Fresh food is a liberating force. I have worked on a farm for three years and am the leader of Urban Agriculture club. Once a month, I travel to a women's prison in Metro Atlanta, bringing other high school students and facilitating a potluck as well as a workshop for the women. Our overarching project is a garden that is in full swing at the facility, giving the predominantly Black incarcerated women a sense of escapism from their rooms and processed foods. The workshops I facilitate involve educating growers on how to grow one's own food. We call the women we work with growers. In doing this, we center their role as communal cultivators rather than reducing them to their prison sentence. My favorite workshop is mushroom inoculation. It is perfect for urban farming: small-scale and contained. They learn about the interconnectedness of mushrooms, how tiny mycelium have networks that measure over 300 miles end to end. Unification is such an important lesson when it comes to educating my community about the justice system. Every time I am able to introduce a new student to the program, I see how their perspectives change and widen like the mycelium under our feet. Many workshops are incredibly useful, like how to grow batches of potatoes with one old spud, but some do the equally vital work of bringing humanity to the incarcerated. My favorite workshops to teach are eco-printing and lip balm making. Often we forget how much of a luxury leisure is. The women I meet are forced to work for the government that incarcerated them, and sometimes they just need to do some arts and crafts. Resilience is key. The crux of my potato growing lesson is that the deeper you bury it, the more potatoes that will grow. Truth, like crops, must be cultivated and I am a cultivator. "Eat this." A phrase that my friends are well-acquainted with. Walking through my city, I point out all the seemingly innocuous but wonderfully beneficial plants that grow amongst us. “That? Try it! It has a square stem, that’s how you know it's in the mint family.” I am so obsessed with convincing people to eat things I picked from the ground that I taught a class on it. In my junior year, I made a curriculum for and taught a class called: “Teas, Syrups, and Salves.” This class delved into the topic of medical botany, beginning with a plant walk on campus where I showed all the secretly medicinal plants that were previously dismissed as weeds. Students then went into how to extract the properties of these plants through the titular teas, syrups, and salves. For the final, each student created a new recipe with the knowledge they had gained about harnessing properties of local and international flora. Everyone should experience the wonder of all that the weeds under their feet have to offer. My experience in being an educator extended to teach children, as well. Volunteering on a local farm, I instructed children on fostering biodiversity and identifying plants. The most important lesson I’ve learned is that people are inclined to listen to you if they know you’ve done the work yourself. Service leadership, when done correctly, benefits every party involved.

Empowerment is the feeling when you can share the tools you have been given. "Eat this." A phrase that my friends are well-acquainted with. Walking through my city, I point out all the seemingly innocuous but wonderfully beneficial plants that grow amongst us. “That? Try it! It has a square stem, that’s how you know it's in the mint family.” I am so obsessed with convincing people to eat things I picked from the ground that I taught a class on it. In my junior year, I made a curriculum for and taught a class called: “Teas, Syrups, and Salves.” This class delved into the topic of medical botany, beginning with a plant walk on campus where I showed all the secretly medicinal plants that were previously dismissed as weeds. Students then went into how to extract the properties of these plants through the titular teas, syrups, and salves. For the final, each student created a new recipe with the knowledge they had gained about harnessing properties of local and international flora. Everyone should experience the wonder of all that the weeds under their feet have to offer. Fresh food is a liberating force. I have worked on a farm for three years and am the leader of Urban Agriculture club. Once a month, I travel to a women's prison in Metro Atlanta, bringing other high school students and facilitating a potluck as well as a workshop for the women. Our overarching project is a garden that is in full swing at the facility, giving the predominantly Black incarcerated women a sense of escapism from their rooms and processed foods. The workshops I facilitate involve educating growers on how to grow one's own food. We call the women we work with growers. In doing this, we center their role as communal cultivators rather than reducing them to their prison sentence. My favorite workshop is mushroom inoculation. It is perfect for urban farming: small-scale and contained. They learn about the interconnectedness of mushrooms, how tiny mycelium have networks that measure over 300 miles end to end. Unification is such an important lesson when it comes to educating my community about the justice system. Every time I am able to introduce a new student to the program, I see how their perspectives change and widen like the mycelium under our feet. Many workshops are incredibly useful, like how to grow batches of potatoes with one old spud, but some do the equally vital work of bringing humanity to the incarcerated. My favorite workshops to teach are eco-printing and lip balm making. Often we forget how much of a luxury leisure is. The women I meet are forced to work for the government that incarcerated them, and sometimes they just need to do some arts and crafts. Resilience is key. The crux of my potato growing lesson is that the deeper you bury it, the more potatoes that will grow. Truth, like crops, must be cultivated and I am a cultivator.

"Eat this." A phrase that my friends are well-acquainted with. Walking through my city, I point out all the seemingly innocuous but wonderfully beneficial plants that grow amongst us. “That? Try it! It has a square stem, that’s how you know it's in the mint family.” I am so obsessed with convincing people to eat things I picked from the ground that I taught a class on it. In my junior year, I made a curriculum for and taught a class called: “Teas, Syrups, and Salves.” This class delved into the topic of medical botany, beginning with a plant walk on campus where I showed all the secretly medicinal plants that were previously dismissed as weeds. Students then went into how to extract the properties of these plants through the titular teas, syrups, and salves. For the final, each student created a new recipe with the knowledge they had gained about harnessing properties of local and international flora. Everyone should experience the wonder of all that the weeds under their feet have to offer. Fresh food is a liberating force. I have worked on a farm for four years and am the leader of Urban Agriculture club. Once a month, I travel to a women's prison in Metro Atlanta, bringing other high school students and facilitating a potluck and a workshop. My overarching project is a garden that is in full swing at the facility, giving the predominantly Black incarcerated women a sense of escapism and access to fresh food. The workshops I facilitate educate growers on how to horticulture. We call the women we work with growers, centering their role as communal cultivators rather than reducing them to inmates. My favorite workshop is mushroom inoculation. It is perfect for urban farming: small-scale and contained. They learn about the interconnectedness of mushrooms, how tiny mycelium have networks that measure over 300 miles. Unification is such an important lesson in educating my community about the justice system. Every time I can introduce a new student to the program, I see how their perspectives change and widen like the mycelium under our feet. Many workshops are incredibly useful, like how to grow batches of potatoes with one old spud, but some do the equally vital work of bringing humanity to the incarcerated. Often we forget how much of a luxury leisure is. Resilience is key. The crux of my potato growing lesson is that the deeper you bury it, the more potatoes that will grow. Truth, like crops, must be cultivated and I am a cultivator.

Fresh food is a liberating force. I have worked on a farm for four years and am the leader of Urban Agriculture club. Once a month, I travel to a women's prison in Metro Atlanta, bringing other high school students and facilitating a potluck and a workshop. My overarching project is a garden that is in full swing at the facility, giving the predominantly Black incarcerated women a sense of escapism and access to fresh food. The workshops I facilitate educate growers on how to horticulture. We call the women we work with growers, centering their role as communal cultivators rather than reducing them to inmates. My favorite workshop is mushroom inoculation. It is perfect for urban farming: small-scale and contained. They learn about the interconnectedness of mushrooms, how tiny mycelium have networks that measure over 300 miles. Unification is such an important lesson in educating my community about the justice system. Every time I can introduce a new student to the program, I see how their perspectives change and widen like the mycelium under our feet. Many workshops are incredibly useful, like how to grow batches of potatoes with one old spud, but some do the equally vital work of bringing humanity to the incarcerated. Often we forget how much of a luxury leisure is. Resilience is key. The crux of my potato-growing lesson is that the deeper you bury it, the more potatoes will grow. Truth is, like crops, potatoes must be cultivated, and I am a cultivator.

Fresh food is a liberating force. I have worked on a farm for four years and am the leader of Urban Agriculture club. Once a month, I travel to a women's prison in Metro Atlanta, bringing other high school students and facilitating a potluck and a workshop. My overarching project is a garden that is in full swing at the facility, giving the predominantly Black incarcerated women a sense of escapism and access to fresh food. The workshops I facilitate educate growers on how to horticulture. We call the women we work with growers, centering their role as communal cultivators rather than reducing them to inmates. My favorite workshop is mushroom inoculation. It is perfect for urban farming: small-scale and contained. They learn about the interconnectedness of mushrooms, how tiny mycelium have networks that measure over 300 miles. Unification is such an important lesson in educating my community about the justice system. Every time I can introduce a new student to the program, I see how their perspectives change and widen like the mycelium under our feet. Many workshops are incredibly useful, like how to grow batches of potatoes with one old spud, but some do the equally vital work of bringing humanity to the incarcerated. Often we forget how much of a luxury leisure is. Scarcity is the root of most crime, and resources used on irreparably polluting industrial agriculture should be used to give small communities the tools to be self-sufficient. Resilience is key. The crux of my potato-growing lesson is that the deeper you bury it, the more potatoes will grow. Truth, like crops, must be cultivated, and I am a cultivator.