When the Almond Tree Blooms

Last weekend, I was going to write something about rain. On Saturday night and early Sunday morning, we had some rain here in the Bay Area. What began as a reflection about rain's significance in a time of drought became a much wider inquiry into climate change, the future of humanity and the planet, and our role in the current crises we face. I like to think of myself as someone who works on the land. I coordinate a school garden program and grow food with inquisitive, sometimes exhausting but ultimately inspiring elementary age kids. I've been doing this work for over four years, and since then, I've become more and more in tune with the workings of nature. Farmers, many have written, are on the front lines of climate change. Across the world, those of us who grow food from the land are facing changing weather patterns which is making agriculture more difficult. Unlike most farmers, I don't rely on what I grow either for sustenance, like the campesinos I had

I felt a surprising surge of emotion when I read yesterday evening that the leftist FMLN Party in El Salvador had claimed victory in that country's presidential election. Why should I care about an election in a tiny little Central American country? My interest in El Salvador--and in Central America as a region--goes beyond just its' pupusas and fine coffee. For many years, I knew little about El Salvador, but in the years I've spent working in the East Bay, I've met many Salvadorans and became interested in their stories and the history of their small nation. When I decided to travel to Central America a little over a year ago, I had my sights set on spending some time in El Salvador, so I delved into a few books about the history of that country's civil war. It became clear to me that the FMLN had waged a just guerilla war against a brutal, repressive right-wing regime for nearly a decade. It always seemed sad to me that after the Peace Accords in 1992?, the

It's a windy, cold afternoon here in Oakland, and I am looking out my not-so-clean window at the vacant yard that once belonged to my neighbors. Yet another victim of foreclosure, they moved out a few weeks ago, taking with them their assorted vehicles, weight set and junk that once crowded the small, concrete back patio. Sometimes loud and raucous, always lively, I will miss them and the little piece of Central America they brought to the neighborhood. I recall one summer afternoon when I dozed off in my backyard to the soothing sounds of their Guatemalan marimba music. Now, it's just an empty space, one of many in this city. Bad news is not hard to find these days. Sixteen teachers at the elementary school where I work got pink slips yesterday. Families and staff are concerned what will happen to the school. Many of the dedicated educators who have served there now find their future uncertain. I am lucky that the grant money that supports my position as a school garde