Today I went on a harvest with a church group for a special Sunday service worship. We went to a property with 110 trees...an incredible number! (For reference, on a normal harvest day we might harvest 5-7 trees. We also had a group about three times larger than usual, but that still does not compare to a normal day.)
As I talk with more people about what Iskashitaa does, I continually have conversations about how even one tree produces so much more fruit than one family can use. Even families who share with their neighbors still have an abundance of fruit. It was the same when I was growing up and we had a garden; my dad would take tomatoes and corn to work and to various friends' homes, but we still had more than we could ever use.
I wonder if the way food grows naturally indicates something about the way we were intended to live. One fruit tree produces far more fruit than one person or even one family could consume. It seems they were made to feed communities rather than individuals. This isn't reflected in our grocery stores today. While we can buy in bulk, most items come individually packaged and meant for only one person or one family. We've become isolated and closed off, and I think it robs us of relationships.
It feels so much more natural and right to pick fruit in the sun with friends and neighbors than to pick it off the shelf, alone, under the harsh lighting of a grocery store. Harvesting fruit to me feels like reclaiming community.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014
Interpretive Cactusing
My sister Erica and I visited Saguaro National Park (west) a few weeks ago. We have since embarked on a journey to use the human form to reflect the beauty of the cactus. We have dubbed this art "Interpretive Cactusing" or "Cactus Interpretations." Photography by Terri Plotas.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
my life in photos
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| Heather and I made vegan, gluten-free cupcakes with Meyer lemon frosting and strawberry garnish for Barbara's birthday. The Meyer lemons were ones we harvested. Delicious! |
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| During one of our staff meetings we enjoyed blood orange juice. No sugar, no additives, no artificial colors, just juice! |
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| I made this "Fruit Art" with Peace Pockets (made by refugees) and fruit harvested by Iskashitaa. The fruit included two types of grapefruit, oranges, tangelos, and tangerines. |
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| Some of the grapefruit we harvest are enormous. This one is almost as big as my face. |
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| My coworker Heather with one of Barbara's adorable dogs, Toola. |
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| From my day at the Grand Canyon. |
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| Making date vinegar! |
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| The Iskashitaa booth at the Peace Fair. |
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Tucson Festival of Books
When I was growing up, my mom would give me a time limit whenever we went to the library. Otherwise she would wait for hours, only to discover me on the floor between the shelves, where skimming the first few pages had become reading the first hundred pages . Even when I brought a list of the books I wanted, I was never ready when the time limit ended. This led to me attempting to make it from section to section without running into my mom, so that she wouldn't have the chance to extract me before I was ready. My sister would usually end up spotting both of us: my mom roaming around, ready to inflict her time limit, and me, frantically trying to evade her.
That being said, you will understand why I was excited to go to the Tucson Festival of Books this weekend. When I mentioned to my housemate that I planned to go, she said, "Oh, take a look at this guide that was in the paper." The guide was more than 20 pages long. I kid you not. It was overwhelming.
The book festival featured hundreds of authors selling, signing, and talking about their books. The public could attend free lectures, panels, and discussions, and performances by various local groups could be seen on stages around the festival. Booths for literacy groups, the library, authors' associations, publishers, used book sellers, and more lined the UA Campus, where the event was held.
The festival also had a science section that was geared towards kids, and it was filled with interesting and interactive booths. Local groups could share their research, teach about nutrition, or demonstrate other scientific principles. While walking through, we saw a toddler lifting 60lbs using a pulley system!
I went with a couple of friends and we went to two different lectures. The first was a panel of authors who run writing workshops in the state prison. One of the writers was a former convict who had been through the program himself. It was so interesting to hear them all share their experiences, as well as a good (albeit depressing) reminder of how broken the justice system is in the US. I also received a free book of their most recent publications.
The second lecture was with Todd Miller, the author of the book Border Patrol Nation. A journalist from the Arizona Daily Star facilitated, and Todd recounted some stories of how different people have been affected by Border Patrol, including undocumented immigrants, permanent residents, and US Citizens. It was particularly interesting to me because several of the stories he shared took place at the Port Huron - Canada border or in northern New York, both of which are places I have experience with.
It is times like this when I am thankful that I have two years here in Tucson, because I can look forward to going to the book festival next year, and I will have a better idea about what I can do. I'm hoping that next year I can meet or at least hear from some of my favorite authors! This year Lois Lowry and Cornelia Funke were there, but sadly I was not able to meet them. Regardless, I am still happy to have been able to attend a festival that feels like it was created for me!
That being said, you will understand why I was excited to go to the Tucson Festival of Books this weekend. When I mentioned to my housemate that I planned to go, she said, "Oh, take a look at this guide that was in the paper." The guide was more than 20 pages long. I kid you not. It was overwhelming.
The book festival featured hundreds of authors selling, signing, and talking about their books. The public could attend free lectures, panels, and discussions, and performances by various local groups could be seen on stages around the festival. Booths for literacy groups, the library, authors' associations, publishers, used book sellers, and more lined the UA Campus, where the event was held.
The festival also had a science section that was geared towards kids, and it was filled with interesting and interactive booths. Local groups could share their research, teach about nutrition, or demonstrate other scientific principles. While walking through, we saw a toddler lifting 60lbs using a pulley system!
I went with a couple of friends and we went to two different lectures. The first was a panel of authors who run writing workshops in the state prison. One of the writers was a former convict who had been through the program himself. It was so interesting to hear them all share their experiences, as well as a good (albeit depressing) reminder of how broken the justice system is in the US. I also received a free book of their most recent publications.
The second lecture was with Todd Miller, the author of the book Border Patrol Nation. A journalist from the Arizona Daily Star facilitated, and Todd recounted some stories of how different people have been affected by Border Patrol, including undocumented immigrants, permanent residents, and US Citizens. It was particularly interesting to me because several of the stories he shared took place at the Port Huron - Canada border or in northern New York, both of which are places I have experience with.
It is times like this when I am thankful that I have two years here in Tucson, because I can look forward to going to the book festival next year, and I will have a better idea about what I can do. I'm hoping that next year I can meet or at least hear from some of my favorite authors! This year Lois Lowry and Cornelia Funke were there, but sadly I was not able to meet them. Regardless, I am still happy to have been able to attend a festival that feels like it was created for me!
Monday, March 17, 2014
Imagine No Malaria
On Friday night, we partnered with a local church, St. Mark's UMC, to hold a benefit dinner for Imagine No Malaria. Imagine No Malaria is a project through which the United Methodist Church seeks to end deaths from malaria. By clicking the link in the first sentence, you can read more about the project and its goals.
The dinner was called, "An Evening in Africa" and featured African dishes, speakers, videos, and music. The food was absolutely delicious, and I was happy to be able to share a table with four Congolese youth, two asylum seekers (from Egypt and Burundi) and a man originally from England. After we got our food, the Congolese youth waited a little bit before they started eating. The girl sitting next to me explained that they don't use silverware at home. It felt awkward to them to use silverware to eat African food, but they also felt awkward not using silverware since everyone else was using it. Eventually they decided to use the silverware to eat.
The father of the Congolese youth shared a short message about malaria and his own experience with it. He is the pastor of a local African congregation called Bethesda (which means pool of mercy). The young man from Burundi played piano beautifully through the beginning of the program and then sang a song about malaria that he had composed for this event. He then shared about his own experience with malaria.
The whole evening was very meaningful and touching. I think it was valuable for this group of Americans to be able to understand the effect that malaria actually has and to hear stories of people who have experienced it firsthand. I think it helped everyone to realize what an important campaign this is.
Whenever we come together to share stories we are engaging in something incredibly valuable, because these events give us the chance to recognize that everyone's story is important. I think being asked to share our stories reminds us that we are worth something and that our lives are not meaningless.
I also thought this event was a wonderful example of how the UMC is a global church. I think it is important for us to be able to contribute to something greater than ourselves, and it is so neat to be able to come from Michigan and hear about churches planning Imagine No Malaria events there, and then be able to attend Imagine No Malaria events here in Tucson, as well.
If you would like to contribute to the effort to Imagine No Malaria, click here and then select the red "Give Now" icon on the right side of the screen.
The dinner was called, "An Evening in Africa" and featured African dishes, speakers, videos, and music. The food was absolutely delicious, and I was happy to be able to share a table with four Congolese youth, two asylum seekers (from Egypt and Burundi) and a man originally from England. After we got our food, the Congolese youth waited a little bit before they started eating. The girl sitting next to me explained that they don't use silverware at home. It felt awkward to them to use silverware to eat African food, but they also felt awkward not using silverware since everyone else was using it. Eventually they decided to use the silverware to eat.
The father of the Congolese youth shared a short message about malaria and his own experience with it. He is the pastor of a local African congregation called Bethesda (which means pool of mercy). The young man from Burundi played piano beautifully through the beginning of the program and then sang a song about malaria that he had composed for this event. He then shared about his own experience with malaria.
The whole evening was very meaningful and touching. I think it was valuable for this group of Americans to be able to understand the effect that malaria actually has and to hear stories of people who have experienced it firsthand. I think it helped everyone to realize what an important campaign this is.
Whenever we come together to share stories we are engaging in something incredibly valuable, because these events give us the chance to recognize that everyone's story is important. I think being asked to share our stories reminds us that we are worth something and that our lives are not meaningless.
I also thought this event was a wonderful example of how the UMC is a global church. I think it is important for us to be able to contribute to something greater than ourselves, and it is so neat to be able to come from Michigan and hear about churches planning Imagine No Malaria events there, and then be able to attend Imagine No Malaria events here in Tucson, as well.
If you would like to contribute to the effort to Imagine No Malaria, click here and then select the red "Give Now" icon on the right side of the screen.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Beyond Vinegar
“I tried date vinegar today,” I told my mom, who called from snowy Michigan to hear how things were in sunny Arizona.
“Date vinegar? I’ve never heard of such a thing! What did it taste like?”
I didn’t know how to describe it to her; I couldn’t think of words that fit. That got me thinking: Is this how refugees feel when they come to the US—like they don’t have the words to describe what they are experiencing, even in their native language?
So often we see refugees solely as people in need of aid. After all, they have come here for protection, and must learn a new language, a new culture, and a new way of life. English is often not a second language but a third, fourth or fifth. The culture is confusing, and navigating systems like healthcare and education can be overwhelming. Finding a job that can both feed the family and pay the rent is another stress-filled challenge. And all this is on top of dealing with the aftereffects of the trauma and persecution which caused them to leave their homes initially.
While all these struggles are real, we can forget to see beyond them to recognize that refugees have things to teach us, too. Date vinegar is just one example of this.
Under the instruction of Alaa and Faeza, two Iraqi refugees, we started the vinegar in December. After about 45 days, it had reached the point where it was ready for processing. An Egyptian refugee, a Sudanese refugee, and several other volunteers joined Alaa and Faeza to get started.
As we stood in the kitchen, I tried to soak in the steps while Arabic sentences floated over my head. I recognized that even if the refugees spoke in English, I still wouldn’t understand; I know nothing about the intricacies of making date vinegar. As Alaa showed Barbara a more effective way to squeeze the dates, I remembered the time he showed us all how to properly cut open pomegranates. The Sudanese refugee, who was a farmer in Darfur, was with me on my first orange harvest, where he showed me how to pick oranges properly. Manerva and Faeza have done cooking demonstrations at Tucson Meet Yourself, and they continue to share their food and their culture in other ways, as well.
At Iskashitaa we work with refugees because we care deeply. We want to see them become successful in America and we want to see them become part of the community. Yet we also work with refugees because we recognize that what they have to teach us is incredibly valuable. As I experience this more and more, I realize that these lessons change me in significant and meaningful ways. I begin to think that cross-cultural exchange is not just enriching, but vital.
As we finished up in the kitchen, Faeza said, “I want everyone in Tucson to taste date vinegar.” So do I—but I hope that date vinegar is only the beginning.
This is an article that I wrote for the Iskashitaa newsletter. click here if you would like to sign up to receive the Iskashitaa newsletter, which comes out by email once a month.
This is an article that I wrote for the Iskashitaa newsletter. click here if you would like to sign up to receive the Iskashitaa newsletter, which comes out by email once a month.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
the nature of Joy
After a difficult senior year at Michigan State, and a midst a tough transition to Tucson, I find myself contemplating the nature of joy. I find that many Christians (myself included) like to talk about joy: how we have joy in Christ, that the joy is ever present and never-ending, joy > happiness, etc. ish. But I wonder, what does it actually mean to have joy? Do we even understand what we are describing, or are we just throwing around memorized fragments of scripture haphazardly? What is the difference between joy and happiness? What does it mean to "Be joyful always"?
Sometimes I wonder if we think, subconsciously even, that having joy means feeling good all the time. I wonder if this is a barrier to sharing our struggles in Christian community. Do I worry that sharing my hardships might make others think that I'm not following Christ as well as I should be? Is the pain I feel a reflection of a weakness in my relationship with God?
Because if I have a healthy relationship with God, all my sorrows, worries, struggles, and pain should be taken care of, right? But it isn't that simple. More and more I find myself thinking that the place without pain is a bubble of ignorance I've created for myself. It just isn't real.
When I am at a conference seminar, learning about the methods of torture and how survivors are affected, is that honestly something I should experience without pain? What does "be joyful always" mean in that situation? I certainly cannot describe my feelings as happy, and sharing my feelings with God does not make them hurt less. It helps that they are known, but it does not end the pain. How could it when I know that the torture continues, and that even those who are now removed from that danger still suffer from the effects of their experience?
A couple weeks ago I read a blog posted by my friend Amy Beth, who is a YAV (Young Adult Volunteer) that I met through my coworker Heather (who is also a YAV.) It talked about her thoughts regarding an article she read about a study that found that meaning and happiness were not generally positively correlated in peoples' lives--that is, the people who were happier said their lives were less meaningful, and vice verses. She went on to talk about how that has been reflected in her own life as she works as a YAV in Tucson. This post spoke to my heart because I could relate to it so deeply.
I have frequently found myself thinking, I am not happy. While many factors play into this, one part of the equation is simply this: what I am doing is hard. And I knew it would be hard...but it is hard in ways I never could have anticipated.
It is hard because I search for meaning and I search for truth. The common phrase, "The truth hurts," never resonated with me much until I thought of it in terms of the realities of the world. Someone asked me recently, "Doesn't it weigh on you, hearing these stories of people who have been through such trauma? How do you deal with that? How do you balance it while dealing with the challenges in your own life?"
Of course it weighs on me. But I would not change what I am doing for anything. It weighs on me, but it is the truth. It is real. This is someone's story, and it is valuable and important and it has a right to be told. The story, the truth, should be known, and we should be willing to acknowledge it. I have more thoughts regarding this idea, but for now I will return to my reflections on joy.
I recently came across a journal entry recording a conversation I had with one of my dearest college friends, Joy. This happened during our sophomore year, near spring semester finals, while we were alone in the Shaw basement at 5am. (And yes, I realize how humorous it is that I am mentioning my friend Joy in my post about joy.)
Maybe this is a picture of joy. It is not so much the immediate future, fraught with stresses, trials and pain--but the far off future, in which we know that we will be eternally with God and able to see the meaningful parts of our lives. I think joy is long term. It is like hope in that it is believing, even when you feel surrounded by darkness, that God is still good, and that your life has meaning. It is in feeling the pain of the world's realities and still praising God, in knowing that "every tear will be wiped from our eyes."
This is only one piece of my perspective on joy, and I know I could say so much more about the many things I've mentioned in this post. But for now, I will recognize that my feelings and emotions are valid whether or not they are "positive," and that I can find joy in my hope for the future, which is my hope in Christ.
Sometimes I wonder if we think, subconsciously even, that having joy means feeling good all the time. I wonder if this is a barrier to sharing our struggles in Christian community. Do I worry that sharing my hardships might make others think that I'm not following Christ as well as I should be? Is the pain I feel a reflection of a weakness in my relationship with God?
Because if I have a healthy relationship with God, all my sorrows, worries, struggles, and pain should be taken care of, right? But it isn't that simple. More and more I find myself thinking that the place without pain is a bubble of ignorance I've created for myself. It just isn't real.
When I am at a conference seminar, learning about the methods of torture and how survivors are affected, is that honestly something I should experience without pain? What does "be joyful always" mean in that situation? I certainly cannot describe my feelings as happy, and sharing my feelings with God does not make them hurt less. It helps that they are known, but it does not end the pain. How could it when I know that the torture continues, and that even those who are now removed from that danger still suffer from the effects of their experience?
A couple weeks ago I read a blog posted by my friend Amy Beth, who is a YAV (Young Adult Volunteer) that I met through my coworker Heather (who is also a YAV.) It talked about her thoughts regarding an article she read about a study that found that meaning and happiness were not generally positively correlated in peoples' lives--that is, the people who were happier said their lives were less meaningful, and vice verses. She went on to talk about how that has been reflected in her own life as she works as a YAV in Tucson. This post spoke to my heart because I could relate to it so deeply.
I have frequently found myself thinking, I am not happy. While many factors play into this, one part of the equation is simply this: what I am doing is hard. And I knew it would be hard...but it is hard in ways I never could have anticipated.
It is hard because I search for meaning and I search for truth. The common phrase, "The truth hurts," never resonated with me much until I thought of it in terms of the realities of the world. Someone asked me recently, "Doesn't it weigh on you, hearing these stories of people who have been through such trauma? How do you deal with that? How do you balance it while dealing with the challenges in your own life?"
Of course it weighs on me. But I would not change what I am doing for anything. It weighs on me, but it is the truth. It is real. This is someone's story, and it is valuable and important and it has a right to be told. The story, the truth, should be known, and we should be willing to acknowledge it. I have more thoughts regarding this idea, but for now I will return to my reflections on joy.
I recently came across a journal entry recording a conversation I had with one of my dearest college friends, Joy. This happened during our sophomore year, near spring semester finals, while we were alone in the Shaw basement at 5am. (And yes, I realize how humorous it is that I am mentioning my friend Joy in my post about joy.)
- Me:I'm worried about my future.
- Joy:Oh my gosh, Stephanie, don't be worried about your future! You have a wonderful future! You're going to meet people and love them and have fun with them and lead people to God and do ministry and glorify God! (something to this effect, but longer and more Joy-ish)
- Me:Awwww...that's so beautiful. You're right.
- -pause-
- Me:Except I wasn't so much worried about the future future...it was more like the next 24 hours.
- Joy:Ohhhhh. Don't think about that. Think long-term. Jesus.
- Me:Jesus.
- Both: (nodding)Yeahhhh.
Maybe this is a picture of joy. It is not so much the immediate future, fraught with stresses, trials and pain--but the far off future, in which we know that we will be eternally with God and able to see the meaningful parts of our lives. I think joy is long term. It is like hope in that it is believing, even when you feel surrounded by darkness, that God is still good, and that your life has meaning. It is in feeling the pain of the world's realities and still praising God, in knowing that "every tear will be wiped from our eyes."
This is only one piece of my perspective on joy, and I know I could say so much more about the many things I've mentioned in this post. But for now, I will recognize that my feelings and emotions are valid whether or not they are "positive," and that I can find joy in my hope for the future, which is my hope in Christ.
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