Farming Family with Fire in Northern California

The fastest NFL player can return a punt 100 yards – end zone to end zone – in about ten seconds.  When the Northern California wild fires began raging uncontrollably throughout the wine country, it was traveling that same distance in just three.

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One of nearly 10,000 structures burned

 

The fires started at night.  Late at night and without warning.  The Santa Ana winds nearing hurricane force strength.  Flaming embers, some the size of softballs, traveled up to a mile through the night sky.  Leaping across entire roadways…turning homes, cars, and buildings into piles of ash.  A lifetime collection of memories becoming charred remains in seconds.

Two days after the fires began, we were on our way to San Francisco for a writing assignment with the World-Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms.  WWOOF for short, is a hospitality service that organizes homestays on sustainable organic farms.  Those who work on the land are called, WWOOFERS.  And in exchange for their labor they get food, lodging and first-hand experience in organic growing methods.   Founded nearly 50 years ago, the organization is now in more than 130 countries with over 2,000 farms spread across the United States.

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Maple the Calf in the fields of Duckworth Farm

I scoured the WWOOF web site for a suitable farm, and settled on Duckworth.  An 82-acre family-run farm outside Santa Rosa, in a tiny valley a few miles south of Sebastopol.  They grow mostly blueberries, but also pears, apples, and plums.  There are horses and sheep, cows and chickens, plenty of ducks and a few tractors.  And we were excited to see it all.

Flying into San Francisco, on final approach around 10,000 feet, I noticed a faint fiery glow across the bay, just north of the city.  We picked up the rental car and started towards our B&B in Santa Rosa, about an hour north of San Francisco, a few miles away from one of many evacuation lines.  Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge I rolled up the windows to keep the smoke from filling the inside. We were still 60 miles from the flames.

In the morning, the sun, trying its best to peek through the smoke, spilled through the curtains and landed on my face. I thought I’d slept through my alarm, until I reached for my phone and realized I’d never set it.  But I had slept through a few calls.  Blinking my eyes awake, I hit “play” and listened to the first voice recording.  It was Duckworth.  All was fine at the farm.  The fires were still several miles to the north…and we were invited to come by first thing Monday.  So, we had three days.  Three days to explore.  Half a week to spend in a town that was on edge…and becoming edgier by the second.

Walking down for breakfast I took a seat against the parlor window and poured some orange juice into a thick bottomed glass.  Across from me sat Judy and Felix, both retired doctors.  They’d fled their condo and taken up residence in the room below me on the first night of the fire.  I stood to introduce myself as Judy told me her story.

“We smelled smoke.  Looked outside.  Saw flames.  And just got in the car.” She said.  Never taking her eyes off her scrambled eggs.  “We left so fast we had to leave Burt behind inside.”  Hoping Burt was more than capable of driving himself to safety, I was somewhat relieved to find out Burt was a feral cat she’d been fostering.

At the head of the table was David, who worked in a fancy financial office.  He explained  his job, but I’m four years short of a Harvard degree.  So, I just nodded as if it all made perfect sense.

For the next three days, our Breakfast Club started the day together.  Sharing food, coffee and stories.  Always trying to steer the conversation towards something more pleasant.  But we always came back to Burt, the latest containment reports, and the people we’d been meeting as we traveled through Napa, Sonoma, and other neighboring towns.

One after another, we found people making a difference.  People from all walks of life who gathered in parking lots and strip malls, forging for items their neighbors desperately needed.  Neighbors, who’s names they didn’t even know.

From the famous – Guy Fieri cooking for firefighters – to the not-so well-known; a local restauranteur serving food, water, and apparel to nearly 2,000 people.  We found the spirit of community everywhere.

Clara, a boutique clothing shop employee whose house burned to the ground, told us how her employer had moved her and her son into their home.  And Foster, an artist who escaped the flames with his son, Max.  Passing three people he didn’t know, who’d planted themselves in his front yard, digging trenches and scooping buckets of water from his neighbor’s pool to save his house.  The very next day, Max cashed his entire paycheck and bought blankets, chargers, gift cards, waters, and batteries.  Not for him and his dad, but for other evacuees.

There was an elderly man who grabbed a hose and kept the flames away from his neighbor’s house, while his home burned down behind him.  A Santa Rosa man who turned his camper into a food shelter for first responders.  Cooking meals and taking donations.  We met a group of teenagers who volunteered at a pet shelter for misplaced animals.  And two sisters who looked to be well into their 70’s, held hands and smiled, telling us they’d successfully alerted their neighbors before their condo caught flames.

When it came to the fires, six degrees of separation had been whittled to one.  But not a single person we met, listened to, or learned of, ever spoke about their loss without mentioning their gains.  How they’d each gained a newfound appreciation for being alive.  And in the process, gained new friends who were now helping them overcome unimaginable loss.

Monday morning was the last call of our Breakfast Club.  We were leaving the next day.  Firefighters were getting the upper hand on a majority of the fires, and many of the mandatory evacuations were being lifted.  Judy and Felix were heading back to their condo, where only minor smoke damage remained.  Burt, was safe, too.  A neighbor had spotted him through the window and alerted Judy an hour earlier.

David gobbled down his breakfast faster than usual.  He was in a hurry to catch a flight for a business meeting in Palm Springs.  Life was getting back to normal, it seemed.  Whatever this new normal was going to look like.

As our club dissolved, we exchanged numbers and emails, shook hands and hugged one another…promising to keep in touch.  It reminded me of my last day of High School.  All of us rushing to sign each other’s yearbook before walking out of school one last time.  Driving through the tiny town of Sebastopol, careening through its winding roads towards Duckworth Farm, I wondered if I’d hear from any of them again.

At the bottom of the valley, I turned into the farm and parked our dusty red rental alongside an old tractor. Trying to look cool in the rustic, rural setting.  The tractor did.  I looked…well, not.

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Flowers in the Kitchen Garden at Duckworth Farm

 

Lorri, who runs the farm, and her daughter, Snazzy (who was about to run us all over the farm) greeted us in the driveway with a welcome reserved for long lost cousins who finally found their way back home.  “Let’s go into the cookhouse.”  Lorri said, leading the way.  “We can talk in there.”  Making my way into the building, sidestepping a handful of border collies, I felt that familiar sense of community we’d found in Sonoma, Napa, and elsewhere.

The cookhouse, a small 20X20 rectangular building, is the nucleus of the farm.  A warm and inspiring feeling overwhelms you the moment you cross the threshold.  Windows, from top to bottom, occupy the entire back wall.  Looking out into the kitchen garden with its flowers and vegetables, the barn with its looms and cupolas, and the hills in the distance that form the valley.

Inside, in the left-hand corner, sat an antique stove with burners from a bygone era.  Big clunky knobs stared up at a set of large pots and pans on top of the warmer oven.  Dozens of cookbooks with worn out pages of recipes from pastries to pastas were stacked along the floor.  And an ice cream maker lived just off to the right, opposite a large fully stacked freezer with enough food to feed an army.  And it did.  All the time.  Dozens of glass jars, each with its contents half filled, lined up neatly along a wooden table in the middle of the room.

We remove all the cooking items from their packaging, so our students can see the ingredients, as opposed to having processed foods in cans or boxes.”  Lorri told us.  “A box of product typically has one use. Ingredients are unlimited.  So, I like them to see opportunities not products.  That, and I really dislike advertisers in my kitchen.”  She added.

The cookhouse is the place WOOFERS gather to make their meals.  Succeeding or…not. But with little harm done, either way.  “We’ve had spectacular success and horrific failures, and they both make great stories.”  Lorri said.   It’s also a place where one can feel truly safe.  Free to talk about anything and everything.  Confident their conversations will never pervade the four walls that surround them.

Lorri and her family eat off the farm the entire year.  And the bread they share with others is never sliced.  “There’s something about the ripping and tearing.  It’s visceral.  It’s…a moment.  This is how we learn to trust each other.”  Lorri told us.  The food at Duckworth is their heritage, history, tradition, religion, and identity, all rolled into one.  “If we don’t farm, harvest, prepare, cook and eat together, then we’ve lost a good part of what it means to be human in a community.  When you share a meal with strangers, everyone becomes equal.”

And there are, of course, opportunities to learn and grow in the field, as well.  While some WWOOFNG farms are more hands off, focusing only on agricultural technique, Duckworth teaches what vocational schooling leaves out; fixing engines and changing tires, welding, cooking, sewing and planting.  If you’re not collecting eggs, you’re repairing fences.  There’s sheering sheep (which I knew you could do) and milking them (which I didn’t).  At Duckworth, if you’re not getting your hands dirty, you’re not living up to your full potential.

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In the spring, there’s weeding and planting and prepping the blueberry fields.  June is plum month.  Blueberries are picked in July.  Pear season starts in August and apples are readied in September.  Winter months involve more weeding and more repairing.

Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

Lorri shared with us an email from a recent WWOOFER who had no experience in farm life until she spent a summer at Duckworth.  “I am now fully prepared for any oncoming zombie apocalypse.” The post read.

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Where the WWOOFERS live

The work here may be never ending.  But it is never boring, and always rewarding.  There are classes about plants and soil and taking care of animals.  But WWOOFERS here also learn about taking care of each other.  And as we wandered the property I realized we were walking the grounds of a communal boot camp for the important things in life.

At days end, we had played with – and learned about – cows, horses, goats and ducks. Snazzy taught us how to harvest, but not before we tried (unsuccessfully) to wrangle sheep.  And gave up – perhaps a little too quickly – at getting anywhere close to catching a chicken.  With nearly 100 acres there’s room for everyone.  Animals and birds, bees and blueberries, WWOOFERS, and those seeking refuge from the wild fires.  Duckworth Farm was accustomed to fighting with a fire for what they do.  This time, they had to fight a fire that threatened who they serve.

At 2:00 am, the first morning of the fire, Lorri’s phone rang.  It was a friend of hers, a local veterinarian:

“I said, “hello”, and she said, “Lorri, is your farm on fire?”  I said, “No”, and she said, “I’m on my way, trailer behind me with the horses.”   I told her I would have the barn ready and be outside waiting for her. We got her horses settled in the barn fairly quickly.”

Her family trailed behind her, bringing along their dog and two cats.  Having lost everything – including their neighbor, who died in his home – they ended up staying on the farm for two weeks, until securing a rental property in nearby Petaluma.  Also staying on the farm was a single mother from Coffee Park in Santa Rosa.  Her and her 7-year-old daughter stayed in the barn until the evacuation order was lifted for their neighborhood.

Left in the fires’ wake was more than a billion dollars in damage.  At least two dozen wineries destroyed.  200,000 acres scorched.  Close to 10,000 homes and businesses gone.  And over 40 people dead.

Too often, we conceive our world to be measured in square feet – the size of our homes.  But when we realize that homesteads are actually measured in miles, new communities are formed.  And community is the foundation of WWOOFING.   The ground of its farms is sacred.  Value is tied to it.  It breathes life and breeds lasting bonds.  On the flight home, we thought about the lessons we’d learned on the farm and in Northern California.  How the dirt beneath us can be devastated, and we can still help change the world.  They grow a lot of things on Duckworth Farm.  But crops of compassion are what they raise best of all.

Cancer Diagnosis Helps Family Grow

The Zrelak family shares their story of how a cancer diagnosis brought them into another family…BASE Camp. A Central Florida Children’s Cancer Foundation, which provides a series of year-round programs for children and families facing the challenge of living with cancer, and other life-threatening related illnesses.

To find out more about BASE Camp click here:

 

Concerned Citizens Take a Stand Against Human Trafficking in Cancun, Mexico

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Human trafficking is the third most lucrative crime on the planet.  Thriving not just in the shadows of third-world countries, but in plain sight in some of the wealthiest nations in the world.

Mexico is the number one supplier of trafficked victims globally.  And Cancun, a city which took in over five million visitors last year, ranks third in the country as a supplier of sex slaves to the United States, Europe, and Canada.  It’s considered a “transient” drop off for victims.

And while human trafficking is a federal crime in Mexico, it’s one that typically goes unpunished for a variety of reasons; corrupt police who look the other way, anti-trafficking laws caught in the tangles of red tape, and journalists who fail to report on the issue.  Either because of confusion of its definition, or fear of exposing the powerful people who continue to profit from it.

But there are those making a difference in Mexico.  Concerned citizens determined to save lives by fighting on the front lines every day.  Making themselves visible so others won’t disappear.

We met four such people while on assignment in Cancun.

Veronica Fajardo 

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Veronica Fajardo

A light rain was falling as we sat in the corner of a small, unremarkable café half-an-hour west of touristy Cancun.   Drinking our lukewarm coffee, we waited for Veronica Farjardo, a local journalist, who despite threats from profiteers and road blocks from her editors, continues to write trafficking and social interest stories for Novedades de Quintana Roo.  We met over the phone the evening before.  The concierge at the hotel helped us contact her newspaper.  And as luck would have it, Mrs. Fajardo answered the phone.

Stepping through the door, Veronica shook her umbrella dry and wiped her feet.  She spotted us immediately and made her way over for proper introductions.

We had a long list of questions.  And before we could start checking the boxes, Veronica began dishing out details in areas we were more than happy to have first-hand knowledge of.   The under-the-radar intricacies of how these crimes continue to thrive; local brothels disguised as massage parlors, and web sites allowing access for those “in the know” to trafficking victims.

“There are fake on-line travel agencies.”  She told us.  “Agencies where you can buy packages and get connected to luxury resorts offering ‘special services.’”

The “special services” she referenced were photobooks.  Catalogs where prospected buyers could browse through a collection of kids’ head shots – some as young as five years old – detailing age, weight, height, and cost.

“Some get passed around to as many as twenty people a day.”  Veronica told us.

She talked about bribery within local law enforcement, and corruption at the highest levels of government.  Trying my best to keep up, I flipped through my notebook in search of blank spaces to take down the details.

“Do you know any victims we can talk to about these things?”  We asked.

Some.”  She answered.  “I just don’t know if they will want to talk to you.  Many are afraid to go on record.  You might have better luck with NGO’s.”

NGO’s are non-governmental organizations.  Typically, nonprofit’s that are independent of governments. They’re usually funded by donations and run by volunteers.  They are grassroots.  They are boots-on-the ground.  And they’re the ones we really wanted to meet.

We finished our coffee and called it a night.  Agreeing to meet the following morning in a government building just around the corner.

“I’ll make some calls and see who we can talk to.”  Veronica promised, as she drove away.

The following morning our taxi dropped us off near the steps of the government building.  We were a half hour early, eager to start our day.  It was nearly 100 degrees, not a cloud in the sky or a hint of any breeze.  So, we stepped into a small patch of shade under the portico of the building and waited on a nearby bench.

Forty-five minutes later…no sign of Veronica.  Our texts, calls, and emails all went unanswered.  Just as we were about to call it quits, our phone rang.

“Sorry I’m late.  I was trying to get us an interview. I’m right here.”      

Breathing a sigh of relief, we looked up to see Veronica with a phone to her ear waving from the entryway.  Joining us on the bench in the shade of the portico, she spent the next ten minutes telling us about all the people she’d reached out to.  None of them willing to talk.

The disappointment was interrupted by a cheerful, musical chime that came from under the bench.  It was Veronica’s phone. Taking it out of her bag, she answered the call and quickly moved to the far corner of the entry way and into the glaring sun.  We tried reading her face for any hint of good news, but she remained expressionless throughout her conversation.

A few minutes later she came back.  “My friend will talk with you.  She runs a shelter.  But we must leave now.”

Squeezing ourselves into a small taxi, we drove through one nondescript neighborhood after another, in search of Veronica’s friend.

Paola Feregrino

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Paola Feregrino

In 2003, Mexican journalist Lydia Cacho wrote a series of articles about the sexual abuse of minors for Por Esto, a daily Mexican newspaper headquartered in the Yucatán.  With a main office in Cancún, and several other bureaus, Por Esto’s circulation was significant.

In one of the articles Cacho featured a story of a girl who came forward accusing a local businessman, Jean Succar Kuri, of abuse.  The following year, believing local police were failing to follow up on the girl’s accusations, Cacho wrote a book; Demons of Eden.  The book not only accused Succar Kuri of being involved in child pornography and prostitution, it named names.  Important names.  Prominent businessmen and high ranking politicians, who Cacho claimed, were protecting Succar Kuri.

Demons of Eden had spread fear to those unaware the crimes existed in their backyard.  And concern to those who were profiting from it.  In 2006, a tape emerged of a conversation between influential businessman Kamel Nacif Borge and Mario Plutarco Marín Torres, the governor of the state of Puebla.  On the tape, the two conspired to have Cacho beaten and raped for her reporting.

Cacho’s efforts to fight against sex trafficking and violence against women has earned her the distinction, according to Amnesty International, of being, Mexico’s most famous investigative journalist and women’s rights advocate.”  Her reporting has made her famous.  It’s also made her a target.  There have been multiple attempts on her life, and the United Nations Human Rights Council advised she leave the country and seek political asylum elsewhere.  But Lydia Cacho fights on.  In Mexico.

One of Cacho’s earliest achievements was the creation of a shelter called, CIAM – El Centro Integral de Atención a las Mujeres (The Integral Center for Women’s Care).  The Cancún-based organization supports women and children who have been victims of violence, and it’s where Veronica set up our first meeting.

“We’re meeting Paola Feregrino. She took over the shelter from her mentor, Lydia Cacho.”  Veronica said, as we climbed out of the taxi and made our way towards a thick concrete door.  Acknowledging herself to the security camera above, Veronica rang the doorbell and waited.  Seconds later, a buzzer sounded signaling our clearance.

Greeting us on the other side was Paola, the shelter’s Executive Director.  Warm, friendly, and just thirty years young, Paola began our tour of the facility.  Her passion for social causes resonating more and more with each story she told us.

At the end of the hallway was Paola’s office.  Opening the door, she invited us in, took a seat behind a small, black desk and began telling us about her work and the things she’s seen.

A good number of our survivors here have been victims of human trafficking.”  She told us.  “When the shelter started, we didn’t even know what human trafficking was.”

Those coming into the battered women’s shelter to escape physical and sexual violence were suddenly telling stories of being sold to perspective buyers.

“We’d never heard anything like this.”  Paola told us.

Majoring in Clinical Psychology, Paola was the first in her family to get a degree.  And despite the constant threat of physical threats, budget cuts and funding challenges, her approach to educating the community on violence prevention remains both creative and innovative.  One program teaches at-risk kids the importance of gender equality and conflict resolution.  While another, a campaign called, “Yo no estoy en venta!” (“I am not for sale”), teaches young kids to become advocates against human trafficking.

“I think I’ve always been an activist.”  She told us, as that familiar ring tone once again chimed from Veronica’s purse.  Taking the call, she stepped outside while Paola continued.  

Lydia Cacho taught me a lot of things…theoretical and technical.  But above all, she taught me how to develop leadership skills.  To help guide a team in unfavorable circumstances. She gave me confidence. I was afraid to become an Executive Director. I still feel afraid sometimes because it’s a big responsibility.  But this is not about me.  It’s about the lives we can save and the steps we can take to build a better world for all of us.”

Veronica came back into the room, dropped the phone into her purse, and smiled.

I found more people to talk to.”  She said, excitedly.  “They’re waiting for us now.” 

Rosa Maria Marquez & Marcos Basilio 

Saying goodbye to Paola, we exchanged emails, promising to keep in touch, and to look for ways to work together in the future.  Jumping into another taxi, our Amazing Race day continued.

“We’re going to see Rosa Maria, a social activist and her lawyer, Marcos.  He’s a commercial and family law attorney.”  Veronica said.

Neither Rosa Maria or Marcos were all that thrilled to sit down with us.  Veronica, a friend of theirs for nearly 20 years had talked them into it.  Promising to be present at the meeting.  Now, nearly ten minutes late, we wondered whether they’d even be there when we arrived.

It was mid-afternoon, and the restaurant was nearly empty.  Except for Rosa Maria and Marcos, who sat at a table in the middle of the restaurant, directly under a slowly rotating fan.

“Traffic!”  Veronica exclaimed, waving in their direction.

We took a seat and ordered a pot of hot tea.  The coolness of the fan was a nice welcome.  As was the greeting from our two new friends.

Rosa Maria started the conversation – taking us back thirty years to when her journey began.  Earning a Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration from UNAM (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México), and a Master’s in Public Administration from American University, Rosa Maria had perfected the profession of a civil society activist.  Today, focusing on the defense and promotion of Human Rights causes, she is a pioneer in group organization and a leader of several causes; women in detention, people with disabilities, HIV positive individuals, and a variety of social causes for both younger and older adults.  She has a full plate.  One, which is refilled daily and without complaint.

Quietly sitting next to her was Marcos Basilio, her attorney, friend, and accompanying activist.  Marcos’s story was just as fascinating.  Having practiced law for the past ten years in Cancun, Marcos has carved a niche for himself representing Guatemalan women and children who are trafficked for labor exploitation, as opposed to sexual abuse.

“Human Trafficking isn’t only about sex.”  Marcos told us, shaking his head.  “People always make that mistake.  It also involves a complex web of other illegal activity.”  He continued.  “There is prostitution and gambling, drugs, organized crime, money laundering, and labor exploitation.”    

What impressed us most was not the stories these four had shared.  Rather, how their passion for justice powers them past their everyday occupations.  Continuously focusing their talents on delivering hope for their country and its citizens.  They work independently, yet each are intrinsically connected.  Intertwined in a cause greater than themselves.

Why would, Marcos, a commercial lawyer care so much about humanitarianism?  What makes someone like Rosa Maria dedicate half her life to do so much for so many?  Why would Veronica continue writing stories of human oppression, despite the threats of violence against her?  Any why would Paola put her life in danger – every day – to protect women and children she doesn’t know?

“Why do you do this?”  I asked each of them.

“Because these stories matter.”

“Because people matter.” 

“We do it…” Paola told us…” because someone has to.”

 

 

 

 


 

Spiderman – Everyday Hero

By

You don’t need Spidey sense to be a superhero.

In “Philips Everyday Hero,” part of an Australian campaign for Royal Philips by Ogilvy & Mather London, a disheveled guy leaps out of bed, consumes a hasty breakfast (in the shower!) and wrestles into a Spider-Man suit before struggling to get across town.

The action is set to an acoustic cover of Paul McCartney and John Lennon’s “Revolution.” It follows Spider-Man through sometimes thankless acts of everyday do-gooding, and concludes with “Make a Wish”-level warmth.

“Inspired by a true story, we tell the story of a window cleaner who dresses as Spider-Man to entertain ill children,” explains Eva Barrett, Philips’ global head of brand advertising. “He believes that cheering them up helps them recover faster: Sometimes laughter is the best medicine. It’s a wonderful example of how empathy and insight into people can make a difference. His ethos reflects ours; we wanted to celebrate it.”

The ad ends with the lines, “At Philips we see healthcare differently. There’s always a way to make life better.” As these words appear, a boy in a hospital gown approaches the window and presses his hand to Spider-Man’s. Other children join him.

Aimed at healthcare professionals, the spot hopes to change brand perception by illustrating how Philips puts people at the heart of its healthcare strategy. In spirit, the work echoes a recent ad by Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, which is recruiting elderly care volunteers by demonstrating that loneliness can’t be assuaged with robots. Like that piece, this ad emphasizes the importance of the human touch amid technological disruption.

“We start with people,” Barrett says. “We want to improve people’s lives through meaningful innovation.”

The campaign includes a 30-second TV spot, out-of-home, digital and social media. Editorial partnerships have been inked with the Australian Financial Review and the Guardian Australia. On “Innovation and You,” Philips’ own storytelling platform, the brand is sharing other true stories like this one (it notably leads with an enormous visual of a man dressed like Elvis).

“Many people have grown up with Philips,” Barrett goes on. “We’re over 120 years old, but most people aren’t aware of the groundbreaking work we’re undertaking in healthcare. We believe in delivering products and solutions that truly put people at the heart of healthcare, and improve patient outcomes. Our ‘Everyday Hero’ campaign shows how we find new ways to make healthcare better.”

Culinary Event Raises $38K for Kids at Second Harvest Food Bank

The 4th annual Field to Feast dinner was held on March 25, 2017 at Long & Scott Farms in Zellwood, Fla. Featuring inventive samplings from Disney’s top chefs.  This year’s lineup included: Chef Dennis Thompson, California Grill; Chef Leonard Thomson, Park Event Operations and Premium Events; Chef Gregg Hannon, Epcot International Flower & Garden Festival; Chef Daniel Sicilia, Jiko-The Cooking Place; Chef Dom Filoni, Citricos; Chef Michael Gonsalves, Artist Point; Chef David Njoroge, Tiffins; and Chef Chocolatier Amanda Lauder, The Ganachery.

f2f-8Field to Feast celebrates locally sourced ingredients with cuisine enjoyed in an open-air setting. The casual dine around f2f-2combines country charm with culinary excellence. New this year: Master Sommelier George Miliotes, who paired each dish with specially selected wines, beers, and cocktails.  Guests enjoyed live music, farm tours, a raffle and more.

Tickets were $175 with 100% of proceeds benefitting the Kids Cafe Program of Second Harvest Food Bank of Central Florida, an after-school meal service program that provides food to needy children in Orange, Seminole, and Osceola counties. The event sold out the last three years.

Field To Feast was presented by Edible Orlando magazine with Walt Disney World Resort as a major sponsor.

Signs, Sounds, & Thoughts From My Experience At The Women’s March in Washington D.C.

One Man’s Story: Why I Marched With Women on Trump’s First Day
By: Dan Beckmann/Orlando Sentinel
25 January 2017 

Last week, rather excitedly, I posted, what I thought was a fairly innocuous tweet; “Heading to D.C. for the March!”  I wrote.  So, I was surprised to read the first response.  Not because it arrived so quickly, I have nearly 10,000 followers.  Rather, because it came from a friend with an ambiguous quip. “Last I checked you were a man…is there something you’re not telling me?”  She wrote.  Surely my well-educated friend could not be so confused to think a Y chromosome would be a disqualification for taking part in a Women’s March?  Nonetheless, there it was.  That comment…hanging like a piñata, just waiting for me to crack it with a great big stick.

So, to my friend who wrote, what I’m sure she thought was a comment in jest, I guess there are some things I haven’t thought to tell you.  Allow me to fill you in on a few of them.

For 15-years, as a cameraman, writer, and producer with NBC News, I sat on the front line of many struggles.  This was the first time I would be at the epicenter of something of this magnitude as a participant.  I knew why I was marching because I had the checked boxes all filled out in my head; women’s rights, minority issues, climate change, education.  All the big ones.  But it wasn’t until I was nestled amongst a sea of pink hats and humanity that I realized why I was really there.  By the way, there were quite a few disqualified Y chromosome people marching with me.

Women, and those with minority voices, have always played crucial roles in my success.  They are too often underrepresented, undermined, and undervalued.  So, from what some might call my “privileged” seat in society, I felt it was even more important for me to walk out my allegiance to them.

I marched because Donald Trump promised to serve all people.  And so far, his immediate circle of influence lacks the diversity to make that possible.  Having him hear our voices from his new home on his first day in office was a great start. Not everyone who needed to be heard could be there, so I was marching for them…and for all the people who’ve made a difference in my life.

I marched for my mom, who as a single parent took odd jobs teaching tennis lessons, tending bar, and fixing lawnmowers.  Always making less than the guy next to her who did the exact same job.  My mom never failed to take a college course and never got a failing grade.  Receiving her doctorate 35 years after taking her first class.

I marched for, and alongside, my friends Kent and Caanan.  Showing up with my support to protect their right to stay married.

I marched for my daughter Lauren, and my friend Tiffany.  Each survivors of sexual assault who now must watch a man who’s bragged about assaulting women lead our country for the next four years.

I marched for those so confused that they now believe in “alternative facts.”

I marched for my friends who lost all hope, and got suckered by a manipulative liar who placed a large bet on their fears and won bigly.

I marched as a reminder to those “who won” that they cannot ignore those who didn’t.  And I marched as a reminder to our representatives in Washington that they are bound by an oath to represent all those in their districts.

I marched to promote a global community of diverse members. The outcry of values and priorities aren’t solely “American issues” with isolated consequences.  Millions of others, on all 7 continents, took part in over 670 solidarity events. Our leader may say, “America First”, but we cannot claim to be “America Only”.

And I marched for that friend of mine, the Twitter commenter.  Apparently, there were some things I didn’t tell you.  I’m glad I told you about them now so we can put down our phones and get to the business of building a brighter future for us all.  And that’s something worth tweeting and re-tweeting about.

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Inspiring Stories To Give You Hope After A Less Than Inspiring Year

 

We thought sharing NPR‘s favorite, most inspiring stories of 2016, would be a nice Christmas present.  Inspiring you to remain hopeful after the (insert catastrophic phrase of your own here) year we just shared together.  These stories certainly helped shape our New Year’s Resolution.  Not gym membership, seeing the doctor more often, or adding more travel commitments (although, we’ll do those things).  But also our determination to raise our voices a little louder…get involved just a little bit more.

So let’s all have ourselves a wonderful holiday season…and get some rest!  We’ve got work to do in 2017.

Merry Christmas and a Happy (Happier) New Year to all of those committed to Just DO Something…Anything! to make a difference.

Sincerely,
JDSA

Clockwise from upper left: Dr. Forster Amponsah; a Malick Sidbe photo taken in Mali; a global garden of radio; Chewa the TB-sniffing rat; another Sidbe photo; Olympic medalist Fu Yuanhui of China; the New Mexico cave where a superhero bacterium lived; poverty fighter Sir Fazle Hasan Abed; calligrapher Sughra Hussainy; activist Loyce Maturu.

Jason Beaubien/NPR, Courtesy of Malick Sidibe and Jack Shainman Gallery, Katherine Streeter for NPR, Maarten Boersema/APOPO, Gabriel Bouys/AFP/Getty Images, Courtesy of Max Wisshak, Courtesy of BRAC, Ben de la Cruz and Toya Sarno Jordan/NPR 

There was no shortage of sad news in 2016.

And because we’re a blog that covers global health and development, we covered a lot of those sobering stories: the toll of diseases like Zika, the bombing of hospitals in conflict zones, the suffering caused by poverty and by discrimination against women.

But we published a lot of hopeful stories as well. We asked our team at Goats and Soda to pick some of the stories from this year that inspired them the most. We hope you’re inspired too.

Of Periods And Bugs

My favorite inspiring story from this year was about the Chinese Olympic swimmer Fu Yuanhui who made headlines for telling the world she was on her period. I love that woman — breaking boundaries and taboos effortlessly.

My favorite story that I wrote was the hero bug story. We forget that to fight antibiotic resistance we need the help of the bacteria. —Michaeleen Doucleff

A Rat With A Nose For TB

My favorite piece on Goats and Soda in 2016 was “Chewa The Lab Rat Has A Great Job, Good Retirement Benefits.” African giant-pouched rats like Chewa are trained to detect TB — and they’re faster and cheaper than lab machines. You can tell from the photos that the lab technicians really love their helper rats. —Malaka Gharib

Unstoppable Women

I love watching the video of Sughra Hussainy creating calligraphy. When she was a kid in Afghanistan, girls couldn’t go to school. That didn’t stand in her way. Today she’s a gifted artist with big dreams: “I just want to work hard at this. And of course, become world famous.”

A favorite story I wrote was an interview with Loyce Maturu, a 24-year-old from Zimbabwe who was an orphan, HIV positive and abused by a relative. And she had TB. And tried to kill herself at a low point. As the headline says, “She almost gave up — but didn’t.” —Marc Silver

Dazzling Doctor

Dr. Forster Amponsah has star power. You can see it as he walks the halls of the Koforidua Regional Hospital in Ghana. Interns’ and patients’ eyes track his movement. Amponsah through sheer force of will and against incredible challenges has built up a surgical department in his public hospital. The surgeries he’s performing would be considered routine in a U.S. hospital but some days in Ghana they appear as small miracles. —Jason Beaubien

Irresistible Radio

Our story about Radio Garden, a website that lets you listen to stations around the world, was my favorite story. Just point your cursor at one of the thousands of green dots on a map of the globe. Listen to talk radio in Uganda, jazz in Morocco and punk rock in Hawaii. It’s a fun way to feel a connection to distant cultures. —Ben de la Cruz

A Photographer And A Poverty Fighter

This one is poignant given the extremism and political violence plaguing Mali, but I felt so uplifted reading Ofeibea Quist-Arcton’s tribute to the late Malian portrait photographer Malick Sidibe. His black and white images from the 1960s and ’70s captured dancing couples, pensive matriarchs and youngsters showing off their grooviest outfits — a reminder of a hopeful time when Mali was newly independent and, as Quist-Arcton put it, “relishing its freedom and having fun.”

One of my favorite interviews was with “the most influential poverty fighter you’ve never heard of” — Sir Fazle Hasan Abed, founder and head of BRAC, the anti-poverty group. BRAC helped pioneer a program that gives extremely poor families an asset like a cow or a goat. It’s an approach that has likely improved the lives of millions. —Nurith Aizenman

Food & Wine Unite To Support Pulse & Orlando LGBT

A group of popular Orlando chefs and hospitality leaders decided to Just DO Something…Anything! by joining together for a barbecue to benefit The LGBT Center of Central Florida (www.thecenterorlando.org). Over 500 people came out to enjoy great food, live music, and a butterfly release and remembrance ceremony in the courtyard. There was no ticket price to attend the event, which ran from 4-8pm at East End Market (eastendmkt.com).

The benefit, Food and Wine Unite Orlando (foodandwineuniteorlando.myevent.com), was organized by chefs Kevin Fonzo of K Restaurant and Jamie McFadden of Cuisiniers Catered Cuisine & Events. After the Pulse Nightclub attack, chefs Kevin and Jamie wanted to give back to the “The Center,” which has helped so many victims’ families and survivors.

100% of the proceeds were donated to The LGBT Center of Central Florida for assistance in rebuilding resources.

Participating Orlando-area restaurants included; Smiling Bison, Hawkers, Swine & Sons, The Rusty Spoon, Chef Tim Keating and Wild Ocean Market, Se7en Bites, The Courtesy Bar, and all of the merchants at East End Market.

Wines were provided by Craft & Estate: a member of The Winebow Group, Tim’s Wine Market, Stacole Fine Wines, Winesellers, LTD., Augustan Wine Imports, and Breakthru Beverage Group.  Sponsors for the event included K Restaurant, Cuisiniers Catering, East End Market, The Boathouse at Disney Springs, Quantum Leap Winery, Breakthru Beverage Group, Overeasy Events, Platinum Parking, Orlando Wedding & Party Rentals, and Linens By the Sea.

 

14 Year-Old Decides to Just DO Something…Anything! About First Aid

From: The Huffington Post

When straight-A student Taylor Rosenthal isn’t in school or playing baseball, he’s busy doing something foreign to most 14-year-olds: He’s running his own successful business.

Rosenthal is a freshman at Opelika High School in Alabama. Last year, while in eighth grade, he was assigned the task of coming up with a business idea for an entrepreneurship class. His pitch went on to win first place.

The teen’s idea? A computerized vending machine that would inexpensively and conveniently dispense first-aid kits.

“Have you ever been to an amusement park and your child falls to the ground and scrapes their knee?” Rosenthal said in the original pitch. “Then, you had to walk all the way to the front of the park to get a Band-Aid?”

Rosenthal told ABC News that the idea for the machine was sparked by his experience playing baseball.

No one could find a Band-Aid when someone got hurt,” he said.

Since the birth of his idea, which he developed with the help of his parents, who both work in the medical profession, Rosenthal has been hurtling toward success. By the end of 2015, he’d developed a working prototype and was granted a patent. His company, RecMed, was also accepted into an incubation program at The Round House Startup Space in Opelika.

According to Kyle Sandler, Rosenthal’s mentor at Round House, the teen was the youngest entrepreneur in the program.

“We had to kick him out of here on Christmas Eve to spend time with his family, and you best believe that every minute of fall break he was here at the Round House,” Sandler told the Opelika-Auburn News. “When he’s not in school or playing baseball, he’s here working on anything from customer discovery to lead generation to where he can put his product.”

In January, Rosenthal won second place in the Techstars competition at the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas. He will be featured this week at TechCrunch Disrupt, a startup conference in New York. He’s reportedly the youngest person ever to present at the event.

To date, Rosenthal has earned a total of $100,000 in investments, CNN Money reported. He’s also turned down a $30 million offer from a “large national healthcare company” for his vending machine idea, though he couldn’t discuss the deal due to a nondisclosure agreement.

“[The company] contacted us and said we feel the idea is worth this, would you like to sit down and talk? It’s his company. He declined because he wants to at least get it started and see how it goes,” Rosenthal’s father, Terry, told the Opelika-Auburn News.

RecMed vending machines stock both prepackaged first-aid kits (which cost between $5.99 and $15.95) for ailments like sunburns, blisters, bee stings and cuts, and individual supplies like Band-Aids, rubber gloves and gauze pads, ranging in price from $6 to $20.

The machines, which are slated to be deployed in the fall, are best suited for “high-traffic areas for kids” like amusement parks, beaches and stadiums, Rosenthal told CNN Money. He’s already received an order for 100 machines from Six Flags.

“It has been amazing watching Taylor grow over the past year into this confident and amazing businessman,” Clarinda Jones, one of Rosenthal’s teachers, told CNN Money. “Even with all of his success, he remains humble and ready to help others. He’s just 14. Bill Gates should be worried.”

The Faine House; A Project of Hope for Central Florida Youth

 

This year in Central Florida, an estimated 400 teenagers in foster care will turn 18, while the state ends its assistance. Without help and guidance many of these kids will face a lifetime of dependency; welfare, jail, and homelessness.

The Faine House, in conjunction with Children’s Home Society of Florida, exists to combat these problems.

Our story above explains why they do what they do, how they do it, and how everyone benefits.

To get involved or learn more about The Faine House click here: https://www.thefainehouse.org

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