See it in
ACTION
Hear from some people who have gotten their hands dirty: How are gardens making a difference?
Peace Meal is also a member of the Growing Warriors, an organization that supports veterans in their transition home by teaching them and their families how to operate a sustainable garden. Since my father is a veteran and farmer I took interest into this program, but never would have expected to be impacted so much by the kind gesture. The families have gone months to years without a loved one trying to live a half filled home. The void of having a member of the family in war is immense, and Peace Meal is fighting the void. By bringing the families together and teaching them valuable skills, they bond and are able to recover. It is a truly kind act which is helping our veterans and spreading the important message of sustainability in food culture. The veteran's program has a personal connection with me, and the experience of working with the people at Peace Meal is riveting.
Whether we are pulling weeds, planting, or cleaning up, the social interactions while working are immense. Peace Meal brings in people, recently international citizens new to Lexington, from all over who are unable to access proper food, or are in a difficult fiscal situation. The concept is touching, trying to teach those who have gone without for so many years. The act of working alongside them is even better. The jobs are always different, but sometimes the task allows for small conversation. These small conversations have truly given me a new perspective on the way I interact with strangers. The most memorable moment was when I was planting bulbs with a few others, and we talked about an assortment of topics, such as how our lives were going, our life history, and how we all came to the garden. I often found that each person could relate in some way despite never really knowing the person next to them. Every time I head over to Peace Meal it is always a thrill to see new faces and know that I will get to embark on an experience to learn more about them as I help them.
From the Growing Warriors to helping those in need, Peace Meal has been a positive note in my time at UK. Dr. G has created a way in which food and gardening can bring people together and create a culture of love, kindness, and sharing. When it comes time to end each day at Peace Meal, I reflect on the work done that day, the people helped, and the culture of food security I have helped maintain-- at least for the next visit.
Weston Owen on his experience Volunteering at Peace Meal Gardens
The past weeks have allowed me to participate at the local community garden—Peace Meal Gardens. I had heard about the 2.5 acre garden from a community member tied to Peace Meal, so I decided to give the garden a try. Coming from a rural community, gardening has always been a part of my lifestyle. After a few visits I immediately became attached to the friendly environment; however, the social interactions and goals of the garden have brought me an emotional connection to the place.
The co-ed service fraternity APO (Alpha Phi Omega) got me involved in the work with Peace Meal. UK contains many organizations which are actively involved and supported by the university to help increase support for the gardens. Many UK students are getting involved in Peace Meal; however, to gain a better insight on their mission some background on the garden is necessary.
The Peace Meal Gardens were created and run by Dr. Rebecca Glasscock, a geography professor at BCTC, and environment enthusiasts. Simply known as Dr. G,she operates the gardens and is amazing to work with. Her efforts have allowed the gardens to grow and expand beyond 2.5 acres. The gardens have been very successful and continue to draw in volunteers each year.
Samuel Wycoff on his Experiences in the Paul Laurence Dunbar Memorial Garden
During my time at Paul Laurence Dunbar High School in Lexington, Kentucky, I received the opportunity to volunteer at the Dunbar Memorial Garden on multiple occasions. At first, it was only to fulfill a credit for beta club; I expected to pull some weeds and leave as soon as I could. And I did. I figured the work was easy and a quick way to get credit. So I kept coming back. I’d pull weeds, eat a snack, and go home and take a nap. For a while it was routine, but then one event changed my whole perspective.
There is a plaque near the center of the garden, and I happened across it one day when switching gloves. Up until then it had never occurred to me why our school’s garden had the word “memorial” in its name. That was simply what it was called. I accepted it and moved on to my history test. But the plaque always stood there and one day I decided to give it a read.
The Dunbar Memorial Garden is dedicated to a number of Dunbar students who passed away. Their names and faces were always unknown to me, remnants of some chapter of Dunbar’s history I never bothered to read. I had been content in never knowing they existed. But there I stood, still gloveless, with the bronzed names of deceased students staring right at me. No amount of apathy could save me now. Their stories and histories poured into me. The names became people. One of the volunteer leaders noticed me, and I asked him about the sign. He gave me a big grin and told me all about his son, Jesse. We talked for a long while, and by the time we remembered the work we were supposed to be doing, it was time for a break. So we continued our talking over cool lemonade.
From then on, my work at the garden took on a separate meaning. With every weed I pulled, it was like I was polishing their memory. I kept coming back, and kept learning more about the names on the sign and the people who tended the garden. Before long, I was a part of the community of the garden. I knew all of the regulars by name, and I helped welcome the newbies. Most of the plants in the garden I could call by name, or at least take a reasonable guess at. And most of the time, the person I was speaking to didn’t know better anyway. It felt good. I was a part of something. I was helping to create something beautiful. Something significant.
Many times, I would read and reread that plaque, and think of the first time I ever had, remembering how the felt the first time. I was in a rather dingy garden, reading a dulled down plaque, next to benches with faded paint, and my entire perspective on life had been switched. By reading the plaque, by listening to their story, I joined another community. All of the names on the plaque continued to live on in the garden. Their voices could still be heard. And strangers like me give them an audience when we take the time to notice things like a small plaque in a little garden behind a high school.
