Hillside Farmers Cooperative

Last week, we hosted a meeting in our home for the budding Board of Directors of the Hillside Farmers Cooperative. Our house, while normally messy, is in a truly embarrassing state, and I spent the meeting lying down on the couch with my bare feet draped over Ian, trying not to get too enthusiastic about anything because enthusiasm gives me contractions. The meeting's organizer, Regi Haslett-Marroquin, assured me that my condition and the state of my house would not be a problem for anyone there. He said that everyone in the co-op just needs to be themselves. I took his words to heart.

Because I could not travel, four people came to our home and spent the evening laying the foundations for a Board of Directors. The Hillside Farmers Cooperative is being designed especially to address the needs of Latino families, and much of the conversation was in Spanish, which was exciting for me. Many years ago, I was proud my Spanish, but when we started talking about the structure of a corporation and the role of investors, I had to ask for a lot of translation. Ian sat there nodding agreeably and understanding everything, as though he discussed business matters in Spanish on a daily basis. I remembered again what Regi said about everyone just being themselves, and that made it easier to speak up when I was lost.

I spent the rest of the evening remembering different aspects of the meeting and smiling. In the days that have followed, though, more fear has crept into me. Up to this point, I have been afraid to talk very much about our plans with the co-op, in part because the plans have been uncertain, and in part because I have been wrestling with many other fears. I have been very afraid of financial ruin and unnecessary stress and the disapproval of family members who think we are taking on too much.

It's time to fess up, though. We are thinking very seriously about building a chicken coop within the next year that could raise up to 1500 free-range broilers at a time, or 4500 in a season. The Hillside Farmers Cooperative would buy most of the birds, although we would sell some independently as well. Eventually, we might build other barns for broilers and branch out into egg production.

I accidentally discovered that I wanted to work with the Hillside Co-Op last summer when I went over to Regi's house to pick up the scale I lent his wife. On a whim, I asked to see his chickens again, and he told me once more about how the birds were living chickenly lives, eating organic feed, and that his chicken business was going to help Latino families move out of poverty. Regi had told me this before, and we had considered working with him, but this time I found myself unexpectedly on the verge of tears. "I thought you had to choose between taking care of the land and taking care of the people," I said, remembering how frustrated I felt about the prices we have to charge for our chicken, just to break even.

"You don't have to choose," Regi said. "You can do both."

I knew, then, what I wanted to do. Rationally, Ian and I are impressed by the amount of work and skill that has been put into designing the Hillside Co-Op's production system and business model. We don't have the resources to do that kind of work. Also I like the idea of working as part of a larger group, of trying to address economic inequality, and building a system that actually challenges industrial farming. Ian and I both think it will be a joy to be working with Latino families.

Every week, Ian goes over to Regi's house to work on our business plan. I have not been able to meet with Regi often, but when I could, I felt a light between my shoulder blades. Last week, when I sat in worship, preparing for the meeting at our house and considering my role in the co-op, I felt that same light growing from between my shoulder blades, flowing down my arms and through my hands.

I believe that I am being prepared for service.