Nichole Lupo

I have always been a hands person. Let me be clear—I’ve always looked at, noticed, observed people’s hands. Not with any sort of judgment or criticism, mind you, but with curiosity, fascination, and interest. As an only child with a relatively small family, I’ve always been intrigued by how folks look alike and how their common genes express themselves in unique ways. I think hands are cool to check out and inspect, as family members often share this frequently overlooked characteristic. I mean, my hands look way more like my Aunt Melanie’s than my mother’s or father’s. And let’s face it—hands are incredible because they have the ability to build, create, nourish and comfort. Let’s just not talk about their ability to desecrate or destroy. In particular, I always noticed my great-grandmother Bertha’s hands. She was my dad’s grandmother, and she lived just down the road from us on many acres of land she used to farm. She was a fearless woman, in my eyes, because she lived alone as an old woman and was utterly self-reliant. She wasn’t afraid of snakes or thunderstorms or really dark nights with no stars. Again, I was little, so these were things I thought all people should fear. She churned her own butter, made her own preserves from the scuppernongs and muscadines growing along the fence, and her homemade peach ice cream was THE highlight of my summer eating. She always told me that we came into the world having everything we needed to survive, including the intelligence to figure out all of the tools nature provided us.

Now that I’m older, I value the examples my great-grandmother set more than I can express. They weren’t lessons per se, as she never made a point of admonishing or preaching. But in her quiet way, she imparted a lot. She wasn’t fussy or picky—you ate what you had available to you and wore the clothes that fit and were in good shape, and you made the most of it and were grateful for all of it. She wasn’t gossipy or nosy—she was way too busy to concern herself with the comings and goings of others. More than anything, though, I remember her strength—and the strength of her hands. She could seemingly do anything with those hands. She could feed me, sew my pants, patch my skinned knees, and work a hoe and shovel like nobody’s business. While they may not have been pretty hands by today’s standards, I thought they were beautiful. And I still do.

My fears nowadays are a little different. I’m afraid of how little we work with our hands—or know how to work with our hands. I worry about the way our education system structures things so that we don’t engage our students’ hands enough in learning. But above all, I’m concerned at how little we value things created by hands.

I attended the Georgia Organics Annual Conference and Trade Show last weekend in Athens, Georgia, and as always, it was an informative and enlightening event, to say the least. It was a fantastic coming together of folks from all different walks of life centered on healthy, delicious, sustainably grown food. As you could likely gather, while there were all types of co-producers there (as Carlo Petrini of Slow Food so appropriately calls us), the stars of the show were the farmers. Rightly so, in my opinion. The chefs were lauded too for their creativity and exquisite expression of their craft; but really, where would chefs be without gorgeous, tasty ingredients with which to showcase their abilities? And oh my, the hands that surrounded me. Hands weathered by time and hard work and long hours. Hands gnarled with arthritis or calloused by abrasive tasks. Hands scarred by burns and cuts and scrapes, or dried and cracked from exposure to sun, wind, and extreme temperatures. Hands that obviously reflected the many hours spent in the soil, in the water. These hands have a story; and they have an innate intelligence all their own. These are the hands that I want to know.

And, quite frankly, these are the type of hands I want our students to become more familiar with. The reason is that all these proud, hard-working hands are attached to some of the most dedicated, resourceful, ingenious people with which I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending time. With all our educational emphasis centered on learning inside a building while sitting at a desk in preparation for testing and more testing, when do our kids get to learn the value of knowing how to feed themselves? When do we instill in them the importance of time-honored traditions, of crafts and techniques that have been passed from generation to generation? At what point is it okay to let children know that folks who work with their hands for a living aren’t less intelligent or less capable, or less honorable, than those that work in areas that require fewer manual abilities? Huge disclaimer—I am by no means advocating less schooling. I’m a firm believer in formal education and all the opportunities that open up as a result. I am, however, simply pointing out that with all of our advanced degrees and bountiful research and experts on this topic and that, we as a society seem to know less and less about providing for ourselves. And we as a culture seem to steer our children away from learning these invaluable skills in favor of more intellectual pursuits. I know farmers that are poets and writers and musicians, that are activists and thinkers, and that are astute business men and women. Real movers and shakers, these folks are, with the ability to build a fence and fix a tractor or write a song and cook a gourmet meal. I’ve met construction workers that are sculptors, blacksmiths that are into philosophy, and plumbers that dabble in investments. I also know a few teachers, doctors and lawyers that farm on the side. My point in all this is that it doesn’t have to be one or the other. We can read the great classics AND learn to lay brick. We can study algebra and geometry and put them into practice in a meaningful and practical way. And we can work hard to instill in our children the value of working hard, with our minds and bodies, our hearts and souls…..and with our hands.

A wish: to see our children grow up and live better, healthier lives than we. It’s common to all of us, to the point that it helps define who we are as human beings. Jamie Oliver’s recent TED Prize wish speaks directly to this wish we all have, and at his conclusion he clearly voices his wish as a call to action to make it come true.
Oliver is a chef I’ve long admired. In the age of celebrity chefs few have used their notoriety as admirably as he has: Pouring his passion and energy into helping others, he has launched several campaigns to connect kids and adults to good food, and a highly successful charity aimed at giving wayward youth a positive direction. There are a lot of people talking about how to improve the outlook for the health of our children, and we need the dialogue, but we also need doers. Jamie is most certainly a ‘doer,’ and he’s calling for more of us to be. I hope you’ll heed his call.
His speech is about twenty minutes long. Even if you don’t have the time to listen to the talk, fast forward to the last 2 minutes by going to 20:30. Alternatively you can view the summary here.

Please share your thoughts by commenting on the blog or by posting to our forum.

Nature is constantly in a state of transformation. Plants grow, then bloom, and shed leaves. Animals bulk up and hunker down, and later leap into frenzied action. Our rivers flow fiercely, and wane to a trickle. We are inextricably linked to nature’s cycles, too. Our bodies are tuned to handle the varying climates of the season, and especially to eat according to what nature has available during any given time of year.

The majority of nutrition experts are in agreement that whole foods, mostly from plants, are the best foods for fueling, growing, and regenerating our bodies. These are the foods that our bodies have adapted to eat over tens of millennia. We have all we need to process them into energy and cells right inside us. The modern age has brought with it a whole host of processes that ‘pre-digest’ foodstuffs for us, and in turn make them into things that we were never meant to eat – ‘near food’ or ‘food like substances.’ Advocates of a whole food diet do sometimes miss a turn, though. We can easily glaze past the idea that our modern conveniences have also allowed us to eat fresh whole foods that couldn’t possibly grow in the place that our bodies live. Eating fresh, whole foods in season provides us the best possible source of nutrition.
Now that I can kick the soapbox aside…foods in season just plain taste better! There is so much more joy in eating the fresh tomato, bursting with ripe sweet/tart juices and layers of flavor not even approached by its mid-winter freight-lined distant cousin. That argument, though, is so ubiquitous now it’s beginning to border cliché, though still very, very true.
The real fun stuff for me is in this cold weather, when kids actually get excited about eating kale, cabbage, sweet potatoes, and rutabaga. These too, have an abundance of flavor when they are freshly harvested, in their season, and simply prepared. There is as substantial a difference between an in-season cabbage and its trucked-in cousin as there is in the same example of a tomato. The best part is that I don’t have to preach this concept to a group of students who took part in growing their food, learning through every interaction they had along the way. It’s just there, in the garden, in every moment of preparation, and every delicious bite.

Nichole Lupo

Everywhere you went, food was the focus. Christmas cookies, candy canes, gingerbread houses, jelly-filled doughnuts, Yule logs, hot cocoa, fruitcake……the list goes on and on. And these things were only addendums to the actual meals we consumed when gathering for parties, celebrations, and remembrances at the holidays. It’s no wonder that there’s the stereotypical surge in new gym memberships at the start of a new year!

But seriously, there’s way more to this holiday eating than meets the eye. We may not give it much thought, but the foods we eat at this time of year are often rich with tradition, and in many cases, retell ancient stories, remind us of the struggles of past peoples, or honor the memory of a lost loved one.

……and cut to January. I survived the holiday frenzy. And the always-interesting, never dull, sometimes crazy family dynamics. And the endless supply of things that taste great but don’t always make me feel great. All of this was interspersed, of course, with the joys of reconnecting with old friends, the gathering with loved ones to share gifts hand-made or carefully selected (and hopefully socially responsible), and quiet reflection upon another year passed. And food that truly nourished—food that meant something. There was my dear friend Jodi’s annual Christmas cookies—a family event from her childhood that she repeats every year with her own children. Each one is individually decorated, and exquisitely, might I add, and making them is always just as much fun as eating them. Christmas day brought my grandmother’s cheese rings that she still makes from scratch at 91. Various family members tried to help, or even suggested that she take it easy and possibly skip it this year—she simply wouldn’t hear of it. My Aunt Donna’s broccoli casserole, a seasonal favorite, is something I look forward to, not only because it rocks, but because she takes such delight in seeing us enjoy it. My friend Bridget blew me away with her homemade eggnog, a family tradition she keeps alive, even though she lives down south now, far away from her loved ones in the cold north. I could go on and on, but the point is that all of these food experiences had stories—had points of origin. So much surrounding the winter holidays is focused on buying, spending, and consuming—and giving, of course. But we often forget WHY we do the things we do—how these traditions started, why we eat certain dishes, what decided the ingredients to use. People are the ultimate reason—people and their connection to the land. The culture of our people, and the place and climate in which they lived, largely determined what food was served, at the holidays and every day. While those factors don’t always directly impact our lives as they once did, tracing the origin of our holiday food traditions can be a beautiful glimpse into a past time.

We encouraged our students to consider what they eat at the holidays, and if there were dishes that are repeated year after year, perhaps asking questions about why or how these meals came to be. Some of the stories we heard were unbelievable. But what struck me most was the lack of stories….or the lack of knowledge of the stories. Maybe stories were lost or died with a certain family member, but most kids had no idea where these foods came from or why they were served year after year. We pushed students further to consider ANY food traditions in their families, holiday or otherwise. Maybe a Tuesday taco night, clean-out-the-pantry soup, or pancakes on Saturdays. This yielded a few more contributions, such as Sunday meals with grandparents, favorite cakes on birthdays, and some really interesting cultural dishes that are a reoccurring part of some students’ lives. All of these discussions got me thinking—it is now more important than ever to engage children as much as possible with the procurement, production, and eating of real food. We experience food on so many different levels—physically, of course, but emotionally and mentally, and even spiritually. Why not include our kids, the future leaders of all things food, in preparing these traditional dishes or in growing the ingredients in a backyard garden. Why not tell the stories, over and over again, while we spend time preparing and sharing good food. After all, it is the sharing of food that is the oldest and greatest tradition of all.

Vibrant, fresh vegetables. Sparkling, brilliant colors hinting at the glorious flavors soon to be savored. A delightful spread of rich, nutritious food is laid out before you, the aromas are intoxicating. No, you’re not a member of some ancient royal court at banquet.
The key to this kind of food experience is far more simple and humble. Straight-forward cooking skills and techniques can open your world to this kind of experience just as readily as a royal treasury. Even with a brief comparison of the prices of prepared and processed foods to those of fresh, raw ingredients it quickly becomes clear: Basic cooking skills can not only up the quality of what you’re eating, but it can reduce the bills.
Take a simple pizza dough . Inexpensive ingredients, a little time, and some basic technique, and you are eating a fluffy, crisp, deliciously topped pizza. Top it with fresh basil, sliced tomato, and fresh mozzarella, and you’re eating a dish conceived for the Italian Queen, Margherita, in the late 19th century.
Then the big bonus, the basic techniques you learn making a pizza dough can translate into dozens of other recipes and meals, including fresh breads and pasta.
So, this weekend or one night this week, gather the ingredients for a simple pizza dough. Walk through your favorite place to buy fresh produce, and grab what looks good, maybe something you haven’t tried yet. Try a beet and goat cheese combination, or spinach onions and some crumbled blue cheese, get really adventurous and shave some hard squash and apples. Make yourself a fresh pizza, and send in your photos and comments to: sfreedman@mendezfoundation.org
Let us know about your royal feast!

Nichole Lupo

Working with kids outside is always an interesting experience. The things they say, the things they notice that I don’t always see, the beauty they witness in even the most mundane or seemingly ordinary things, definitely serve as a reminder that we all bring our unique perspective and set of expectations to any given situation. Working with food plants and kids provides a wonderful opportunity to explore these ideas and perspectives, all the while developing many of the life skills we need to function effectively in the world.

The students ask some pretty unusual questions when contemplating what is to come from the seeds or seedlings going in the ground. The older students usually have an idea of what is to come in terms of the work involved and the time it may take to produce something edible. This isn’t always true, of course, but for the most part, they understand pretty clearly that there is an order to things, and that our role is simply a supporting one—providing what we can to ensure our plants’ survival, and knowing when to leave well enough alone. The little ones, however, usually follow a planting with a question that goes something like this….”Is it time to eat yet?!” Little do they know that while we are waiting to eat, we are developing patience and learning to value things that take time—without fail, they always say it was worth the wait! When we are putting those delicate seedlings in the ground, we are practicing teamwork, organization, and learning to collaborate with others to work toward a common goal. We are learning to care for and nurture something living, so that we, too, may live. We are learning to persevere, because it takes dedication and a strong commitment to work so hard for something that is not guaranteed. Yes, it’s true. The ultimate lesson in the garden is that it really isn’t up to us. We are at the mercy of mighty Mother Nature, and she always has the final say.

We are fortunate to live in a climate that provides the possibility of growing food year-round. We organize successive plantings throughout the school year in an effort to demonstrate this wonderful characteristic of the place we call home. Students begin to fully appreciate the seasonality of plant foods as they remove warm weather plants in favor of things that prefer cooler temperatures and shorter days—something so important now that we live in an age of any food, anytime, anywhere in the world. They notice the changing weather and start to comprehend that these things are related in a way that is cyclical, timeless, and has absolutely nothing to do with us. And yet again, plants don’t always equal food. There is a lesson in everything that takes place in the garden, and failure is an invaluable part of that learning. All the hard work in the world doesn’t necessarily mean that we will be feasting on delicious veggies in 60, 75, or 90 days. This might be the greatest lesson of all.

My favorite part of any school day is planting with kids. As an educator, I learn so much from my students, and I can only pray they learn half that much from their experiences working with food and nature. My greatest teacher, however, has been Mother Nature herself. On any given day, I am humbled by her power, inspired by her promise, and encouraged to know that there is a reason for everything, even if we don’t see it at the time.

I loved the magic that occurred in my mother’s kitchen. I wanted to see and stir the steaming pots on the stove long before I could reach them. Thankfully, my mother tuned in to that desire, and would often pull her kitchen stool up to the stove, stand behind me, and let me ‘help’ her fix dinner. The things I witnessed there, with my mother guiding my hand, changed how I understood the world. Right there, we had the power to transform things from the garden, the market, or the grocery store into dinner.

Now I know that Mom was witnessing yet another kind of magic. The power to make her son eat anything she wanted. If I helped her clean, cut, and cook it, there was no way that I wasn’t going to at least taste something I’d never had before.

I now know the magic, because I see it all the time. Working in schools, I get to watch the amazement and joy on young faces as a seed transforms into a plant, and that plant into food! The eagerness to participate in that process is so naturally human, but so removed now from our lives. As a chef, I am clearly and potently aware of just how separate people are from the food that they eat. As an educator, I am grateful for the opportunity to close that distance for so many students.

So, when a second grader marvels at a squash vine, and the plump hard fruits of its labors, I am overjoyed.  Their teacher even more so, when the connections are furthered, and her students really get what she meant when she discussed with them the ways that native Americans lived and ate here centuries ago, and they truly begin to understand what is different and what is the same, then and now. I love when we get to cut into that squash and reveal its secrets. The students are connecting to the same magic I knew at my mother’s stove when they see the squash simmering away in their classroom. They get so excited to taste the soup we’ve made, and then I see the magic that my mother saw, as every student in the class ‘mmmms’ and delights at how delicious the squash they grew and cooked tastes!

Nichole Lupo

When I was a child, I eagerly anticipated the start of school.

That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the freedom and activities of summer—staying up later, swimming, climbing trees, exploring the creeks and woods around my house, working in the garden with my dad, summer book club (yes, I was what some would consider kinda nerdy!)—but there was something equally exciting about the thought of what was to come in the school year ahead. I loved purchasing new notebooks and school supplies, getting my backpack loaded and ready, and meeting my new teacher.

I find that as an educator, I still look to the coming school year with the same excitement and anticipation—it’s just different things that I now anticipate. Seeing returning students and meeting new ones, harvesting the fruits and vegetables of summer and eating them with our students, gathering and organizing seeds and seedlings for fall planting, and working with teachers and parents to fully incorporate the garden into the school lives of all.

I get so excited by all the possibilities, the teachable moments, that present themselves when working with food. In the garden, kids are naturally curious and question everything from the insects they see to how everything we do as humans has an impact on the natural world. When we harvest, the students examine the food, marvel at the root structures of the plants, and comment on the soil and endless weeds. In the classroom, they vie for the opportunity to help in any way that gets their hands on the food and gets the food in their mouths more quickly. Anyone who thinks that kids don’t get excited about vegetables has never worked with them from planting to tasting. In fact, I’m not sure who gets more excited…..the students or me!

And so begins another school year, and we taste the sweet watermelon that has been growing and ripening and waiting for us all summer, and we know, without a doubt, that it’s going to be a great year!