So what’s your favorite part about working here?

AJ :  “Getting money.”

Shaquille:  “Helping out the community.  Making it look much better than it did.”

Michael:  “At first it was just an empty lot.  There were glass bottles, trash.”

AJ :  “You could get cut out here.”

Michael:  “I used to cut through this yard, then one day I was walking and there was a fence up.  I was like, when did they put a fence up here?”

How about your least favorite thing?

AJ :  “When it’s hot.  Too hot.”

Shaquille:  “Yeah, you gotta weed.”

AJ :  “And the sun’s about to kill you.”

Michael:  “Other than that, it’s pretty fun.  Everybody gets along.  A lot of people pass by and ask what’s going on.”

AJ :  “Sometimes they drop us off something.”

Shaquille:  “You get little kids that walk up and down that are excited about what’s going on.”

My City’s Farm, Part 2

I stopped back at the McLaughlin Grows Urban Farm to catch up with Teri’s crew.  I interrupted them replanting some tomato plants, and so as not to shut down the entire operation, I only interviewed half the crew at a time.  And since it’s ladies first, here is my interview with Darcelle, Tiana, and Porche.

How do you like working out here?

Darcell: “It’s really fun.”

Tiyanna:  “The neighbors come past and compliment it a lot.”

Darcell:  “Something to do for the summer.”

Porche: “Something positive.  Making a difference.”

Darcell:  “Helping our neighborhood.”

How did you get this job?

Tiyanna:  “My mom told me about Bethany Housing hiring and Mike Espinoza put us in the groups he thought would fit us.”

Darcell:  “My coach helped me.”

Porche:  “Well I go to Bethany church.  Most of the people at Bethany are involved in Community EnCompass.”

What sport do you play?

Darcell:  “I play basketball.”

What’s the worst part about working here?

Darcell: “There is no worst part.”

Porche:  “If it’s too hot or if it’s raining out.”

Tiyanna:  “Well, sometimes it’s better if it’s raining, but then mosquitoes come up.”

Darcell:  “Besides the sun, there is no worst part.”

Does everyone get along pretty well?

“We’re okay.”  “Love/hate situation.”  “We get along good.  We might have our ups and downs, but you know.”  “It’s girls against boys sometimes.”

Have you learned a lot working here?

Porche: “I have.”

Darcell:“I learned a lot.  I didn’t think gardening was like this.”

Tiyanna: “I appreciate farmers more, honestly.  I don’t know how they stand out there in the sun and do this all day, no breaks.  Shout out to all the farmers; I love you guys.”

You like working for Teri?

Tiyanna:  “Yeah, Teri’s a cool boss.”

Darcell:  “She’s real nice.”

Porche:  “She tolerates us.”

Darcell:  “A little too much.  But she helps us a lot.  She puts up with us when she really doesn’t have to.”

Porche:  “And she makes gardening easy.”

Darcell:  “She’s not hard; she doesn’t boss you around.”

What do like best about working here?

Tiyanna:  “I like the laughter.  The work environment.  It’s not like one of those jobs where you punch in and can’t wait to leave.”

Darcell:  “It’s fun because we all get along with each other.”

What do you hope to see for this place in the future?

Tiyanna:  “I hope to see it filled with younger people than us.  Instead of hanging out on the street, they can be in here, making it better.  We can hopefully open up more beds and stuff.”

My City’s Farm

“Grand Rapids doesn’t have anything like this; Holland doesn’t have anything like this, so for little old Muskegon to pop up and kinda be the pioneers in a way is kind of a cool thing.”

I traipse across the Urban Ag site, as the smart people are calling it these days, to where Terry waits for me with soil-black hands.  “This is going to be a working interview.”  I kneel down and help mound dirt around some new transplants.  This is going to be a cool interview.

Like everyone involved in this project, she gets excited as she talks.

Teri and her daughter Aurora

Teri grew up in Muskegon and lived in the area ever since.  She went to Michigan State in 2007 to learn how to do this.  It was the very first year of the program; only eleven people participated.  She tells me she likes to work outdoors, likes physical labor.  This job combines all the things she loves.

“I get paid to play in the dirt all day.”

The farm is located behind Goodwill, who generously allows the farm to use their land and water.  It employs a handful of high school-aged workers – Teri’s crew – for the summer, and I want to come back and meet them.  Planting began on June 8^th.

“My crew was saying, ‘Can you believe that a few weeks ago, this was just a field?’ It recreates that relationship with ‘where does our food come from?’  Well, I know my farmer; I know who grew it.  It’s a different way of doing food,” Teri says.

We’re interrupted by a neighbor inquiring about tomatoes.  The relationship with the community goes back before this site was ever around.  It’s been a tradition since the community gardens were planted around the neighborhood, from which this micro enterprise was born.  “It started out with me and Mike Jackson,” Sarah Rinsema-Sybenga once told me, “on the lot which is right across from Bethany, which is now the Gentle Garden, with a rototiller, one day, tears streaming down my face, cause I’m like, ‘Where are the neighbors?  This is not how it’s supposed to be.’  And Mike getting behind this beast of a rototiller and tilling up the soil.  Neighbors eventually got onboard with the vision, too.  So it moved from one community garden to six or seven community gardens or pocket parks.”

Terry picks a handful of basil for me to take home, and tells me a recipe to use it in, which I immediately forget, having worked third shift the night before.  That’s why I have the digital recorder.

Then I pop by the Community EnCompass offices to get a little more background information from Carlos.  Sarah pops her head out of her office.  “Is that basil I smell?  You know what you should do with it?”  She gives another recipe which dissolves in the water of my sleep-deprived mind.

A local healthy good advocate named Chris Bedford came to Community EnCompass and gave them the idea of expanding the community gardening program into a micro enterprise, in part to serve as an economic engine in the neighborhood.  An entrepreneur with the Community Foundation liked the idea and provided funds for the next two and a half years, to get it off the ground.

G & L has already bought all the tomatoes the farm can grow this year, and talks are underway with Mia & Grace and the Baker Culinary Arts Institute.

I make it home to my apartment, handful of basil held before me, amputated bits of plants sticking through my fingers.  Shadow* gasps in horror and faints at the sight.

*Shadow is the name of a plant, and is my memorial to my residents who have died.  Also, to finish the basil story, I eventually put it with some ground turkey, onion, olive oil, rice, and then ate it.

Thoughts From Lori

Kensington 1903-2009

Its  odd what you get used to, living in the shadow of  Kensington, a large three story brownstone with ten apartments & too much litter. Kensington itself was tall, dark & handsome with a foreboding manner with its red bricks & art deco lighting, you just knew you’d be safe inside; no big bad wolf could blow that place down. Many people lived there and even though some of the traffic through there was bad, you do get used to your neighbors and the routines of life around you.

Kensington burned Monday June 29th and I am amazed at the loss I feel, although I really only lost some noise, drug deals, and a reason for some cautious paranoia.

I did have an amazing cat live in my back yard all last summer that belonged to someone there (his name was Niet).  He died in the fire.

Perhaps that’s the grief I really feel. Knowing it was in his apartment that the fire started in, and feeling the heat, choking on the smoke, watching the tenants huddled together as they lost all that they had. The grief was crushing.

Watching the rest of  Kensington being torn down was like watching an autopsy as the Y incision ripped apart the wood floors, snapping the marble stairwell, claw foot tubs and little girl’s bicycles tumbling out like intestines, stopping only when the last leaded glass window shattered.

You could actually hear Kensington moan. Maybe it was the radiators.

I no longer live in the shadow of Kensington. I’ll never get to see the little girl get her training wheels off her pink bike or look for Neit in the window on the second floor right side.

I do still hear the beeping of the smoke alarms though buried in the rubble as if a heart monitor is calling out to say I ‘m still here. But nobody’s there: not the little girl, not the yappy dogs, not the cat, not even the shadow… all because of a cigarette.

The Direct Connection

Nestled in the heart of the McLaughlin neighborhood, at 245 Irwin, is a very special place. Reminiscent of the mom and pop stores of days gone by, Direct Connection is much more than a simple candy store. Stepping through the door, I am transported back to my childhood and walks to the corner store, where they knew the names of all the neighborhood children, and we were always greeted with a smile, and perhaps a hug if needed. Then walking home with a pocketful of penny candy, or maybe a delicious ice cream treat., just like you find at Direct Connection.

When you enter, you notice the walls are filled with an eclectic assortment of collectibles. Shelves, wooden crates & boxes, and even a hook or two hold everything from pop bottles to polar bears. There are tins and trays, posters and puzzles, coffee mugs and even a few plush characters we all know and love. Although most of these items are not for sale, they definitely add to the charm as you browse the items that are.
Near the front of the store is the grocery section. Here you will find an assortment of canned goods, condiments, bread and other items. There’s even a freezer stocked with frozen dinners and entrees, and a cooler with milk, juices, and sodas. This is also where you will find shelves of knick-knacks and gift items. Back on the other side, nearer the door, is the freezer of those wonderful ice cream treats. They’re just the thing on a hot summer day.
Next, you’ll see the sales counter, which contains a display case of handmade jewelry for sale. On top of this case sits an antique cash register dating back to 1914. Originally used at Montgomery Wards, it’s now only for show. At the corner of the counter is the modern cash register used for ringing up sales.
Finally, at the back of the store is the candy corner. Shelves containing colorful buckets and bins of assorted two penny candies are set low so little hands can more easily make their selections, . Nearby is a selection of twenty-five cent lollipops and other treats, including a variety of Wonka candies. This may be part of the reason that neighborhood children affectionately call owner Steve Counselor “Mr. Wonka”, along with his friendly demeanor and obvious love for them. A love that is shared by his fiancé and Direct Connection operator, Sue Howe, known as Miss Sue to these same children.

There are some items you won’t find here. Things like cigarettes, alcohol, or unhealthy energy drinks. “There are other stores in the area where people can find these things.” says Miss Sue, “I’m proud to say, there is nothing in this store that a child can’t buy safely.” This is why the children of the neighborhood have come to know Direct Connection as a safe haven.  Parents also know this. It’s not unusual to see a small child walking proudly to the store to buy a treat while his mother watches from the yard to make sure he gets there safely.
Steve and Sue opened the store four years ago. They sold t-shirts, handmade jewelry, and knick-knacks. They soon transitioned to candy and it has grown from there. During these four years they have also become very invested in the neighborhood. Spending time in conversation I was touched to observe various children and adults stopping in and each one was greeted by name. The most moving though was one particular young man. He stopped in while we were talking to drop off an envelope. Inside was an invitation to his graduation open house. It was obvious, looking into his face, that, over the past four years, Sue and Steve have become a very special part of his life. Equally as obvious was the love and joy in Sues eyes as she turned to me and said, “I’m so proud of that boy. He’s worked hard for this.”
So stop in some day for a loaf of bread or maybe a tasty little treat. The store is open from noon to 6:00 on Monday through Saturday. Let’s all support this wonderful little store and help them grow. Tell them Jeff sent you!

So Far

It’s been one month – or so, I’m very bad with time – since I moved into my apartment, which is a nice milestone to reflect on the beginning of this endeavor and all that I’ve accomplished.    I’ve filled out an insurance form incorrectly, botched getting my address switched with the post office, registered my car twice, been locked out for a day, started a small fire at work, and made 37 and a half charting errors.  Funny how those half errors result in whole lawsuits…

I’ve talked with a couple of the people responsible for my being here – or maybe I pretended to interview their kid; I have a bad memory.  Of course, I cannot take responsibility for my own being here because, in general, I am where I am because I don’t know where else to be.

So, in going forward, I hope to gather this neighborhood’s stories – which incidently takes time, hence a review post a mere month into the blog.  I want these stories, not because they are extraordinary, but because they are invaluable.  Telling our stories and listening to our stories is what keeps us human.

Under the Table

Micah Rinsema sits under the dining room table, an infant in a diaper, spinning an empty beer bottle.  I venture under and ask him how long he’s been there.

“Under the table?” he asks.

“In this house, how about.”

“I’ve been here seven months now.  Just had my baptism.  You should have been there; there were a diverse bunch of people there – just all over the place.  That’s life

 in this town.”

He keeps fidgeting with the beer bottle, straight-faced and sober, with that unflinching stare that infants have yet to surrender to the world.

“What is it like here?” I ask.

“Under the table?” he asks.

“In this house, how about.”

“Well, day to day it’s a house.  We do the normal stuff.  But the current that flows through here…  It’s like this – My parents spent four years in Japan teaching English before they came to Muskegon.  That shaped how they saw the world, and how they wanted to live in it.  You realize you matter this much.”  He indicates his full height.  “Which, in their case, is a metaphor.”

“Tell me about them,” I say.

“He’s Canadian; she’s from New York or Iowa or something.  They met in college.”  He states these facts and dismisses them with his hand.  “They’re on these different, parallel paths.  Paths to make things better.  He works with one group of people through Muskegon Area First, and she works with Community EnCompass.  I mean, the paths aren’t always smooth.  Sometimes their work is at odds.  But ultimately, they want the same things.”

“And what about your path?  What do you think your chances are?” I asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Because you’re black.  Because your parents are white.  And the world is persistently hard on those who don’t run away.”

“I’m the beginning of a journey, if you’ll give me a moment’s license to be poetic.  I’ll have to go places light and dark; there are no illusions about that.  I hope that I will have many fathers and many mothers, because I am many things.”

“Tell me of hope.”

“Hope is the great human choice.  We control so little; we’re born not knowing who we are.  We’re searching for love, holding desperately to life.  There’s nothing we have that can’t be taken from us.  But there’s always hope.”

“Where is this hope? I want to see it.”

“It’s here in this neighborhood.  It’s too easy to see the cracks in the sidewalk, the bullet hole in the window, the porches that are ready to fall down, but if you look inside the people who live here, there are these beautiful hopes and dreams.  There’s a vision for this place – that God’s finger will touch the earth here, and it will be a preview of heaven.  And it’s already begun.  Step out and look around.”

“From under the table?” I ask.

“From this house.”