I am intrigued by urban farming. The idea of sustainable farms set up in abandoned and blighted areas seems like a really good use of land that no one is interested in. From strictly plant farms to plant-and-fowl farms to fish/water/plant setups, it’s a chance to heal the land and increase property value. In all honesty, my interest hasn’t reached obsession level yet because I’d have to put my hands in dirt.

I have real concerns, too. What happens to pollution in the ground from nearby factories, auto repair shops, runoff, and whatever’s left down there from the buildings that used to stand where you’re growing? How much of that will end up in the food that grows there? How much will the plant be able to break down? Will it be safe to eat? Will any surplus be safe to sell or donate to those in need? When I’ve poked around on ye olde internets, I’ve seen similar concerns, especially about the urban farming movement in Detroit, but I haven’t seen consensus on any kind of answers. (If they’re there, and I just missed them, kindly point me in the right direction in the comments.)

Why do I bring this up? Well, I’m a friend of the proprietors of Serenity Acres Now (seriously, go buy their eggs) who have set up a farm from scratch, though not in an urban environment. And then there’s Peter. Over the years he, his roommates, his significant other, and his mother in law have all attempted to farm his rather expansive side yard. They’ve all had quite a bit of success, but have been limited by how swampy the land is. He got involved with one of the local community gardens, and has great success growing things there, as well as connecting with those involved.

Since he was involved in both at the same time, there’s always something heading to the compost because it didn’t get eaten or canned quite in time. And yet, Peter being Peter, he wanted to go bigger. He contacted the Ingham County Land Bank, and jumped through some application hoops. He is now leasing a triple lot that has been missing its three houses for over a year. Did you know that city waste collection departments will come and dump yard waste that they’ve collected in mountainous piles on your land? I had no idea. They don’t have to store it, and you get free compost after fall rains, winter snows, and spring thaw. Win-win, as they say. As Peter, his kids, and Hunter worked to spread the proto-compost over the property, he challenged me with coming up with a name for his farm. Two rules: it had to end in Farm, to differentiate it from Learning Leaves (which he calls “the garden”), and it had to be able to go on the sign on the property without getting him lynched.

It took a couple of days of percolating, but I came up with something. I presented it to him like this:

“Peter, I’ve come up with a name.

“For the farm?”

“Yes, but it’s terrible, and you should definitely not use it.”

“Okaaaay…”

“I only thought of it because I’ve always wanted to see WTF on a sign. It’s What The Farm.”

“Sounds good. I think I’ll use it.”

“Wait, no, I said you should definitely not use it.”

“Exactly!”

So was born What The Farm. Since these pics were taken, four or five more piles of yard waste have been dumped and spread. Michigan weather will do the rest, and Peter’s got a list of “seeds and whatnot” to gather for planting in the spring. Looks like my questions will be answered first hand.

While this is a little late, the photos were taken way before the holiday. It balances out in my head, just sayin’.

While on a walk with Nikki and Cian, we stopped at the Michigan Vietnam Monument Project just east of the Hall of Justice. (In Michigan, even the Super Friends get foreclosed on.)  The atmosphere was tranquil, and as it was a holiday, we had the entire monument to ourselves. I thought over and over that this is something that I should show my father.

The artistry of the architecture struck me. It seems simple and geometric, but much of it is actually suspended above the ground. I couldn’t help but remember my instructions, both in Safety Patrol and the Boy Scouts, that the American Flag never touch the ground when the colors are being raised or lowered. These plaques were afforded the same respect, much as our veterans deserve.

The rest of the plaza was empty and expansive. I thought that it might be meant for future expansion and added plaques, or it might be left for those that we will never be able to properly bury. It might be meant to remind us of those that will never be able to properly come home. The tile set this section apart from the plaques, which hover above concrete. Perhaps this is more meant for many to gather and remember, and to give thanks.

Closest to the Hall of Justice was a miniature rendering of the monument, complete with metal pages engraved with details about the project, if I remember correctly. The entire area struck me as a testament to what we can do when we decide to do something.

These mental meanderings were inspired by this post over at City Saunter.

I love Lansing. If we’ve ever spoken before, that’s probably not a surprise. I also love Detroit, though it’s necessarily a long-distance relationship. I love Flint in the same way. It doesn’t hurt that I was born there.

I live in Lansing, and as we continue to jump through the hoops of shopping for and buying a home, I put a great amount of import on living within the city’s borders. Lansing Township, Delta Township, East Lansing, Okemos, Holt, Mason, Dimondale, Dewitt… all nice places to live, I’m sure, but they’re not Lansing. I have lived in the area since 1995 (with a one-year break in Ypsilanti) when I moved from Shelby Township to attend MSU. I’m hoping to live here at least until all of my kids have graduated high school, and moved on to their own lives.

My cheerleading for this city has been met with groans and eye-rolls from many of my friends and family. I tend to get that response when I get passionate about things. Urban sprawl, public transportation, 24-hour diners, and Transformers are all on that list. Ariniko mentions campiness when jumping onto the #lovelansing bandwagon, and that struck a chord. Caring about things, normal everyday things that we see every day, feels campy, and gets the eye-rolls and the groans.

I think I need to be more campy. I think I should shoot for the groan and the eye-roll. I want to feel no embarrassment as I unabashedly enjoy living in Lansng. I want to utterly devastate the place-hate that seems so pervasive in the places I’ve lived in Michigan. When people say that Lansing sucks, I want to grab them by the collar and shout, “For god’s sake, have you EATEN here?!”

I should do that, without the grabbing bit, because that’s assault. In fact, I should ask all kinds of questions! “Have you sat by the Grand River on a nice day? The Red Cedar? Have you strolled around MSU campus, ogling the scenery? (Read that one however you’d like.) Have you gone to Zap Zone or a Lugnuts game or a concert at the Breslin Center or a play at the Wharton or a convention at the Lansing Center? Have you seen a local band at Macs or listened to the blues at the Green Door? The coffee is as plentiful as water in this town, and it is roasted right here! Have you never partaken of the Paramount bean?”

If you’re bored in Lansing, it’s because you’re not looking. If you think that Lansing sucks, let me prove you wrong. Ask me for something to do, some place to eat, where to get a dose of culture, who to contact to get active politically, whatever floats your boat. Unless you’re a sad sack that’s determined to be unhappy, I bet I can find you something to love in Lansing.

#lovelansing ftw.