Category: Community

We said goodbye to a cherished member of our community today. Her name is Ute, and she is leaving her job at the village food co-op to work in a nearby town.

She is one of those loved, individualistic, and hard-working people in small towns that go right to the heart of the place and are much loved.

Our food Co-op is a good place in many ways, but they are forever unable to keep workers there. Ute made doing things fun; she had a hug for everyone and a story to tell if it got quiet. I went there because of her.

She and Maria fell in love from the first, as so many people in town did—two fiercely individual people with a lot in common.

Ute makes a small town brighter. She also makes the co-op a lot brighter, greeting everyone by name, eager to help, and making sure everyone gets a greeting and a hug. That is not a gift everyone has.

She and Maria share many things in their lives, such as a love of animals and birds, and a love of people. (Ute has more than a dozen exotic birds in her living room) and sheep in a luxurious roost. She is unusual.

When Maria goes to the Co-op, I say hello, get a hug, and go and read in the car; they need time together.

America is a confusing place for many reasons now.

When I look at the news, I see a nation where community seems shattered by lies and manipulation – politicians no longer know how to tell the truth.

Politics has split many communities apart.

We still have our community, politics aside.

When I work at the Cambridge Food Pantry, I’ve discovered that the idea that America has lost its love of community is a lie, and an obvious one.

Day after day, people from all over America read my posts about the struggles of a local Cambridge Food Pantry and send them what they need on behalf of their love of community.

Their only reward is the love they bring.

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The Pantry itself has scores of people in our community who work every day to keep it running during hard times.

What’s the truth? I live in a small town in upstate New York and felt like I had come home from the first day. I never felt that when I lived in cities. ICE is helping to change that.

Community lives in small-town America; we know one another and fight, disagree, and love one another when necessary.

Uta is a big-hearted character who has seen and suffered a lot, but always has her famous hug and smile, and a story, sad or happy.

But she is never cruel or judgmental about anyone,

The food at the Co-op is fine, but she was always worth the trip. She is what I like about where I live. We can love each other and still mind our own business. Individuality is admired, not assaulted.

I’ll miss Ute and so will Maria. We brought a flower and some tears and said goodbye. There are, as always, promises of staying in touch, but I know that is often harder than it seems.

Godspeed, Ute, I already miss your hugs and stories. Community lives, thanks to people like you.

St. Teresa of Lisieux:  “The splendor of the rose and the lily’s whiteness do not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.”

I’m not a religious person; I’m working to be a spiritual one.

As Easter approaches, I think of rebirth and resurrection, two milestones of life; Easter always reminds me that we are not born once when our mother gives birth to us, but life requires us to give birth to ourselves again and again. Gabrial Garcia Marquez wrote that in one of his books.

Every time I do someone some good, I feel reborn. It’s a tonic against violence, cruelty, and chaos.

Faith is not a huge thing, not a cathedral or priest or enormous gifts and glory.

As St. Terese, an inspiration for the Army of Good, preached, spirituality is simple. It is small, not huge. So it is doing good. Small acts of kindness could transform the world if everyone looks for small ways to help others.

Ordinary life presents many opportunities for grace, compassion, and redemption. No matter how old we get, we always have the chance to grow, give, and change. We don’t need prayer books, color-stained windows, or other people’s dogma.

Maria was having lunch with a friend today. I was eating some tuna fish and crab salad, and I looked out the window and saw Zip soaking up some sun and looking through the window at me like he wanted a visit. I took a small plate of tuna fish out to him and brought a chair for me to sit.

We decided to have lunch together, my first time with a barn cat. There was something about this sweet and comfortable lunch with an animal that was both loving and spiritual. Zip seems to get it, whatever it is.

He ate slowly and gracefully, turning to me now and then to let out a soft and quiet meow.

I’ve never lunched with a cat or dog before—Zinnia came out to join us—and it was a lovely experience. Zip sat quietly and ate his tuna chunks slowly but enthusiastically while Zinnia cleaned up everything that fell to the ground.

We were both content to sit quietly and look out at the farm. So was Zinnia.

I could have stayed longer, but Zip spotted something small moving through the snow, and he went flying. He had no luck, so he returned to sit, and we finished our quiet lunch.

I thought of my friend Sue Lamberti, who had taken the plunge, re-opened her flower shop, and filled almost every inch with beautiful Easter flowers. I’m pulling for her to sell them all.

I’m thinking of Sue today. She understands the idea of rebirth. Her store is crammed with beautiful flowers, and she says they are selling.

She strikes me as brave, challenging, and determined. She isn’t looking to dominate the floral industry; she’s looking for a successful shop to spread beautiful flowers all over our town. I called her to wish her goodwill this Easter and success in buying a shop full of beautiful flowers.

She was startled, I think, but she thanked me for the call. She said she was doing well so far.

What Sue wants is is essential, yet simple. She is chasing after her bliss.

Therese’s spirituality is also simple; she gave me the idea of the “Little Way,” which became the idea behind the Army Of Good. Her love of flowers has become her work. It’s a calling, not a job.

She calls her faith the “little way” because she believed and taught that life presents enough challenges and opportunities for grace; I don’t have to be saintly and without flaws. I dont have to be a billionnaire or go to a fancy church or temple.

She teaches us that the idea of God is everywhere – in every situation and person – and life’s ordinary, simple details.

I admire people like Sue. They take chances, follow their dreams, and have clear but powerful goals. They want to be happy and spread joy.

I can’t think about rebirth without considering Bud, our sweet little Boston Terrier. He came from Arkansas and suffered as much as or more than any dog or cat I know about.

Zip has had an astonishing rebirth; we call him the “Little King,” and he considers himself a royal creature. He has forgiven the cruelty he suffered.

He isn’t built for cold or heat, but he loves to search for rats,  clones, and chipmunks. Once in a while, he catches one. Bud takes rejection in stride. I think he is living now in bliss.

When I looked out the window, I saw a pure Bud moment. It was too cold for him to stand too long in snow, but like Zip, he always seems to find a place of warmth and comfort.

He stands on the septic covers like a Royal Navy Captain, daring the wind to blow him down.

Rebirth is not a common goal in his dog mind.

But he did it, and it feels sacred.

I bought a box of chocolate to leave on the porch for our Amazon driver, a regular visitor to our front porch. It’s hard work, and I wanted to show him some thanks, as some of our neighbors are doing by leaving candy and cough drops out for the drivers. In a small act of greatness, I see what St. Therese means. Small acts of great kindness could change the world.

On this week of rebirth and compassion, I can’t help but think of the hungry children and their families that the Cambridge Pantry is working so hard to feed.

I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Easter than buying some Prego Spaghetti sauce or beef and chicken Ramen. That’s my religion right now.

Thursday, I get the honor of helping to fill the backpack bags of children needing food. I suspect we will all stuff their bags until they nearly burst. It’s a long weekend. You can buy them an Easter gift right here.

Maria is heading out early to join her fellow dancers lining up to march in the Bennington, Vt., Pride Parade, which is more important this year than in many other years. Sadly, the police have added extra patrols in fear of demonstrations against the parade—shame on us.

I’m going to the farmer’s market and then heading to Bennington to watch the Bennington Belide dancers dance on the stage of the Universalist Church.

People can do all their hating; it is still a free country. But there is no turning back this clock or the freedom women have fought so hard to gain and will fight just as hard to keep. Gay people are bravely doing the same; more power to them.

I admit to be thinking of Georgia O’Keeffe when I saw how this photo turned out.

It’s been raining on and off for two days. The drops on the flowers make them look fresher and brighter.

Kristoffer Ross comes to the Farm Market every Sunday with his mother, Anne, a farmer, gardener, and worker for the USDA. The family’s other sun is Matt Ross, our farrier and metal worker, and artist when he’s in the mood. The farm makes heritage grains, quality hay and straw, pure maple syrup, lumber, sawmilling, perennial plant (I have several), metal fabrication, and theater design.

Everyone seems to love what they choose to do and is sticking with it.

To me, Kristoffer is the farmer of the future. He is as comfortable talking about grains I’ve never heard of as he is working on a play set in Albany. Anne and I have become good friends; her heritage (by which we mean old and traditional) perennial plants are plentiful in my raised garden beds.

He has a score of different grains to sell, cook and plant. He has begun the arduous process of explaining them to me.

We read a lot about the demise of family farming in America, but we hear little about the creative and enterprising people – many relatively young – who are redefining the farm, diversifying and experimenting, and finding ways for their families to stay on the land and do what they love.

There is a husband and father also, but he is shy, a strain that runs in the men of the family; he doesn’t come to the market. The Ross’s are refugees from New Jersey, where their families farmed until land and houses became too expensive for ordinary farmers.

The Ross seems heroic to me. Matt, our farrier, knows what he loves and is doing what he loves. He has little interest in being rich or famous or selling his beautiful metal sculptures just because he can. He loves horses and wants to take care of them and be around them, and that’s what he is doing.

They are always in the same corner of the market, friendly and open and making a statement. This is what family farms are really about.

The same ethos seems to be a hallmark of their family’s Hickory Wind Farm, what they call a “diversified farm” just outside of town. I admire these people; they understand the almost sacred meaning of doing what one lives rather than surrendering their souls to the greedy and soulless corporations increasingly defining and conquering America.

There are an awful lot of people up here trying to do the same thing; it keeps me hopeful about America.

This individuality and freedom are what America is all about to me; I admire anyone who is fighting for the love they want and live.