Miriam
“My plant is thriving! You see this, Miss Miriam?” Harmony proudly lifts her half container of fresh basil.
“It’s beautiful! You did a wonderful job,” I say to the sixth-grader.
“Can I take it home? My mama is always killing plants. Maybe she can come here to learn. I’m too young to throw away so many dead bodies.”
Kids are a trip. They’ll toss you under the bus and pretend they weren’t the one in the driver’s seat, using your feelings like speed bumps.
We’ve been learning about hydroponics, a technique to grow plants without soil. Last week’s hydroponic farm visit on the East Side prompted our garden experiment. Not only are my kids learning about the life cycle of a plant, they’re learning how food grows and the importance of how it’s sourced.
We’ll incorporate more urban farming activities over the next few weeks in anticipation of the Buffalo Grows Coalition’s efforts to solicit City Council for twenty vacant lots. The plan is to expand a local urban farm with space for a community-owned grocery store stocked with local produce and meat from farms within the food equity network across the state. The land is just a short distance away from Buffalo’s historically Black neighborhood with a community land trust that provides permanently affordable housing.
Community nonprofits within the coalition hoped the City would provide the lots, but they saved enough to purchase them outright. It’s all coming together. All I need is Oprah money to get this research lab off the ground.
The room, tucked away in the community center, is a collage of worn carpet and old furniture stacked like Tetris pieces, but I see it. A long table against the wall for computer stations. Small islands in the middle of the room to prototype. A retractable projector screen near the window, and one of those touch-screen whiteboards.
With the right financial support, the Jefferson Moselle Community Center will establish a STEM hub for children and community members to engage in hands-on learning. A place for them to build the Buffalo they want to live in.
The day wraps with the kids measuring whose plant grew the most. It’s hard to keep a straight face when the rulers come out, but we get through it without name-calling or dirt flinging.
My phone rings. I wouldn’t say it’s odd for Marcela to call on hump day, but it’s not like her. Today is her planning day in City Hall. She’ll go off the grid when she gets home, closing the blinds and keeping the lights off so she’s not bothered.
“Hey.” I press the button for speakerphone and collect crayons and the other supplies that never made it back to their bins.
Silence.
“Marcela?” I lift the phone. “Did you butt-dial me again?”
“I just left City Hall.”
“Did you remember to leave your brass knuckles at home?” I giggle. Putting a dent in the mayor’s forehead is a good way to guarantee time behind prison walls.
“A friend from the Strategic Planning Department gave me a heads-up about a project the mayor is backing. It’s from Hunter Development Corporation.”
The company the Buffalo Steel owner runs. It’s not a cause for alarm, at least not on the surface. From what Marcela tells me, Hunter Development has its hand in everything.
“Okay,” I exaggerate, unsure why this warrants a call. My feet are screaming to get out of the Chucks I’ve been running around in all day.
“City Council will receive a proposal to develop fifty vacant lots. Frank Mancini wants to build luxury homes around Moselle Park to ‘bring up the value,’” she scoffs. “The plans include a mixed-use building with rental space for a restaurant and an urban farm on the premises.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“An urban farm?” I ask, for clarity. “That’s specific.”
“Maple King is working on the project. They say they have a patent idea.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach.
“What idea?”
Papers flutter on the other end of the line. “To make buildings more durable during extreme weather events,” she says. “Maple King has no urban farms in its portfolio, which makes this project oddly timed.”
“It’s my idea.”
I collapse into a chair. My mind races for an explanation, but the betrayal makes the room spin. My eyes snap shut as a sour taste coats the painful lump in my throat.
“The night of our dinner, Kieran invited me back to Maple King,” I say through the pressure constricting my lungs. “He toldme I could use the lab. I—I toyed with a concept I didn’t have the software to test out.” I huff. “I haven’t conducted any research yet to fully inform the requirements.”
