Sowing Seeds

Conversation with: Zephrine, CO (find her website, Hampden Farms, here)

Earlier this week, I was on a Marco Polo thread that has been an ongoing conversation for about two years amongst a group of girlfriends. My friend Zephrine tearfully said something simple and profound:

“I felt seen as a black woman for the first time in my life. It wasn’t something I expected in my lifetime.”

We’ve shared a lot of common threads over the years. We’ve had candid, loving conversations about learning disabilities (her children, my husband), our upbringing, the Air Force, our artistic inclinations, farming, our spouses, and we’ve laughed and cried. She’s held space for me in ways I’ll never be able to repay. And yet, in her statement above, I realized there was a huge, gaping hole in our conversations…in things I had so often taken for granted. And so, I’d like to share a little bit of her story and our discussion with the hope that it sheds some light on things for you—as it did for me.

In addition to being a veteran, a former photojournalist, and an urban farmer, Zephrine is a homeschooler to her three children with learning disabilities, to include dyslexia, dysgraphia, ADHD, and spectrum autism. In my mind, she’s a multitasking saint in the ways that she delivers love to her family and the planet. She also teaches sustainable farming practices to veterans, something I’ve been picking her brain about since the day we met. It always occurred to me that the path to arrive where she’s at has been paved with hard work; it never occurred to me that it was also tinged with systemic racism.

I don’t think she ever anticipated her role as a homeschooling mother. In the past week, we’ve discussed the systemic racism in school testing (for a beside-yourself, holy-shit-that-really-happened podcast, check out Radiolab’s G: The Miseducation of Larry P, or look up Larry P. v. Riles if you’re not podcast-y). In summary: When an aptitude test is culturally relative, expect those who have a very specific cultural context to do well; expect everyone else to fail. The same, at least in Zephrine’s experience, often occurs within context of public education, both in regards to racism and in learning disabilities. Sure, there are not enough resources for everyone in the current system, but…there are also a lot of kids out there not being seen. (and there are beautiful people who ARE seeing them, mind you—check one out here).

In any event, Zephrine trusted her mom instincts, and she pulled her kids out of school. In the midst of all of that turmoil, though, her viewpoint is heartbreaking. Here are a few of her thoughts on those interactions:

“While in a particularly heated discussion about racism in education, I was the only black woman or person of color in the room; while I felt seen, two white people were arguing my and our children’s humanity in front of me.”

“Our peaceful protest was pulling our kids out of school; I knew they needed something different, and the story would have been, ‘two crazy veterans, one of which was an angry black woman, went off on a school principal.”

“I realized that I operated under a different set of rules; I had experienced overt racism and microaggression my entire life” and, to some degree, to be louder, and more vocal would have consequences—there always has been a sense of futility there.

Her decision resulted in a challenging road (for all of you teaching at home while working right now–I’m guessing you’re nodding in solidarity), but a rewarding one. She has spearheaded an experiential learning environment for her kids, and she’s networked with other families to do the same. They too, are learning to farm, and they are thriving. Her perspective is always candid, but hopeful.

Today, though, she is no longer quiet. When I asked her what has changed, some of it is in her, and some of the same is being manifested around her. Here are her thoughts:

“What has flipped in me: I talk about it, I don’t internalize it. I want to know right away if the people in my life will choose to remain racist or sexist. I’ve had a fear of having discussion and conflict (even nonviolent conflict); now, I’m on a journey of no longer internalizing it. I’m vocal. I can say, ‘You’re hurting me. This is not okay.’ I used to be scared; I used to be quiet out of fear. I am not worried about that now.

“I’m glad everyone is doing their work. That said, I don’t have to fix this. Not every space I’m in has people who want to change, and I can move on.”