While walking up the stairs in my house, I saw my brother Mike’s door was propped open. I popped my head in to see how he was doing. Talking with him, we happened upon the topic of illness. “My throat has been so sore that it hurts even to swallow. I wouldn’t mind the cough otherwise.”
As empty restaurant tables continue to collect dust in New York City, 60 miles east in Brookhaven, Long Island, Early Girl Farm is bursting with life. Tomato, eggplant and pepper seedlings are beginning to extend their leafy limbs out into the world as employees carefully prepare the soil, adjusting its mineral levels and incorporating nutrient-rich compost to create optimal growing conditions for this summer’s crops. Patty Gentry, a former restaurant owner and chef turned professional farmer, owns and operates the small but mighty farm, which provides seasonal, organic produce to restaurants in the New York City Metro Area. 2020 marks Patty’s tenth year as a professional farmer. She is an expert in her field, who understands the science of organic farming down to the microscopic levels of soil composition.
When the Food System Fails — Minneapolis, Minn. My mother is a stubborn and hard working Lutheran, born and raised in Minnesota. Growing up, her mother, grandmother and aunts would always be making buns, biscuits, cookies, cakes, pies, loaves and hot dishes of all kinds. These were staples, found fresh or frozen at all times, because they make you feel at home. These are foods you make to endure stressful times, and no time in my life has been as tough as right now.
Teddy Matel ‘22 and I coasted down Cornell’s hills into Ithaca, the sun warming our backs and the wind chilling our faces. When we reached town, Teddy led us to Black Diamond Trail, an 8.4 mile stretch of stone dust, converted from an old railroad bed, that passes through a mix of woodlands and fields along the western shore of Cayuga Lake. The trail ended at Taughannock Falls State Park, a 750-acre park northwest of Ithaca near Trumansburg, and we jetted onto Route 96, the adjacent road. By this time, the sun was at its peak in the sky. After five miles down the shoulder of Route 96, Teddy and I darted left, and we quickly found ourselves biking on a pebble road.
On Friday, I watched my mom bask in the 75 degree daylight on our back porch. She sported her typical lounge outfit — a light magenta athleisure jacket and gray capris — and browsed the web on her iPad, taking occasional sips of jasmine tea and enjoying her time off from work. I felt like I was watching her in a video: It was my mom, but from a different, slower, easier time. It was so normal. But nothing as of late has been normal.
This article was originally supposed to be about how quesadillas are the perfect late-night, post-drinking snack. But, given the global health crisis, it’s really not the most important thing to be writing about, is it? First, I really hope everyone is taking this crisis seriously and is practicing social distancing. Please do not congregate in large crowds and avoid being in public places — such as restaurants, bars or cafés — as much as possible! Taking this seriously is very important to limit the exposure of those who are at the most risk.
As a lawyer, my father traveled to other parts of Perú and even other countries following different judicial cases of interest, and he loved every day of his job. Whenever my father came back, he always brought interesting travel stories and sometimes even food. He was a firm believer in buying in bulk from people who lived nearby the sea or those who farmed. He loved seafood so much that he wished he could eat it every day, but he knew that it was not possible since he could not stop by the seafood market in Callao, Perú daily. Whenever he travelled by the coast, he would bring fresh fish back.
My freshman roommate once asked me, as she blinked awake to the cloudy, Ithaca sky filtering through our dorm window, “Kelly, are you ever so stressed that you can feel it in your chest when you wake up?” I, having just woken up ten minutes ago, looked at her, looked at the fort of laundry between us that needed to be done and just nodded. Earlier this week, almost exactly three years since that conversation, I woke up to that feeling in my chest again. Immediately, I thought of her and our yellowish wood furniture and string lights that clearly violated safety hazards — what a stressful, chaotic, beautiful time. It occurs to me now that her musings always came at a particular time, and it happens to be that time of year again — early March or, more to the point, summer internship acceptance season. When someone brings up the words “summer internship,” I am immediately overwhelmed by a series of thoughts: I have not found one yet.
Undocumented Latino immigrants have more complex living arrangements and less stable family structures than documented immigrants, a new study conducted by professors in the College of Human Ecology found.