Fabi's Food Forest

Fifty kids were gazing up in astonishment at a squirrel nibbling at the ripening fruit of my chio tree. Eyes wide, they looked as though a dinosaur had suddenly appeared on the scene. 

Andres couldn't contain himself and scaled the lower branches.  Juan Carlos called out: squirrels must be delicious! Jose Manuel started gathering rocks. 

Suddenly, a shrill whistle rippled through the air. All eyes fell on 4 foot 2 Fabi. Leave the squirrel alone! commanded the 12-year-old camp counselor. Back to the soccer game!

Fifty kids quickly scampered back to the grassy field. I’m not sure what surprised me the more: the kids’ excitement about a mere squirrel or Fabi’s absolute power over her young charges at the vacation program.

But wait a minute…. Mere squirrel? Seeing a squirrel where I grew up in Virginia was certainly mundane, but I realized that this was the first time a squirrel had made an appearance in my 22 years on my little farm in Venezuela.

Conuco Colibri - or Hummingbird Farm  – is two acres of rolling green, bordered by tiny houses on one side and sprawling potato fields on the other. The potato fields are mostly barren now, over-plowed for decades, plied for years with layers of pesticides and chemical fertilizers. Contrary to what logic would dictate in a nation seized by food shortages, seeds and farm implements have become almost totally inaccessible to regular folks, controlled almost exclusively by mafias. The fields lay devoid of activity, even now, during the rainy season.

Instead of seeds, small boxes of packaged food are delivered every two or three months to each home in our village of Palo Verde, an area rich in agricultural potential. The box contains food grown in Mexico, Portugal and Turkey. The title on the box is: Local Committee of Supply and Production. I guess Mexico is considered local. It’s only 4,288 kilometers from Venezuela versus 10,563 km to Turkey.

I knew that Fabi's vocal protection of the squirrel did not come from any compunctions about killing an animal to eat. She grew up herding her grandfather's sheep and cattle, though there were hardly any of those left in our village now. (Price controls had  made the raising of animals more expensive than the price of their meat). But by then, Fabi was well versed in the animal birth-to-death routine.

The night before the squirrel’s appearance, Fabi had even helped Ledys hunt opossum. She actually led the endeavor, since Ledys felt queasy even to step on a cockroach. But Fabi had convinced him that these resident robber barons had to be stopped. They were stealing all our mangoes that we preciously hoard for the kids and threatened our chickens as well. Plus, she said, they made a delicious breakfast. She handed Ledys the flashlight and grabbed the club herself. 

The squirrel, on the other hand, wasn’t eating anything we needed. His presence was good news in Fabi’s eyes. Conuco Colibri was slowly evolving from tiny farm to mini food forest, a transition that was helping it to become ever more fertile, ever more productive. The fact that the squirrel had arrived there - probably coming some 20 miles from the Fumarola mountain, meant that he found conditions similar to his forest home. 

Fabi had jump-started this food-growing journey to begin with, some two and a half years ago and now, she was helping to raise it to a new level.

It was Fabi who had motivated me to start growing anything and everything edible we could in-between, around, and up and down the many trees I had planted through the years. She tucked pigeon peas, sweet potatoes, and chayota at the base of the trees. Squash wound around banana trees, pole beans and passion fruit grew up them, Seed potatoes were plunked in tires and yucca stems plunged sideways into abandoned piles of dirt. Sheep poop was hauled from the mountain paths to help them grow.

The land was now generating copious amounts of organic material for the compost, plentiful shade from the harsh midday sun to protect sensitive plants, abundant food and shelter for beneficial animals and insects. Companion planting allowed for efficient shared use of drip irrigation. Everywhere you looked, there seemed to be something to eat. 

Much of that something ends up in the huge pot of our weekly Sunday soup , a hearty bean and veggie affair, cooked over an open fire by the kids of Club Conuco Colibri (CCC) a hybrid version of a 4H-CSA). A welcome way to end a long hard day of group farming. The ripe fruits and veggies of the week get hauled by the kids to their homes on Wednesdays. All of this is never enough to totally keep hunger at bay. But it takes the edge off, a bit.

Recently the CCC kids participated, with great gusto,  in a gathering to celebrate local seeds. Their enthusiasm and organization caught the attention of the state's governor, who happens to also be an Admiral in the Navy.  When she asked the kids how they started their project, all directed her attention to Fabi, universally beloved as our founder. The Admiral shook Fabi's hand and said: Fabiola Trejo, some day you will do great things.

Some day? How about now. Right now she is doing great things. Right now is what matters. 

As I write these reflections about my adopted home of Venezuela, I hold in my heart the millions of Venezuelans who have left because of hunger, or the fear of hunger. Some say it is 1 million. Some say 4 million. Whatever, it is a lot.

While that box of food from Turkey and Mexico does help a lot - when it comes - I can't help but wonder if that is the real solution to this hunger.  I can't help but wonder if Fabi may have a much better idea.    

Fabi sees the urgency of growing food in every corner possible when hungers knocks on the door. The necessity of growing food to eat, not to sell. The importance of growing variety, as a way of hedging bets that while some things might not do well this round, others will. 

Of course Fabi, a tiny twelve-year-old is doing this on the teeny tiny two acre plot of Hummingbird Farm. A handful of kids going slightly less hungry seems microscopic compared to the millions fleeing hunger. 

But I'll hold on to the legend of our Fumarola mountain, the majestic mountain that frames Conuco Colibri. According to this lore, it was the hummingbird, the colibri, the tiniest of all the animals in the forest - who put out the raging fire that threatened to consume the majestic mountain, home to all the forest animals. While the other animals fled the fire or roared with laughter at the ridiculous antics of so tiny a creature, the colibri stayed on task, diligently dropping tiny bits of water from her beak onto the flames, until the fire was stopped. In doing so, she saved her home, their home.

Fly Fabi fly.