Metamorphoses (Arts, Urban Spaces, Lives) UPDATED

I sat there transfixed, beside a 4,000-gallon pool on a stage at the school where my older daughter attends.  She appeared as several characters in this high school's performing arts magnet's production of the Tony Award-winning play, Metamorphoses, which is a contemporary retelling of eight classic Greek myths.  As "Hunger," she transformed so completely that it was frightening (and sort of ironic considering I just published a book titled Food for My Daughters).  She and her fellow cast members (such as those pictured, which is from the program's cover) embodied a total of more than 100 characters, many of whom dissolved seemingly-magically in the pool, which acted as its own character in truly shocking ways throughout the production.  In two-hours time, an endless number of "metamorphoses" occurred, including mine. 

Hunger.  Hunger.  I keep thinking of Hunger.  Insatiable hunger was a curse placed on a character, which ultimately led to his tragic demise.  And yes, hunger engulfs thousands of us close to home and around the world every single day. 

Yet . . . .

This week alone I saw three examples of what is possible: 

1. Repurposed shipping containers that are capable of growing more than an acre and a half of lettuces in 48' x 8' at a business named PodPonics.

2.  A year-old inner-city urban farm that is feeding stomachs, minds, hearts, and souls.

Upper left: Uri; Bottom left: Fred

David Skoke, Don Converse, Bob Lundsten, Robert Wittenstein

3.  And an unloved, unused piece of land for which I've been, yes, hungry, for over two solid years now that, unbeknownst to me, was a mere hour away from being ready (thanks to a great team of guys who helped me) for cultivation by the middle school class that will now resume coming to the community garden after completing their previous project (which doubled the size of the food pantry donation effort) (see The Exciting Return of Open Garden).  The row (two 40' rows end-to-end, actually), coincidentally, is the exact same square footage as the growing space in one recycled shipping container (we had marked it off several weeks ago, before I visited PodPonics). 

As I sat in one of the 170 seats around the pool right on the stage, I heard the narrator say these words, as my daughter appeared, her hair covering her face wildly, her costume ragged, her body contorted:

There is a place in far-off Scythia.  Nothing grows there, no wheat, no grass, no trees.  There you will find, huddling together, Cold, Fear, and Gaunt Hunger.

Driving home, my mind swirling, I though of the food we have coaxed from the land over which we've served as stewards: our home garden, our community garden plots, the food pantry garden at the church, the school gardens. 

I thought of the gritty piece of parking lot where affordable, pesticide-free local lettuce for chefs and retail sale now grow (with an expansion to eight condemned acres under way, right under the flight paths of planes leaving the world's busiest airport). 

I thought of the site of an old housing complex, now serving as home to four acres of food right in the shadow of the King Center for Nonviolent Change (this photo shows the contrast between now and almost exactly a year ago), where every time I go a new expansion patch is being planted. 

Photo from 9/09. I have taken at least 100 similar photos

And I thought of a "back row" that was there, always, waiting for us, just waiting, patiently.

And I wondered, yet again, what else is possible.  How else can we satiate the hunger of humanity?  How else can we change--how else can we morph--for the better?

UPDATED:  1/20/12: Here is a segment filmed by the local NBC affiliate about the play (complete with pool).

Metamorphoses (Arts, Urban Spaces, Lives) UPDATED