Meet Ed Bruske: My Friend, a Fellow Blogger, and One of the Nation's Most Monumental Activists

Visit Washington, DC, the capital of the United States, and you'll see monuments at every turn.  (If you're like my family and me, you'll also see boy scouts at every turn as well, as we were there just prior to the 100th Anniversary/National Boy Scout Jamboree, for which there will be a parade down Centennial Avenue today.)

And yes, yes, yes, we visited many of the buildings where monumental decisions about the laws and policies of our land are decided daily.  I also found it pretty monumental that there were recycling containers everywhere on the street, lots of cyclists (particularly young government aids, who filled bike racks on the sides of those looming stone buildings), and even local promotions for community gardening grants.  

But some of the most monumental work in Washington is not happening at the White House, or up on the Hill.  It's happening about a mile away from Michelle Obama's vegetable garden.  If you ride the city bus, as I just did, through a neighborhood in transition, and then walk down a block of row houses secured by wrought iron gates, you'll find a corner where sunflowers tower and beans cascade from a trellis eight feet tall.

That's Ed's front lawn.  Not Ed Begley, from L.A..  Ed Bruske, originally from Chicago.  A former Washington Post reporter, Ed is doing the best investigative reporting in the country on the school lunch scandals.  The crimes of taxpayer-supported kickbacks to Big Business suppliers to the National School Lunch Program are just starting to get coverage in the mainstream media, but Ed has been on this for awhile now (see his Grist article about this week's Sodexo settlement with New York State) and his articles are truly must-reading, especially for those of us (like me) who had gotten completely jaded on this topic (I simply packed my kids' lunches myself and called it a day after I discovered years ago that the system was so screwed up that any hope of change was years away). 

One mile from the White House, Ed has taken advantage of our nation's Freedom of Information Act, our Constitutional protection of free speech, and his personal freedom from political pressure and Big Business dollars to tell the story that needs telling.  And he's far from done.  In fact, I believe the name Ed Bruske will be a household name before you know it, and this Unexpected Activist, who fell down this rabbit hole after switching his daughter from a private to public school, will debunk the PR load of bull dished out that change is happening in places where it is not--and will make sure that real change actually does happen, starting in what children right in our nation's capital are being fed.  

Ed, a food writer who's work you may have seen often in Martha Stewart Living magazine and elsewhere, suddenly found himself:

* In the prime location (a front row seat a mile from the White House), 

* In the right circumstance (a daughter in the DC Public School system--never underestimate the fury of a father), 

* With pertinent expertise (years of journalism under his belt), 

* And with the necessary character traits of dogged determination and perseverance to uncover the truth.  

He has not only provided scathing behind-the-scenes coverage in DC but has started traveling the country as well in pursuit of answers.  (Prediction: I'm expecting to hear of a book deal for Ed before long.)

I would have visited Ed simply for his front-yard garden and the fact that we have been "blogger buddies" for literally years now.  But I needed to meet him in person because when it comes to monumental work in Washington, the work Ed Bruske is doing right now as a passion project can potentially change the course of our future national security, productivity and public health because of the effect it will have on our children.  And I'd call that monumental.  

Will this be the year that we as citizens will finally say, "We will not look the other way anymore regarding the sorry state of our National School Lunch Program.  We will not fund rebate fraud anymore, and we will no longer think so little of our nation's children and their ability to have a healthy, safe and productive future that we feed them garbage"?

Think there's nothing you can do about it?  Spend some time with Ed at www.theslowcook.com and I'm betting your mind will change.  (See Tales from a DC School Kitchen in the center column, plus the contrasting Berkeley Schools coverage above it.)  And, by the way, Ed has also spent several years teaching food appreciation classes to inner-city kids, and blogging extensively about it.  That alone constitutes life-changing work, never mind Ed's current efforts!

Want to start planting a seed of change right on your front lawn?  Let Ed inspire you.  Here's his lawn, from which he feeds his family and from which he no doubt packs his daughter's lunches.

What's Growing One Mile from the White House from Pattie Baker on Vimeo.

Meet Ed Bruske: My Friend, a Fellow Blogger, and One of the Nation's Most Monumental Activists

A Scent (and Sense) That Smacks You on the Side of the Head (Was There Ever a Different Way I Lived?)

It's usually Charlotte who comes to deliver the boxes to the CSA pickup, but when I looked up from the "chain of humanity," where we stand shoulder-to-shoulder and pass the boxes hand-to-hand, stacking them until there are 52 or 58 or however many families will be nourished by this farm this week, I saw that it was Wes.  He eventually put his truck-full of boxes in over 350 sets of hands across Atlanta this week.

I hadn't seen Charlotte's husband for years, perhaps once or twice at the Morningside Farmers market (the only one where I know the food will all be organic), but most memorably when I visited their farm to write that story about them for Edible Atlanta.  I could still see Wes grabbing handfuls of muscadines from vines we passed as his dog ambled along beside him, and pointing out the delicata squash just about ready to be picked.

But it's not Muscadines and Delicata yet.  The olfactory sensation hit us immediately and the buzz passed through the line of people quickly.  It was Melons.  Sweet, pungeant, delicious melons.  A big, fat green Spanish one and a smaller striped Asian one. They were heavy, both their weight and their aroma.

I remember Melons last year.  How we went to the pool after the drama camp performance and ate one, its green juice dripping down our arms.  How my dad and step-mom helped one week, when Charlotte was there.  How they are coming again to visit this year and this time we'll go not only to the CSA pickup but to the community garden (which they last saw as just a field) and food pantry as well. 

My older daughter went away the last three years for the whole month of July.  I didn't think of it that way, in terms of calendar words.  I thought of how she would leave right after Blackberries and be home in time for Figs but would miss Lemon Cucumbers completely.  She's home this year already, and it's not yet Figs, and that seems odd.  It's Sunflowers now, too, and she had missed that in the past as well.

I'm thinking about Lettuces already and have prepped a few of my garden beds for fall.  It's hard to imagine, on these 95-degree (35-degrees Celcius) days, that it will one day be cool enough for those tender greens, that the light will be less harsh, that the days will be shorter.  But Kale will come and leaves will turn and another year will close.

For now, it is Tomatoes.  Sweat and storms and the sweet juice of yellow and red heirlooms cascading over the sides of the cutting board, poured into a little cup and slurped like an elixir of summer. 

Thick, red, meaty slices of tomatoes on homemade bread slathered with mayonnaise, topped with fresh-picked basil leaves and a sprinkling of sea salt.  

A sauce simmering on the stove with a smell that smacks you on the side of the head when you walk in the house, made from dozens of my home garden's tomatoes ripening in the CSA box lid on my kitchen counter (with a second box lid filled with ones from the community garden, ripening for the food pantry) and oregano, garlic, and pureed zucchini, all from my garden, still warm from the sun on their backs.

Flip-flopped feet.  

A leg dangling out the side of the hammock.  

And seasons no longer defined by words on a calendar but by harvests passed from hand to hand.  And a bounty that makes not just scents, but sense.

  

Was there ever a different way I lived?

A Scent (and Sense) That Smacks You on the Side of the Head (Was There Ever a Different Way I Lived?)

Wanna' Put Heads-in-Beds? Put Local Food in Mouths! (And Other Benefits of Becoming a Model Urban Agriculture City)

Something happened the other day about which most people don't even know.  Something seemingly small. Inconsequential.  Forgettable.  But it wasn't.  It was huge.  Because it's yet another sign that the groundswell is growing.

A woman contacted City Hall in my city (the newest city in the United States--Dunwoody, GA, USA) and suggested that the city start a local food cooperative.  She raved about this co-op in the Little Five Points section of Atlanta. 

I had several meetings with City Hall last week (well, actually, the meetings were at the community garden, where we asked if we could expand our growing space in time for the fall growing season, and embrace other Year 2 enhancements--see details here, if you are interested) and was asked my opinion about this.  My first reaction?  Hurray! Another voice for local organic food!  I sat back and looked at the woman's name.  Vaguely familiar, but I don't think I know her.

I raised lots of questions:  

* Is Sevananda privately-owned by committed community members or is it part of a public/private partnership?  

* How are other local food co-ops organized?  

* What are Best Practices nationwide regarding local food co-ops?   

* Are there any examples of city or state policies in support of local food co-ops, providing tax incentives or marketing support, for instance?  

* Are there any examples of local food co-ops on public land?  

In the past, I would have done all that research myself.  But now that names I don't know are showing up at City Hall to advocate, I am ready to move on.  Especially after I was almost laughed out of town for the following list I developed comprising a Model Urban Agriculture City.  One City Council member told me I threw a hand-grenade in every section.  Huh?  Really?  Gosh, every single item here is taken from Best Practices in other cities.  Absolutely nothing is an original idea.  Even the overriding-the-homeowners-association (HOA) parts reflect the growing awareness that providing food for your family from your own land should be a basic human right. (By the way, gardening is not a hobby for me.  If I didn't grow what I do, my children would not eat the way they do.  Period.)

Anyway, here goes.  It used to say my city name at the front of every sentence, but I changed that up to generalize it so that you could possibly see how your city is doing on a comprehensive urban agriculture scorecard.  Of course, your city may have some different assets than mine that would need to be figured in as well.  And I didn't even touch on the whole local abattoir thing, or the unlimited eco-tourism assets and attraction for companies committed to sustainability that these initiatives create for a city. Wanna' put heads-in-beds (that's lingo for increasing hotel reservations)?  One way is to put local food in mouths.  Wanna' attract companies committed to sustainability (um, that would be all of them nowadays)?  Provide a compatible residential environment for employees of these companies. Wanna' get your share of business meetings, conventions, conferences, etc?  Ya' gotta' go green.  (That's why downtown Atlanta established the Zero Waste Zone, FYI.  It was losing biz to other cities that were perceived to be more green.)

Your City: A Model Urban Agriculture City

Mission:

Your City encourages local food security, healthy nutrition for all, and growth in the green job sector through policies and ordinances that support local food production, processing, access, and sale.

Goals: 

• Every citizen in Your City will have at least one urban agricultural component (besides a home garden) within ¼ mile of his or her residence. 
• Your City will establish itself as a national urban agriculture model by 2015.

Urban Agriculture Components

Home gardens

Your City ordinances allow (and override any HOA restrictions on) home food gardens and backyard chicken-keeping (within specific parameters reflective of best practices nationwide and adapted to local conditions).

School programs

Your City encourages all schools to start and maintain school gardens, to establish relationships with local farms for supply of farm-fresh healthy food to schoolchildren, and to educate children about healthy food sourcing and preparation/preservation within our city.

Community gardens

Your City establishes a level of service of one community garden per 2,500 citizens.  City ordinances allow (and override any HOA restrictions) for community gardens in all zoning areas, as long as specific established criteria is met by committed citizen groups.  The City supports community gardens with installed water access.

Farmers markets

Your City ordinances allow local farmers markets with strict grown-local standards in commercial zoning areas, on City park property, and on church property.

Greenhouse center

Your City supports the creation of a greenhouse growing center that serves to provide a steady organic plant supply to Your City's gardens and farms, and to mobilize diverse community groups in hands-on education and green job training.

Public Produce

Your City ordinances allow low-maintenance climate-appropriate edible landscaping in Adopt-a-Spot locations, as street trees, and in public parks.  The City encourages the planting of recommended edible landscaping at commercial locations and institutions. 

Urban Farms

Your City ordinances allow 1-5 acre public urban farms in select locations determined as part of the master greenspace plan.

Truly Living Well Natural Urban Farm from Pattie Baker on Vimeo.

Urban agriculture education center

Your City encourages the creation of an education center for urban agriculture-related workshops to learn growing, processing, and preserving of healthy, local food.

Community kitchen/small-scale processing center

Your City ordinances allow the creation of a shared community food processing center for the creation of value-added agricultural products such as jams, pickles, salsas, baby food, and more.

Green waste composting center

Your City encourages the creation of a food waste composting center designed to repurpose the waste stream and return finished compost back to Your City's gardens for free, or as a branded, affordable product as part of a green entrepreneurial initiative.

Farm-to-fork restaurant and other local food-related businesses (including co-ops)

Your City encourages urban agriculture entrepreneurial and green job growth through tax incentives and targeted marketing efforts to attract more green businesses to your community.

Want to see how other cities are embracing comprehensive urban agriculture planning and policies?  Well, here's a start.

If you live in a city near mine and are ready to dig in on some of these ideas, please let me know.  I know folks (including me) who love to help.  Email me at sustainablepattie@comcast.net.

No matter where in the world you are, if you have more points to add to this list, please leave a comment and share with us all! 

Wanna' Put Heads-in-Beds? Put Local Food in Mouths! (And Other Benefits of Becoming a Model Urban Agriculture City)

No Longer Exceptional?

Rebecca says I don't show enough photos of meals I make with all the locally-grown food.  Perhaps I take them for granted, because, in a way, they are nothing special in my home, not exceptional.  They are the norm.

This was last night's pizza.  The sauce has everything from beet greens to zucchini in it, and my daughter-who-doesn't-eat-beet-greens-and-zucchini gobbled this up without raising a detecting eyebrow.  I had to make this dish because it's that time of year, the time when tomatoes line my windowsill, ripen in the lid of my CSA box, hang heavy from branches by my mailbox, on the side of my house, in the back.  This is not exceptional right now.  It is the norm.

I'm harvesting twice a week at the community garden from up to fifteen beds now.  The food is gorgeous, and the recipients of it oooh and ahhh when we walk in.  I've taken to hanging out in the kitchen a bit at the food pantry now, and the Spanish-speaking women and their children are teaching my younger daughter and me the names of things.  La papa (potato).  El tomate (tomato). La calabaza (squash).  La fresa (strawberry).  This relaxed, enjoyable exchange, where we each give something to the other, is not exceptional.  It is the norm.

My older daughter had been away for weeks and came home yesterday, yet I use that term relatively now.  It's more like she alights on the rooftop, grounding herself temporarily, but her gaze remains upward, the call of the sky, the world, the universe, greater with each year.  A pair of flip-flops, an MP3 player, a book left laying around still opened to a dog-eared page remind me of the scribble I saw on the little chalkboard at the garden yesterday, written by whom and when I don't know.  It said, "I was here."

Yet the first thing my daughter did after getting home and greeting us was to ask for a smoothie, which I made with the last of the blackberries, ground flax seeds, yogurt and local honey.  She had missed them, or at least I told myself that.  And so I suppose that not only was she here, but I am with her as well, always, the habits I have instilled in her transcending time and space.  And this new acceptance, this letting go, this understanding between us that our physical time together is slipping away is no longer the exception.  It is the norm.

I haven't told her yet about the Crop Mob event in which my friend Bob and I participated last week, at a restaurant in the Buckhead section of Atlanta named Sheik's Burritos and Kebobs.  How strangers came together to help create an urban farm.  How a beautiful woman named Kimmy who grew up with no farming experience now leads groups (along with Mike and Darby) in doing this once a month. How Crop Mobs are springing up all over the United States as a result of an article that ran several months ago in the New York Times.  

I thought the "flash mob of volunteer agricultural laborers" would all be in their 20s and that Bob and I would feel horribly out of place, but they weren't, and we didn't.  We were another two people in a hodge-podge mix of people who want to make a difference and are willing to give their time, sweat, and expanding expertise to do so.  We were not the exception.  We were the norm.

I haven't told her yet about delivering the watermelons last week, how I handed each from the trunk of my car, and the back seat, and the car floor, to the sometimes strong, sometimes shaky hands of the Fugees boys, how we said very few words beyond the universal language of a smile, how I finally met Luma in person, how a light sort of shines around her, how my friends stepped up and volunteered immediately to deliver the rest of the watermelons for the rest of the summer.  How this community we've built, this circle that keeps expanding, is not exceptional.  It is the norm.

It's Independence Day today here in the United States, and although there are fireworks and parades and other traditional celebratory things to do, I find I can't stop thinking about the swing I saw yesterday.  My younger daughter and I visited the Elaine Clark Center for Exceptional Children in a nearby city, where a fellow community gardener was involved in the creation of a garden, designed and installed by the amazing Lindsey Mann of Sustenance Design, that includes sense-stimulating plants as well as food intended to appeal to children with special needs and their families.  

Garden at Elaine Clark Center for Exceptional Children from Pattie Baker on Vimeo.

We were there with an Eagle Scout candidate who is building a sensory-integration woodland path for our community garden, and although we were focusing on the garden, I couldn't stop looking at the swing in the adjoining playground.  My younger daughter explored it, tried it out, queried about it.  And it turns out that this swing is for use by children in wheelchairs.

And so, last night I heard the distant sound of backyard firecrackers, made the pizza and the smoothie, emailed delivery details about the watermelons for this upcoming week, and considered what to do with the 11 pounds of tomatoes I picked yesterday at the community garden that won't keep until food pantry day--I'm taking them tomorrow to that public fountain in a nearby city, where I saw lots of immigrant families playing, and I will be able to say to them, "Quieres tomates?" (I know that isn't punctuated correctly, but I haven't figured that out yet on my computer keyboard.) 

But I kept thinking about what it must feel like to be eight years old and in a wheelchair and never knowing what it feels like to swing.  And then feeling it, the way your stomach flips a little, the thrill of leaving the ground, of flying, the cooling breeze in your face.  And I thought about how brilliant yet how simple this swing is, how priceless the experience, how freeing.  And I thought of independence, of freedom, in a whole new way. And how universal access to everyday experiences of freedom in the Land of the Free and around the world are becoming less the exception for "exceptional children" and more the norm.  

I thought of this quote from Leonardo da Vinci:  "For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return."

I thought of the people in need of food.  And the boys in need of stability and hope.  And the children who need easy ways to be fully included in everyday experiences, everyday life.  And my daughter perched at the precipice of change.  

And, despite the new normalcy of it all in my life, I have to admit.  After one bite, one smile, one hand-to-hand touch, one moment of letting go, there is no denying.  It is still all truly exceptional.

 

No Longer Exceptional?