Curio Magazine - 2019

The Valley Magazine

Volume 42

2019

Living without electricity

The power of disconnecting

Soil Cycles

Bicycle-powered composting

Sal Romero

Harrisonburg’s first Latino city councilman

Sadie Rose Foundation Local woman helps with bereavement

Curio 2019 | 1

nyone who’s ever had the pleasure and privilege of living in the Valley knows just how remarkable it is.

There’s no other place where the sunset explodes across the sky the same way. There’s no other place that smells quite as unique when it rains. Certainly, there’s no other place where the people are as kind, courageous

and welcoming as they are here.

In this year’s edition of Curio, we told their stories. Whether it’s a family-owned dairy farm overcoming their plights or a former foster child who decided to be the person she needed when she was younger as a now-foster mother, it goes without saying that every single person living here has a story of how they overcome their obstacles and made something remarkably beautiful of their adversity.

This semester, Regina Harlow, a woman from Dayton who began a foundation to help other parents through their bereavement following the loss of her firstborn daughter, let me into her heart to write her story. Regina is only one of many who’ve gone through her same experience, yet she’s the symbol of hope and guiding light that says “Yes, you will be okay and you can make it through.” This is exactly what embodies the Valley spirit.

Of course, while we’re here we’ll have some fun. We have stories on composting, living without electricity, ethical fashion, sweet Mexican traditions and Harrisonburg’s first Latino city councilman. There’s even some tequila involved — just check page 32.

This magazine wouldn’t have been possible without the staff. They’re absolutely incredible and worked so hard to make sure everything came together to make your reading experience enjoyable. My endless appreciation goes out to them, especially the editorial team.

Curio is a journey. We hope you enjoy you the ride.

Abby Church

Executive Editor

about Curio Curio, a magazine highlighting Harrisonburg and its surrounding communities, is published annually by students in SMAD 421: Magazine Production in the School of Media Arts & Design at James Madison University. Curio is a non-profit organization that was founded by Dr. David Wendelken in 1978 and is now advised by Brad Jenkins. Thanks to the College of Arts and Letters and the School of Media Arts & Design. Subscriptions are not available.

2 | Curio 2019

Mary Harrison

Mary Landy

Managing Editor

Articles Editor

Charlotte Ward Creative Director

Andrea Brusig

Online Managing Editor

Blake Pace

Online Managing Editor

Curio 2019 | 3

in this issue

18

On the cover

20

Community household lives without electricity

4 | Curio 2019

14

Sadie Rose Foundation supports grieving families

JMU student makes a difference through mentorship

28

Free Clinic director provides community support

32

Harrisonburg hits high note with knock-out margaritas

40 36

City councilman provides voice for Hispanic community

Generations-old farm struggles in dairy industry

46

Soil Cycles fosters increased composting practices Curio 2019 | 5

Why we love Abundant opportunities hit a sweet spot in the hearts of Valley residents Jake Krug “Harrisonburg, it’s got big city charm. You’re 15 minutes away in the middle of nowhere, you’re in the middle of the mountains, you don’t have to deal with crazy amounts of traffic, unless you are on Port Republic Road.

Everyone is super friendly, I can go across the street to have tacos and then go on the other side of the street and have Ethiopian food so its and interesting amalgamation of different cultures, different kinds of way people think small town big city, it’s a mix of everything.”

Sara Christensen

“I came to Harrisonburg to go to JMU. It’s a great community, really friendly people, it’s a warm and inviting community to live in. I just really love the Valley, I think it’s a beautiful place, the mountains, the lakes, I love living here. In the summer, anything outside, taking my dogs for a walk, farming outside and going to the farmers market.”

Casey Lowe “I’ve always loved the Shenandoah Valley and Harrisonburg is a great little city and there is a lot to do.”

6 | Curio 2019

Harrisonburg Quotes by Jason Clampitt, photos by Sara Brannan

Leigh Roberts “I like living in Harrisonburg because of the opportunities it gives my son. Harrisonburg offered us a great place to live and the education system. He’s in a dual-language program, he’s in the virtual reality club, he takes violin lessons, he’s joining the Latin dance club, we have year-round swim classes. There’s just so many opportunities here and being closer to our family than he would ever have been able to have in Arizona.”

Reber Cribb III “I like living in Harrisonburg because it has some of the perks of a larger city, but it’s still a small town. I kind of get a lot of the benefits and there are things to do and I don’t have to deal with a lot of traffic and spending 45 minutes getting to the other side of town. It offers those benefits, but in a smaller package.”

Paul Hansbarger

“I love Harrisonburg because it’s a positive, diverse community. It’s a great place to raise a family and very supportive of small businesses, great things to do, awesome restaurants, the most wonderful friendly people that I’ve had the fortune to meet.”

Curio 2019 | 7

Cultural confections Cluster of Mexican bakeries bring authentic flair to local scene

By SYDNEY JAXTHEIMER Curio

The glass door opens, hitting the bell at the top of the doorframe.

Ding!

An aroma fills the air with the sweet smell of sugar frosting and the savory, crisp smell of fresh baked bread. Walking to the display case, customers’ gaze are met with sparkling sugar topping pastries in shapes of circles, rolls and cones. An employee walks out from the back with a fresh tray of cream filled pastries.

The yellow cream drips down the side of the golden, sesame seed topped, crescent shaped Mexican pastry, lunas.

La Flore De Mexico, located on South High Street in Harrisonburg, has been in the community since 2008. The current owners, Eliseo Alvarez and his wife, Rosalba Alvarez,

have been in the area for over 25 years. Their children, Eliseo Jr. and Dallana, both work in the bakery, making it a family affair.

Customers who are regulars walk into the store and straight toward the back where the bakers are busy kneading bread and frosting pastries.

“Hola,” a man says as he walks back to the kitchen to greet the dark haired man who’s putting trays of shaped dough into the oven.

Then the customer proceeds to the front of the store to pick out his baked goods for the week.

“It’s like coming home,” Alvarez Jr. said.

“You know when you walk in everyone speaks Spanish, you see things that you are familiar with.”

In Hispanic culture, Mexican pastries and bread are an everyday food, according to Alvarez Jr. Pastries are always out on

display on the counter at home to have in the morning with coffee, or after every meal.

Whereas in American culture, pastries are like treats and aren’t something that make up a typical everyday diet.

Although the routine of having pastries in Hispanic culture is different than American culture, one thing is constant: the ingredients.

“The flavors that we have and the products that we have are universally good, they aren’t really acquired taste, just sugar and stuff like that, so everyone can enjoy it,” Alvarez Jr. said.

Hugo Santiago, a former baker for nine years at La Flor De Mexico, recently decided it was time for him and his wife to open their own bakery, because the couple needed to start thinking of the future for their two children. In November 2018, they opened El Paisano in downtown Harrisonburg. Santiago and his wife, Berenice Rodriguez both work

PHOTOS BY SYDNEY JAXTHEIMER

8 | Curio 2019

in the bakery every day.

“Now I feel that I do it with more love,” Santiago said. “I enjoy it more because I know it’s all mine.”

Every morning, Santiago comes into the bakery at 4:30 a.m. to start baking for the day.

There are freshly baked breads and pastries to fill the display case daily. He begins his morning by playing Spanish music in the back of the shop. He kneads the dough on the metal table that is white with flour. The bakery is warm from the ovens repeatedly opened so Santiago can turn the trays of pastries inside so they bake evenly. One by one, he pulls the metal trays out, turns them around and slides them back onto the metal racks in the steel oven. This process continues throughout the morning and into the late afternoon.

“It doesn’t matter what time I have to come in,” Santiago said. “I just enjoy doing it. I like what I do.”

Opening their own bakery was quite a risk,

especially with the other bakeries in the area.

But Rodriguez doesn’t really consider it a competition. She believes that there are plenty of people in the Harrisonburg area that the bakeries can share customers without feeling like there’s a rivalry.

When looking through the glass doors, the bright frosted pastries glimmer when the sun strikes them. The conchas are frosted with bright, vibrant colors like white, yellow, brown and above all else, pink. Pink is part of the Hispanic culture because of its vivid color which shows brightness and excitement, according to Alvarez Jr. Conchas are the most popular items at both bakeries. They’re sweet bread rolls that are topped with colored crunchy, sugar topping.

Concha, meaning sea shell in English, is shaped like a circle and has patterned designs of squares and triangles on top.

Another unique characteristic of Mexican bakery traditions is the use of trays and tongs

to pick pastries out of the display case. Trays and tongs are near the pastries. Their use may seem common in grocery stores, but using a tray to put the pastries on instead of the customer bagging the pastries and bread up themselves is what all bakeries do in Mexico.

Customers pick from the case using the tongs and put the selected treats on the tray, then bring the tray to the counter to be put into bags and packaged up by the employees.

“With a tray, they can choose the ones you want, if you want this one, or a smaller piece,” Rodriguez said.

Different tastes and types of pastries aren’t the only standout characteristics of Mexican baking. It’s more about the background in a person’s culture than just knowing how to make the products. Having a Hispanic background while baking these pastries is special because the baker understands the meaning behind the bread and pastries, not just about the delicious taste of the baked

Hugo Santiago, owner of El Paisano in downtown Harrisonburg, takes pastries out of the oven.

goods. The baker understands that the conchas will be shared at a breakfast table between a family while they are having their coffee, that the bolillo will be used to make sandwiches for lunches. The baker knows the importance of pastries in their Hispanic culture.

“It’s not just about how to make Mexican

bread. It’s about having that history and those ties to it,” Alvarez Jr. said. “So you’re not just someone making Mexican bread, you are someone that has roots to it and selling to people who know about it.”

Although Hispanics are considered the primary clientele for these bakeries, both El

Paisano and La Flor De Mexico try to cater to non-Spanish speaking customers as well.

“People will come in and say ‘Oh, first time I’ve seen this,’ and they are excited to try it,” Rodriguez said.

Contact Sydney at jaxthese@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 9

‘I’m doing what I Green Hummingbird finds purpose in selling sustainable clothing

By GRACE JAMES Curio

A little green hummingbird sits by the corner of Harrisonburg’s South Main Street and Franklin Street. It doesn’t tweet or fly, as most birds do. That’s because this Green Hummingbird is a clothing store.

Eleanor Held, owner of the Green Hummingbird, uses an African folktale as inspiration for her store.

In the Story of the Hummingbird, all the homes of animals were destroyed by fire.

They all stand helpless, except for a little hummingbird. The hummingbird, only able to release a few drops of water out of its beak at a time, endures the taunts from the other animals, who proceed to tell it its efforts aren’t enough.

“What do you think you’re doing?” they ask. The hummingbird replied, “I’m doing what I can.”

This story now hangs on a wall inside the Green Hummingbird, serving as a reminder to follow the little hummingbird’s lead.

“It’s not a big, earth-changing thing, but you do what you can,” Held said.

The store’s mission is to supply clothing and accessories made solely from men and women who are paid a living wage for what they produce — both nationally and internationally.

As soon as shoppers walk into Eleanor’s shop, they’re greeted with tables and clothes racks of brightly-colored merchandise.

Iris Haseloff, a JMU professor, recalls when she first saw the blue and purple tapestry in Green Hummingbird, which now hangs in her office on campus, “I was immediately attracted to the colors … I thought, ‘That’s for me.’”

From hats and blouses to scarves and rings, there’s something special about every item in the Green Hummingbird — it’s all fair trade.

Green Hummingbird is one of just nine apparel stores that belong to the Harrisonburg Rockingham Green Network, a network of 10 | Curio 2019

sustainability related organizations in the community. The store only sells apparel that comes from employees that have been paid a sustainable wage.

“Fair Trade for me means making sure the artisans who created the products weren’t taken advantage of, that they were paid fairly according to their socio-economic situation, and the conditions they work in are good,” Eleanor said.

Her passion for fair trade came after volunteering in a conference center which was part of an interfaith community she was living in.

“They eventually put me in their fair trade store,” Eleanor said.

Her interest was immediately sparked.

After doing some research on fair trade clothing, she saw a need. She then took it upon herself to see how she could contribute.

“I got to thinking: I like clothing, and so I started looking up fair trade clothing places, but a lot of them were just wholesale people,” she said. “I just thought it was something that was lacking.”

Having grown up in Harrisonburg, Eleanor decided to move back home and start a fair trade clothing store of her own.

“She calls me up one Saturday morning, she’s working at this place outside of New York City, and she goes, ‘I wanna go back to Harrisonburg and start and fair trade clothing store,’” Ann Held, Eleanor’s mother, said.

Now, almost five years later, the store has come into its own.

“I think it’s a nice addition to Downtown,” Haseloff said.

The store oozes with uniqueness, down to its bones. Shoppers probably wouldn’t notice the clothes rack at first — after all, it’s just a clothes rack. They’re probably just there for clothes or accessories. At second glance, it’s not the typical metal rack at the average clothing store. This one is different. It’s made out of PVC pipes fastened with zip ties.

Eleanor’s originality, and creativity is woven throughout the store. Virtually every table, counter and clothes rack has been

designed or assembled from the bits and pieces she’s gathered over the four-and-a-half years she’s been in business.

A vintage suitcase sits open on its side. It’s used to prop up a basket of gloves, all rustic and one-of-a-kind and every fragment has a place and purpose. And, the clothes carry with them a similar fashion.

For Eleanor, it’s all about economic justice.

She always ensures the people she buys from are “paid fairly and treated well.” This means buying clothes for The Green Hummingbird has a few extra steps.

Some of the clothes she buys come from companies that are part of the Fair Trade Federation.

But, for other companies who cannot afford or have the resources to meet those standards, she makes sure to contact them before she makes the purchase.

“I make sure to interview the owners or someone who works with them and ask them about how they get their products ... They work directly with the people to negotiate a fair price and make sure the working conditions are safe,” Eleanor said.

When making these decisions, there is still “a bit of trust involved” that the companies are staying true to their word. And even after purchasing the clothes, they don’t always sell the way she expected them to.

“Sometimes I buy things because I like them, but then, it’s like ‘oh’ not as many other people like them.”

Because of this, Eleanor doesn’t just order what’s fashionable at the time.

“It’s not as much about the latest fashion, because that can be detrimental to the people making a product, ‘cause they have a shorter period of time, like this is in style now. I need it by tomorrow and you’re not allowed to leave here until you finish everything,” Eleanor said. “A lot of the things in here are ... not just the latest style but they’re trying to reach a broad timespan and people. I try to get stuff for young people, college students obviously, and then obviously older people.

And just kind of reach people from all kinds

can’

Want to go?

Green Hummingbird 320 S. Main St. Harrisonburg, Virginia

PHOTOS BY SAMANTHA LINCZYC

Every single item in Green Hummingbird is fair trade.

of backgrounds and demographics.”

Having fair trade clothing comes with a price — a little higher than normal.

“People walk in here and go, ‘Oh I can get that so much cheaper at Walmart … I would never spend $30 on a blouse’.

Well I hear ya, but just know that the person who made that, sometimes it’s a sweatshop, sometimes it’s child labor,” Ann said. “What can we do to build people up in their own countries?”

Contact Grace at jamesgn@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 11

Through the grapevine JMU faculty satisfy ‘mid-life desire’ to create vineyard in Quicksburg

By SYDNEY JAXTHEIMER Curio

The rows of vines at M and R Vineyard have not always been as luscious and fruitful as they are in the prime of growing season. The first year that Juan Mansilla and David Rourke planted on their newly bought pasture of 10 acres could have been the end. The beginning of the first growing season, the vineyard hit a low of negative seventeen degrees. M and R Vineyard lost about three-fourths of their newly planted vines in the winter of 2013 to 2014.

“We pretty much annihilated our young babies and we pretty much had to start over,” Rourke explained.

That could have been the end, but they planted again and hoped for a better season the next year. Even while paying attention to all the details of location, elevation and rainfall for their vineyard, Mansilla and Rourke had to consider the biggest unpredictable challenge — mother nature. She could make or break a season at the vineyard, and that first season, she brought the vines to their breaking point.

“She’s not a happy camper,” Rourke said.

“She will throw anything and everything at you at any given time.”

A typical weekend for Mansilla and Rourke used to be visiting wineries and vineyards to enjoy time off from their office jobs. Wine has played a role in their lives, both since

12 | Curio 2019

they’ve been together and before. Mansilla is from generations of Sonoma Valley wine growers. Rourke has worked in the hospitality business for the past 20 years and has worked in wineries.

The pair have always had in the back of their mind to maybe open a vineyard or winery once they reached retirement age and stopped working their nine to five jobs.

“It was originally more like a retirement thought, and then once we got to the mid-life age,” Rourke chuckled. “It became a mid-life desire.”

Mansilla and Rourke fell upon the Shenandoah Valley when they went to visit friends who lived outside the Washington D.C. area. Their friends told Mansilla and Rourke about the growing number of wineries and vineyards that were in Virginia.

This put Virginia “on their radar,” according to Rourke, when it became time to start looking for a pasture to turn into a vineyard.

They started doing research and educating themselves by watching vineyard and winery documentaries based on the Virginia growing season. They also hired a vineyard consultant, Jeanette Smith. Smith runs VineSmith, her own vineyard consulting company. She taught them what specifics they should be taking into consideration when looking for their land.

“Compared to other regions in the state, the Shenandoah Valley has advantages and disadvantages,” said Smith. “There is less rain

during the period that grapes are ripening, which a huge advantage. However, we are colder than other winegrowing regions.”

A hillside property is best so when there’s a frost, the frost just slopes off the grapes.

An ideal elevation is 1,100 feet— so the frost doesn’t t settle on the ground and freezes the vines. The sun facing south or southwest is the best for sun exposure. These specifics are even more crucial in a location like the Shenandoah Valley because of the shorter growing season compared to other vineyard locations. A typical growing season here is about 185 days, whereas a vineyard in California has about a 250 days growing season.

The Shenandoah Valley makes a vineyard location “ideal,” according to Rourke, because of the dryness. Shenandoah County specifically is the driest county east of the Mississippi River. This is because the valley is between two mountain ranges, the Alleghany and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Rourke uses the term “happy medium” for the Shenandoah Valley because the conditions are not too extreme, but just tough enough that the grapes like it.

“Grapes like to be stressed out,” Rourke said.

“They want to have to struggle to find water.

They want their roots to go down as far as they can to hit the water table. The best wines are made in the worst, dry conditions from rocky soil.”

The Shenandoah Valley also has special, nutrient dense soil because of the amount of

Mansilla (left) and Rourke have faced their respective challenges in the wine industry but have worked to overcome them.

limestone in the soil. This is because the location is close to the Shenandoah Caverns and the many caves in the area. Caves formation is caused by the dissolution of limestone, which then deposits more limestone into the regions soil.

Mansilla and Rourke both knew they wanted a hillside property and something that was not already built on or had vines planted. In 2012, they settled on an untouched pasture with a clear view of the Allegheny Mountains in Quicksburg, Virginia.

“We really hoped to find something more

open and that we could find something to mold our own way,” Rourke said.

Mansilla and Rourke soon joined the Shenandoah Valley Wine Growers Association, which Rourke is now the treasurer of. The Wine Growers Association gives a sense of community for the area of vineyard owners and winery owners. The number of vineyards and wineries in the area are often referred to as “clusters.” These clusters are nice for customers because they’re able to travel from one location to the next without having a long drive. The clusters also create competition.

“Competition is good,” Mansilla said. “And not one wine is exactly the same. People prefer different wines over others.”

“There is no ‘Virginian wine,’” Rourke added.

“They are all different, everyone has something unique, everyone has a ‘hook.’”

M and R Vineyard is no exception. They grow a unique hybrid grape called Chardonel. It’s similar to Chardonnay, hence the name, but it has other heightened qualities for growing more productively.

It’s better for its cold hardiness, meaning the grapes can survive colder environments than its parent, Chardonnay. It also produces bigger, green clusters.

The Chardonel grapes are sold to a buyer, Third

PHOTO BY SARAH BROWN

Hill Winery, which is just down the road from M and R Vineyard. Seeing what comes of the fruit that Mansilla and Rourke spend so much time tending to is the biggest reward.

“It’s a labor of love,” Mansilla said. “It makes you appreciate the wine that much more.”

The future for M and R Vineyard is simple. They want to start making their own wine with their grapes. Mansilla and Rourke plan to build a facility to make wine on site. They’ve left space open on their land where there will also be a tasting room where visitors can look out the windows to see the blue-ish glow of fog rolling down the Blue Ridge Mountains.

“When people go, they want to see the vineyard and they want to know they are in the Shenandoah valley,” Rourke said.

Their hope is to begin building a facility in the next three to four years. The next step in bringing their vision to life is another component out of their control— waiting on financing from a bank. Factors out of their control have been Mansilla and Rourke’s biggest challenge for M and R Vineyard. After all, mother nature was their first challenge and they continue to overcome her.

Contact Sydney at jaxthese@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 13 COURTESY OF M AND R VINEYARD

By ABBY CHURCH Curio

The wedding gown spreads across a plastic fold-out table like spilled milk. It’s gathered up in set of hands and torn to shreds.

Rrrrrrrip. Rrrrrrrrip.

It comes apart effortlessly.

Ruby Yoder, who specializes in wedding dress alterations, shows a group of three women how it’s done.

One woman in the group traces out patterns with a blue Crayola marker, each designed specifically for a different weight.

These can range anywhere from 1.5 pounds — or micro — to 8 pounds for newborns.

What will become of the larger gown rests in a box on the opposite end of the table.

14 | Curio 2019gowns are intricate The small

and fragile, just like the bodies they’ll adorn, each one silky with elegant beading.

The women deconstructing wedding gowns today don’t know who they’ll sew the tinier ones for, but some of them know the recipient’s pain better than anyone else. A few days from now, these gowns will be boxed up and taken to a hospital 30 minutes down the road.

There, they’ll be given to the parents of babies who have died.

The foundation At The Sadie Rose Foundation House in Dayton, Virginia, paper butterflies wrap the walls in a hug.

At least 100 lay here among the animal-shaped, sponged

clouds in the living room.

Regina Cyzick Harlow, 41, sits on a floral couch in a brightly patterned maxi skirt. She explains how each butterfly represents a child or infant who’s died, with their birthdate and death date. Those that touch either died the same way or were siblings.

Behind her on the fireplace near the window is a light pink one that reads “Sadie H.” — Regina’s first daughter.

The butterflies on the walls represent only some of the children.

“If we put all the butterflies up,” Regina says, “you couldn’t see the blue sky.”

The butterfly means resurrection and hope. There’s difficulty in the cocoon, and also a transformation people go through when grieving, Regina

says. This is what she hopes to help bereaved parents with.

Even though Sadie died years ago, her memory is alive in this house and the foundation’s work. Whenever Regina’s three children, Eli, Elsie and Korana, see butterflies now, they say hello to her, she says.

In the bathrooms, changing tables for those with children are tucked behind shower curtains so mothers who’ve recently experienced loss don’t have to see and be reminded of what happened. A sage greencolored room houses 30-35 wedding dresses — part of the foundation’s newest project.

The Sadie Rose Foundation aims to help families who’ve lost children through support services. It all started when Regina lost her daughter, Sadie Rose.

‘Vibrant light’ After the loss of her firstborn, Regina Harlow gives hope to other mourning parents

PHOTOS BY ALEXIS MILLER

The diagnosis Regina joked she’d been “entering spinsterhood” by the time she met her husband.

She grew up in the Old Order Mennonite community, where the expectation to marry and have tons of kids is stressed. Even though she left the church, she says the idea followed her out. Regina married her husband, Lee Harlow, in late 2006, and was pregnant with her first child by early 2007 at 29.

“I never had any reason to think anything would be any different, that we would have a healthy baby and a good pregnancy,” Regina says.

It made sense to name her Sadie Rose. Lee’s grandmother was Sadie, Regina’s middle name is Rose. There was also a book series called “Sadie Rose Adventure Series” by Hilda Stahl, a distant cousin of “Little House on the Prairie.” It was one of Regina’s favorites growing up.

On Mother’s Day week in 2007, Regina went into Harrisonburg OBGYN for a 20-week ultrasound.

Something wasn’t right. The doctors guessed it could be down syndrome,

Lee said, but they weren’t exactly sure. At the Prenatal Diagnosis Center at Martha Jefferson Hospital in Charlottesville, experts gave Lee and Regina the results after speculating what it could be: skeletal dysplasia, particularly dwarfism.

“We were scared to death,” Lee says of the appointment.

Regina says the doctors’ biggest worry was that 30 percent of diagnoses are lethal, potentially fatal. For Sadie, the latter was uncertain. Regina wasn’t concerned with the details as long as neither her or Sadie’s lives weren’t in danger.

Regina recalls extensive ultrasounds. The couple was offered amniocentesis, which came with risk, and for Regina’s bloodwork to be sent to Los Angeles to determine the type of dwarfism Sadie had.

They opted out — either way, they wanted to continue the pregnancy.

While Regina and Lee were shocked by the diagnoses, Regina worked with a special needs class in the past and the couple even included the children their wedding.

They possessed a benevolence for them and their families, and she

and Lee quickly found hope. “[Sadie] was always this way,” Regina says, “and I loved her before I knew about her diagnosis, and so my love didn’t change afterward.”

After discussion and comparing ultrasounds to textbooks, at Regina’s final appointment before she gave birth she left with some solace. She was told she’d most likely have a healthy dwarf.

The sunrise

She didn’t initially recognize it as labor.

Regina was familiar with the process. After all, she grew up farming and was a certified artificial insemination technician for cattle.

Surely, she thought, she’d know her own body was about to give birth.

She was in pain. Her contractions wouldn’t subside and her stomach began to harden. She was only 26 weeks along.

Regina drove to Rockingham Memorial Hospital, then was sent by helicopter to U. Va. Medical Center. Sadie couldn’t process the amniotic fluid and Regina’s body was filling up, causing her body to

register full-term pregnancy. She was subsequently placed on bedrest that Friday.

Then began almost a week of labor. They tried everything to get them to stop, including slanting Regina’s bed so her head was tilted down and feet up. Gravity didn’t take affect.

“It was terrible and it was a terrible time to be with your wife while she’s going through that because you can’t do anything but hold her hand,” Lee says.

On Wednesday, Sadie was born breech without any pain medication at 27 weeks and was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit. She had dark hair, chubby cheeks and tiny fingers and toes. Doctors told Regina to rest and pump milk — Sadie would need the nourishment.

Regina and Lee occasionally visited the NICU. They didn’t insist on holding her because they knew she needed to receive care.

“It’s bittersweet,” Regina says.

“If we had known that all we were gonna get was 17 hours ... we would not have left her, but we were hoping for a different outcome and believing for a different outcome.”

Curio 2019 | 15

The main living area in the foundation house includes paper butterflies with the names, birth and death dates of children who’ve died.

The doctors came back into Regina’s room at around 7 p.m. that night. Sadie wasn’t going to make it.

“Everything changes for you,” Lee says. “You go from the chronic worry of, ‘How are we gonna do this? How are we gonna make it through the months in the hospital?’ to now you’re thinking about just being with her.”

Regina had always believed in God. In that moment, she felt abandoned.

Lee describes Sadie’s final moments as quiet and peaceful.

They held her until she died.

Before Sadie took her final breath, Regina laid her in the bassinet. She passed at around 11 p.m.

“You can’t like ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting,’ these books that prepare you for parenting,” Regina says. “You don’t get books that prepare you for your baby dying.”

Lee and Regina were asked if they wanted to help bathe Sadie once she passed. Lee said no. In that moment, he couldn’t do it.

Regina followed his lead — a decision she’d later have to work through. She didn’t know what else to do.

“You’re just not thinking,” Regina says. “You just are not thinking for yourself, you’re not thinking about it in the same way you do when you’re able to process afterward.”

16 | Curio 2019

Regina described it as a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. In some dreams, Sadie was alive. She’d wake up, go to Sadie’s nursery and “lose her all over again.”

When asked how she’d imagined Sadie’s future, she said she pictured a “vibrant light.”

She lets out a huff of air.

“That just hits me right now because it’s like she is a vibrant light — even now,” she said, her voice cracking. “But I imagined it in a different way. I imagined her being this, you know, big personality in this little body that was just full of life and somebody who would touch a lot of people.”

It’s an epiphany for her.

“I don’t think anybody, in all these years, has asked me that.”

‘Sadie’s second birth’ In the hospital, the mothers on bedrest in the labor and delivery unit passed around a journal where they’d write stories and words of encouragement.

During the entirety of her experience, Regina was never by herself. Others in the unit didn’t have the same experience. One woman wrote in the book that she’d been on bedrest for 30 days and had yet to receive a visitor or phone call.

“People do this alone, and that should never have to happen,” Regina says.

During a weekly cleaning at home following Sadie’s death, Regina scrubbed her hardwood floor and cried. Then, a name came to mind — The Sadie Rose Foundation.

Sadie was going to keep living on. Regina called it “Sadie’s second birth.”

Regina’s foundation has been alive since 2008 and helping families ever since. Burial gowns are only one of the newest parts of its initiative — the nonprofit also does support groups and funeral services.

For years, people reached out to Regina and asked if the foundation would take their wedding dresses and use them to make gowns. At the time, she didn’t have the resources or time to do it on top of the support she was providing.

One of these phone call late last summer changed her mind.

Reminded of her Mennonite connections, Regina phoned a friend in the community who’d also experienced a loss, asking her if she’d think about doing it if she brought her a few gowns.

She agreed.

Her friend was looking for a way to help grieving families quietly and found this was the perfect means. She practiced, and the foundation officially announced it would start taking

gowns in late August. The post was shared 326 times and gowns came pouring in.

“I couldn’t keep up,” Regina says.

In mid-September, the foundation announced it would stop taking gowns until it could get caught up. Eager donors won’t listen.

“I’ve come and there’ve been wedding gowns hanging on the front door. I’ve come and there’ve been wedding gowns on our back porch,” Regina says. “Like, so even though they’re working on them and we’re not actively accepting gowns, people are still dropping them off.”

When Regina’s friend became sick and could no longer work on the project, Yoder came in.

Regina called it a “God moment.”

Yoder began making burial gowns because her cousin did for an organization in Nebraska.

When she found out about the foundation, she reached out to Regina.

Gown makers include Yoder and three Old Order Mennonite women, with other women waiting in the wings. Regina has held dressmaking workshops at the house where the women will take patterns home, and come back with gowns and their sewing machines.

Though she’s in charge, Regina doesn’t do any of the sewing. Her explanation is simple: she’s not a seamstress.

Regina (right) regularly hosts support meetings. Here, she talks with Kassandra Galloway (left) as she holds her daughter, Lyra.

“For years, I’ve bargained mowing the yard and cooking supper to get out of making my own homemade dresses,” she says.

Regina explains the significance of the gown is to have something beautiful to bury one’s child or baby in. While there are plenty of outfits one can buy, most aren’t formal. The idea of something formal, Regina says, is about honor, dignity and respect.

After Sadie’s death, the hospital gave Lee and Regina a white cotton bonnet and dress along with Sadie’s things — a blood pressure cuff, a thermometer, a measuring tape with her length marked.

Regina didn’t register it as a burial gown at the time, but she still has it to this day.

For Regina, the gowns are about resources.

The initiative began with gowns but has blossomed into sets as donations came in forms of small knitted hats and blankets. The foundation now packages them up together.

Regina says that while the service is mostly catered to newborns, they also have seamstresses on call to make gowns of any size for any family

who needs them for their child.

“It’s not always the case, but most of the time, the last thing you’re prepared to do is go shop for something to bury your child in, or your baby,” Regina says. “If one of these sets can provide comfort to the family, support to the family … you’re just bombarded with decision making at a time of loss, and if it can just eliminate the need for that part of decision making, in any way that it helps them, that’s wonderful.”

Yoder can make a burial gown in about an hour, but there’s work to do before it hits the sewing machine. First, the maker has to disassemble the gown. Layers that are ripped or soiled can’t be used.

At the workshop, three wedding gowns hung off the back of one of the dining room’s French doors. One was a heavy, size six gown with a layers of fabric, tulle and topped off with beading. This one, Yoder said, will make about 20-30 gowns with the usable material.

Gowns need to be taken apart, then one takes the material and traces it out using a pattern. Once the patterns are traced, the parts are ready to be put together.

The drop off Regina’s brown cowboy boots click across a snow melted parking lot. Today, she’s making her first gown drop off at Augusta Health in Fishersville, Virginia.

At the Sadie Rose House, she slaps a size sticker on some of the gowns before putting them in a square cardboard box with a lid. There are 21 there — six unpackaged, the rest in clear plastic bags with a blanket and knitted hat.

As she drives her white Kia Sedona, she talks with her mother. They usually speak almost every day but hadn’t spoken in close to a week.

Regina’s just been busy.

She enters the hospital and the concierge directs her to the third floor. They lead her through the labor and delivery unit’s two sets of double doors.

The space has tan and mauve walls and a group of giggling nurses. Regina asks for a woman named Claire, then Roxanne Harris, director of women’s health and pediatrics, who she’s spoken to once.

Harris arrives and Regina explains logistics. She insists

they do with the gowns what feels best.

As she goes to leave, she tells them to “let me know if you need anything.”

“Absolutely. Unfortunately, it is part of what happens,” Harris says to her. “It’s the part that nobody talks about.”

It’s conflicting for the foundation to be excited about something sad, Regina says.

Yet, the sensation’s still there.

For her, it’s an ongoing thing, and she’s happy to provide support.

“Well, the thing about it, it’s gonna happen whether we talk about it and whether we do anything to prepare for it,” Harris says. “It’s gonna happen, and the thing about it is then moms have something to hold on to and to know that they’re not alone.”

Down the hall, an infant cries out.

“And nobody expects for a bad outcome,” Harris continues.

“Never.

And it happens, and they’re in shellshock.”

Regina knows, she responds.

She’s been that mom.

Contact Abby at churchae@ dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 17

Not another statistic

18 | Curio 2019

PHOTOS BY GRACE JAMES

JMU student tutors refugees through migrant education program

By ANDREA BRUSIG Curio

It was only the second Monday and Jonathan Britt, a senior history major at JMU, had already spent his afternoon tutoring Bryan, an eighth grade student at Thomas Harrison Middle School. Bryan’s family emigrated from Honduras shortly after he was born and he is the first member of his family born in The United States. Since Britt and Bryan didn’t know each other well yet, Britt decided they could bond through something Bryan loved doing.

The two found themselves playing basketball outside Britt’s apartment complex for two hours that night. When it was time to go home, Bryan hopped into Britt’s car.

“I don’t want to be a statistic in the Harrisonburg area,” Bryan said. “I don’t want people to think I’m dumb or put stereotypes on me because of how I look on the outside.”

Britt was touched.

This began a lesson Britt wanted to teach Bryan already at a young age. He’s learned some of his favorite advice this year while being in Dr. Mark Warner’s PSYC 326 leadership and personal growth class at JMU. “Every day we have the freedom to decide that we’re going to make our own future, and we get to mold that,” Britt told Bryan. “You

have the freedom to be anything you want today, but 10 years from now, you might not have that same freedom.”

Britt gets the opportunity to work with different education nonprofits in Harrisonburg. Through the Madison Community Scholarship, he’s found volunteer positions with Gus Bus, Shenandoah Valley Migrant Education and Future Forward.

All three nonprofits share the same office, which Britt says helps the three overlap and communicate easily.

Britt’s main work is with Shenandoah Valley Migrant Education. His job is to oversee all student tutors, be a resource for the students, help facilitate the initial bond with tutors and their students and ensure the students’ growth.

“I’ve always known that there’s a gap in education in Harrisonburg, but I think this has made me more passionate about equitable education because they’ve helped me see how much of a need there is,” Britt said. “Even though we’re able to do so much, there’s more to be done here.”

Nancy Resendiz Mejia, the family and volunteer coordinator for the Shenandoah Valley Migrant Education Program, says the program helps families who are new to Harrisonburg. While the program lasts up to three years, Resendiz Mejia says this gives

Jonathan Britt tutors his mentee Bryan, who is part of the Shenandoah Valley Migrant Education Program.

families time to become independent and learn more about life in The United States.

“I actually used to be in the program when I was younger, so I feel like I’m giving back to the program itself and the community since I was one of them at one point,” Resendiz Mejia said. “I was offered all that help, and I’m able to help these students and relate to what they’re going through because I myself have gone through it too.”

Resendiz Mejia’s favorite part is being able to be a resource for new families. Some families need help learning English, others need help finding jobs. Whatever their need, Resendiz Mejia loves being part of their first connection in Harrisonburg.

“I’ve learned how real life is, and how big of a difference education makes in that, and how JMU as a university has a special responsibility to help make a difference. That’s why I love those offices — they do so much incredible work and seeing individually that it’s changing kids, to see the impact is awesome.”

Britt’s had the ability to impact students indirectly from his role. But for now, he hopes to continue directly inspiring Bryan.

“Bryan’s making that change now because he wants to do big things one day,” Britt said. “I’m confident he will.”

Contact Andrea at brusigap@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 19

Locals experiment by living without electricity

By MARY LANDY Curio

On a cool Wednesday evening, downtown Harrisonburg goes dark. Only a streetlight helps to guide walkers to the front porch of the Downstream Project house. Someone has a headlamp on, casting a direct red glow around the otherwise dark kitchen inside. Corey Maxa, Amelia Morrison and Casey Lapham light four tall candles spread throughout the kitchen.

The only electricity in this house comes from an extension cord from the basement to charge a computer and a water heater. It currently has only two residents - they’re welcoming and often have many temporary roommates.

The owners of the blue Downstream Project House no longer live in it. Rachel Sarah and her husband Nicholas built the house between 2011 and 2012, just after they were married. The house’s mission came out of a shared passion for living alternatively, leaving as little impact as they could on the earth.

Rachel Sarah and Nicholas had been in Earth Club in 2008 and 2009 during their time at James Madison University. Rachel Sarah remembers a trip to West Virginia where she heard the stories of those who had been affected by mountaintop removal mining.

“I just couldn’t come back to my apartment and switch on a light switch without thinking, ‘Wow, this electricity is coming from coal,’” she recalls. “The more I learned about environmental injustices, the more you realize how they’re connected to other environmental injustices, and then the more 20 | Curio 2019

you see how they’re related to other social injustices.”

She began to experiment with her roommate with things like limiting waste and lighting candles at night instead of turning on the lights.

“First, I had to go through a time of overwhelm … and then after that trying to figure out, ‘Well how can I live in this world?’”

The food The light from the candles begins to illuminate the room as someone lights a piece of cardboard to stoke the woodstove. As eyes adjust, the room seems so bright that the absence of a light switch is forgotten. Within minutes, the room smells softly of a summer night bonfire.

Corey lays out potatoes and vegetables on a cutting board and Casey begins to chop them.

“Full disclosure, this bag of sweet potatoes was liberated from a Food Lion dumpster,” Corey says as he moves to light another candle, red and white, burned down from many nights’ use. This freeganism isn’t altogether uncommon in the house.

Though it’s dark, everyone works around each other flawlessly — they’re used to this.

As they chop potatoes, boil water and slice green peppers, they talk all the while. When they close the woodstove, the scent goes away.

The room is warmer than one would expect on a February night.

Amelia and Corey speak to each other,

mostly in English, but sometimes in Spanish.

As the sizzle of the vegetables and the potatoes on the woodstove fills the room, Corey begins to sing to himself at the sink.

“The more I got to give…it’s the way that I live… what I’m living for,” he says, almost to himself.

Somewhere, an old clock chimes seven times to mark the hour. The kitchen smells of fresh food. Herbs dry on a suspended grate from the ceiling.

“It’s possible, you know…changing our system. What you put energy into will grow,” Corey says.

After a few moments, Amelia follows up, “If you had no limitations, financially or geographically, what would you do to be happy?”

The how When Rachel Sarah and her husband bought the blue house, it was an opportunity to experiment in ways they couldn’t living in an apartment. The transition into an electricity-free life, however, wasn’t easy.

“To let go of that stuff, even though we have passion to let go of it, has been hard, because it’s what we know,” Rachel Sarah admits. “Each year we try to pick something to change significantly. We are Christian and our Christianity has informed much of what we’re doing.”

The name for the house, the Downstream Project, comes from their desire to live “into the Kingdom of God.” “How can we live in ways that aren’t

affecting us downstream? Who are the people that are affected by my choices?”

Rachel Sarah asks.

The family uses the Lenten season each year, between Ash Wednesday and Easter, to give up something new. Using this time as a start, Rachel Sarah says, leaves them feeling empowered and encouraged to continue on living without certain amenities, like a refrigerator or washing machine.

Rachel Sarah believes that she and her family can help support and inspire other people in their decision to live in a more ecologically conscious way.

“I think it’s a fun claim to fame that I have two children that I’ve cloth diapered all the way through, and I’ve never had a dryer,” Rachel Sarah says through laughter.

“It’s always been normal life to just hang everything up. So, if anyone ever needs encouragement, I’m happy to encourage people that it is possible.”

When asked about her favorite memories from living in the Downstream house, Rachel Sarah said it wasn’t just one night, but many.

“I think our favorite times were evenings…having people over in the evening for dinner and to just be together, whether we’d play a game, or music, or just sit around and talk about whatever topic comes up,” she remembers. “It seems really life-giving in a time that’s so full of quickness and instantaneous information and things… just having these candlelight evenings. It’s just cozy and intimate... It’s special.”

PHOTOS BY CHARLOTTE WARD

Dedicated to their sustainable lifestyle, the housemates saved some of tonight’s vegetables from a local grocery store’s dumpster.

Curio 2019 | 21

The now Among the clinging of forks picking pasta and vegetables off plates, Amelia asks, “Has anyone been reading any good books lately?”

Corey begins to describe a book on American Indian liberation theology.

“Indigenous cultures … their discernment for what to do as a people included their ceremonies. So, all their decisions are spiritually-based…in one of the first paragraphs it’s like, we can’t separate the political, cultural or spiritual for people that are in this place. It makes me think that we are so far away from that now as a society,” he said.

Amelia remarks that the ways in which Corey and his roommate live “have a very grand vision of the future – always inspiring us.”

They go on, discussing how living personally in this way can be reflected in society as a whole.

“Social change on a large scale can be something creative, experimental and

playful. That’s a beautiful thing,” Amelia says.

The food is gone from the plates and all that is left is a sweet tea made from nettle and mint. The only sound is water running over the plates to clean them.

“The electricity part is one element, but we’re trying to really learn and grow and experiment in many different directions,” Corey says.

Much of Corey’s lifestyle is reflected in his work with the New Community Project, Vine and Fig. Amelia and Casey are also involved with Vine and Fig’s mission, and believe in the mission of alternative living.

“I think much of what we do is very much experimentation, trying to figure out a new culture and a new way to live that’s personally life-giving but also is more just,” Casey says. “This is kind of a small-scale experimentation of, you know, what is it really like living without electricity? We can shift culture in that way and normalize things.”

Corey begins to speak about those who

Morrison 22Amelia | Curio 2019 (left) and her housemates gather around a homecooked, candlelit meal.

live in a community and acknowledge the ways in which their actions affect the rest of the world.

“Part of the ‘no-electricity’ is to hold space and to give encouragement to someone who might be thinking about experimenting in similar ways,” he says.

The unseen clock chimes nine times. The night is darker still and one of the candles has burned out, but there remains a light strong enough to see around the table. As everyone begins to clean up, Corey hums the tune from his earlier song, Deep Inside. Food is put away in used and cleaned containers and dishes are washed and dried.

The conversation turns to candle-making.

“Rachel Sarah and Nick had homemade candle holders out of bent clothes hangers,” Amelia remembers. “We tried to make more, but we didn’t have enough beeswax.”

By the time goodnights are said, the sky is sparkling with stars, and the air is a bit colder.

Something feels different than before, fuller, more connected.

Contact Mary at landymc@dukes.jmu.edu.

“Social change on a large scale can be something creative, experimental and playful. That’s a beautiful thing” Amelia Morrison

Curio 2019 | 23

Sweet escape

Getaway houses offer opportunity to disconnect

By SARAH BROWN Curio

Our tires rolled across the gravel as we pulled up to the deep walnut colored cabin.

We walked up the three steps to the cabin door after gathering our belongings.. To the left read a sign that said “Hank,” the name of the cabin we would be staying in for the weekend.

We walked right into the kitchenette with the bathroom and bed just five feet away from us on either side.

I’ve known Therese since freshman year of college and knew both of us didn’t do well without checking our Instagram and Twitter account’s every few hours, so when she invited me on this trip I wasn’t sure how the two of us would manage without cellular service. Whenever something happens in our lives, we both go right to our phones to share

the news with our social media followers. But for this trip, we’d be spending our weekend in the woods with no technology.

Getaway offers an escape from reality.

Two Harvard graduates created it so visitors could get in touch with nature, unplug and disconnect from their devices. Therese was asked by Getaway House to take pictures and promote the luxury cabins on her Instagram in exchange for a free nights stay. They have locations in New York, Atlanta, Boston, Los Angeles and Washington D.C. My experience with Getaway House was located in Stanardsville, Virginia.

Trying to maneuver our way through the cabin was difficult. There was minimal space to put our belongings because the entire cabin was around 140-200 square feet, complete with a queen sized bed, small kitchen table, kitchenette and full-sized bathroom. After

placing our suitcases in the corner by the coat rack, we didn’t notice them much because we stayed by the wall-sized window looking out into the tall trees surrounding our cabin next to the bed.

The outside of the cabin had a rustic feel and the trailer-like home was covered in a deep walnut shade of wood. Outside there was a small campfire area with adirondack chairs placed on all sides of the fire pit.

Getaway provides firewood and matches to cozy up next to the fire on colder nights.

Closer to the cabin, there was a picnic table for barbeques and meals with whomever one chooses to spend their getaway with.

Our next question after we unpacked was what do we do in the middle of the woods in our tiny cabin. Luckily, Therese brought games like backgammon, playing cards, checkers and other games I hadn’t played

PHOTOS BY THERESE SMITH

24 | Curio 2019

This Getaway house named “Hank” is located in Stanardsville, Virginia.

since I was eight years old.

When all of the games were over, it was hard to not give into the temptation of looking at our phones, even with the little service we had. To ease the urge, we decided to take a walk while it was still light outside.

There’s something different about walking in the woods with no phone or technology.

You’re more inclined to pay attention to your surroundings.

As we walked, I could hear birds chirping back and forth, the leaves on the trees rustling as the wind blew and the crunching of sticks and leaves under our feet. Therese and I didn’t talk. A calming sensation came over me as we walked and I felt no urges to reach in my pocket and pull out my phone.

I was simply in the moment, embracing the beauty of nature.

The sun started going down and it was time to eat dinner. At this point, we’d eaten all

of our snacks while playing games and weren’t quite sure what we should do. In the drawers to the right of the sink in the kitchenette, we discovered food of all sorts—oatmeal, coffee, chocolate, graham crackers, marshmallows and chili. We decided on the pasta and red sauce and started cooking.

As we sat and ate our meals, it was nice to have a conversation with my friend instead of scrolling through social media, or texting people we weren’t with. I was able to sit and listen to what Therese was saying and give her my full attention while she gave the same to me. She told me her plans to travel to Paris over spring break and her dreams of traveling all around Europe. I shared my goals for the future to move to Los Angeles when I’m older. There were no distractions, which was a welcome change from conversations we were used to having. We moved our conversation outside and started a campfire with the

s’mores and fire supplies that Getaway also provided for us.

At bedtime, the woods around us started to get spooky. Outside was pitch black. No more seeing the trees or other cabins, just complete darkness. Therese and I started to get scared of bears coming up to the window, but after closing the blinds and listening to the sounds of owls and the wind blowing, we both realized what an amazing experience it was to be able to fall asleep surrounded by such tranquility.

I woke up to the sun shining through the wall to wall window next to our bed. The entire cabin was lit by sunlight casting onto the white comforter and through the kitchen. I sat up, stretched my arms and looked out the window at the nature. I took a deep breath and felt a sense of relief and relaxation that I have never felt before.

Contact Sarah at brown9se@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 25

A day in the life of an ESL teacher

By SARA BRANNAN Curio

Today’s lesson in Patricia “Patty” Baer’s fourth grade English as a Second Language math class is Uncle Ben’s Chicken Farm. On a whiteboard, she has written a word problem: “How many egg-laying hens does Uncle Ben have? Uncle Ben has ____ egg-laying hens on his farm.”

It’s 9:15 a.m. and Baer, 52, is holding her class in the hallway.

The ESL department and its subsequent classes at Waterman Elementary School have changed locations several times in the almost 39 years she’s been teaching there.

This is in large part due to the increase in immigrants and refugees migrating to Harrisonburg in the past few decades, requiring a more expansive ESL department throughout the city. When Baer first began at Waterman, there were only a couple of ESL teachers covering all of the elementary schools. Today, there are at least three to five at each.

“Sometimes, you’re not forced to do something until you have to,” Baer explains, comparing the growth of Harrisonburg’s ESL department to that of other Shenandoah Valley schools. “And I’m not saying that to be critical of anybody. You have to prioritize.”

While the ESL department has grown out of some urgency, Baer doesn’t doubt that the community is better off with its expanding diversity.

“I think being with people who are different from us are opportunities for us to grow, and that’s a good thing,” she says.

Baer’s hallway “classroom” consists of a small table, a stand-up whiteboard and a few chairs.

She explains that she tries to use pictures and terminology that the students already know to explain more complex word problems.

The ESL program isn’t for students who don’t know English, but rather students who are not yet proficient in academic English. They might speak everyday English conversationally, but aren’t as familiar with academic terminology. This has the potential to affect their advancement in school.

“Nobody’s first language is academic language,” she explains.

26 | Curio 2019

Having an ESL teacher co-teaching with the classroom teacher can be beneficial for all students picking up academic terminology, whether English is their first language or not.

Two of the 209 English learners enrolled at Waterman sit down at the table. Baer passes out notebooks and starts by reading the word problem with the students.

She starts by drawing a box, or “chicken house,” and asks the students to help divide it up into sections based on the specific chicken group.

Once all of the chickens are accounted for, she asks the students, “Are we adding anything together?” The students confirm.

“Are we taking anything away?” asks Baer.

“Yes,” the students respond in unison.

Baer gives them a chance to each solve the problem on their own. Baer talks through the answers with the students before sending them back to class.

Last year, it was reported that more than 56 different languages are spoken in Harrisonburg City public schools, but the majority of Baer’s students speak Spanish.

“Our trends sort of follow what’s happening in the world,” Baer explains.

She notes that when she started as a classroom teacher in 1990, there was a large Hispanic population, but this was followed by an insurgence of immigrants from Russia and Ukraine. Shortly thereafter, refugees from Kurdistan, Iraq and the Democratic Republic of the Congo moved in.

Today, Baer reports there’s been a wave of students from Honduras.

Baer herself is from Maryland. Through a volunteer program in her church, she spent two years as a teacher’s aide at Ed Smith Elementary School in Syracuse, NY before attending college.

Eastern Mennonite University is what brought her to Harrisonburg. Baer, who’s Mennonite, heard about the school through her father after he attended a semester. Baer was drawn to their education department and the small atmosphere.

After two student teacher placements at Waterman, Baer became a classroom teacher right out of school and hasn’t left since.

“It felt like home,” she says of Harrisonburg and the friends, community, and church she’s found there. She confirms that being

Mennonite does impact the way she views her work.

“I don’t see what I do as just a job. I view it as a calling … It’s who you are and how you provide service and serving others,” she says.

She notes that Mennonites tend to “think more globally.”

Since her start, Baer has moved to the ESL

program and currently works as a lead teacher and an ESL specialist. Her responsibilities include running meetings, following up with students who have exited the program and training new teachers in the program.

Baer’s second group is meeting in an upstairs classroom shared by several other small groups. At times it’s hard to hear the lessons over them. Baer explains that there isn’t always enough space for small groups

like this to meet.

Baer introduces the same problem of Uncle Ben’s chicken farm. She asks the group what the number 440 represents.

She clarifies that this represents “all of the chickens” and that roosters and hens are different but both are chickens.

This brings up a discussion of words for chickens in Spanish. “‘Pollo’ is ‘chicken’” Baer confirms. “What’s ‘rooster?’”

The group discusses the difference between “gallina,” (hen) “pollo” (chicken) and “pollito” (chick).

“Well if you figure it out, you let me know,” Baer says as she tries to get the group to move back into math. She calls on one student.

“What’s something else we need to add?” “‘Gallo.’ It’s ‘gallo,’’’ another student interjects.

The rest of the group confirms that “gallo” is the word for “rooster.”

Baer listens patiently before trying to get the group back on track.

After three math groups, Baer moves on to reading. She explains that, in keeping with the idea of using academic language as much as possible, they mostly read books on scientific topics. She tries to correlate this with the lessons the students are learning in their main classroom.

This week’s lesson is on electricity and energy. The group reads about and discusses different forms of energy, currents, circuits and fossil fuels. Baer tries to use as many scientific terms in regular conversation that she can.

Four and a half hours and six lessons later, Baer heads back to her office for lunch.

Baer (middle) has been teaching at Waterman Elementary School in Harrisonburg, Virginia for 39 years.

be stuck in your grade level and not really see sort of the big picture of the whole building, so it’s a challenge and it’s also a benefit I think to have that,” she says.

It’s not a “straight up nine to five,” she explains. “I’ve been known to sometimes be here until 7 o’clock, 8 o’clock … I don’t have children of my own so I don’t need to be

responsible for anyone else.”

For her, it is worth it to help support students and their families. She explains that she feels the best way for the community to support families of ESL students is “recognizing the fact that the families that we have contribute to our community. They’re here, they work hard,” she explains.

Baer’s office is located inside a trailer behind the building that she shares with four other ESL teachers and sometimes a class. The wall behind her desk reads “Welcome to Ms. Baer’s Den.” Baer puts her lunch in the microwave. She only has thirty minutes before she has to move on to her role as ESL Specialist at Spotswood Elementary School.

As a specialist, she provides guidance and support for other ESL teachers in the school system. It’s a packed day and it doesn’t end when the children go home. She points out that working ESL requires tons of time and a lot of flexibility. She spends a large part of her day collaborating on lessons with several different teachers as well as coming up with her own.

“As a classroom teacher, it’s sort of easy to

PHOTO BY SARA BRANNAN

“I think that it has broadened my view of the world. I think that it has made me more kind of aware of the community,” she says of her job. “The fact is I think it’s pretty universal that parents want their kids to have a better life than they had.”

Contact Sara at brannask@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 27

Free Clinic director employs inquisitive nature to get the job done

By GRACE JAMES Curio

Following Summer Sage’s son’s diagnosis with autism, her brother suggested that her son wouldn’t know how hard she worked for him.

As if there were no other option, Sage immediately responded, “Yeah he will.”

For Summer Sage, her journey to becoming executive director of the HarrisonburgRockingham Free Clinic began when her son was diagnosed with autism.

Having graduated with a masters in communication and the arts from Regent

28 | Curio 2019

University, and completing undergrad in performing arts, the healthcare realm was nowhere on her path. But her son’s diagnosis was like an unexpected detour in the road that has led her to today’s destination.

Upon her son’s diagnosis, doctors told Sage he’d never get things like humor and religion.

And even more, that he wouldn’t understand just how much she loved him. Although that was the doctor’s job, those words deeply affected Sage.

“I thought, ‘Those are just such terrible things to say about any child, let alone to a parent and everything,’” Sage said. “I all of a sudden felt l was not equipped or empowered

to parent my child, and I never felt that way prior to that moment. So it was kind of that part of my personality that says, ‘Don’t tell me I can’t, ‘cause I will just to prove you wrong.’

But it all of a sudden was more than that – it wasn’t just I can’t, don’t tell me that he can’t.”

Determined to find hope in the situation, she began searching for what she could do next.

“I’d never heard the word autism before so I just had to dig in and learn,” she said.

As she stuggled to find out how to best support her son and staying up late nights looking for answers, she found VCU’s disability services.

Summer Sage entered the healthcare sector after her son’s autism diagnosis.

PHOTOS BY CHARLOTTE WARD

With the opportunity to join the Family to Family Network, Sage felt at home. The group consisted of parents who had children with disabilities, allowing them to talk and connect over shared experiences.

“There was affirmation and confirmation and hope, when all I had gotten from doctors was what wasn’t going to happen,” Sage said.

Thus, she unknowingly began her journey into healthcare.

“I called in as a parent first, to get help and support,” Sage said. “And then I learned about the Partners in Policymaking.”

With Partners in Policymaking, Sage learned how to become an advocate for herself and her child, and the history of the disability movement.

“I went to, like, the roots and the history of what evolved into the disability movement and how we talked about healthcare and personfirst language,” Sage said.

Realizing the impact she could have, she wanting to get more involved, and applied for a board position on the Virginia Board for People with Disabilities. She’s now celebrating her sixth year on the board.

Heidi Lawyer, mentor to Sage and board director, recalls her first impression of Summer.

“She would ask a ton of questions about everything and it was slightly annoying but I recognized that her questions led us to deeper

conversation, and I encouraged her to keep asking those questions,” Lawyer said.

Asking questions allowed Sage to become a better advocate for those with disabilities and the community around her.

“I just have been someone who has asked questions and persevered to find the answers and when I felt like there was lack of the patient’s voice in a lot of things, I found opportunity to be involved and help other families’ voice get amplified and be part of the decision-making process,” Sage said.

In the same way that she searched to find support for her son, she looks to support others in the community.

“She was not only passionate as a mother but always trying to figure out how to make big picture stuff work,” Dana Yarbrough, mentor and former employer to Sage at VCU, said.

Her passion for helping patients of the free clinic comes from another place of sensitivity — she’s been in the same shoes.

“Everytime I tried to get two steps ahead, I lost services and supports,” Sage said. “I’ve been that person that is all of our other community residents struggling to make ends meet.”

She’s received Medicaid, been on food stamps and received WIC. “It wasn’t easy, and it’s really hard to say ‘I need help,’” Sage said.

And as a mother, she’s faced the struggles of needing support for her son.

“I have sat down and said, ‘look, I can be home caring for my child and receiving these services and supports but I start a part time job and those all go away.’”

Using her own experience of trying to maintain a living and access healthcare enables her understand the situation and know which questions to ask.

“She a very inquisitive person … I think that is a huge strength for the community because she asks the questions that need to be asked,” Yarbrough said.

Beginning January 2019, the Free Clinic expanded eligibility requirements, allowing more people to access its services.

“My life’s path has been to remove barriers,” Sage said. “Whether it’s barriers for my son, through advocacy and education; whether it’s here ... how to access healthcare, how to access information. I truly understood that knowledge is power when it came to this process and this journey.”

Her journey to the Free Clinic may have been an unexpected one.

“I’m following a path that sort of falls in front of me,” Sage said.

Whenever she hits a roadblock, she knows how to find her way through.

“If I can get the information I need, anything is possible,” Sage said.

Contact Grace at jamesgn@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 29

History recreated PHOTO COUTRESY OF TIFFANY KNUPP

The New Market Battlefield Reenactment is held every May.

By JASON CLAMPITT Curio

Gunfire and smoke haunt the New Market battlefield, as the two armies charge at each other from across the field with their guns and the sounds of the cannons fire behind them. The only difference between the real battle and this one? In this one, it’s modern day. The “armies” are reenactors who fight to preserve the history of the Civil War. “... Once Terry’s on the field, he tries to portray a general officer in a battle in the Civil War,” Lt. Gen Troy Marshall, site director for the Virginia Museum of the Civil War said.

“Behind the scenes, you’ll see him in his tent, he might be sitting there with his vest.”

Terry Shelton has participated in over 300 reenactments over the years. The 62-year-old Barbourville, Kentucky native now resides in East Bend, North Carolina and appears in reenactments as a commanding officer for the Confederacy. Shelton got involved because of his love for history. He participates in the New Market Battlefield reenactment, held every May to honor the New Market battle that took place on May 15, 1864.

As a kid, Shelton’s favorite history show was “The Gray Ghost.” He watched the show when he came home from school. Shelton recalls reading “Across Five Aprils” is what 30 | Curio 2019

got him hooked into history.

“The generation I grew up in, we were exposed to a lot of historical media, if you will,” Shelton said. “There were a lot of TV shows that were historically oriented, TV series, so many things were about history. I became an avid lover of history at a young age, not just the Civil War but many periods of history.”

Shelton first got into reenactments in the early ’90s after he moved to Virginia. After attending several reenactments, he joined an artillery unit for Purcell Battery.

“I was in the army, at first I was in the Kentucky National Guard in the infantry unit in my hometown,” Shelton said. “I went on active duty in the army, I was infantry in the army. I’ve always enjoyed the infantry.”

Shelton said a few of his co-workers at the time approached him and asked to start their own unit. They started the first Kentucky regime in the state of Virginia and he was the company commander for Longstreet’s Corps for 22 years.

In addition to the annual New Market reenactment, Shelton has participated in reenactments along the east coast in states such as West Virginia, Kentucky Georgia, Tennessee and Virginia.

Marshall has known Shelton for years and has been in some reenactments with him.

Marshall and Shelton got into reenacting around the same time. However, they didn’t meet until Shelton was named the Confederate Commander. Marshall considers Shelton a friend and both work hard on scheduling the event.

Marshall and Shelton discuss the set up of the reenactment such as troop movements and adjusting the area of the reenactment if it is unsafe for the reenactors. Marshall says Shelton works hard to make sure the event is historically accurate, including checking weapons for safety and making sure other reenactors are drinking enough water.

“He has a passion for history, as we all do,” Marshall said.

Being involved in a reenactment is voluntary, and the reenactors aren’t compensated. They pay a registration fee to participate and take care of their own expenses.

Shelton participated in reenactments in the past, and said his son’s first reenactment was when he was “a couple of weeks old.”

Shelton’s ex-wife was an avid reenactor and he says that’s how they met.

The goal for all reenactors is to accurately portray the battle scenario as it played out.

There are protocols that reenactors must follow, and if they don’t they could be reprimanded by their commanding officers

Kentucky native participates in annual New Market Civil War battle reenactment and not invited back to the reenactment.

Shelton says that reenactors don’t touch the flag of another group out of courtesy.

“I actually saw a fight one time when a unit tried to physically take a flag from another unit,” Shelton said.

Shelton’s favorite moment of his reenacting career was participating in the Cedar Creek Battle reenactment — it was the first event he ever did. Shelton states he was like a kid on Christmas morning at Cedar Creek. The Cedar Creek reenactment is similar to the New Market reenactment, as both are held on their respective original battlefields.

The New Market battle is best known for the historic role young Virginia Military Institute cadets played during it. During the reenactment, the story is told to visitors.

The cadets were ordered by Gen. John C. Breckinridge’s Confederate to fill the gap in the line, when Union troops had broken through the Confederate line. The cadets helped closed the gap, forced the Union

troops to surrender and secured the Valley for the Confederacy.

“It wasn’t that they were superhuman, but you take 15-year-old and you expect them to fight as a man, you don’t expect much chance of success,” Marshall said. “But the cadets stood their ground, they were resolute, they were stubborn when Breckinridge needed them.”

Marshall is in charge of setting reenactments, as well as other programs at the museum. He states that VMI honors the ten cadets that were in the battle annually on May 15, during the New Market ceremony.

“After each one of them they will say these words, ‘Died on the field of honor sir,’ and the reason why they do that is because six of the ten fallen cadets are buried at VMI under a statue called Virginia Mourning her Dead,” Marshall said.

Sarah Mink runs the historical interpretation department at VMI and sets up historical tours, field trips and tours for

the parks. She also works with Marshall to set up the reenactments by coordinating the volunteers. Mink says she tries to look at the reenactment as an educational event, not just the show.

“We’re doing a how to dress a lady 101,” Mink said. “We’re going to have someone standing there in her period correct underwear, and we’re going to dress her from the bottom up. Why you would wear these things, what the style was at the time, what fabrics you would have used.”

Shelton says the New Market reenactment is important for the community because it shows them what challenges people faced in the community 155 years ago.

“Virginia had the largest number of engagements than any other state, that became entrenched in the community,” Shelton said. “When you formed a company for a particular regiment, most of the time those guys came from the same community.

It’s woven into the fabric of the community.”

Contact Jason at clampijt@dukes.jmu.edu.

PHOTO COUTRESY OF MIKE CLARK

Curio 2019 | 31

Five margaritas to try in downtown Harrisonburg PHOTO BY ALYSSA TREBITZ

By ABBY CHURCH & CATIE HARPER Curio

Drinks hold endless possibilities. So do Saturday nights.

One of those nights, we embarked on a crawl. This wasn’t your normal crawl where you hop from bar to bar. We were on a mission for margaritas.

Harrisonburg has come to be known as a food capital in Virginia, and where there’s good food, there has to be good drinks. After stumbling upon our first stop on accident, we built our map for the evening off what each restaurants’ bartender recommended as their own favorite if they couldn’t pick their place of work.

While this isn’t a contest by any means, we came up with a list of the five margaritas you absolutely need to try if you’re taking a trip downtown.

Cuban Burger We weren’t supposed to end up here. A 5-minute walk to our original first destination gave way to a close to an hour wait. After we put our name on the list and went to explore further, we decided to take a chance on the single margarita on Cuban Burger’s menu.

Boy, are we glad we came. We’re firm believers drinks should put the smack down.

Cuban Burger’s sent us flying back into the corner of the ring.

This one is crisp. We’re talking hot summer day when you’re 10, taking your first sip of water after playing outside for two hours crisp. Take that deliciously cool refreshment and add a splash of jalapeno and the briskness of cucumbers — then, you’ll have Cuban Burger’s margarita.

This marg knows exactly what it’s doing.

Made with jalapeno-infused Lunazul tequila, cucumber, agave syrup and fresh lime juice, it strikes the perfect balance and isn’t overly sweet. Cuban Burger isn’t a stranger to strength, and this drink had plenty of it.

Bella Luna Wood-Fired Pizza Cuban Burger sent us to Bella Luna.

Now, we had to seek this margarita out — it isn’t on the menu. Why? The bartender says its a well-known enough drink that is doesn’t need to be.

Bella Luna’s version of a classic margarita includes either silver of white Pepe Lopez tequila, triple secc, lime and sugar to taste.

This one will surely make your lips curl.

The homemade sours hold strong and this margarita was the tangiest of the night, giving it a unique twist unlike any of the other drinks we tried.

Local Chop & Grill House If margaritas were men, Local Chop & Grill House’s version would be the one you’d be proud bringing home to your parents.

Seriously, he’s dreamy. And classic. He’s the one that comes to your door on a date and introduces himself to your dad. He’ll win your mom over with his charm. He’ll become your older brother’s best friend through his impeccable sports knowledge.

Best of all, he’ll give you a good time. But, that may just be the tequila.

Of course we’re kidding, but if this drink could actually become a man, we’d marry it. Local Chop’s is, arguably, the archetype of a great margarita. Crafted with lemon, lime, grapefruit juice, Lunazul, Cointreau and housemade sours, it hits the mouth smooth. One standout factor of this drink was its salinity. This one was the saltiest of all with a thick — and we’re not talking about his arms — enough rock salt rim to last the entire drink. Local Chop’s marg went down the easiest and had the best aftertaste.

TOP AND UPPER RIGHT PHOTOS BY ALYSSA TREBITZ, BOTTOM RIGHT BY SMANTHA LINCZYC

Harrisonburg margaritas vary from salty to sweet, and some are even customizable.

Rocktown Kitchen Everyone loves choices. At Rocktown Kitchen, they’re abundant.

Margaritas here are an art, and creators have the opportunity to pick their palette — and by palette, we mean tequila. Rocktown gives restaurant goers a chance to pick what type of tequila they want their marg made with. Since we wanted to go all out, we chose Patron.

Take the sun. Grab it out of the sky — careful now, don’t burn yourself — squeeze it and toss it in a glass with a garnish. That’s this margarita.

Rocktown’s margarita is the equivalent of a summer day. Its balance of flavors was the smoothest and had the most colorful flavor.

This one’s made with a stronger orange juice base than the others, which they say provides more body and volume to the drink. It also

includes triple secc and hoursemade sours.

Who knows, maybe it was the Patron, but this marg stood out. It wasn’t quite what you think of when you imagine your classic margarita. With most margaritas aiming to give you a lemony-lime taste, the use of orange juice really pops.

The smoothness of the Patron mixed with the tanginess from the orange juice gives you a unique twist while still satisfying your margarita craving.

Magnolia’s Taco & Tequila Bar We couldn’t write about downtown margaritas without mentioning Magnolia’s.

What other twinkle lit rooftop do Harrisonburg residents and JMU students alike find

themselves at after a long week with a drink in one hand and a Masa Crusted Shrimp taco in the other?

Certainly, Magnolia’s is the go-to when it comes to novelty. Mango, raspberry, blueberry basil and classic lime come together among other flavors to create a menu adorned with endless combinations. We decided to finish the night the way we started with a cucumber jalapeno margarita.

If you aren’t the biggest fan of tequila’s kick, Magnolia’s provides more of a flavorful route in other capacities. Magnolia’s version of the drink featured medallions of cucumbers and jalapenos inside, which give it more of a tang. Of course, it also includes agave, the restaurant’s middle shelf tequila and housemade sours, making it sweeter than the rest.

Contact Abby at churchae@dukes.jmu.edu and Catie at harpercm@dukes.jmu.edu.

The founders of Old Crow Medicine show met at Little Grill Collective in Harrisonburg.

Valley boys Member of Grammy Award-winning group attributes success to Valley

By MARY HARRISON Curio

“Down in Rockingham County I was born and raised, I’ll be a Rock-town rocker for the rest of my days” is an opening line off Old Crow Medicine Show’s newest album, paying homage to their Harrisonburg roots. Ketch Secor and Critter Fuqua — cofounders of the old-time, alternative country band that now has multiple Grammy Awards and are members of the Grand Ole Opry — first met and performed in Harrisonburg.

Every Thursday night, the diner that 34 | Curio 2019

was originally a bathhouse for a nearby swimming pool and then a soup kitchen would open its microphone to the community. It was at Harrisonburg’s own The Little Grill Collective where a young Secor saw Robert St. Ours, who later founded The Hackensaw Boys, perform “Heart of Gold.” It was the definitive moment for Secor when he decided to pursue his musical dreams. Just years later, 17-year-old Secor revitalized a Bob Dylan fragment of “Wagon Wheel,” that would later top the country charts in a version by Darius Rucker.

Today, Old Crow Medicine Show cultivates the blueglass revivalism they

sought out over twenty years ago. Without giving into the modern rock momentum that carried similar bluegrass bands to mainstream success, Old Crow Medicine Show pays a steadfast deference to their roots. The six member group’s sauntering road music unabashedly embraces the quirk of bluegrass and old country while harnessing 21st-century vitality. Old Crow Medicine Show has given the nation a glimpse of the timelessness of Rockingham County.

Secor — who does vocals as wells as plays the banjo, fiddle, harmonica and guitar — attributes his band’s fortune to the Valley.

How did you and Critter meet?

We met at Thomas Harrison Middle School in the 7th grade, in Mr. Smith’s History Class. In middle school, we just rocked out at my house or his house, we both had the same electric guitar from Ace Music and Electronics on South Main St.

night I was going to start a band called Old Crow Medicine Show, and it stuck.

How did Old Crow Medicine Show start?

One time there was a mosh pit and the gumball machine got broken. Everyone scrambled to get the free gumballs but some of them just got glass.

I had had this great band in Harrisonburg called the Route 11 Boys. We had figured out how to go out to Quebec, Maine, Michigan in the dead of winter — we did a lot of traveling into snowy climates to go play music on the street corner in a daring and brave fashion. Having had those experiences I then decided to go do that with a different group of musicians, these musicians primarily centered around the old-time music scene in Ithica, New York.

What’s the story behind Old Crow Medicine Show’s name?

How has Harrisonburg influenced your music?

I was working in a dish room, and I thought I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wondered if it might be cool if I start a new band, get me out of that dish room and get me to Winnipeg, which is where I really wanted to go. So I wrote in my journal that

In our most recent album, we have a song called Dixie Avenue. It includes references to Court Square and Gus Floros who was [Jess’] Quick Lunch’s owner, and Rawley Springs where we all used to swim next to 33.

What’s your favorite memory from performing at the Little Grill Collective?

How would you describe your band’s sound to someone who’s never heard it before?

I guess we’re beer drinking music, with a little twang.

What has been the highlight of Old Crow Medicine Show?

Probably playing at the Rockingham County Fair. I think we’ve done it three or four times. It’s in August. It’s just great to be back in the Valley, stand up there with a violin in front of that great big American Flag and play music that sounds like where I grew up, inspired by the product of the Valley. Just like all of those prize winning pies, hogs and corn stalks that get celebrated.

What’s on the horizon for Old Crow Medicine Show?

We’re probably going to keep doing what we do, it’s worked out pretty well so far.

Contact Mary at harri4mj@dukes.jmu.edu.

PHOTOS COUTRESY OF OLD CROW MEDICINE SHOW

The group desribes its music as “beer drinking music.”

Curio 2019 | 35

Quite the ride Harrisonburg’s first Latino city councilman reflects on his journey to office

By ANDREA BRUSIG Curio

Harrisonburg, Virginia isn’t just the Friendly City, — it’s a special place. It’s a community of family and friends, and for many, it’s home.

For 13 years, Sal Romero lived in Guanajuato, Mexico — a place that doesn’t feel nearly like home like Harrisonburg. Romero works for Harrisonburg City Schools, was elected in 2018 as a City Councilman and currently serves as vice-mayor of the city.

Romero, alongside his four siblings, made the move for a job opportunity for their father. Their family has always been close — their parents have lived in the same house in Harrisonburg for 27 years.

Now, all the siblings and their families get together at the house once a week, and plan family hiking trips — complete with a picnic by a waterfall, of course. Romero’s parents created the family’s tight-knit bond that still exists today.

“They instilled in us that you do everything for your family,” Romero’s sister, Silvia Garcia-Romero, said. “You can’t really rely on other people the same way you can trust your family to be there for you. Our mom doesn’t have an education and she wasn’t able to help in other ways — but the way in which she’s always helped and provided is by using her own talents to do what she can.”

Romero’s first year at school in the United States was his first time going to an English-speaking school. At the time, he didn’t know English. And at John C. Myers Middle School, he didn’t receive the warm welcome he hoped for.

“There were only just a handful of Latino students, and it was really hard to make friends because of the language barrier,” Romero said.

“But, it was also difficult because there were students who were just not interested in becoming friends with people like me.”

By the time Romero got to Broadway High School, many of the Latino students from the previous year had dropped out to work.

Romero was one of the few Latino students left and was left with no one to support him.

“I didn’t really have any role models in high school, and didn’t have anyone that I could connect with,” Romero said.

Forming relationships wasn’t the only hardship Romero faced in school. The language barrier made school — an already difficult task before moving to The United States — even harder for Romero.

But his passion for playing soccer is the one thing that remained 36 | Curio 2019

constant. He knew he wanted to continue pursuing that love when he got to Harrisonburg.

“But — there was not a soccer team at the high school,” Romero said. “So there were very few things that were appealing to me to be involved in.”

He was later discouraged by his peers from going to college. After being told to go straight into the work force, Romero got his associates degree from Blue Ridge Community College. Four years later, he attended James Madison University as a kinesiology major to complete his undergraduate degree.

He found himself working as an athletic trainer at Buffalo Gap High School in Augusta County for two years after finishing college.

However, he later became involved with Harrisonburg City Public Schools, and has remained working in the department ever since.

Romero even pursued a master’s degree in school administration at Shenandoah University to continue working in the school system.

He’s done various jobs within Harrisonburg City Public Schools: starting as a homeschool liaison, then an ESL teacher, an assistant principal, a director of a before and after-school program and finally his current job, the coordinator for family and community engagement within all 10 Harrisonburg schools.

As coordinator, Romero’s role is to assist the schools with their outreach and engagement efforts. He wants families to feel welcomed and valued within the educational system, and works with administration in schools to meet their vision for engaging with families. His own experiences growing up are the reason he loves his job.

“I first started out by wanting to be in the classroom and making an impact on kids,” Romero said. “But then I went bigger and wanted to commit to all the families in the school. I wanted to make sure I was more impactful in my outreach with families.”

Although Romero’s devoted his life to helping the Latino communities in Harrisonburg, he never saw himself in a city council position.

“Me? Run for office? I don’t even know what city council is,” he told a friend in 2010 when he was first asked to run. He lost by a few hundred votes in this election, which Romero now is grateful for.

At the time, he was finishing his master’s degree, the president of a Harrisonburg soccer league and was in and out of the hospital for weeks for his son, Dani’s, surgery, and the birth of his daughter, Jacky.

PHOTO BY MCKENNA WALSH

Romero has dedicated a large protion of his life to helping Harrisonburg’s Latino community.

Romero enjoyed staying busy, but said it was a realization he wasn’t ready to be on city council just yet.

Eight years later, he found himself being asked again to run for the position. Members of a group of Latino leaders in the Valley told him, “We think this is your time, and we support you.”

Romero’s campaign manager, Karina Kline-Gabel, watched Romero grow up through a high school leadership academy specifically for Latino students. “He stood out as someone who was bound to be a leader,” KlineGabel said.

When Romero asked Kline-Gabel to be one of his campaign managers, she immediately said yes.

“He’s someone who represents our whole community — the fact we have such a high Latino population in this town and we didn’t have someone who represented us, we were really excited at the possibility of him being on city council,” Kline-Gabel said.

And on November 6, it was Romero’s time. His campaign team and family gathered the night of the election, ordered Mexican food and waited to hear the results. They watched the election coverage online, but the live feed was behind. It wasn’t until a friend came running into their campaign hub and said, “Did you hear?” when Romero knew of his victory.

But Romero didn’t just win — he won the most votes of any city councilman running.

From then on, his “typical” day started looking less-typical. But some things remain the same.

Each morning, he gets up at 4:45 to go to the gym. He then comes

home to wake up his children and occasionally makes them an egg and cheese breakfast sandwich. But they say they’d rather eat breakfast at school.

He drops off his daughter, Jacky, and heads to the Harrisonburg City School office for work. While each day brings different meetings and fundraising events, Romero takes time in the middle of his day to meet with people who want to discuss city council-related issues. His biggest priority is ensuring every member of the community has their voice heard.

It’s normally over lunch, but he’ll occasionally hold conversations with people just in-passing downtown. He’ll always make time for the people in our community.

“I feel like there is value for those who live in our community,” Romero said. “I do it because I believe it’s important to construct a better Harrisonburg, and I hope we’ll continue to do just that.”

Garcia-Romero is hopeful for Harrisonburg’s future with Romero in this position. She says he’s the definition of what it looks like to overcome significant barriers.

“Sal had a difficult adjustment growing up, but he worked so hard,” GarciaRomero said. “He’s someone that’s very open-minded and very caring, and he truly cares about our community. I think because he works in education and is exposed to a lot of social challenges that these families face, I know that he will advocate for the things that will improve the lives of people in this community.

He’s just a huge advocate for people and for the betterment of this city.”

Contact Andrea at brusigap@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 37

‘I’m still not

giving up’

By MCKENNA WALSH Curio

Heather Barrix found herself in a courtroom at the age of 14 after failing ninth grade for truancy — not attending school. She had been there twice already and assumed she would be leaving with her mother.

Instead, the court held her parents accountable and assigned a truancy officer to look further into the reasons of her behavior.

After discovering her mother’s failed drug test and her father’s struggle with alcoholism, the court removed Barrix and placed her into the foster care system. That impact still resonates today, 11 years later.

Barrix is a 2017 graduate of Blue Ridge Community College and JMU and is currently employed at the Family Educational Services as well as a foster parent in Bridgewater, Va. She now fosters children as a single parent, although her time in foster care was not an easy experience.

“It was scary because they didn’t let me contact my family or my social worker and I felt very secluded and isolated,” Barrix said.

“I said I was going to run away and I wasn’t going to stay there, I pushed my foster dad out of the way of the door and I ran away.”

It was then that the police arrested and placed her in a juvenile detention center.

A common theme was evident to Barrix while in the foster care system: the disconnection of shared experiences with the social workers and foster families that surrounded her.

“It would be hard to tell your story to one and have them advocate for you and the next week they’re gone and you’re telling someone else and they don’t really know you and your 38 | Curio 2019

background,” Barrix said. There are rules for many foster families and their homes and often times they were told to Barrix even before arrival and acclimation to the new home.

“One of my foster families didn’t let me close the door, I had to go to the bathroom to change. I had a very difficult time in that house, who wants to cry in front of someone you don’t know?” Barrix said.

Going through six different foster families in seven years challenged Barrix in personal ways, but she was given opportunities previously unrealistic for her.

“Coming into foster care, I was exposed to different families where my foster mom was a teacher, my foster dad was a cop. I wanted more for my life, I wanted a nice house like they have,” Barrix said.

Although Barrix faced personal obstacles during her acclimation to new homes and new rules, most of the families and social workers continue to reach out to her. The most influential to her; the Teter family.

“I call them mom and dad, I was with them for the longest, three years” Barrix said.

“Going on vacations with them, my biological mom and dad have never been to the beach.”

Life with Barrix’s biological family in Linville, Va. was very different. She used drugs and rarely attended school. Her older brother who was too old to be put into foster care and never graduated from high school.

Eleven years after being removed from her family, Barrix has a degree in social work and is helping children with similar backgrounds.

“I started fostering because I remember

when I was in care, I was like, these people don’t even know what I’m going through, I would’ve never done that, I would’ve done this differently,” Barrix said. “One day if I’m able to I’m going to become a foster parent so that I can be who I needed when I was younger.”

Someone who has been with Barrix through her time living with her biological family until today is Alana Moats, her best friend since elementary school.

“We were raised very differently, so I feel like from a young age I was probably a positive influence on Heather and I think my parents felt the same way. When we got Heather out of the house and she would come stay with us my mom would always take us to do fun things,” Moats said.

Moats has been there every step of the way for Barrix and continues to support Barrix as a foster mom. When Barrix called to tell her she could foster, Moats left work to pick them up with her. Their friendship has been a light for Barrix, something she can lean on when learning the ropes of parenthood seems impossible. And for Moats, her friendship with Barrix is inspiring.

“I want to foster,” Moats said. “For me, seeing what Heather has gone through, that has impacted me personally. I think it’s harder than what people expect it to be.”

Celest WIlliams, Director of the Harrisonburg-Rockingham Social Services, has worked in social services for 22 years.

There have been changes in the social work system that benefit the fosters and Williams was able to see them first-hand.

JMU alumna gives back following her own experience in foster care PHOTO BY MCKENNA WALSH

Barrix can relate to her foster children’s resistance to change and attempts to be the person she needed when she was younger.

“The youth can come in and out of foster care and they used to not be able to do that, Williams said. “Now, they can come back at any time and there’s no amount of time that they have to come back within.”

The social services system previously had a rule that if a foster decides to run away or no longer want to be in the foster care system, they only had 60 days to decide if they were coming back. If they weren’t able to decide within that time, or decided not to return, they were not accepted back.

“You see a lot of bad things, but you have to put that somewhere and come in the next day,” Williams said. Barrix has run away from a foster family before and fostering others brings similar challenges, but her mentality of helping others stays the same.

She decides to return everyday.

“Sometimes I do get overwhelmed and I’m like why did I sign up to do this, I’m only 25 I can barely handle my own issues,” Barrix said. “But the hard times are minimal, when it’s bad it’s bad and when it’s good it’s really good, the good outweighs the bad.”

There’s resistance to change from most foster kids, including her own. The difference for Barrix as a foster mom is how she can relate to the resistance.

“I have to pick and choose my battles.

I understand that everyone in foster care has trauma and comes from trauma, we all react to things differently,” Barrix said.

New confrontations arise that Barrix has to work through with her foster children, but in the end, Barrix relates her experiences with what they might be going through to keep pushing forward.

“It’s rewarding to me because I’m still not giving up, I don’t call social services like some people would,” Barrix said. “I still let them live with me, I’m not giving up and I know a lot of people do.”

As a prevention case worker, the challenges are very similar, Barrix works with biological families to prevent kids from going into foster care.

“If one of my clients is having a really bad day and I’m having a really bad day, it’s hard to turn off that switch and be like, oh I’m not going to worry about them tonight

even though I’m like where are they going to end up? Are they homeless? Are they suicidal? Should I be on standby in case I need to pick them up?” Barrix said.

Barrix’s decisions and mentality brought her to where she is today and allowed her to be a common ground for foster kids. With help from the Harrisonburg/Rockingham Foster Care and FAFSA, she was granted with a debt-free college education.

She was given a choice that many kids in foster care are able to make but struggle to do: continue their education. Barrix’s decision to work with foster children is something she decides to do every day.

With a little help along the way, Barrix was able to become what could have made foster care an easier experience, a common ground.

“I knew if I was able enough to take care of myself, I was able enough to take care of someone else and help give back to what others did for me and be that support that the child needs,” Barrix said.

Contact McKenna at walshmg@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 39

Drowning in The plight of a familyowned Virginia dairy farm

By CALEB AYERS In Partnership with the Harrisonburg Citizen

Dan Myers steps out of his white Ford F-350 and onto the muddy ground just as the morning light begins to illuminate his family’s dairy farm, Walkup Holsteins. In the partially-covered pavilion in front of him, more than 30 pregnant dry cows lay on beds of straw and wood shavings.

As he walks down the cement path that separates the two groups fenced in on each side, Dan counts to make sure that nobody gave birth overnight. The cows watch him, each breath steaming out of their nostrils in the freezing morning air. Once the first cow stands up, a chain reaction ensues, bringing all the cows to their feet and approaching the fence. When Dan confirms that the night has brought no new calves, he grabs the push broom and sweeps the hay off the path.

At 79 years old, Dan has been working on this farm for his entire life. His glasses accentuate his bright blue eyes, his fisherman’s hat protects his wispy gray hair, and his tall black boots and heavy tan coat complete his farmer’s look.

At the milking parlor on the other side of the farm, Dan’s wife Charlotte, 77, and their daughter Teresa Callender, 53, are around halfway through milking the cows, a process that they started just after 5 a.m.

The similarities abound between the two: their facial structures and expressions, the bandanas around their heads — which they said are at least partially to protect themselves from splattering feces — and the strength they exude in their work.

Drawing on decades of experience, they perform the same routine over and over.

First, Teresa ushers eight cows from the 40 | Curio 2019

holding area into two lines on either side of the parlor. Once they align cows with milking machines, Teresa and Charlotte move down the line, completing the same steps at each cow: apply disinfectant foam, check the milk’s consistency, wash, rinse and dry the utters and then plug the air-powered vacuum milker to each of the teats. A wall box next to each milker initiates the suction, which pumps the milk into the main holding tank. Once all eight milkers detach and Teresa and Charlotte apply a lanolin-based “post dip” that helps the teats close, they open the front door, letting the cows back into the covered feedlot. When one group leaves, Teresa leads another in from outside

to start the process again.

They perform this same, several-hour routine every morning and afternoon, regardless of weather or holidays. Over the 141 years and seven generations that the family has managed to keep the farm, their livelihood of working with dairy cows has also become an integral part of their family identity.

But, as is the case for dairy farms across Virginia

milk

and the nation, the troubled milk market — marred by oversupply and falling demand — threatens to rip away their way of life. Whether this 141-yearold family tradition continues for the remainder of Dan and Charlotte’s lives, and provides a livelihood for future generations, depends on what wins out: a declining, volatile dairy market, or the family’s resilience.

The family first obtained the farm in 1877 when Jackson and Catherine Showalter purchased the land in the Dayton area of Rockingham County.

Since then, they’ve managed to keep it through 26 different presidential administrations, the addition of 12 U.S. states, the Great Depression and two world wars. Over those years, farms have generally increased in size and productivity, and diminished in PHOTOS BY CALEB AYERS

number. And the number of farmers in the United States population has shifted from nearly half in the 1880s to only 2% today.

In 1918, 7-year-old Victor Myers, who grew up to become Dan’s father, obtained the farm’s first registered Holstein heifer calf for a 4-H project.

Holsteins boast the highest dairy production of any animal in the world. As their herd grew, the Myers adopted the prefix “Walkup” when they registered with the Holstein Association USA in 1927. Today, the Myers maintain a herd of about 130 milking cows that produce roughly 279,000 pounds (almost 32,450 gallons) per month.

Dan spent his entire childhood on the farm, drinking raw, untreated milk from the tank, something that the family still does today. As a kid he also learned to show cattle, but he didn’t — and still doesn’t — enjoy the awards and fanfare. When he was 9, nobody could find Dan for the award ceremony after he showed a cow in the Rockingham County Fair.

“When they came out to get me, I was out there in the ball field, playing with my trucks,” he says.

After meeting at a skating party as teenagers, he and Charlotte dated for several years. She had always enjoyed the outdoors, but she was unfamiliar with farm life until she began dating Dan. “I guess I enjoyed being around the cows some, but I didn’t ever think I was going to get into what I’m into: milking cows and taking care of calves,” she says.

They married in 1961, and Dan completed his bachelor’s in mathematics from Bridgewater College three years later. Then he taught high school mathematics at Broadway High School for the next four years, but continued

milking and working on the farm the whole time. In 1968, after Dan quit teaching, he and Charlotte bought the farm from his father, returning to full-time farm life. They now have two children — Teresa and DJ, 48 — who, have also been involved on the farm their entire lives.

Most of the buildings and structures that currently reside on the farm were built under Dan’s watch. As a way to commemorate the history and document the farm’s progress, the family has etched the year of completion into each building and structure.

In 2002, Dan, Charlotte, DJ, Teresa and her husband Don, 53, formed Walkup Holsteins LLC. Each of them, along with Don and Teresa’s two daughters and DJ’s daughter, are invested into the farm as their livelihood, but they view the cows as more than a source of income. They know most of the cows by some combination of name, traits and stories.

“We have 250 pets,” says Dan. “They all have different personalities,” says Teresa. “They’re like people, some good, some not so good.”

Although the family enjoys the work, it is hard and requires long hours.

Decades of intense, consistent labor have taken their toll, especially on Dan and Charlotte. The non-stop work and the ever-moving hands of time have sapped some of their strength and ability.

“All these dairy activities have cost me two knees and two hips,” says Dan. But in recent years, the real toll has been on their finances. Across the country, the economic situation for dairy farms has been deteriorating for several decades. Data from the US Department of Agriculture indicates that per-capita fluid milk consumption has declined by more than 35 percent since 1980. Yet, over that same time, milk production has more than doubled.

Most dairy farms in Virginia are similar to Walkup Holsteins: small, family-owned enterprises. But with an increased emphasis on efficiency, largescale dairy farms — which can afford to make less per gallon because of the sheer Curio 2019 | 41

PHOTOS BY CALEB AYERS

The future of the dairy industry in Virginia isn’t bright — 20% of dairy farms have closed since July 2017.

volume they produce — are driving down prices and rendering the small, family-farm model ineffective.

“Most of where we see production headed are these larger, multi-thousand head dairy operations that are more or less feedlots,” said Tony Banks, a commodity marketing specialist with the Virginia Farm Bureau Federation.

Premiums from the Virginia State Milk Commission initially delayed the decline in Virginia, but it is in full force right now.

Over the last 22 years, Virginia has lost about 1,200 Grade A dairy farms, says Banks. The depression has waxed and waned, with occasional spikes — such as 2014, where prices across the country soared to record highs — punctuating deep, long depressions that ravage farmers’ finances.

“Those peaks are not as long-lived as the valleys in these price-cycles,” Banks says.

“When [Virginia dairy farmers] are making money, they’re not making it long enough or as much to offset the significant economic

42 | Curio 2019

downturns that they’ve experienced.”

Right now, Virginia’s dairy industry is in the midst of its longest, deepest depression yet. With the gap between supply and demand growing each year, the market has become oversaturated, leaving dairy farmers in a precarious situation — paying more money than they have to produce more milk than they know what to do with. Banks says that a dairy farmer recently summed it up by saying they were “drowning in milk.”

Economists initially thought the market would stabilize this summer, but brutal conditions have persisted. Some have cited trade conflicts with Canada and Mexico as part of the reason why. Regardless, the Virginia Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services data paints a grim picture of the current, deteriorating dairy landscape: 20% of Virginia Grade A dairy farms have closed since July 2017. And the disaster has hit dairy farmers across the state equally, regardless of location or experience, says Banks.

“It’s guys that have been in it for decades and decades, it’s third- and fourth-generation, and it’s folks that are first-generation that haven’t been able to survive these sharp price declines that we’ve had in recent years,” he says. “After a while it just eats away all your equity, and it gets harder and harder to weather each storm.”

Other dairy products, such as cheese and yogurt, have grown in popularity, but Banks says those gains have not come close to matching the losses in fluid milk, and not every farmer can make that transition. And to make matters worse, no major improvements in national milk consumption or market prices are in the forecast.

In Rockingham County – the epicenter of Virginia’s dairy industry – Walkup Holsteins has endured the decline better than most.

When the market took a deep drop in 2008 and 2009, they were able to pull through and recover over the next several years. And the spike of 2014 allowed them to pay off some debt and make improvements on the farm.

While they’ve handled the past recessions relatively well, the current crisis is forcing them to make difficult decisions. In order to make ends meet, they have been dipping deep into their reserves.

“You get kind of depressed with that after a while…” says Dan. “Why do you keep going?

And you have to ask yourself that question.

It’s not because it’s a good, profitable deal.

There’s got to be other things.”

For Dan, the family tradition of dairy farming has been one of the primary motivators to continue, even when the money isn’t flowing. Looking around and knowing that past generations milked cows on this same farm inspires him, and simply being with the animals also motivates him to continue through these depressing times — both financially and emotionally.

But things may come to a head soon.

Barring significant market improvement, Dan is not sure whether they will be able to make through the end of this year.

After cutting costs “down to the nitty gritty,” the numbers are still coming back negative. Over the last several months, their production costs have outweighed

their returns by as much as a dollar per hundredweight — an unsustainable rate that translates to a roughly $2,000 loss each month. Dan says that some major reorganization may be their best hope of surviving, but even that may not actually give them the means to not sell.

“I do like our cows,” says Dan. “With the financial situation, I can’t guarantee that they’ll be there next year. It’s going to be tough, it’s going to be a sad day.”

In mid-January of this year, Delegate Tony Wilt-R, who represents Harrisonburg and part of Rockingham County in the Virginia House of Delegates, presented a bill that would provide taxww credit to Virginia dairy farms that are selling their milk for less than the cost of production. “[Dairy farms] are just a valuable asset to our business community and to our communities as a whole,” Wilt says.

In order to qualify, the farms would need to have developed or already implemented either a nutrient management plan or a resource management plan with the Department of Conservation and Recreation.

However, a House subcommittee tabled

the bill for now. “Every member agreed with the concept,” says Wilt. “They know that there’s a problem, but at the same token, we’ve got to balance our books.”

To that end, Wilt says the House Finance Committee is currently working with Virginia Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services to see if there are any other measures the state can take to help the remaining smaller dairy farms survive.

If the state tax breaks or other help does eventually come, however, it will likely be too little, too late for a lot of these dairy farms, including Walkup Holsteins Like many farmers, Dan and Charlotte don’t have IRAs or substantial retirement savings. With the intent of helping their family as long as possible, and considering the current economic situation, retirement isn’t a feasible option –– and, frankly, that’s not what they want to do.

“I don’t know that I consider it a job,” says Dan. “It’s a life, it’s what we’ve done.”

How much longer it lasts, though, is now very much in question.

Contact Caleb at ayersck@dukes.jmu.edu.

Curio 2019 | 43

Sweet smell of Former Marine brings classic carnival treats to the Valley

By SAMANTHA LINCZYC Curio

The oil sizzles in the fryer as the sweet smell of sugar fills the air.

Mel Shtanko’s blend of flour, sugar and vanilla has to have the perfect consistency. As he distributes the batter evenly in the oil, a mouth watering funnel cake is soon to come alive.

At 14 years old, Shtanko got his first job in the food industry working for a catering company in Woodstock, where he worked for about four years. During his last two years of high school, Shtanko took cooking courses at Triplett Tech in Mount Jackson, VA. His experience in the culinary arts began to grow, along with his true passion for cooking.

After high school, Shtanko joined the Marines as a cook. He then cooked for fine dining restaurants in Miami before coming back to Virginia. Freedom Funnel Cakes opened in April 2018.

“I came here and I realized the only time you can get funnel cakes is one time a year during a fair or a carnival, so I decided why don’t I start offering funnel cakes and fried oreos seven days a week just on the side of the road,” Shtanko says.

Freedom Funnel Cakes is currently located next to an ice cream shop called Sugar Shack in Woodstock and sells a variety of dessert items including fried oreos, fried twinkies, apple fritters and their most popular item, powdered sugar funnel cakes. They offer about 10 toppings at a time so everyone can customize their funnel cake to their liking. From Reese’s Pieces to Fruity Pebbles, Freedom Funnel

Cakes has it all.

Shtanko previously sold funnel cakes in Harrisonburg for about six months but moved his truck back to Woodstock to be closer to family.

“That’s the beauty of being mobile, we can go anywhere we want or need to,” says Shtanko. “We’re able to follow the money.”

Karen Weatherholtz is a long time family friend of Shtanko and typically referred to as “Mama Karen.” She believes that Shtanko has finally found true happiness by venturing out to find his dream. She says Shtanko’s funnel cakes are the best of the best.

“Mel’s are just special, because he is special,” Weatherholtz says.

She’s proud of his talented cooking skills and praises him for being so good at what he does.

Sales range anywhere from as little as five customers a day to over 100 people. Shtanko’s funnel cakes are not just for kids, as people of all ages travel from near and far to taste the sugary desserts.

“Anywhere from kids that are only a year or two old to people who are in their seventies and eighties, who remember getting funnel cakes at the fair when they were younger,” says Shtanko. “It really brings back childhood memories for a lot of people as well.”

Casey Rubenstein, Shtanko’s girlfriend, acts as the cashier and takes orders. She likes to connect with customers who come from all around the country.

“Doing something like this is really interesting and different,” says Rubenstein. “It’s a whole new experience being able to pick up your business and go wherever in the world you feel like.”

food truck specializes in all sorts of carnival-style fried goodies, including these Oreos.

44 |Shtanko’s Curio 2019

freedom Rubenstein and Shtanko have been set up in Woodstock for a few months now.

Freedom Funnel Cakes is typically open seven days a week, unless hired for a private events like corporate functions, baby showers, birthday parties and weddings.

Shtanko says they typically cater to “really any events where funnel cakes can be needed.”

Shtanko’s former military background gave him the inspiration for the name of the food truck.

“The word freedom to me really means a lot,” says Shtanko.

Shtanko is proud to be free to create his own lifestyle, hours and events. Freedom Funnel Cakes gives him the freedom to be creative and have his own business, which not everyone in the world is able to do.

He says, “Love is the key ingredient to the perfect funnel cake.”

Contact Samantha at slinczyc@dukes.jmu.edu.

PHOTOS BY SAMANTHA LINCZYC

Want to go?

Freedom Funnel Cakes 629 South Main Street Woodstock, Virginia Curio 2019 | 45

Cycling for

Soil Cycles fosters sustainable waste collecting system Soil Cycles collects food scraps in these buckets and makes the materials into compost.

By MARY LANDY Curio

The only stop on Wednesdays is Heritage Bakery and Café at 212 South Main Street.

Kristen Grimshaw pulls up to the back of the bakery around 8:30 a.m. on a lime green bike with a trailer hitched to the back. On the trailer is a silver bin, ready for the morning routine.

Grimshaw is one of the cyclists for Soil Cycles, a compost pick-up program that got its start after Harrisonburg’s recycling program ended in April, 2018.

Yellow buckets and green bags are outside the bakery, filled with a multicolored mix of eggshells, avocados and coffee grounds. There is no smell to the food waste being bagged and placed on the trailer, and Grimshaw works quickly in the cold to clean the bins and replace the bags behind Heritage.

“It’s stuck,” Grimshaw says as she pulls on the top of one of the buckets. “That’s always fun on cold mornings… it feels like your fingers might break off.”

Shortly after the recycling program in Harrisonburg ended after its recycling company cancelled the contract, Nidhi Vinod, a student at Eastern Mennonite University, began collecting all of the food waste from La Morena, where she worked. She composted it through EMU’s composting program and 46 | Curio 2019

used bike trailers from EMU and collected the food waste every other day.

“That’s where the idea for Soil Cycles started,” said Amelia Morrison, a co-founder of the program. “It was Nidhi, myself, and Taylor Evans — that was the original Soil Cycles team.”

Morrison became involved with the idea through her internship at Vine and Fig in downtown Harrisonburg. She wanted to confront the issue of food waste and approaching it through a composting program was the best option. Her original plan was to “see the world” after her internship ended, but she says she now plans on staying with the program.

“I feel like I found that thing that I was going abroad to look for. I found that community and inspiration and that…lifechanging thing,” Morrison said.

Soil Cycles has changed and evolved since its beginning. EMU was a major support system while the program grew, allowing the team to use its bike trailers and compost through its program.

The original official subscriber to the program was Heritage Bakery and Café, operating initially on a three-month free trial.

Though the owner had some hesitations, the trial period informed several key factors: the compost didn’t smell, the pickup was easy, and it wouldn’t significantly slow down service or work flow to separate compostable waste.

Soil Cycles now boasts ten residential subscribers and several restaurant participants. The program costs 25 dollars per month for residents. For restaurants, the cost is based on pounds per month of waste. As the Soil Cycles team modifies and improves its methods, growth becomes a stronger option.

“We are fine-tuning our model, and we’re getting new requests every day,” Morrison says.

The program, according to Morrison, has also attracted young people along with established residents in Harrisonburg, making up approximately half of the Soil Cycles participants.

When anyone decides to participate in Soil Cycles, they are supplied with enough fivegallon buckets to sustain their food waste for pickup either weekly for residents, or everyother-day for restaurants.

Beau Floyd, the head chef at Food Bar Food, is one of the restaurant-based subscribers to Soil Cycles. They began working with Soil Cycles in February of this year.

“Working in the kitchen for years and just throwing things away that I know don’t really need to be thrown away,” Floyd said, “it starts to build on you, and when I learned about Soil Cycles I thought, ‘Maybe we could do something about it.’”

The first week that Food Bar Food worked with Soil Cycles, they put out eighty pounds of food waste. Floyd is hoping that Food Bar

compost and climate Food can set an example for other restaurants considering the ways in which they can reduce their impact on the environment.

“It makes me feel hopeful that other restaurants will start to see and maybe pick it up if they can see the evidence that it’s a feasible thing to do,” Floyd said.

After the food waste is composted, Soil Cycles returns the finished compost to the subscriber. If that subscriber doesn’t have any need for compost, they can donate the compost back to local farms for use in agriculture.

“We’re in a very broken cycle where all of this food waste that’s going out isn’t coming back in for local food systems,” Morrison said. “One of our goals is to normalize composting because food waste is a resource.

Normalization is a huge hurdle, but … once people start to catch on to the idea, it’s like a domino effect.”

The Soil Cycles organizers want to grow their presence through their website and community outreach, and are looking to expand to fifty subscribers by the end of the calendar year. Another major goal is to create meaningful employment for those who are currently running Soil Cycles on a volunteer basis.

“When you subscribe to soil cycles you are also supporting the building of meaningful employment opportunities for the community,” Brian Nixon, the communications coordinator for Soil Cycles, said. “We’re really focused on getting people established and getting service to them. We

want to make them happy and grow from there,” he added.

Part of that growth involves the hope for an expansion throughout the municipality to help all of Harrisonburg reduce its footprint on the earth. Their current team consists of Morrison, Vinod and four volunteer staff who handle different aspects of the program. The long-term vision for Soil Cycles isn’t only in the statistics or economics.

“Our goal is to get people thinking about their waste and their consumption, and that means reducing their waste to a scale that can be managed by a fleet of bicycles,” Morrison says, pausing to smile just a little more. “And that is a pretty radical concept when you think about it.”

Contact Mary at landymc@dukes.jmu.edu.

PHOTOS BY CHARLOTTE WARD

Curio 2019 | 47

Thanks for reading. Look for us again in May 2020.

48 | Curio 2019