Maggie wandered in off the street, a haunted look in her eyes. She had heard that the farm was a place where she could get help with her life; her addictions, her helplessness, and homelessness.
And we tried mightily to help. At the start of the year long program designed to get people like Maggie back on their feet, it seemed like she was beyond hope, and was unwilling to change no matter what opportunities were placed in front of her. Showing up drunk every morning, she would bluster through the greenhouse doors eager to start the day, but not ready at all to get with the program.
To Maggie, the farm was a respite from the night terrors of the homeless shelter where she stayed when she could get a cot. She told me that it was a little better than camping out, because you couldn't get raped, but it didn't stop the other shelter residents from constantly harassing her. "They put stuff in my ears when I'm sleeping, and then they steal my bag unless I'm clutching it to my tits all night," she lamented.
When you suggested practical solutions to the problems in Maggie's life there was always a reason why they wouldn't work out. The shelter director didn't like her so she couldn't get a locker, section 8 housing took too long to apply for, and the social worker was looking for a way to deny her foodstamps.
It seemed as if the weight of the world was stacked against Maggie and she just didn't have the strength to dig her way out. She couldn't catch a break, and everyone in her life was just piling more shit on her.
The farm was a place where Maggie could escape all that and feel at peace. You could see her sloughing off a great burden as she bounded through the tightly cropped rows of purple cosmos and lavender. She was soothing her pain just by being there, but that was only partially the goal of the program. We also wanted Maggie, through the counseling services offered, to face some of her more debilitating issues, and develop a plan to overcome them. The program offered a means for her to get permanent housing, food security, education, and job opportunities, if only she could show up sober and willing. That wasn't on Maggie's agenda. She wanted to skydive.
Sitting down with her caseworker, she explained it like this, "I just want to jump out of a plane some day .. this year! I want to have that feeling of being fully, deliciously alive. To know that everything in my life has been leading up to this moment in time."
"But Maggie," her counselor intoned, "everything has been leading up to this moment in your life. This is your moment right now, before you." Maggie shot back, "this moment sucks! I'd rather be jumping out of a plane in Watsonville." And with that she was off to find her hidden bottle amongst the overgrown fava beans.
It became an obsession with her that she get the $150 needed for the skydiving experience. Nothing else mattered. Not clothing, food, or any way forward other than hustling up the cash with some sort of elaborate scam. She collected change from all her fellow participants as "investments in ecstasy", and I think a lot of them were expecting some kind of return in the form of drugs or sex somewhere down the line. She hounded everyone on staff for "just a dollar or two" and I'm sure she made a fair amount of "just shut up and leave me alone" money.
Eventually her goal became financially realistic, and her counselor became more supportive. Seeing the determination in her was at times uplifting, and even though you knew her obsession was a huge distraction from the task at hand, her enthusiasm was so infectious you couldn't help but to get on board and root her on.
Then came the the day when she sat down with her case worker and announced with a cackle that she had, "raised the $150 by hook or by crook," and could she get a coupla few more dollars for bus fare down to the Watsonville airport? Brightened by a potential end to the saga, her counselor -and by now friend- gladly gave her the money and some extra for lunch too.
Everybody at the farm gathered to see Maggie off on her great skydiving adventure. As she bounced in the seat of her departing bus like a little kid, grinning wildly and waving to us through the grimy window, we all felt as if our collective dream for her was coming true. This was gonna work for Maggie. Some people took small steps forward .. She took giant leaps.
Later on we heard from the skydiving company that Maggie had forged her certification paperwork and had somehow been allowed to jump solo. Taking her first step off the plane she had spread her wings and felt the wind take her out. Seeing the whole world below now rushing up towards her, she told herself, "it doesn't get any better than this." and smiling, closed her eyes, letting the rip chord slip from her hand ...
--
