Northwest Farm Fest

It has been a busy week and hard to find time to write this post. 

I did quite a bit of work with the Germantown Clergy Initiative – my first shift welcoming students outside of Germantown High School and half a day visiting upper-class English rooms recruiting students for our weekly men’s mentoring group.  I did my last two required hours of work at the Weaver’s Way farm and our family now qualifies for a 5% discount on all our purchases there.  I helped my friend JoAnn Seaver replace rotted wooden handles on her wheelbarrow.  It was such a joy to see her literally dancing around her garden pushing the grey barrow with its shining new red handles.  Well worth the $25 in parts and a few hours sweat labor.

Last night Grace returned home from college for the first time and is settling into the kids room in the new apartment.  Rebecca is on the train and arrives tonight. 

This morning I think I got a really good deal off of Craigslist for a used bike.  I’ve been looking for a long time, searching for something decent under $100, not too far away to go buy, and as best as I can tell not stolen and being laundered on the internet.

I am sure that the bike is not stolen – I talked to the seller, go his name, his home and cell phone, arranged to pick it up at his office.  The bike was his wife’s and she is just not riding it at all.  So it is a Huffy, but one of their high end models, the Superia, 15 speeds, great tires, runs great, ready for the road.  Bought it for $65.  The reviews give it pretty good marks.  The downside is that it is a heavy bike, the seat is a bit hard, and the breaks wear out pretty quickly.  But it feels really solid and is definitely in my price range.  I look forward to riding it to Chestnut Hill for morning worship.  We will find out if it, and I, really can climb the hills easily.

But this post is about Northwest Farm Fest.

I did my first public bodywork event last week at the Weaver’s Way sponsored public celebration.  I got the idea at the last minute and I almost backed out a couple of times.  But the lesson I keep learning is if I take a step forward in faith, the Divine and the universe want good for me, and I will find support.

So I only decided on Thursday to find out if it was possible, only spoke to farmer Dave while I was doing work hours at the farm on Friday afternoon, just barely had time on Friday night to get together a business card to hand out to people .  

Luckily I had almost everything I needed already – my Breema mat, some old blankets to put on the ground, literature to explain Breema to those who like to read before they do, spare socks for those who needed to borrow, a short stool and a small chair for folks to sit on while they watched, pillows for extra support.  I did buy a thin plastic drop cloth to keep the blankets and Breema mat dry. 

On Saturday morning, I was all packed and ready.  My only real hesitation was that I did not have a partner who was willing to be the first body to lie down on the mat or to fill in during a lull in the schedule.  Traci was out of town and the girls were off at college.  Last minute emails did not turn up a volunteer. That small critical voice within grabbed me by the back of the neck and planted the vision of me sitting there in the midst of a crowd, not knowing anyone, with no one on the mat, no one stepping forward, and finally at the end of a long day packing up feeling a bit sheepish.

I almost did not go. 

Silly me.

The weather was absolutely beautiful – warm enough to be comfortable lying still on the ground outside for an extended period of time without any chill, but cool enough for me not to get overheated while continuously working on people for a number of hours.

The setting was delightful.  I found a flat patch of clear ground nestled in a circle of trees, just off the road where folk walked into the festival, a bit away from the center of the crowd, but close enough to see and be seen easily.  It is wonderful to give Breema while connected directly to the earth.

The overall event was sweet. 

I was touched by the diverse mix of community members that attended – a very balanced mix of white folk and people of color, most, but by no means all, African-American.  There were lots of families with kids of all ages.  There were perhaps a half-dozen bi-racial couples with young children.  And there were elders -- one woman, using a walker, hiked patiently up the long drive from the main road and kept her spirit and her smile strong for the 15 or 20 minutes it took her to get there.

By far the most popular event of the day was the hay ride – a tractor pulling a long flat bed that ran constantly, all day, always filled to the brim with 40 – 50 people. Children dashed by with parents in hand to catch a seat before the tractor could pull off again.  There were also displays and information booths, cooked food and freshly harvested produce for sale, pumpkins to decorate, and face painters.  Farmer Dave gave guided tours of the farm and a series of local music groups kept the crowd entertained.

I arrived just before the event was scheduled to start, obtained final permission to participate from the event organizer, and set myself up as the first participants started to drift in.  And there I was, all dressed up at the party, with no one stepping forward to lie down on my mat, and a dry wave of shyness flowing over me.

But the lesson of the day was not to wait for someone else to step forward towards me. It was my time to step forward myself, in faith.  So I stood up, walked over to one of the display booths, and started to chat.  

 

This particular booth was a group of people from OARC, the sponsoring organization of the West Oak Lane Jazz and Arts Festival.  Weaver’s Way Coop has a store in the Ogontz Avenue corridor, a predominantly African-American neighborhood a few miles from the original Mt. Airy store.  They were giving out literature, free T-shirts from last year’s festival, and free compact fluorescent light bulbs.  The young woman working the booth had a bright energy and a warm smile, and after giving me her literature was eager to chat about who I was and why I was here.

 

I could not get more than about a sentence and a half out of my mouth before she started asking how my bodywork might relieve a persistent pain in her neck and shoulder area, and before I could really respond, she was on her way across the road to lie down, relax, and receive the nourishing energy of a Breema treatment.

 

I did not stop giving Breema sessions for three and a half hours.   

 

Each time a session was drawing to a close, someone else was watching from a short distance away, ready and willing to be the next recipient.  I worked on about seven or eight people.  They ranged in age from their late twenties or early thirties to their late sixties or early seventies.  I worked on both men and women, African-Americans and white folk, those with significant experience and comfort receiving bodywork, and those who were relative new comers.  None had ever heard of Breema before.  Each treatment was a gift where I received back as much nurturance as I provided the person I was working with.

 

One single dad gave his phone to his young daughter as entertainment while he lay down on the mat.  She snapped the picture below which he generously emailed to me right then and there in between the holds, leans, and brushes.  It was the first time I had ever given Breema to someone while they were actively connected to the world wide web.

 The last person walked up as the organizers started cleaning up the site.  She was an African-American in her late sixties or early seventies, a teacher, and a cancer survivor.  She asked what this whole thing was about.  I started to explain with words but stopped and said it would be easier to show her.  She said she thought that she could get down on the ground.  Our work together was sweet.  She was grateful for the release in her hips and lower back.  I was grateful for the direct and intimate connection to life across gender, age, and culture.

 

I was reminded again.  If I step forward in faith, God and the universe wants good for me.  I will find support.

 

Next post:  Breema and the Nine Principles of Harmony.