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Kevin, the Cake Man, at the Farmers Market

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As I walked back to the Mapes Community Garden from the Farmers Market on Tremont, I thought of how Kevin ended our conversation:

Maybe those offers weren’t for me because I turned them down. Making cake isn’t about the money even though the money is nice. It’s about the joy.

Kevin who started baking in his early twenties, stood under the blue tent he shared with La Familia Verde Farmers. Unlike the farmers who were selling fresh fruit and vegetables, the now 64 year old was selling cake and other pastries to the bustling East Tremont community.

Kevin, who is related to Ms. Karen Washington, (the think tank behind community gardens in New York City), supported La Familia Verde Farmers Market from the very beginning. He linked up with Ms. Washington’s team bringing a different product to their farmers market.

Everyone who visits the market can easily see that the entire team of people who run the market, work together for two purposes: to bring joy and better food options to the people of East Tremont.

The Tuesday I stopped by was a perfect market day. The sun was high in the sky and the temperature was just right. The market was busy with shoppers.

I first stopped at Pastor David and Sister Veronica’s table, a husband and wife team whose farm is located in upstate New York. Their booth, I think, is the most popular because it has the most produce from black seeded watermelon to garlic. A young man who resembled Pastor David wore a happy smile while giving me a black plastic bag to collect my items. He confirmed my guess that he was Pastor David’s brother, Paul. Next to him was a young lady who wore a Mary Mitchell tee shirt as well as the other young people working the booth. 

While speaking with Paul, I heard a lot of commotion and looked up to see Louis, a member of La Familia, hurrying past me. Teens wearing “The Bronx is Blooming” tee-shirts, walked excitedly behind Louis declaring how they were going to spend their health bucks (money from the government that locals can spend only on produce from the farm). They formed a line in front of Louis looking down at the red juicy watermelon.

The group of teens had left the council member’s office table that shared recipes and tastings with the community. For each visit to their booth, the community is promised health bucks to spend at the market- along with a light treat.

Brother Paul who was weighing my peaches, stopped what he was doing to supply Louis with a huge watermelon. Louis then cut the fruit up in slices. Everyone in close proximity, watched the cutting. All wondering the same thing- should I buy a slice of watermelon. The line grew longer.

Brother Paul returned to me and rung me up.

I walked the opposite direction from the Watermelon line. It looked tempting but there was no way I was going to lug watermelon home.

Instead, I visited the nearby booths and said hi to community activist associated with the Mary Mitchell Center, Ms. Alayna and Yaya. They help to run the market smoothly by working with willing and able bodied, young people who assist with everything from packing bags to manual labor. Next to them sat Victoria and Nicole keeping tabs on the financial system for the garden. Gardeners and customers were visiting them for change of big bills.

After Ms. Alayna and Yaya hugged me they asked about my family, but kept their eyes on the young people at La Familia Verde’s tent. This made me also turn my attention to the blue tent in the middle of the entrance to Gladwin Park. The young people were working in joy!

Rashaun was pulling boxes from a nearby truck while Andy, Ethan, and Anton were selling produce from the garden- which was going super fast! The line created in front of them consisted of older Spanish speaking women. I secretly consider this tent the sofrito tent because not only are all the main ingredients sold there ( tomatoes, cilantro, parsley and culantro) but I am willing to make a guess that everyone who pull up there know how to make it better than the jars sold at Price Choice. The young people moved quick packing sofrito ingredients as well collard greens, corn, tomatillos, and callaloo in black plastic bags. They knew their herbs and vegetables and were answering questions about the benefits while listening with patience as the older folks made bargains for the produce.

When I approached the tent, I saw some more familiar faces. Young people who I taught a couple of years ago, proudly spoke of their college applications. Ms. Victoria, an original farmer of La Familia Verde hugged me while speaking Spanish, making me laugh and believe for a short time that I really did speak Spanish!

Finally, I stopped at Kevin’s booth, the one who can settle a sweet tooth.

I am a firm believer in saving the best for last, and I think a slice of freshly baked cake can be the best at any farmers market! I was very happy to see him. This was my first stop at the market since the summer began. We stood in the cool breeze speaking about our families and catching up on news.

While we were talking, he had many customers. One lady from the Dominican Republic stopped by with her young daughter and asked Kevin how he was doing. When she heard that he had a death in his family, she told him of her mother passing away and her step-father hospitalization. I took note of how they both spoke with endearments. They were genuinely interested in the health and well being of one another. Kevin remembered her from last summer as well as her stories about her aging parents.

After comforting each other, she reached into her bag and bought cake.

His next visit was from a gentlemen who seemed to be high. He inquired about the price of the cake. When he was told it was $3.00, he told Kevin he only had $2.00; to which Kevin took the $2.00.

Another young man ran to the table. He seemed to be in a rush. After making his purchase, he quickly told Kevin he should sell his cake for $6.00 before jogging back to his car.

Kevin, I asked him, why don’t you increase the price on your product?

Kevin, a retired financial analyst, however, spoke about his true mission and the community he’s serving. Selling my cake for $6.00 would not be beneficial for the East Tremont Community, who will buy it?

I wanted to point out that the last customer suggested it but then thought about the first two.

I am here because of the community. I retired from Wall Street and now I want to do something that I love. I’ve met a lot of people who offered me positions but I like it here.

When Kevin started off, he baked from the box. He did it so well, many assumed he was baking from scratch. As a matter of fact, because so many people were saying it was from scratch, he rose to their standards. Now all of the pastries are made from scratch. He can bake anything from scratch- a birthday cake, Jewish rugelach (my favorite!) and even a three tier wedding cake!

Over time and through word of mouth, Kevin became popular and restaurant owners to movie stars asked him to join their team. However, he turned each one down. Making his purpose clear- he wanted to serve the East Tremont Community.

How much you make out here on any given day? I asked him now knowing about the different offers he turned down.

I don’t know, he said. I never really tallied it because I don’t charge the actual price for my cake. Most places charge a slice of cake for six dollars, and I’m so much lower than that. I did that primarily because of the neighborhood, so it could be affordable for people. I am mindful of the fact that I also have to make a profit putting in the amount of time… [but] as long as I make some sort of profit I am okay. In terms of what I bring in, it varies because every week it’s not the same.

I am not a people’s person, but serving East Tremont has taught me a lot! I learned how to deal with different personalities. I learned how to take rejection, and I learned how to horn my Spanish skills.

It’s true that the taste of his pastries makes Kevin special; but his dedication to the East Tremont Community makes him purposeful. It takes a certain strength to continue to service the people of the Bronx- of East Tremont. One CUNY Historian called the Bronx a stepping stone. It’s a place where people find their footing to bring their business to Brooklyn or Manhattan she explained. This, in many cases is true. Which makes people like Kevin and the entire La Familia Verde team something special.

Every Tuesday Kevin travels a hour from the north Bronx into East Tremont, and sets up his station right in entrance of the park. He sees first hand the dangers and sadness of Tremont Avenue.

It’s interesting, he said, to serve this community because there are a lot of people who like to eat healthy. It’s easy to assume that the diet here is all bad because of what I see, but there are people who come to the market every Tuesday and shop for healthy food. Some days you get a little frustrated because you see a lot of bad things. It makes you discouraged. There is a lot of stuff to see in this neighborhood. It is very neglected. There are those days when I would say, I’m not coming back here because of the negative things I see. But then I meet very positive people who may not have a lot of money, but they come with a good spirit. I think that’s what a Farmers Market does. It tends to bring the best out of people. That’s what I learned from being out here.

Welcoming Mrs. Lesa Cline-Ransome

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The most fulfilling day of the school year -this year- was welcoming children’s author and historian, Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome into our school on June 10th.

Last year the fourth graders read Finding Langston, a middle grade novel by Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome. They learned about the Harlem Renaissance and how it actually didn’t only exist in Harlem but in other Black cities like Chicago. They learned of writers like Langston Hughes and Gwendolyn Brooks. With Finding Langston alone, they spoke of many civil right issues, such as the housing issues that many Blacks faced then (a lot of them were able to relate to being homeless or not having a place to call your own). They also spoke of the right to a decent education and clean food. When speaking of rights, I exposed them to the 10 point system by the Black Panther Party and asked them if the rights that were asked for by the Party in the 70’s different from the rights we were asking for today. They also expanded their reading and writing skills. As their teacher I witnessed their level of comprehension increase significantly!

Below are mini paper colleges they did after studying the book’s cover. We spoke about different art mediums artist use. (By the way, I created my own reading packet which I will soon load on Teachers Pay Teachers).

Finding Langston‘s main plot is of a little boy who exists during the Great Migration. His family travels north for better opportunity- from a loving home in the south. The fourth graders learned that the Great Migration spanned well into their grandparent’s and parent’s generation. Their eyes grew wide when they realized how much this book was so closely related to the past yet to their present.

After we read the book, there was a celebration!

The fourth graders pose for a group picture during the Renaissance Party

The theme of the party was the Chicago Renaissance. Each student came in as a character from that era. I was the librarian who welcomed prominent writers in to the library built for Blacks. All day my students called me Ms. Vivian (after Vivian Harsh).

The following are the realistic characters my students dressed up as. From the left: Mrs. George Cleveland Hall (Dr. George Cleveland Hall’s wife), Lorraine Hansberry, Ms. Augusta Savage, Ms. Elizabeth Catlett (this character was so popular that this year they all mention an interested in visiting the Elizabeth Catlett show at the Brooklyn Museum…one of them went with me on a random Saturday outside of school), Ms. Katherine Mary Dunham (this character was the one the girls fought over- because who doesn’t want to be a dancer?!), Ms. Margaret Walker, Me (as Ms. Vivian Harsh) , Ms. Gwendolyn Brooks, the little boy in the hat was Mr. Langston Hughes, and the little boy at the far end was Mr. Useni E. Perkins (poet of Hey Black Child). The day of the party they came in full character… so full that I had to remind them that I was Vivian Harsh- with an emphasis on harsh. In high spirits, they traveled to classes and asked students and teachers to guess who they were after putting on short skits. My principal confessed that she didn’t know all of them. Her face lit up when the little girl said yes, you’re correct, I am Katherine Mary Dunham.

At the Brooklyn Museum with Mariah viewing Catlett’s work

The following year when I had them for fifth grade, I started the year with the book’s sequel, Leaving Lymon. With this book, they now spoke about family relationships, detention centers, food lines, and factories in America. They completed a food and race relations project for their work to be shown in a gallery in New York (will share the show soon). They learned about Blacks living in Milwaukee who faced harsh working conditions.

In Leaving Lymon, the reader meets Langston’s bully, Lymon, and finds out why he is a bully. This book teaches compassion for both the victim and the bully. Fifth grade used the lessons during the school year. They had disagreements and once there was even a fight but the core lessons of humanity and self respect was taught and even in very tough times apologies were made and friendships rekindled.

Right here, I want to mention the beauty of these two novels and how apropos it was for them to read it at the appointed time. During the school year, we as a community experienced a death and it was so unexpected. However, my class was already talking about social- emotional skills and self respect. I want to say it was because of the readings they were greatly comforted.

In February of 2024, some of my students joined the program (that I run outside of school) Soap Recipe, on a Black History Celebration trip to Philadelphia, PA. There, they met Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome at the African American Children’s book fair. And, oh, what a meeting! For a teacher whose joy it is to find ways for children to connect the past to the present and realize how valuable their history is- I felt loved when my students found Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome (on their own) in a gigantic overcrowded gymnasium. They recited Langston Hughes’ One Way Ticket to her between smiles and shrieks. Everyone there witnessed how learning, reading, and writing have the power to transform a human. Everyone was touched at how my students laureled Mrs. Cline-Ransome and in turn honored their educated selves.

One day I was at my computer reading my emails and saw that Mrs. Cline- Ransome was going to attend a book event with the Center for Black Literature in Brooklyn. I told my now fifth graders I was going to be absent because I was going to an event to meet Mrs. Cline-Ransome. I then asked them what they thought about inviting her to the school.

Will she really come?

I don’t know. But is it that hard to write a letter and ask?

With this question, they stopped to do what they did best- argue- about writing the author.

If she doesn’t come it will be a waste of time.

But if she does come, it won’t.

Ms. Hurley, is she your friend?

Of course She’s Ms. Hurley’s friend! She’s going to meet her!

I did what I did best- I quietly waited until they were done arguing, then told them to start writing. I was surprised by the content of their letters. They didn’t even need two days to write her. They put forth their best penmanship and diction. I didn’t have to tell them to use their raggedy dictionaries that they vowed to keep neat in September but by May were a mess. Each writer got up and got their dictionaries.

When I arrived in Brooklyn, I gave her the letters at the end of her workshop and she gave me 12 signed bookmarks for my students.

Book Marks given to the fifth grade signed by LCR, I laminated them and put ribbons in each one
Me posing with LCR in Brooklyn
Letter from Zahyra
Letter from Yaharia
Letter from Courtney
Letter from Power

The author never forgot that moment in Philly, and said so when she responded to their new request to come and visit their school. She returned their sheer passion and joy with an excited yes! Even though she was in Europe when she decided, yes, she’ll come- she emailed me her interest in meeting my students.

Letter from Brooklyn
Letter from Nia McKay
Letter from Sanaiah
Letter from Mariah
Letter from Logan
Letter from McKenzie
Letter from Charleigh
Letter from Carson

Before she came, the students went into preparation mode with tenacious energy. Needless to say, it was challenging. It was nearing the end of the school year and there were so many trips, events, and parties happening. In the beginning of the preparation, they argued and fought over who would do what until some of them wished they never wrote her. That wish turned into another argument (that I got involved with). But as time got close, the dedicated fifth graders (with some help from the nearby fourth graders) worked on mini skits, Bottle projects, and a huge classroom banner while their schoolmates read books by the author, wrote papers and drew images to honor her arrival.

Nia drawing
Courtney, Brooklyn and Power working on a bottle model of LCR
Fourth Grader Ryan drawing
LCR bottle project and Yaharia smiling
The Bottle Project Ladies
McKenzi scan newspaper articles related to LCR book topics
Nia focused
Fourth Graders Laysean and Omari draw cars from the 1940’s with Logan

When she came, my students were walking to the sanctuary. I double checked my email and saw that she was outside. I told the students and they rushed to the front of the building! All twelve of them were surprised that she actually came.

There are very few moments when I can say they stopped talking this year, and this was one of the them. When they saw her step out of the car they all got quiet.

That’s really her! I heard one student whisper.

They did not even run to open the door! They stood on stairs, gawking. Some were pointing while others stood with their hands over their mouths.

I told two students to go down and let her in- to which when they did like robots. Then, they continued to stand there and gape. She broke the silence by saying- Ahhh, …can I take a picture of all of you?! I, of course couldn’t stop smiling.

That morning, I ordered over one hundred dollars worth of KFC for the class as a surprise. After the two hour talk and book signing, they returned to a classroom that smelled of KFC. They ate with the author and put on their shows, read their poetry, shared their art and brought up their favorite topic – Ms. Hurley doesn’t know how to spell Tick- Tock correctly.

To add to all the excitement of the day, Mrs. Lesa Cline-Ransome’s husband, James Ransome, came and spent some time with us at the very end! What can get better than that?!

By her departure, they were back to themselves, doing what 11 and 12 year olds do best- show off (this is after arguing of course).

Before I end this post, I want to mention one question I heard one of my students asked her during her lecture. She wanted to know why Mrs. Cline-Ransome includes the father (as a character) in all her books. My student struggled to ask the question because she asked the question from a very vulnerable place. While reading the books and talking about relationships with my students, I didn’t realize that because most of them were in house-holds without their fathers, reading her books gave them a sort of insight into a world in which the father existed everyday- and this world, they learned, was a very possible world.

Thank You, Mrs. Lesa Cline-Ransome

Harlem Studio Museum Practicum: A place of Service

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The fall of 2019,  was a season of wonderful opportunity. I reached a point of success in my career and to add motivation to joy I was accepted into the Harlem Studio Museum teaching practicum, a meeting ground for artist and educators to exchange thoughts and ask questions about art and artist.

The entire program was pure joy and a place of liberation. Everyone around me shared a keen interest in Black art and when we were not looking at art we were reading about it. The readings we delved into were not readings I would have came across in a DOE setting. It was a moment that was radical and renewing!

When we weren’t discussing art, we discussed ourselves. The small room was always full of meaningful chatter. We shared what it meant to show up as our happy selves and be paid for it. We thought deeply about the difference between conceptual mainstream artist and Black conceptual artist. We concluded in many conversations, that the market forces play an important role in the  work we see and don’t see.

Now, as I write this blog post, I think on that happiness I felt back then and I wonder, do people still show up as themselves anymore? Workplaces are changing drastically. We are also changing drastically…to be real and forthcoming does not seem the goal anymore.

Back in 2019, when I felt mostly settled and in true joy; I, transferred that energy into the classroom. Everything SMH exposed me to; I facilitated in the classroom. I developed strategies for children by using SMH theories and practices.

I was able to apply their theories and practices to my teaching because I understood it. The cohort was small and thus Ilk, our facilitator had  ample opportunity to explain theories. We learned each other names and made life long friendships. Because of this community, I was invited to travel to California to see an artist marry and I am currently working on a community project with another artist. I had space during this fellowship to  engaged in conversations about artists of African descent, contemporary art practices, and strategic museum programming.

As a teacher, I met other intelligent educators who were as passionate about art as I was. One educator asked me to submit my work to a Zine she was completing with a group of artist. Another one invited me to her first gallery show.

Our facilitator, Ilk, was enthusiastic about each topic and it showed up in each of his classes.

I was opened up to a whole new world about artist and their practice. What I enjoyed the most about the practicum was it gave me insight to how the museum world looked. Before the fellowship, as a teacher, I’d take my students to the museum and keep most of my questions about operation systems to myself. As a matter of fact, I always thought the museum world was untouchable and of the elite until I sat at the Harlem Studio Museum Practicum table.

Ilk peeled each skin of elitism off ever so gentle.

We attended special guest lectures with well established and up and coming artists such as Chole Bass and Douywe Bey. We were welcomed to different variations of the museum such as the reading room, their library, art in the park and learned of its connection with the Schomburg Research Center.

Now after this exposure, I look at museums as places of servitude. The art is answering to the people of the time and to the time itself.

Over all, it was a wonderful opportunity that is impactful even seven years later.

The Forgotten Purse

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Sister Brenda got off the church bus tired and sleepy. With her big black tote, she walked into the restroom then got a hot chocolate from Dunkin’ Donuts. She was thankful for the mini break.

When she got back on the bus she sat comfortably. Everyone was eatting and the lights turned off. The bus driver, Deacon McCloud, left the rest area and picked up the speed on the turnpike.

“I left my purse!” Sister Brenda yelled frantically.

“You did what?! Sister Brenda?!”

“What was in it?”

Everyone begin to ask her questions as the bus inched over the George Washington bridge.

“Did you have money in it?”

“How much?”

“My iPad is in it -with all my memories!!” She sobbed.

The questions stopped and everyone begin to brainstorm. Finally, someone got the number to John Fenwick Service area. But no one picked up.

“Let’s pick it up on our way back.”

Sister Brenda wasn’t happy but what could she do? She tried to stop worrying about it. The weekend came to an end and the church trip ended. All the people hugged. “Peace Be!” The church family climbed the bus while the saints in New York waved.

Sister Brenda went to sleep. Everyone went to sleep but Deacon McCloud. Thoughts about the past weekend was heavy on everyone’s mind. The sermons, the conversations, the food, the songs…

The bus left the Bronx. It breezed pass what was left of the city and rolled into the George Washington Bridge. It hit traffic. It sped up. Then, it slowed down again. New Jersey vanished as well as the service area, John Fenwick…

“My purse!!” Sister Brenda yelled with hope. “My Purse!!”

People near her woke. Others repositioned their bodies. Deacon McCloud looked into the rearview mirror with blood shot eyes. He gripped the wheel and asked in his most patience voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Remind me earlier? I’ll swing the bus back.”

Sister Brenda stood up this time. Fighting sleep. She watched the driver make a wide turn.

“This is not the station.” she said matter of factly when he creeped up to it. “It is too!” They began to banter about which service station she left her bag. She never got off the bus because she was now confused. “My bag” she whispered. She went back to her seat.

The bus driver drove the bus back to the south. As the people awoke, they were surprised she still didn’t have her bag! They begin to brainstorm.

“Can’t someone who is passing the station get the purse?”

“There are other buses.”

“The bus going to Virginia will get it!” Someone hung up their phone.

“Nope, Virginia already passed the station too!” Someone else hung up their phone.

“The bus going to South Carolina will get it!” Another person in the back chimed in.

But the South Carolina bus couldn’t describe the bag well enough. They left.

A week passed and Sister Branda thought about her iPad. She focused on all her pictures she took and songs she wrote. Imagining each song help to drown out the voices of doubt. There were plenty. Some whispered and other voices said it loud and clear.

“You can always get another iPad.”

“You probably won’t get your bag back.”

“You know how big that station is!?“

Then she got a call. A couple who lived in New Jersey and attended the conference got the news. They lived right next to the station! It was nothing for them to casually stop by. And it was nothing for the service station to hand over the big black bag with all of Sister Brenda’s belongings. Her money she forgot she had and the iPad with all the memories.

Learning about Mandalas

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The Metropolitan Museum of Art invited my class to go on a journey with them at the beginning of the school year. They were among a few other students in New York City given the privilege of visiting an exhibit that has since been taken down, entitled: Mandalas: Mapping the Buddhist Art of Tibet. While they viewed the art, they were given headphones that were attached to a computer. A trained music technician was able to see their brainwaves and connect their “mindfulness” to the affects art was having on the brain.

Mandalas: Mapping Buddhist Art of Tibet, was a strange opportunity. Strange because I had never studied Tibetan art. I knew little to nothing about mandalas. The whole walk down into the art show felt as if I was in a time machine walking slowly into the 70’s. There was color and movement all around me and every adult there was promoting peace and mindfulness.

It was also an unique experience because it gave my students time to engage in social emotional learning (they played a lot of mind games with the museum educator, Drew), time to make art and music (while viewing the art, they wore huge headphones which in turn picked up their brainwaves and those brainwaves made music), and time to talk of science and technology (looking at their brainwaves, they knew when they were calm).

The exploration of the artwork featured in the exhibition exposed me to what some might say is- mindfulness. I always associated mindfulness with my body being still but it’s your mind being still while participating in activities around you.

The artwork featured in the exhibition, the classroom visits from Drew as well as being able to listen to their brainwaves, exposed my students to self-awareness and self-management. I was able to use what I learned with them as a creativity tool and a way to approach self-awareness.

A little after my students ended their partnership with the Met. I went to a Steven Banks concert for my birthday and in the rotunda there was a beautiful mandala. The vibrant mandala was created by students and teachers alike with pictures and tiny square papers attached on the outside. This lead me to research group mandalas which I came across plenty. I took photos and told my students about my weekend. As I guessed they were not interested in my stories about the Kenari Quartet. They stared at the picture of mandala and tried to name all the objects they found.

Before they could even ask, I answered the question that was in their head: yes, we will create our own group mandala.

Research gave me insight on how to incorporate mandalas into my lessons. During homeroom, they created fun and simple mandalas before they started their day. Some were about kindness towards earth while others were about kindness towards themselves.

They also created group mandalas during Social Studies as a history project. They each picked their own topic and wrote a paragraph about why it should be included in a class project. Next, they focused on their historical event and drew it. Afterwards, they created artist statements.

Currently, I am including the brainwave experiment into their lessons for April. Understanding how the brain works is important for children as well as adults. If a child understands his/her brain then he/she can understand how learning happens. Understanding leads to better moments in the schooling process.

A special thank you to my Met family: David, Drew, Kirsten, Lauren, and Jason for your support and patience with my kiddos.

Below are the mandalas they created….along with the numbers of pi which are throughout the hallways in my school!