Weeding and Research

By Maddy Shaw

October 14 — This week will be my fifth at Mill Creek Farm, and I’m finally starting to feel settled and comfortable. It’s taken me a little while to find my feet because I’m pretty self-directed in my internship, and I’ve had to find my way without a ton of oversight or direction. As one of my supervisors, said in our three-way meeting (an initial check-in where we share our learning goals with our placement supervisors) with my faculty advisor, Deborah, “this is a trial by fire.” Since Mill Creek Farm is a new placement for TPC, my supervisors were not expecting to have an intern this fall until I called them asking for an interview. There is no specific workload for an intern, so my supervisors have had to figure out how to share theirs with me. With good communication, we’re figuring out a little bit at a time how to best use my intern hours.

As it turns out, I couldn’t have come in at a better time. The growing season is winding down, but they’re faced with a heap of administrative tasks during the winter months. The organization’s annual fundraising event is coming up on December 4th (it’s open to anyone, so save the date!), and it requires a huge amount of effort to organize. Then there are grants, strategic planning, and all the other administrative tasks that come with running a non-profit.

I’m glad I’m getting first-hand experience with “the administrative side” — it’s a good reality check, a reminder that there’s more to non-profit work than seeing a laughing kid fascinated by a butterfly in the garden. At least half of my time has been spent working on the fundraiser. This involves calling local businesses and asking for donations of food for the event or items for the silent auction. Glorious, I know. But scrabbling for money is the quintessential non-glamorous part of non-profit work. Lately I’ve been starting to do some grant research, and will likely be writing a grant proposal and an annual report before I leave Philly.

 My favorite part is spending time at the farm: harvesting, weeding, preparing for market, and helping out with the various groups that come to visit and volunteer at the farm. In the short time I’ve been at Mill Creek we’ve had high school students, college students, Mariposa Co-op members doing their work hours, and people newly arrived in Philadelphia hoping to meet people. I love seeing the variety of people who come to the farm and to our bi-weekly markets.

One of the things that I find most compelling about small-scale agriculture, especially in an urban setting, is the strong sense of community that can be created around food production and distribution. On Saturday a woman came by the farm looking for green tomatoes and told us about how she had been raised on a farm in Georgia, where her family had grown and preserved nearly all the food they ate. I love that Mill Creek is an outpost for agriculture in the city, a place where people can reconnect with their farming roots or taste a cherry tomato for the first time. That’s what gets me through the hours of grant research at the Free Library.

Running Not-So-Solo

By Hanna Szabo

They tell us here at The Philadelphia Center to get involved and to actively engage in the city. Admittedly, I’ve had a little bit of trouble trying to decide what to get involved in. Most of the things I like to do are solo endeavors, like reading and running. Fortunately, the City of Brotherly Love (and Sisterly Affection) has something to offer even the most lone of the loners.

This past Sunday, my typically solo running activity became overwhelmingly social when I participated in the AIDS Philly 5K. The AIDS Fund hosts a walking and running event every year (this year was their 25th anniversary) to help raise money for people in Philly who are affected by AIDS. The money goes towards resource programs like counseling.

 I was happy to participate in an event that was not only a ton of fun but incredibly unifying; we were all walking and running to help other people. That day, while we were pounding the pavement and making new friends, we helped add to the $350,000 the AIDS Fund has already raised. What better way to get involved and meet new people?

Needless to say, I’m planning on running another 5K soon!

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane

By elena

 I sort of took this architecture class at TPC as a joke.

I mean, let me rephrase that. I have to fulfill a general education requirement for Hope for art history, and TPC had a course that (I hoped) would fill that requirement. The only problem was that the three other people in my class were art majors, people who had taken art classes (voluntarily!) after the ones that were forced upon in high school. Bowl of fruit, you’re still the bane of my existence!

But faced with these peers that clearly knew much more than I did, I was 80% sure the teacher would dismiss my ignorance (“You don’t know the Palladian style? Psha! Sit in that corner, foolish pupil!”) and focus instead on the budding young architects and designers, filling their heads with the knowledge of the Greeks and Romans. I could not have been more wrong. 

Not only did my professor not care about the fact that I was an art/architecture novice, he gave us creative projects that played to my strengths (writing! building…things!) as a communications major. He never laughed that I didn’t know these things, but like a good professor explained their backstory in such a fascinating way that I know I will never forget them. He had such a wealth of knowledge about the buildings I walk by every day on my way to work, to the center, to buy shoes at KMart (hey, a girl’s gotta’ be thrifty).

I never really looked at buildings. I mean, sure, I appreciate a good Eiffel Tower, or Statue of Liberty, or CN Tower, but who doesn’t? We were programmed as kids to appreciate these massive architectural landmarks because they hold a special place in history. The thing is, I never asked why they looked like that, or how the culture of the time informed the style and structure of the building. I never knew there were three kinds of colonial buildings. I never knew that Frank Lloyd Wright didn’t start a style, but rather he has made famous the style of art moderne, popular in the 1930’s. He made me think about the things that I take for granted.

Now, walking through the city is always a pleasure. I can point out the different styles (“it has a rounded arch, it’s neo-classical and romanesque!”) and know how, when and why they were made that way. No longer do I have my head buried in the sidewalk, zoning out to the next song on my iPod and wishing I could get home faster. Walking in the city is a pleasure, because I’ve discovered there’s history everywhere, all around. Not stuffy museum history, full of dates and facts I have no intention of memorizing, but living, breathing history; history that contains H&Ms, and Liberty Place Malls, and even CVS’s. History that is constantly evolving, growing, reaching towards the skyline and daring to move beyond it.

 

So next time, look up. Look at the buildings around you, whispering their stories. In this world of rushing around and around, slow down. Look up. Maybe they’ll teach you something you didn’t know before.

Balancing Act

By Allie

Balance is a peculiar thing.  It’s hard to find.  It requires deliberate practice.  And it can be lost so quickly.  I’ve never been great at balance, but I’ve discovered here in Philly that balance is crucial.  In the last few weeks, I’ve had to intentionally seek it out in my day-to-day life.

Monday through Thursday, I intern at a safe haven shelter for men.  I mostly work alongside the case managers, as well as just hanging out with the residents. The residents and staff at the house are wonderful, and I feel comfortable and welcome at work.  However, most of the residents struggle with mental illness, and many have active addictions, so it can be difficult and chaotic at times.  By Thursday, I’m tired.  Not physically tired, but worn-out emotionally. 

On top of that, I have homework for two classes.  I read at least two hundred pages a week, plus movies for my film and fiction class, plus writing journals, reflections, and papers.  Two days a week I have class, at least three hours each.  Each day, I walk 30 minutes to work and 30 minutes home.  Then there’s grocery shopping, cooking, hanging out with friends, exploring the city, etc.

Around week four or five, I started to feel really overwhelmed.  I wasn’t getting enough sleep, and I constantly felt like I was playing catch-up.  So I decided to seek balance.  For the last two weeks, I’ve been forcing myself to do homework for two hours each evening during the week.  I never have to cram the night before class anymore.  I go to bed early enough to get at least 7 hours of sleep each night.  When I’m tired, I sleep.  When I’m hungry, I eat.  When work has me tired and worn out, I spend time goofing around with Morgan (my housemate), or we go for a walk around a new part of the city and adventure.

Now that I’ve found greater balance in my life, I find myself enjoying myself more.  I’m rarely entirely exhausted, and each day feels fresher and more exciting.  It’s easier for me to enjoy all of the amazing opportunities here in Philly when I’m well rested and not stressed out.  The hard thing about balance, though, is that it takes constant effort.

Handcuffs and Sunshine

By Faith A. DeVries

One of the best parts about TPC is the idea of experiential learning.  A big part of my seminar Urban Political and Social Systems, Issues and Practices is being able to go out into the city and experience firsthand what we are reading and discussing in the classroom.  Our most recent experience was a trip to one of Philadelphia’s correctional facilities CFCF.   In preparation for the day, we read several articles that highlighted the concerns and conditions of prisons and corrections systems.  One article in particular questioned the effectiveness of prisons.  What will those in the future think of how we have dealt with crime?  Will prisons seem as barbaric as the guillotine or tarring does to us?  Some may find this absurd, but it is definitely a question worth asking.  80% of those being held in CFCF have not been convicted of any crime.  In the eyes of the law they are still innocent, yet they are being treated the same as those that have been convicted.  This leads to questions of how to change the ideas we have of imprisonment.  When a large portion of those incarcerated have been charged with non-violent drug offenses, what good is it to lock them up when we could be helping them?  So, it is with these thoughts in mind that we handed over our ID’s, stepped through the metal detector and entered a world of constant surveillance. 

Having worked in the county jail in my hometown, this new world had a vague sense of familiarity.  A jail is not exactly a place of hope or happiness; instead there are heavy feelings of anger, frustration, and sadness.  It was difficult to see the confined spaces and not so tasty foods that thousands of people have to live with every day.  I can hardly imagine what it would be like to live a week there let alone years.  The only sunlight came through a small mesh roof and time outside was limited to one hour.  With all their needs met within this enclosed space, these inmates had plenty of time to think about the crimes that they may or may not have committed. 

As we exited the facility, an overwhelming sense of relief came over the group.  We were free.  It had been roughly three hours and we were already feeling the heaviness of being behind bars.  Now we can go back to our homes and our friends and our family.  We can return to our lives and continue our evenings as planned.  However, the question still remains.  What does the future hold for our system of punishment and what will our role be in maintaining or changing it? It is up to us and I hope for the sake of those that follow us that we choose the right path.

A Day in the Life (of a Reporter)

By Brooke McDonald

It always begins with a cup of coffee at the red table in my Chinatown kitchen. Maybe an egg, some yogurt and blueberries. I read a Proverb and a chapter of Acts, put on a pencil skirt and a cardigan. September and October in Philadelphia have been awesome skirt/flats/blouse weather, so even though my office is over-air-conditioned (like most), I’m milking the Indian summer for all its worth. Before I leave for work, I always check The Legal’s website if I’m supposed to be published that day, cause it’s sort of thrilling to see your article up.

Then,it’s a twenty-minute walk to work with my housemate Jackie through Chinatown, past Reading Terminal Market, into Center City. I drop her off at her internship in the Mayor’s Office of Faith-Based Initiatives and scurry two more blocks to my building, a towering, ornate bronze building with like six entrances. It’s always swarming with men in suits and women in dresses at 9:00 when I stroll in. I scan my ID badge at the security desk and take the elevator to the 17^th floor.

The Legal Intelligencer is in suite 1750, and it’s quiet at 9 a.m. Shaped like a “U,” I follow the “U” to the right past the break room, past shelves of old publications, newspapers, and books about law, to my cubicle.

It’s not very cute, but I have highlighters and pens and a computer and two phones (yes, two phones). Most people have a plant or a calendar – I need to get on that.

Usually I’m settled in my spinny chair before Jeff, the Delaware Law Weekly reporter who sits across from me and answers my questions about trials and judicial elections and whether or not I should call someone back for comment if I called them two days ago. Jeff is great – he tells me all about the Delaware beat and prints his articles off for me to copyedit (usually I don’t understand the cases very well. But I am the master grammarian!)

Note: At the Legal, I am a “reporter,” not an “intern.” I’ve been told no one will take me seriously otherwise.

Note #2: The woman who hired me – Jaime, my first supervisor – got another job and left two weeks after I started. Then Gina, my new supervisor, got married and went to Italy and Greece on a two-week honeymoon… so in a sense, I’ve supervised myself… or you could say all the reporters (Ben, Amaris, Jeff, and Zach) supervise me because they assign me stories and check in to see how I’m doing and answer questions. (They’re really great.)

From 9 to 5, here’s what I do:

• Work on “Verdicts and Settlements” for Pennsylvania Law Weekly, which comes out every Tuesday with The Legal Intelligencer . Writing a verdict or settlement story involves phone interviews with attorneys, reading trial briefs, and asking Reporter Ben – the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, and a great, easy-going reporter – lots of silly little questions because I’m still learning the legal jargon. It’s fun.
• Write little feature stories or case stories. This usually involves reading press releases, doing Internet research, and interviewing key people who know something about the subject (law professors, attorneys, judges, etc.). I’m slowly getting better at phone interviews.
• Update The Legal’s photo directory of people associated with law in PA, which involves calling and emailing to ask lawyers and judges for new pictures.
• Work on updating information for The Legal’s Annual Report on the Law Profession (I did this a few weeks ago… now it’s pretty much finished)
• Eat lunch at my desk.
• Talk to the reporters…eavesdrop on their conversations… eavesdrop on their phone interviews.
• Drink lots of coffee. The reporters have a shared coffeemaker, and they brew a pot every day

Sometimes I feel anything but intelligent at The Legal Intelligencer. I’ve taken NO law or politics classes at Hope. My first day on the job, I had to look up “plaintiff” and “defendant” on Wikipedia… it was that bad.

But on my desk is a pink journal, where I keep track of new words and phrases, reporting tips, and AP style reminders. There’s a lot to learn, but I’m catching on.

All in all, I’ve enjoyed the experience of being a reporter without a stringent deadline (I have deadlines, but I always have plenty of time to get my articles done) and getting published in a respectable newspaper.

Honeymoon’s Over and It’s All Good

By Sarah Ashcroft

Yes, you read that last week was my birthday — but what wasn’t shared was something that reinforced why I am here and why I am a teacher. My Friday afternoons are fairly relaxed at school. I eat a late lunch, and then basically have a free afternoon to plan.  Last Friday my cooperating teacher hands me a ream of computer paper and a stack of music. His directions: “Go photocopy these. I need 75 copies and they need to separated and stapled.” I have no problem with photocopying music, but I was in the middle of a lesson plan and somewhat…upset. I grumble all the way up to the fourth floor and deal with the giant machine of doom. After sorting, stapling, and complaining, I grabbed my neatly organized piles and headed down to my classroom. To my horror, the doors were closed.

Rule #1: Never leave your personal belongings unattended in an urban school.
Rule #2: The doors must always stay open.

I was petrified. I yanked the double doors open only to hear, “SURPRISE!” Yes, I thought I was going to lose it — switching emotions quickly has never been an easy task for me. About 20 of my students had decorated the classroom, made cake, and gave me a birthday card and a few present. We were to have a celebration. It was so rewarding!! That was the perfect ending to Week 7.

We are starting Week 8 at The Philadelphia Center. In other words: We are about halfway through the program. When did this happen? My first week here my roommate Claire and I would purposefully cross the street on a sunny day to the side with the most shade. Now, it’s dark by dinner time. Eight weeks ago I was stuffing ice into the folds of my hair for relief from the hot, hot Philadelphia nights. Last night I closed the windows and slept buried under my blankets. The early weeks in Philly consisted of trying out new foods and testing out the streets. In my first post I talked about find my click within the city and what I was going to bring to this wonderful place. Well, I am definitely bringing it.

Just a few days ago I was sitting across the room from Claire and she pouted and announced that she was “having a bad day.” It hadn’t occurred to me yet, but I didn’t realize that we could actually have a bad day revolving around our actual day. Our first month here a “bad” day consisted of me stubbing my toe on the uneven floor in my kitchen. At this point in the semester, everyone is heavily involved with their internships, and we have been working hard to finish assignments for class, managing an efficient schedule, and learning the ins and outs of our placements. This setting is challenging and offers a lot of reflection.

A birthday week seems almost impossible to ruin, and I can proudly say that my week was pretty great. Now let’s reflect on last Wednesday, also known as the worst choir rehearsal that I have had so far with my students. The whole day had gone incredibly well and then I had my middle school choir. They always adore my warm-ups, but the one song I am conducting seems to be the most unpopular choice among the middle school students. The honeymoon phase is over… every day doesn’t smells like roses and daisies, and I can now go home incredibly upset after hard day. I mean, I actually was angry with the attitudes of my students — but then I laughed. I feel comfortable enough with my class that I could actually become irritated with their behavior. I haven’t quite figured out how to share my love for this piece with my student yet, but give it time. The students now see me as a teacher-figure. I am now someone they look up to and respect. We have established a sincere relationship. In other words: I can be disappointed when they choose not to meet their personal expectations.

It’s a good sign, having a bad day. We are starting to think of Philadelphia as home. We have joys and struggles throughout the week. We are no longer blinded by the infatuation of the city. We are building lives and relationships, and it’s one of the best feelings ever.

One Big Party

By Maddy Shaw

There is something about being a young, working professional in a large east-coast city that really to epitomizes the “fast-paced city life” cliche. There are so many things to do, and in order to experience everything we want to, we have to work at a faster pace. I still find that there is no “normal” week, because each week is characterized by a special or unusual event. This week Mill Creek Farm, the non-profit organization I work for, had a film screening fundraiser at Vox Populi. We screened a short documentary about our organization and another film called What’s Organic About Organic. We had a great turn-out and raised a good chunk of money for the organization. We’re also having a big fundraiser on December 4th, which I am doing a lot of planning for. Ah, the glamour of the non-profit world…

I left the screening and biked through Chinatown, right into the night market! It is hosted by The Food Trust, which is a nutrition and food access initiative in Philly. Yes, more fodder for my food-geekiness. Several streets in Chinatown were blocked off and lined with food trucks and tents selling everything from steamed shrimp dumplings to oxtail and collard greens to gourmet cupcakes. I couldn’t stop smiling the whole time. I met up with Becca and Sam who live in Chinatown, and we got bubble tea and roamed the streets. Only in a big city like Philly do you get a bunch of people walking around in the streets late at night gorging themselves on every kind of food imaginable. It is times like these when the city feels like one big party. 

Even at our apartment, the party continues. Today our downstairs neighbor Ahmad, a student from Saudi Arabia who goes to Penn, invited us over for a late lunch. He made Kabsa, a chicken and rice dish, plus a chocolate cake for dessert. If you’ve ever been to the Middle East, you know that Arab hospitality is completely different than what you typically experience in the US. When you go to someone’s house as a guest you are served tea, food, narguile (also known as shisha or hookah, a tobacco water pipe), more tea, more food… Guests are not allowed to wash dishes. As a US-American this makes me feel a little uncomfortable, because I’m so used to helping out with meal preparation and clean-up, especially among friends. But I relaxed and accepted Ahmad’s generosity, and enjoyed joking with him, his friends (students from Saudi Arabia and Dubai), and my housemates. This is a unique and beautiful thing about large cities: you can have so many diverse experiences within a relatively small geographic space. So far that is my favorite part of city living in Philly.

Contrast that with right now: I am sitting in my apartment alone, which may sound lame, but is actually a rare moment of peace and personal time that I don’t often get around here. I love that there is always something new and fun to do, but I also need to recognize my need for alone time. Today while I was doing homework in the park I met T., a recovering alcoholic who gave me some pretty sound advice, “the first thing you gotta do is be good with yourself”. Never underestimate the power of strangers in the park to tell you exactly what you need to hear.

OCCUPIED

by Penny

As Allie mentioned — Philly has been OCCUPIED, and thus, so has The Philadelphia Center, ripe with varying opinions and perspectives. In a program with students working in areas ranging from wealth management to law enforcement to sex work and disenfranchisement, and with students who identify as Socialists, Republicans, Anarchists, etc. you can imagine the degrees of responses. I, for one, ran into the first day of OCCUPY Philly and was overwhelming impressed by how quickly they organized — it was already filled with people, signs, and stations (for food, medical assistance, even DAYCARE).

The next day I made my way to New York to spend some time on Wall Street, which has a few more weeks under its belt, and has become a community of dialogue, accountability, and supply exchange. They even asked us NOT TO BRING FOOD — all the pizza places around have been delivering to them, as has Katz’s deli! Diana tells me a group of Marines are headed down, allied with the protestors, to deflect police violence, and the Public Transit union has joined the protestors as well.

 I arrived back in Philly to find that OUR Occupation has grown tremendously. City Hall is chock full of tents – and the services have developed as well. Now there are set meal times, and workshops, discussions, and trainings going on all day. They have an ever-growing library, General Assemblies at least once a day to determine future plans and actions, and address any problems in the occupation community, snack tables, direct actions tables… Tomorrow, I’m getting trained as a street medic. I am inexplicably moved by peoples’ ability to do what we’ve been told we never could — gather across race, class, age, gender lines, and voice our discontent at the stratifications that have been institutionalized. While the Occupations are often criticized for their decentralized goals, many are simply calling them ‘a cry for help,’ and for once everyone, no matter their politics, are taking notice.

Home Cookin’

By elena

The first thing I stopped noticing about Philly were the smells. The city definitely has an aroma, sometimes delicious (like walking by Chinatown and it always smelling of noodles) and sometimes not so delicious (like walking by fish markets on trash day), but it’s there. One weekend I went to visit one of my friends at Penn State, and when I came back to Philly I was totally surprised at the smells I had grown so accustomed to…like the dusty construction smell that the Spring Garden subway exit has, or the way our apartment always smells like cupcakes (thanks, Bath and Body Works candles!). Some people may say it smells “dirty” or like trash, but I prefer to think of it as having a lived-in smell. New cars don’t keep that new car smell forever, just like cities don’t keep that new colonial smell forever. I like to think the funky weird smells (and the beautiful ones) give a city its character, and Philly has character to spare.

A big part of living in Philly is discovering the spaces in the city that feel like home, or at least remind a person of home. I’m still searching for the perfect college coffee shop (you definitely know the one, with comfy chairs, free wi-fi and crunchy indie baristas), but there are a couple of places that I feel at home in. One of those places is the Red King restaurant, on Race Street between 9^th & 10^th. Earlier in the semester, my roommate Jess and I went to get our house keys copied, and wandered through the streets of Chinatown. Not only are they colorful, but like I said before, the smells are heavenly. It’s a test in willpower to walk through Chinatown and not stop in to buy food. We caved in to our growling stomachs, though, and on a whim stopped into this little restaurant. It has Chinese lettering on its sign, so we didn’t even know the name of the restaurant at first. The restaurant is owned by a Chinese family, and it’s not uncommon to see all the daughters and cousins in the family helping to cook, or just watching television in the restaurant.

The TV is always tuned to a channel broadcasting from China. There are variety shows, and a dating show, but there’s so much that’s lost in (no) translation that Jess and I have a blast trying to figure out what’s going on. Sometimes the waitress helps to explain some of the programs, but mostly it’s just fun to be engrossed in a different culture for a couple of hours. Red King also has the best Chinese food in the city. I know that’s a bold claim, but I’m standing my ground. Everything is seasoned and cooked to perfection, and once Jess and I are done eating there we never feel like the food was too greasy or overcooked. Instead of grabbing Chinese food at Reading Terminal, just head up a couple of streets and check out Red King. It’s one of my favorite places in the city, and it really feels like home.