My name is not my own My name belongs to the winds that have blown down from mountain tops and glaciers for all of these ages My name belong

...and let me say this Since I moved back to the South - making my "next choice the best choice" as they say in the skreets - I decided I would, indeed and in reality, farm someday soon. I've always known that I would and wanted to, but it's becoming much more real now. I started by visiting my friend Bernie's blueberry farm in Fly, TN and helping out and asking numerous and sundry, and no doubt annoying, questions about the whats and hows of his farm and garden. I went on

My white people, my white people: Now that you know the fallacious history of "whiteness," assuming that you do, will you still identify yourself and your family as "white?" Think for a second... Let it sink in. You see, Black people - the ones taken from Afrika - were not the only ones robbed of their identity. You have been, too, white people. When you aren't "white" anymore, who are you? I answered this question for myself in a quest to self-determine and self-define. I

...so, i wrote this for my Sisters the other day. I hope they don't mind me sharing it - they prolly won't. Do enjoy, and let me know...