A Running Collection

Run. The word and my lungs expand and my legs motion to move. Run. I tiptoe down the hall. Move to the right to avoid the squeak. Silently, I open the back door as the light from my phone shows me shoes. As I sit and tie my laces, the beat of the crossover and double knot stays the same. Stays exact. I'm out the door in the dark. No human voice. Just early birds and chirps. Pitter pat. The quiet sound of feet and ground. Feet and ground. Feet and ground. Pattern. Motion. Cheeks feel air. Lungs feel air. Eyes see quiet and darkness and nothing. My mind, a sponge, soaks in the new day and thinks and plans and prays and figures. Down the hill, around the corner, up the hill, up the big hill, down the hill, around the bend, back and down and around. Nothing changes with my feet. They do what they do. I don't have to explain or encourage or think about it. My lungs know what air to take and to let go. Legs extend. Lungs expand. I'm one motion of movement. For three ...

  Hello. My name is Maleek Cole. I’m your coffee roaster. When I’m roasting coffee, I feel free. When I am listening to music making the best coffee ever I feel like I can do whatever I want. When I’m here it’s like having a little sister and brother that I don’t have at home. I learn new ways to make money and I learn new skills. It is benefiting me because I’m learning about agriculture and nature.  Every Friday a group of young men pile out of our old Subaru. George picks them up from school and brings them straight here. They unload their book bags, change their shoes and set to work. Maleek has been roasting eight pounds of coffee nearly every Friday for the last seven months. The smell of roasting coffee and the sound of Maleek jamming fill the air. George Wilder and William help him with weighing, filling bags, and labeling.  Diante and Trejohn head straight for the gardens or wood piles. They team up with George and the kids...

Sweet Alyson was helping us clean the house today. As we chatted about life she says, “I need to introduce you to the Root Cellar!” I said, “I know it! I love it! We love the people of the Root Cellar like family!” Immediately, her body relaxed. Her body took on the feel of what the Miccosukee Root Cellar works to create. Her shoulders settled, her head swayed, and her eyes took a second to close and rest. For a split second, she was there at the Root Cellar -- at peace, at rest, relaxed, and enjoying simple space and a locally harvested, thoughtful meal. The Root Cellar has become a regular and crucial aspect of our lives. Every Sunday, Reuben Fields (The Man Behind The Cellar) delivers the Root Cellar compost to our pigs. My children rush to the hand built wooden trailer loaded with buckets of slop and take a seat on the edge to watch the pigs feast on delicious leftovers dumped over the fence. Pink pig faces covered with beet juice, carrot ends, chicken pie...