daisy writing21 Years

Daisy’s Story

“For the first time, I finally feel it’s over. This is the first time in 21 years that, inside of me, I know it’s done.”   

I’ve always thought, “Well, he’s gonna get better, he’s going to change, but he’s not going to change. I know this now.  

Since arriving at GreenHouse17 and being safe, it’s my apartment that has brought me the greatest joy. It’s mine. Everything in it belongs to me. On my first night, I sat on my air mattress and looked around and saw that finally this is mine.  

Now, I can have friends. That’s something I’ve not really had in the past. I would have a few girlfriends, but it would always turn into them hating him, and then trying to help me to leave him, and me not being ready to go.  

They asked me all the time, “Well, why don’t you just leave?” Even now, I don’t know. That’s a hard question to ask someone in that sort of relationship. They financially cripple you. Your self-worth is non-existent. There just isn’t any.  

The farm program here was a wonderful thing for me. Many mornings, we would sit there picking beans and just talking and getting it out. The farm is like meditation in a physical form. I loved it.  

When cutting the flowers, I once broke one, and I was devastated. Christina [farm co-manager] said, “Just throw it down, and give it back to the earth.” She convinced me to give it back to nature, and this was one of the best lessons I’ve ever learned in the garden.  

I see myself as self-sufficient, on my own, and strong when looking into the future. I don’t want anything grand like a mansion or Porsche. I just want to be and enjoy the flowers.  

This is only part of Daisy’s story, in her own words, and shared with her permission.     

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21 Years

Cereal Conversations in Shelter

By Ryan Koch, Program Manager

I’m in the dining room at shelter with one of the newer residents. He is five.  He is navigating his cereal, and we are having a conversation. His favorite color is blue. And green. And pink and purple. He does like riding bikes. He does not like being a little brother.

His mom is nearby and she smiles at him. My neighbor gets a little serious. Then he says this: “Wuv you.”

“What, baby?” not sure what he is saying.
“Wuv you.”
“Oh. Oh. Yea—I love you too.”

In our hoop houses, under plastic, protected from the cold wind and the winter rain, young spinach and kale plants are thriving. Seeds germinate and plants grow whenever the conditions are right for growth. Growth is innate. Dark green leaves announce to the world, I am here, ready to perform the magic of turning sunlight into something nourishing. Here is a deep and timeless affirmation of life in weak winter sun.

And when children feel safe and cared for, they grow too. My young neighbor has been through a lot. He has seen a lot. It doesn’t all make sense to him. But now he and his mom are in a safe place and they are healing.

We humans are predisposed to growth and to love. We do this whenever something in us recognizes that the conditions are right. We catch ourselves in a safe place and we announce, each in our own way,

I am here.
I am growing.
I feel loved, even in a dark season.

Let it be so in all our lives today.

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