Article
The wisest plans aren't drawn, they're grown.
Beloved Community,
The solstice has turned, and with it, so have we; from spring’s promise to summer’s abundance.
Here at Growing Hope, the gardens are bursting. Our new produce stand is packed to the brim, feeding our people. The Ypsilanti Farmers Market is an eruption of flavor, fragrance, and connection with lettuces that fan open like green flames and strawberries glistening red and warm from the sun.
Inside the incubator kitchen, the hum of creativity rises. Local makers prepping for pop-ups across the county, building micro-enterprises from ancestral memory and modern hustle. And our Teen Leadership Program? Alive and electric. Twelve young visionaries are learning, leading, and laboring with heart. The farm pulses with their energy.
As the land leans fully into the heat of summer, I find myself reflecting, not just on the harvest, but on the moment. The landscape around us is shifting fast. This moment has been described in many different ways, but we know the truth: this is a time of hope and possibility. Hope is not naïve. It’s an act of defiance. Of imagination. Of sovereignty.
In complex times, the wisest plans aren't drawn, they're grown.
Last month, I had the honor of testifying before the Senate Committee on Natural Resources and Agriculture. I shared what you already know: Growing Hope doesn’t just run programs. We grow possibility. We practice emergence. We tend a living ecosystem of relationships.
I told them:
Each year, Growing Hope supports hundreds of backyard growers through our Home Vegetable Garden program. We provide raised beds, rich soil, seedlings, and the knowledge to grow a harvest that feeds families. These aren’t symbolic plots—they’re productive, generative, and abundant.
And from them, we are witnessing the reweaving of a community food web—a quiet, powerful economy of mutual aid. Tomatoes for cucumbers. Collards on porches. Elders teaching youth to save seed. These gardens offer more than food. They offer belonging. They offer resilience. They offer infrastructure—the kind that actually holds when the shocks come.
This isn’t charity. This is solidarity. It’s sovereignty. It’s survival.
Together, we carry resilience.
Together, we cultivate hope.
Together, we are growing a hyper-local, sovereign, joyful food system; one garden, one porch, one plate at a time.
In solidarity and soil,
Julius
P.S. The future of food assistance is uncertain; we’re collecting stories to highlight the essential role that SNAP and other food assistance programs play in the Washtenaw County local food system. Keep an eye on our blog to learn more.
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