By Bren Dubay
Recently, a number of us made our way down to Flagler Beach in Florida. We walked on the beach, some swam in the ocean, all experienced the drama of a thunderstorm dancing across the night sky above the Atlantic, we talked, we laughed. The time away together was refreshing and renewing. Even running out of gas on the way back couldn’t dampen our spirits (long story — perhaps for the telling in a future Brief Thoughts).
As happens on such outings, there was quite a bit of energy expended surrounding the subject of food. One of us planned the menu, a couple of us gathered groceries, and one of our rooms became the gathering place for meals. Humans know quite well our need for physical food — we spend a great deal of time planning, shopping, preparing then consuming it. On the trip though, I found myself wondering about our need for spiritual food. It isn’t the first time I’ve wondered about this subject. We are very aware of what happens when we go without physical food. What happens when we go without spiritual food?
Early on in my adult life, I worked for a private philanthropic foundation. One of my job duties was to review the many proposals submitted for funding to make sure all the needed information was included in them. I vividly remember an instance when in my left hand I held a request for funding to provide meals to migrant children arriving at our Texas border and, in my right hand, a request for funding to provide theater tickets to inner city children who had never been exposed to the arts. Thinking of those children who had traveled through dangerous circumstances without food and only limited water was visceral. Of course, their hunger was an immediate, tangible need. It was urgent.
I attended the quarterly meetings where board members of the foundation made decisions regarding which proposals they would fund and which they would not fund. Sometimes I was asked for my opinion. The chair of the board was a mentor of sorts to me. He picked up these two proposals, one in his left and one in his right, looked straight at me and asked me what I thought. I am not sure if what I shared surprised him, but it surprised me. My response was that as a child from a poor family I had known physical hunger, but nothing like the hunger the children at the border faced. But I did know what it felt like to have a very empty stomach and how the lack of food made my eyes dull. In my mind’s eye, I could see the dullness of those children’s eyes and it broke my heart. I didn’t stop there though, but went on to share that there was another hunger I had experienced. It was less tangible and therefore, more difficult to explain. It was the lack of stories, of color, of beauty, of music, and of books. I spoke of the first time I was taken to the theater. The dull pain of physical hunger must be satiated, but there is also the dull pain of spiritual hunger that needs food as well. Seeing my first play — a light came on in my eyes. They were no longer dull but bright.
Both proposals received funding.
Mother Teresa said that the greatest poverty she ever encountered was in the United States — it was our spiritual poverty to which she referred. At Koinonia, we work to feed the physical and spiritual hunger. Many times we can do both at the same time. At our communal meals, we sit around the table together and welcome all to join us. While we eat the food and share with anyone who is physically hungry, we also fellowship, talk, laugh, and sometimes simply sit in companionable silence. This feeds the spiritual hunger — the loneliness and isolation that so often plagues us in this modern world.
We do not have to choose between physical needs and spiritual needs. We can use our limited resources to address both. To remember that humans are body, mind, and soul and to neglect one is to neglect the whole human. This is how we feed the hungry physically and spiritually — by eating together, by praying together, by working and resting together.
By Bren Dubay
If you have come into contact with or read a word we’ve written since January, you’d be hard pressed not to know that Koinonia has declared 2019 the Year of the Pecan. We are planting 40 acres of new pecan trees — 800 trees of different varieties!
As soon as we decided to do this, we began giving extra attention to the soil in those 40 acres. Koinonia is all about the soil — everywhere on the farm, but, especially, where we’re growing food. Joel Salatin, a farmer and author I highly recommend, writes in The Marvelous Pigness of Pigs —
…soil is a pulsing, thriving community. Our cupped handful [of soil] contains more beings than there are people on the face of the earth… soil is a teeming community of beings… Now we know through work at Stanford that these microscopic beings (nemtodes, mycorrihizae, giberrellins to name a few] communicate. They actually have a language and respond to each other. Page 51
Does it not make sense that to produce healthy food, you need healthy, living soil from which it grows? For our pecans to have the best, most marvelous pecaness of pecans, we (and our animals, too) must work to help infuse life into the soil.
Koinonia has received a great deal of derision for its commitment to soil biology. There is a fungus in our part of Georgia we call scab and it, along with a whole myriad of other pests, will destroy a pecan crop unless you spray heavy doses of fungicide, insecticide and herbicide. We have been told over and over again, “Spray, spray, spray!” Those “cides” do mostly kill the pests, but they also kill those microscopic beings that bring life. And after you spray them, you can’t allow humans or animals to go for a stroll in the orchards for 72 hours.
Does it make sense to eat food doused with poison and grown in dead soil? Wouldn’t we rather eat food from plants that are healthy and thriving all the way from the soil in which they are planted to their highest leaf? Koinonia must live its values and we know too much about what is happening to this earth to not focus on healthy soil. We are sticking to the biological method no matter the names not fit to print we are called. I like these words from Joel Salatin, too —
I would suggest that a God-honoring farm is one that shows strength rather than weakness. … It’s one that has healthy plants and animals. It’s one that develops food that develops healthier people. This is not a health-and-wealth message. It is ultimately a humility-and-dependency message. God’s designs work. Page 68
So, we are planting 800 new trees and we are looking to get every last one of them a sponsor. If you haven’t already, I am asking you to sponsor a tree or two or three or a whole row. There is a lot of work to do. We could use your help to get it done. Find out more on our website.
I’ll end with these words from Clarence Jordan. Can it be said any better?
… we went there and bought that old, run-down eroded piece of land. It was sick. There were gashes in it. It was sore and bleeding. I don’t know whether you’ve walked out over a piece of ground and it could almost cry out to you and say, ‘Heal me, heal me!’ I don’t know whether you feel the closeness to the soil that I do. But when you fill in those old gullies and terrace the fields and you begin to feel the springiness of the sod beneath your feet and you begin to feel that old land come to life and when you walk through a pine forest that you set out in little seedlings and now you see them reaching for the sky and hear the wind through them… Men say to you, ‘Why don’t you sell it and move away?’…they might as well ask you, “Why don’t you sell your mother?’ Somehow God has made us out of this old soil, and we go back to it, and we never lose its claim on us. It isn’t a simple matter to leave it.”
No, Clarence, like you, we aren’t about to sell this land or leave it. And the only thing we are going to spray on her is life.
For those of you reading this, thanks for your support. It is needed.
By Bren Dubay
Easter is beautiful at Koinonia. The sunrise service, the celebratory breakfast that follows and the fun activities that fill our day, but it doesn’t stop when Sunday goes away. Easter continues. I like that.
In much of the Western Christian Church, the Easter Season lasts for 50 days — from the resurrection of Jesus to the ascension of Jesus celebrated on Pentecost Sunday. In the Eastern Christian Church, it’s 40 days, a significant stretch of time as well.
Not all denominations follow a liturgical calendar, but I find doing so helpful. There is Advent, a time of preparation followed by the great season of Christmas. There is Lent, another time of preparation culminating in the greatest season of all, Easter. Each season gives us the chance to immerse ourselves in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, while giving ample time to focus more deeply on one aspect or time period of his life.
Koinonian Norris Harris often breaks open the word Christian for us. He points out that the “ians” is a suffix and yes, it denotes “followers” of Christ, but it is much richer and deeper because it is calling us to be “Christ like.” Christians are to be “Christ like.” We are to strive day in and day out in all that we do to be Christ like. That is a bit intimidating. It is also a lot of work … but when we look at it step by step, mile by mile, it can feel perhaps more manageable.
If I decide to be a marathon runner, I don’t just get up one morning, strap on my tennis shoes, and go out and run 26.2 miles. I work at it. It’s a day in and day out discipline. Likewise, I can claim the word Christian, but if I am not daily doing all I can to live it, it’s an empty title. Following the liturgical calendar helps me stay focused. It helps me stay immersed in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus and can constantly remind me that a life rooted in those four events — especially the last one — looks different than a life rooted in anything else our culture has to offer.
The liturgical calendar constantly turns my face toward Jesus. Hopefully, my mind and my heart follow. It gives me ample time to meditate on the mysteries of the Incarnation. We are used to four seasons — winter, spring, summer and fall — and know well the rhythms of them. To know Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter seems far more important than, though helpful and important, knowing the weather.
Easter is a marathon, not a sprint. Easter is a long walk, not a few hours on a Sunday in spring. So, too, is the Christian life. There are many tools that can help us stay focused and keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Koinonia Farm is proud to partner with Canaan Palestine, a Fair Trade and sustainable farmers co-op that makes delicious and traditional Palestinian food such as olive oil, Maftoul (Couscous), and Freekeh.
By Bren Dubay
Interns arrived last weekend. The Gospel reading at Gathered Worship was from Luke — the Sermon on the Plain. It seemed a perfect reading for the start of a new internship term. I told the interns that they had come to a remarkable place. And Koinonia is. But it is not Utopia and I stressed that they would not see perfection — everyone loving enemies all the time, everyone doing good for, blessing, praying for enemies all the time, everyone doing unto others as we would have them do unto us all the time. In the Sermon on the Plain, Jesus instructs that we do these things. We fail. Sometimes we fail spectacularly. But what I told the new interns and the rest gathered there is what they would see is a real effort, a sincere effort, a very intentional effort to live the Sermon on Plain and the Sermon on the Mount day in and day out
What do we do at Koinonia? We can easily answer that with a “I take care of the pecans,” “I cook,” “I correspond with prisoners,” “I manage guest reservations,” “I visit the sick,” “I clean,” “I make sure the vehicles have oil,” “I work with people who suffer from chronic pain,” “I grow vegetables, grapes, blueberries,” “I facilitate the Circle of Friends,” “I write,” “I keep the bakery going,” and on and on. But really, truly, a more accurate answer to the question would be, “We fall down, we get up, and we fall down again.”
Those of us here have either committed ourselves to a way of life or to coming every day to support those attempting to live this way of life. Those of us who have committed to the communal way of life take vows agreeing that we will be guided by Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount and Sermon the Plain; we have committed ourselves to being family. We have committed ourselves to a particular place. We have committed to go to God together. We devote ourselves to spiritual development and good works. What’s more, these deep and specific commitments are for the long haul. In essence, we promise each other and ourselves that we will not run away—even when it gets rough. And rough it gets. And, oh, yes, we do tasks, chores, and work to support ourselves.
Interns, for a period of time, immerse themselves into the communal way of life we follow here. We hope they take what they learn and experience into whatever configuration of community they choose. We try to show them a set of guiding principles that are constructive, healthy, and sensible. A good life, a mature, wholehearted life, takes commitment.
In the Rule of Benedict, Benedict writes, “anticipate one another in honor; most patiently endure one another’s infirmities, whether of body or character.” This is sound advice for interns, for members of Koinonia, or for anyone. Community is about bearing each other’s burdens, staying when things get hard, doing the chores you don’t like, and being family. For our community, above all, we try and fail and try again to live up to this Sermon on the Plain
One of the best ways to learn about community and to see the imperfect and beautiful ways it works out is by becoming an intern at Koinonia. We have room for more interns. There are three terms a year — spring, summer and fall. Give it some thought and then apply?
By Bren Dubay
The crèche is put away now, but not the thoughts it sparked. Each year the crèche takes its place next to the entrance to the farm on Highway 49. It is a wooden cut out of Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, and others at the manger and is wonderfully painted. I realize I don’t know who the artist is who did this work. I realize, too, I don’t know how long this piece of art has been a part of the community. I do know it has been more than fifteen years because the crèche was here when I arrived. Who built the crèche? We should know that.
People come and go at Koinonia. It has always been that way. We are a house of hospitality and would not want that to change. But what Koinonia needs most of all is a core of people living the communal life together for the long haul — serving God and God’s people at, through, and from this place called Koinonia Farm. We need members who pass on the stories and the history to other members coming to join them. A group of people who can tell us who built the crèche, who painted it, whose idea it was — the whole story.
Yes, we do have a core of communal members. And we clearly understand how needed it is for that same core to still be here in another decade supporting and mentoring those who have come after us. Now we just need to find those who are coming after us.
Living this way of life is counter-cultural in the West, but not completely foreign. It has been a part of Christianity both East and West from the beginning. Intentional Christian communities have played an important role throughout Christian history — they have founded hospitals, schools, worked for the poor, started progressive movements; they have prayed, lived quietly and humbly, sharing what they have, responding to the needs and challenges of the times, and have given or inspired the birth of so much that is good. Koinonia has been praying, living, and sharing for over 76 years now. And it continues to have much work to do. It is a big place with a large legacy and a deep calling to live up to the example of the earliest Christian church. Surely, there are a dozen people out there who are called to Koinonia. Do the following words from the Acts of the Apostles resonate? If they do, you may be called to Koinonia.
They devoted themselves to the teaching of the apostles and to the communal life, to the breaking of the bread and to the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, and many wonders and signs were done through the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their property and possessions and divide them among all according to each one’s need. Every day they devoted themselves to meeting together in the temple area and to breaking bread in their homes. They ate their meals with exultation and sincerity of heart, praising God and enjoying favor with all the people. And every day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.
Here’s where the crèche comes in again: our dream is that one day very soon our membership will be large enough so that we can have a live nativity on the lawn on Christmas Eve for friends and neighbors to come and enjoy. Our prayer for 2019 is that God stirs hearts and draws people to join our community. And maybe by next Christmas, or the one after that, we can have a live nativity.
P.S. If you know anything about the history of Koinonia’s crèche or you resonated with those words from Acts 2:42-47 and want to explore a calling to Koinonia Farm, please let us know! Email Bren at email@example.com or call her at Koinonia Farm at 229-924-0391. She’d love to hear from you.
By: Steve Krout
I was recently reading Christine Pohl’s “Living into Community: Cultivating Practices That Sustains Us,” and in the first few chapters she writes extensively about gratitude. It seems like ever since I read those chapters, I keep coming across that word – gratitude. For example, on Monday evening, I found myself reading a Washington Post article about the books that helped Hillary Clinton cope after the end of the election in 2016. One of those books was Henri Nouwen’s “The Prodigal Son.” They pulled a paragraph from the book that began, “I can choose to be grateful even when my emotions and feelings are still steeped in hurt and resentment.” Knowing that we have several of Nouwen’s books in the library, I went looking for “The Prodigal Son.” I didn’t find it but I pulled out another book of his – “Can You Drink the Cup?”- and I found a handwritten note in the front that read,
In gratitude, friendship
Gratitude is such an important part of life. The Psalmist in today’s reading proclaims, “I will give thanks to you, O LORD, with all my heart.” Like the poet from long ago, we have many things to be thankful for. I want to go over 3 ways we express our gratitude: in presence, in word, and in action.
We begin our mornings by entering the chapel in silence. Communally, we sit with God. We are grateful for God not necessarily because of what he does but because of who he is: He is Good, He is Love. God is our source of life. This is about making God the center. We listen. We set our hearts on the Lord. We do this through the whole day here. The bells ring at 10, 3, and 8 so that we may center ourselves in prayer. All of this, all of the prayer, the devotions, the pauses…they are all about being present with our great Love.
We sing songs of praise and we express our thanksgivings at the end of each meal and Gathered Worship service. I admit, for the first several months of my internship, I rarely sang at chapel. It wasn’t because I was being an old curmudgeon as some people sometimes claim that I am. I’m not a very good singer and well…this is a small chapel and sometimes there aren’t very many people in it. To be honest, the only way I know that I’m in tune is if Elizabeth looks over at me and smiles. And that doesn’t happen a lot. Over time, both the community and I have just accepted that I can’t carry a tune and so now I sing. There is something beautiful about expressing gratitude and praise through the communal singing.
In his Thanksgiving proclamation in 1963, President Kennedy said, “As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” This is so true. We sing praises to God “For the Beauty of the Earth.” To take care of our environment is to live by those words. We thank God for what we’ve been given and any abundance we may have. To give that abundance away to those in need, to the best of our ability, is to live by those words. We thank God for the tools and equipment we use to do our work. To take care of them is to live by those words. We thank God for this community, for each other…to love, to will the good of the whole, is to live by those words.
I close with this: gratitude leads to joy. And joy is such a beautiful thing. One of my heroes, the Bishop Robert Barron, talks a lot about leading with the beautiful when it comes to evangelizing the culture. Other than Taco Bell, is there anything more beautiful than a community of joyful people? I was talking to a former intern about prayer near the end of her internship. She told me that she appreciated the use of humor in our prayers here at Koinonia. With hearts full of gratitude and joy and bellies full of laughter…this is one of the ways we lead with the beautiful. But, things aren’t always lighthearted and fun. Sometimes life together can be tough as there may be hurt and misunderstandings . Thankful for the love, grace, and forgiveness bestowed on us by God, we bestow love, grace, and forgiveness on each other. That is truly beautiful and counter-cultural. As followers of Christ, we have something to offer that is desperately needed in this world. This is not only how we lead people to Christ…this is how we attract people to the communal way of life.
So, friends, be grateful. Be joyful. This is our calling.
By: Bren Dubay
When reading a pamphlet about vocations, this sentence caught my eye, “[God’s] love cannot do without personal response. He neither manipulates nor forces anyone. He does not know what we will reply and cannot answer for us.”
For some reason, the sentence turned my mind to Jesus and the Samaritan Woman. It was about noon when she came to the well. That’s not the typical time women in that day and age would go to the well. They would have gone much earlier. This woman comes alone and at noon and that must be significant.
Jesus is at the well waiting.
I have spent a great deal of my life seeking God, running this way and that. Maybe the heart of the spiritual life is how do we allow ourselves to be found by the waiting God.
An analogy I ran across that has helped me — imagine a helicopter that’s trying to land. The helicopter is God’s presence, God’s grace. Our spiritual life is not about finding ways to jump up and grab the helicopter. The helicopter is already there. If we long for that helicopter and we want it to land, we clear the ground so it can.
Find a place and spiritual practices that help clear the ground. Find a spiritual director. I know a person whose spiritual director suggested she write a dialogue between herself and Jesus and others. She wrote a scene where, after a difficult climb up a steep cliff dragging a huge bag of rocks and a tank of helium, she sits down and looks out over a beautiful blue lake. She calls Jesus by his Hebrew name Yeshua. It is a scene of letting go. There are prayers written on the rocks she carried up the mountain. They are her prayers, heavy ones that perhaps have held her back. One at a time, she reads the prayer then heaves the rock over the side of the cliff into the lake. After each rock, she unties a balloon from the helium tank or uses the tank to blow up a balloon; each has a prayer written on it, too, but it is a prayer of thanksgiving. She reads the prayer aloud, lets the balloon go and watches it float up and away. She is clearing the ground. Here is what happened when she climbs back down.
(HERSELF descends the cliff holding onto
the helium tank and the empty bag; SHE loses
her balance from time to time sliding on the
loose rocks. SHE sees YESHUA at the bottom
of the cliff; SHE is out of breath)
Why didn’t you jump?
(taking the helium tank)
Up there. Why didn’t you jump?
Into the water?
From up there?
(at a loss for words)
It… what? A bit irresponsible, don’t you think?
I could break my neck. Rocks. Lots of them. At the bottom of the lake. I put them there. Some of them.
Go back up there and jump.
Somebody told you to jump from a precipice once. Are you really Yeshua?
Climb back up.
(turns and begins to walk up the cliff)
This is crazy.
(YESHUA watches HERSELF climb back
(stands at top of cliff looking down at lake)
Are you kidding me?
(paces back and forth near the edge)
(walks away from the edge)
This is crazy.
(going back to the edge; shouts)
(sees YESHUA standing on the far shore
facing her; perhaps SHE paces as SHE
talks to herself)
What possible point could there be for my jumping into the lake? Sure, I did it in a dream. Not from a high cliff though. This is for real. Well, maybe not for real. I’m in my imagination. Awake in my imagination. Are you real? I don’t even know if you’re real. Who are you? Do you exist?
(a mighty shout)
Shut up. You are. What’s that supposed to mean? I am, too, but I don’t know how much longer I’d be if I jump off this cliff.
I’ve jumped off a cliff having faith in you before. Left a potentially lucrative career path to become a playwright. See where that has gotten me?
(pacing stopped by YESHUA’S shout
across the lake)
(HERSELF turns her back on YESHUA,
walks away from the edge then suddenly
turns back runs to the edge then dives)
(HERSELF hits the water diving deep.
SHE opens her eyes and finds peace in
the clearness of the water, in the smooth
sandy bottom of the lake and in the
colorful fish swimming about; SHE smiles
as well as one can smile a smile underwater;
the smile gives way when SHE remembers
the rocks; SHE swims turning this way and
that looking for them, but finds none. Even
if a bit confused and bemused, SHE gently
swims refreshed by the water; finally, SHE
starts for the surface needing air and as
her head emerges from the water, all sorts
of old, disturbing images flash through her
mind; SHE is knocked backed by them and
goes under then breaks through the surface
gasping for breath; this happens again then a
third time; SHE feels a hand on her arm
pulling her, lifting her out of harm’s way)
I’ve got you. The water isn’t very deep here. I’ve got you. Can you stand up?
(HERSELF clutches and coughs)
You’re all right. I’ve got you.
(HERSELF nods; MARY walks her to the shore
and helps her dry off with a big towel then helps
her into a thick bathrobe; MARY leads her over
to the campfire where YESHUA is frying fish;
HERSELF sits; silence)
There weren’t any rocks.
(focusing on the fish)
Where did they go?
(YESHUA continues to focus on the fish)
You took them?
When we reply, “Yes,” the waiting God joins us in clearing the ground.
The Samaritan Woman came to the well alone and at mid-day, a sure sign she was an outcast. At the end of the encounter with Jesus, she puts down her pail and runs to the village to tell others what has happened.
Jesus had said to her, “It is not you who have chosen me, I have chosen you.” Ultimately, after much dialogue between them, she goes to the village shouting, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?”
She was found. She chose to reply, “Yes.”
By: Bren Dubay
If there is any concept worth restoring to its original depth and evocative potential, it is the concept of hospitality. — Henri Nouwen
I live where hospitality is more than a concept. It is our heartbeat. From the beginning, no matter the ups and downs, Koinonia has been a place of welcome. No matter background or level of education, no matter whether you possess a penny or a trillion pennies, no matter your faith or lack of faith, no matter, you are welcome.
But hospitality is not only about giving; it’s also about receiving. If Koinonia only gives, it may be a successful member of the hospitality industry, but it’s not living the depth of hospitality. We don’t see people as clients or customers, but as neighbors in the Gospel sense of that word. Neighbors help each other. We all have something to give. We all have something to receive.
Meals are important here at Koinonia Farm. So often, when I look around the dining hall, I am aware that I may be seeing something others may not be able to see. There, sitting side by side, are people who have found there way to Koinonia for many different reasons. Some are people of means in the material sense of the word and some are not. It does not matter.
Amy, Carl and their daughter Monica (not their real names), a middle school student, came to the farm in need of help. Some would say that the parents had made poor choices. Whatever mistakes may have been made, Monica was a good student and school personnel wanted better for her and suggested they come to Koinonia. Grateful for the welcome they received, Amy and Carl enthusiastically pitched in to help around the farm wherever needed.
Many nights at dinner, 12 year-old Monica, without being asked or coaxed, would happily help with the dishes. There came a time when the whole family said, “Let us do the dishes. Y’all turn in early and get some rest.” They showed us hospitality — we were the recipients. It was that giving and receiving the neighbors can share.
Before they left, Amy and Carl told us that being at Koinonia showed them there is a different way to live and that they wanted to do right by their daughter and each other. We pray for them every day.
Donna and Tom (not their real names) came from a very different background. She had been a journalist and he had worked for a trucking company. We do not know the exact details of what happened, but both had lost their jobs and ultimately their home. They asked if they could stay for a bit longer than the normal two week stay for guests. Their pride was shattered and their marriage strained near the breaking point.
Seeing the need, Tom offered to take on the landscaping and mowing around the farm. There was so much rain this past summer that we were convinced if you stood still and looked at the grass, you could see it growing. Donna was an exceptional cook and helped in the kitchen and bakery. They took time to look for employment and they took time to work on their marriage. They stayed here as neighbors, not as clients.
By August, Donna had found a teaching position. Soon after, a local trucking company offered Tom a job.
Having these guests and getting to know them has reminded me the importance of receiving hospitality as well as giving hospitality. But is this giving and receiving what Nouwen means when he refers to restoring hospitality’s “original depth and evocative potential?”
Seems to me welcoming and accepting welcome from the stranger, neighbor, friend or foe and the willingness to offer and accept the same from those with whom we live begins to take hospitality to its original depth and evocative potential. In today’s world, sitting across the table from someone very different from ourselves, looking them in the eye and hearing what they have to say is evocative. The world is divided. Does it have to be so? Is the simple act of giving and receiving hospitality beyond immediate family and friends, in part, an answer? That seems a provocative thought.
Koinonia Farm is proud to announce a new opportunity with Airbnb to provide a behind the scenes tour that follows the journey of a pecan from the tree to the bakery. Ride in a wagon pulled by a tractor and listen as Norris tells stories about the pecan orchards and the people who work them. Follow Jim as we explains the pecan plant and what part each machine plays in harvesting, cleaning, cracking, and sorting the pecans.
Visit Geneva in the bakery and get hands on experience with some of your favorite Koinonia products. And, of course, join us for a delicious handmade lunch!
We are beginning our tours on October 15 and will have these experiences available on Mondays and Fridays throughout the fall and holiday season.