Dignity Delayed, Part Two

Presenting: Dignity Delayed 

Content: historic records 

• Main Voice(s): Emerson Cram 
• Special Guests: 
  • Mary Helen Kennerly, Seen & Heard Facilitator, DAC Member 
  • Becky Dewing, Johnson County Historic Society
  • Supervisor V Fixmer-Oraiz 
  • Supervisor Lisa Green-Douglass 
  • Kim Painter, Johnson County Recorder 
  • Kevin Kolsto, DAC Member 
  • Julie Watkins, DAC Co-Facilitator and Events Manager for Historic Poor Farm 
  • Supervisor Rod Sullivan 

Highlights
Join Emerson as they highlight the dedication of the Healing Trail, and the events leading up to its opening. Seen and Heard visits the asylum and takes stock of the historic records, forging connection and kinship. Members of the Disability Advisory Committee have taken up efforts to shape the site’s lasting legacy and commitment to public education. What a commitment to liberatory access might look like. 

Conclusion
What becomes possible when we value—in all the registers of that term—people’s inherent dignity? What if difference is not a burden but a critical component of biodiversity? What if honoring dependency is the greatest transformation we cultivate for the future? Healing is never linear, and the unfinished work ahead.

Transcript
For a full transcript of this episode, visit: disabilityecologiespodcast.buzzsprout.com

Credits
Episode written and narrated by Emerson Cram, University of Iowa. Recorded with Riverside FM. Production and Sound Editing by Maura De Cicco. All media clips are used for educational purposes only. Sound effects licensed through Pixabay.  

Mia Mingus, “Access Intimacy,” Disability Intersectionality Summit, October 26, 2018. 

Funding
Research, writing, and production have benefitted from generous support from multiple sources, including: the National Communication Association’s Karl R. Wallace Memorial Award; UI OVPR Arts and Humanities Initiative Standard Grant; UI Provost Investment in Strategic Priorities; UI College of Liberal Arts DSHB Humanities Scholar; CLAS Summer Humanities Award.

Special Thanks
With thanks to Maura De Cicco; University of Iowa Departments of Communication Studies, Gender, Women’s & Sexuality Studies, and American Studies (Especially Angie Looney, Kembrew McLeod, Eric Vázquez, Naomi Greyser, and Hallie Abelman); The Johnson County Local Food & Farm Team (Julie Watkins & Ilsa DeWald), V Fixmer-Oraiz, Johnson County Board of Supervisors; Kim Painter, Johnson County Recorder; Rebecca Dewing, Johnson County Historical Society; the 2024 Colby Summer Institute in Environmental Humanities Seminar Participants; Claire Fox; Teresa Mangum; Jennifer New; Phaedra C. Pezzullo; Constance Gordon; and Jesse Waggoner.  

Audience Participation

• Call to Action: Do you have a poor farm or county home story to tell? Reach out to our team to learn more about how to share. 
• Support the Show: Share this episode with friends and colleagues, & stay tuned for future episodes. 
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Transcript

Transcript for Disability Ecologies Podcast Chapter Three, Part Two: Dignity Delayed

Emerson Narrates, 0:00:
Welcome back. You are listening to Disability Ecologies, Chapter 3, Dignity Delayed, Part 2.

[audio of guitar strings strumming for three seconds, and then fades]

After several outings, the motley crew of Seen and Heard decided to take in an afternoon at the Johnson County Historic Society. Amidst the classic car displays, Mary Helen discovered pamphlets advertising the Historic Poor Farm, and a follow up conversation with Becky Dewing, the Historic Society’s Collections and Research Manager, would bring them out to the Historic Poor Farm for a tour, on what was a rainy and bone chilling day. 

Becky Delivering Asylum Tour, 00:48:
The poor farm was established in 1855. And this wasn’t the first residence, but it is the oldest building that we still currently have here at the historic poor farm. So this asylum building was used to house people who were deemed “incurably insane.” In the 1800s in Iowa, people who were experiencing mental health issues, often they were sent to one of the two state hospitals, either Mount Pleasant or Independence. If they were deemed incurable, they were sent back to their home county. And so, for Johnson County, they needed to build a structure starting in the 1870s.

Emerson Narrates, 01:34:
What you heard from Becky was a similar, though not exact replication, of the asylum tour Seen and Heard would have experienced inside of the asylum building. Before that introduction, the group discussed the history of policies related to disability and mental illness. Later, they connected that history to ongoing struggles related to MCOs and different models of care and support. 

From Mary Helen and others’ perspective, to understand where we are requires grappling with how we got here. The asylum was part of that map, to be sure, as are the remnants of institutional care that remain scattered across the entire state and beyond. But so was the condition of the surrounding historic landscape Seen and Heard at that time encountered: wheelchair vans rumbled over a gravel parking lot full of ruts and puddles. The crew needed an even spot to park to successfully lower their motorized chairs to the ground. Otherwise, they risked damage to the chairs themselves. Looking over to the asylum building, it wasn’t clear to Mary Helen how they could even make it inside. The mood was overall “uninviting,” in Mary Helen’s words, a place of disability history also not accessible to those most impacted by its memory and ongoing power. 

Once they made it inside, the feeling of the asylum hit hard, and lingered as the small group’s curiosity wandered over the walls, wooden bars, and dust on the floorboards. Mary Helen described this moment years later, on a few occasions, once in a one-on-one interview, and again at the dedication of the Healing Trail. Here’s how she remembered that moment: 

Mary Helen Kennerly, 03:47: 

And one person said, I don't ever want to go back there. And of course I understood that. There's a whole range of emotions. Some people communicated through their quieting down and others communicated their interest. My gosh, there's writings on the wall. What does it say? Did you see that? And a lot of people communicated their interests by questions. I think you asked what questions they fired off. The one that I just remember so clearly because it showed me how much they were connecting to the people of the past, was a guy asked how did they bathe? How did they take a bath and how did they go to the bathroom? And it was just a totally embodied experience. They were really feeling themselves in that space and feeling what people that they had a real kinship with would've gone through just on the level of basic survival and basic needs.
 
Emerson Narrates, 04:54:
Carrying all of that as they exited the building and made their way down the not-so-accommodating ramp, Seen and Heard members crossed paths with two other individuals walking around the site that day. And the rest, as they say, is history. Here’s how Mary Helen remembered what came next: 

Mary Helen Kennerly, 05:15: 
But before we left that day, we just happened to run into V Fixmer-Oraiz and Lisa, our gentle complaints about the difficulty getting around the site began what has been a year’s long conversation between the DAC and the supervisors. And of course, the importance of that is that some of the folks on the DAC would've been people, at a different time, who might've been relegated to care here.

Emerson Narrates, 05:40:
Both Supervisors—Green-Douglass and Fixmer-Oraiz—talked about how important that moment was for each of them. It was a moment of fundamental awareness, a rallying point for understanding, and a powerful illustration of the potential for collective healing. It is the promise of repair that becomes possible when people are seen and heard, in all their abundance. Here’s Supervisor Fixmer-Oraiz reflecting in December 2022, when they were shifting out of the role of project manager: 

V Fixmer-Oraiz, 06:20:
It wasn't until, I'd say probably during that second phase of planning into the implementation where I had met some of the disability community who were out there and I just so happened to be out there looking through some of the buildings, cleaning up some things when there was a large bus that pulled up from Systems Unlimited. And that sparked a relationship with many of the people that came off of that bus for years because then I really understood people who had been coming here from the disability community for years and based on our research that had not really shown up. And as able-bodied folks, that's not uncommon, certainly. And so through those relationships we started to build what we call the Disability Advisory Committee. And some of it was logistical, like opening my eyes to some of the federal guidelines for how much time people are required to spend outside of the facility. I did not know that. And so there aren't many places that people with disabilities felt like they could go and just be, and this is all, of course, I was learning this at least from that group of folks, that's what they communicated to me was, we just come here because there's only five other places that we go to and easily enough we can get around.

Emerson Narrates, 07:49:
For Fixmer-Oraiz, the moment was transformational because it made them realize that a historical site about disability had not yet engaged how an impacted community would want this place to be preserved for future use. The connection between the visit and the absence of other public options made something click in Fixmer-Oraiz’s community minded planner mentality. They became aware of the limits of what they knew, and swiftly found ways to adjust, inviting in impacted community members to the planning process. Similarly, Supervisor Green-Douglass remembered how important this encounter would be in the unfolding future. 

Lisa Green-Douglass, 08:40: 
I found out later from V that while they were giving them the tour of the asylum, somebody asked, is this where we would be living if it was still in use? And I think for both V and me, that had a lot of impact because that was the default housing for people who had any kind of ability challenge, whether it was a physical disability or a mental disability, or if they were poor. And so, it was just such a powerful question. I think it really kind of led things from there…. We realized that the poor farm was still in use by people both from Chatham Oaks, which is a residential care facility next door, for people receiving mental health services, and you know, this group Seen and Heard and others. And it made us realize that in order to truly honor the history of what happened there, face the history rather than try to sweep it under the rug and to begin a healing process that what happened on that property from that point forward needed to be positive, impactful, and as inclusive as possible.

Emerson Narrates, 10:11:

From Supervisor Green-Douglass’ vantage point, I heard her speak to the ongoing impact of the site, so plainly made clear by one of the individuals from Seen and Heard. And she’s inferring important questions—how do we honor those who lived here, who lived in the asylum, who wrote on those walls? How do we confront and do something with the shame connected to the past? What does dignity—delayed—look like in the context of this preservation? It would be so easy to convert all this land to something else, to ignore the impact of what was heard that day. But that day was kismet. It was a portal to somewhere else, beyond the expected or inevitable.  

[two seconds of audio of guitar strumming, with ghostly humming, and fades]

Mary Helen Kennerly, 11:17: 
We showed up at the side door and went through the area where people were working, into Kim's office. And I was very much; I always just pushed into places and tried to support people without any social anxiety at all. And I've since thought, man, I hope my pushiness didn't make them anxious, but I never really detected that. It was always just like, beep beep, move it. We're coming through. And so that's what we did. It was just like, hi everybody. I know it's like sometimes inclusion means just going somewhere and being quiet. And that was probably my greatest weakness was that I was always like, yep, we're here. 

Emerson Narrates, 11:57:
That day at the asylum spurred so many questions from Seen and Heard, that Becky Dewing encouraged a visit with Kim Painter, Johnson County’s Recorder. For a short period of time, Kim’s office had inherited the few remaining records from the farm’s earliest period. More recently, those records were handed off to the Johnson County Historical Society. Many were stored inside Chatham Oaks until its closure and then transferred to the county attorney’s office. The transfer to Kim’s office followed inquires by local genealogists or researchers who were invested in their historic value: 

Kim Painter, 12:41:
As a few people really wished and expressed a desire to have the access to the records that the attorney felt were public and possible to peruse, the county attorney reached out and said, "Kim, would you be willing... This is a fairly small set of books, maybe a dozen large old record type books and some more contemporary smaller books, ledgers, journals, accounting records and things."

Emerson Narrates, 13:13:
And so soon after their tour, Seen and Heard made their way to a room in the Recorder’s office, tables arranged with the records laid out around the table for individuals to read, touch, and contemplate. The first visit became a second visit became a third, and even fourth or fifth, moving into an open layout room on the first floor that would make it easier for the group to collect themselves without multiple trips up the elevator. 

Mary Helen Kennerly, 13:49:
And so that was on visit two and that's when I knew how cool Kim Painter was, so if I didn't already.

Emerson Narrates, 13:55:
Mary Helen described Kim’s access building as “the human side of archiving.” In our conversation, I sensed multiple threads intersecting in the group’s experience: the feeling of being segregated from social inclusion in Iowa City; the hostile environment of attempting to access the asylum as an impacted community; and then, moments of intentional transformation, first embodied by Fixmer-Oraiz and Green-Douglass, and then again by Kim Painter. Their bookended experiences highlight the struggle to name and intervene in contexts of disability oppression and marginalization, in addition to the radical potential of what is possible when communicating access needs is met with acceptance. Acceptance can transform into access. 

To emphasize this point, until you live with a disability—in the most capacious understanding of that word—you may not know intimately this feeling of isolation. We could go even further to say that barriers in the physical environment that shape and prevent how marginalized people move or don’t move through public space also render that condition of isolation. To an extent, most people in the United States (and beyond) experienced a condition of isolation during the early years of the COVID-19 pandemic, which ushered shutdowns across the globe in early 2020. The point here is that moments of transforming that isolation into something different can feel like the beginning of a deeper connection. One of my favorite thinkers of disability culture and justice, Mia Mingus, puts it this way: 

Mia Mingus, 16:05:
When I say “liberatory access,” I mean access that is more than simply having a ramp or being scent free or providing captions. Access for the sake of access or inclusion is not necessarily liberatory, but access done in the service of love, justice, connection and community is liberatory and has the power to transform. I want us to think beyond just knowing the “right things to say” and be able to truly engage. I want us to not only make sure things are accessible but also work to transform the conditions that created that inaccessibility in the first place. To not only meet the immediate needs of access—whether that is access to spaces, or access to education and resources, or access to dignity and agency—but also work to make sure that the inaccessibility doesn’t happen again.

Emerson Narrates, 17:00:  
For the members of Seen and Heard, their visit that day came from a desire to understand their own history through the embodied experiences of what the records captured. And so, as they read through mentions of some of the common illnesses that someone might have experienced at the farm in 1860 or 1870, they started to imagine people with whom they felt connected. In their conversations that day, Seen and Heard connected their own experiences to those written into the record, and found themselves wanting more; they wanted those stories to find their way out of the archives and into public memory. 

Mary Helen Kennerly, 17:48:
We repeatedly searched the crumbling records, reading the names of people treated for pneumonia, dropsy, fits. Some narratives lifted off the page. The story of a man with epilepsy treated for a badly burned leg after he suffered a seizure near a pipe carrying steam. Lots of those narratives, by the way, have been captured in new signage and exhibits in the asylum. Another request like this trail that Seen and Heard had for the board and which they have seen to fruition. But back then when we started, the signage didn't exist. 

Emerson Narrates, 18:28:
Kim reflected, too, about how it felt to bear witness to this day of learning and reflection.  

Kim Painter, 18:36: 
You watch people looking through and reading some of these things, which while very short summaries still carry a lot of weight when talking about either the end of someone's life or recurrent disease or illness or even notes about behavior or something of that nature could be included in a few cases. I think it was somber. I mean there were some moments where people were talking among themselves and people would laugh and people would tell stories about what they were seeing and reading and other times where people were surprised because a little bit of what I'm sure was the at least occasional harshness of life there would come through in some places, even though these records are very incomplete. People talked a lot and they all talked as friends and people who spend time together. I just think it was a day of some importance for all of them to just get a look at it and see what it was and start to come to terms with that aspect of the history of it.

Emerson Narrates, 19:52:
I was not in the room that day, and so I can’t speak with certainty about what it felt like to search those records or share what I found with friends. But I can say that, in my own experience, records can be resources for understanding or contextualizing your own lived reality. Records are rarely a self-account, but rather a filtered gaze searching for diagnosis or categorical inclusion. And this makes them feel jarring. By this, I mean, one truth of these records is that they were used by physicians or stewards to document ailment and illness. But another truth is that these documents can be pieces of lived history, of the circumstances of someone’s treatment by a world constrained by its own imagination of how to care for other people. The gap between those—the authority and the circumstance—is a place ripe with the desire to know. Questions like “would someone with my disability have survived here” are forms of self-inquiry as much as they are portals to a lineage of disability community. They can also become questions that must be asked, not swept over or under, to find a path toward repair by acting on values of dignity, albeit delayed. 

[audio of guitar strumming, and humming for three seconds, and fade]

The creation of the Disability Advisory Group was the first step in correcting course of the project’s planning and design. After the serendipitous encounter at the farm with Fixmer-Oraiz and Green-Douglass—the run-in that would change the entire restoration plan by including disabled people for the first time—and then in Kim Painter’s office, the crew of Seen and Heard would find new purpose in group meetings under a new name. The first guiding principle of the group was the requirement that most participants self-identified as living with a disability, defined broadly. This is a principle of leadership by the most impacted, or “nothing about us, without us.” 

Over recent decades, disability has culturally become a broad umbrella, which can hold space for physical disabilities, neurodivergence, chronic illness, sensory or cognitive disabilities, and more. Disability identity is not monolithic, which means that any individuals’ access needs vary, or may operate in friction, and intersections between disability and class, race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender or religion shift how someone experiences their disability or even how they become disabled, and even if they are willing to claim disability as a term of self-reference. These differences are something to embrace, especially across difference in access needs, because ultimately, disability community can be united by the desire to design a world in which needs make one human rather than a burden. Uniting across difference enables work on the problem of imagining a world designed for bodies and minds and moods of all kinds. As a collective, the earliest meetings of the DAC created a foundation for the site, making several recommendations. These included interpretation of the asylum building and the site itself; adult changing tables in the bathrooms, which would extend the amount of time someone could spend at the site; and a trail accessible to all ranges of mobility needs. 

[audio of karaoke singers in the background and layered under Emerson’s narrative]

In its later years, the DAC would go on to host reclamation events that centered joy, art, and dancing in the Livestock Barn. One of their signatures on the site, however, is the Healing Trail, which was dedicated in October 2023. [audio of music fades]

Mary Helen Kennerly, 24:54:
Hence, The Healing Trail in a place where bodies and minds were deemed unfit, a trail fit for everyone. No ruts, no puddles, no uneven ground. What we see here is not a place made only for disabled folks, but one made by them for everyone. Everyone benefits from the requests that they made and the way the board of supervisors listened. The act of healing that started with that conversation finds its embodiment here. 

Emerson Narrates, 25:25:
Those of us in attendance at the dedication learned from Julie Watkins, the DAC facilitator, that The Healing Trail was born out of a desire path created by the consistent traversing of the path by Chatham Oak’s residents. Desire paths are well-worn social trails, that often diverge from the designs shaped by architects or landscape planners. They are, in short, remnants of people marking up a space in ways that are more user friendly. This path wrapped a loop around the farm. In input sessions, members of the Community Action Team recommended paving this desire path, concretizing what was otherwise largely ephemeral. Then, Johnson County nonprofit Backyard Abundance held community input sessions to develop the concept, working through their mission to repair human connections with nature, and design that fosters spaces “where all beings feel safe, held, and interconnected.”[1] 

[audio of Emerson walking around the poor farm site, sounds of birds chirping and the crunch of grass under boots walking, this sound layers under Emerson’s narrative]

The most prominent starting point of the trail is located just adjacent to the historic asylum building and south of the soon to be opened commercial kitchen. Here visitors encounter the Reflection Circle. As the northeast corner of the trail runs south, its structure turns into a tighter spiral. Approximately four metal rectangular sculptures of varying size visually amplify the location of the historic cemetery. Although the Supervisors have plans to carefully install markers for the cemetery area, as of this recording in 2025, the location is unmarked except for a large wooden cross added by Mary Jean Donovan, the then director of the Johnson County Care Facility, in 1985. In the Reflection Circle, visitors can decompress or contemplate the site after a tour or otherwise find meaningful ways to connect while sitting on large stone squares, designed so that large chairs can fit between them. 

[audio of birds fade]

It also matters that while the trail assists in people’s movement across the site, it is not designed for “wellness;” it is designed for healing. Supervisor Green-Douglass emphasized why this distinction matters during the dedication: 

Lisa Green-Douglass, 28:07:
If you know me, you know that I have said many times that names matter, and I believe that from my doctoral dissertation to the eponym of Johnson County to the name of Historic Poor Farm, we kept that wording in there because we didn't want to forget what this place used to be. This is a healing trail. And during the planning for it, I reiterated multiple times that it's a healing trail and not a wellness trail because names matter and we hope that healing is part of what happens here. We really did hope that people would be able to come out here and feel some of the intentionality of this place and our goals to remember, to reflect on what happened here, and then to be able to feel some sense of healing. As you look out at growth and people learning, I think that you can see that healing can happen in a place where other things happened.

Emerson Narrates, 29:20:
This distinction between healing and wellness highlight the aporia of both of those terms. In U.S. cultures of past and present, they are terms that have incredible baggage. The roots of the term healing are bound up with the idea of “cure” and “making whole.” Wellness, on the other hand, can describe a condition of good health. These terms are especially loaded in relation to disability justice because it’s nearly impossible to qualify how we might measure an idea like “health,” whose meanings ebb and flow as they travel through different historical and cultural contexts. Because they are malleable terms, they can be used negatively by those who believe they are acting with good intentions. This is an aspect that the site asks for us to reflect. However, healing and wellness can also be appropriated for other ends, where they can take on new meanings…and this is why it is so important that Johnson County’s desire to build a place of and for healing comes first with an acknowledgement of harm. 

Recognition of harm done—by a Board of Supervisors generations ago, who believed in the rightness of their actions—can also open portals. For DAC member Kevin Kolsto, recognition of that harm extends into an obligation to teach this history. Here’s Kevin and Mary Helen speaking at the DAC’s panel during the 2024 Open House:
 
Kevin Kolsto, 31:24:
I’m Kevin Kolsto, I live and work at Systems and I got involved through our day program at Systems.

Mary Helen Kennerly, 31:42:
One of those people, one of the first people to come with me to see the asylum for the first time, was Kevin. He was in a group…yeah.

Kevin Kolsto, 31:55:
And I feel lucky too, because I stepped away from it like Mary Helen did, and after the pandemic…to know..she called me, and she’s like, Hey! They’re trying to get a hold of you. And I was like “oh! Like really?” So, it’s nice to be remembered and involved again. Because I really liked being involved when it first started.

Mary Helen Kennerly, 32:29:
I think you were saying we were involved pre-pandemic and then…

Kevin Kolsto, 32:37: 
To come back after the pandemic and realize everything we wanted for the poor farm was already done when we came back. 

Julie Watkins, 32:50:
We’ve touched on why it’s important for the historic poor farm to have a disability advisory committee. Do you have any more thoughts on why it’s important that you want to add?
 
Kevin Kolsto, 33:06:
I just…for the future I would like to see the poor farm history possibly have students involved. Or it possibly be taught in schools. Because it’s important and I think the history needs to be remembered and more people need to know about it. And I thought teaching it in some way shape or form would let other people know about it. And I don’t know how it’s going to happen but that’s a vision for the future that I have.

Julie Watkins, 34:29: 
Absolutely.    

Emerson Narrates, 34:30:
We can’t heal the land or the people connected to this painful history without recognizing that change requires the threshold of different values, and a commitment to dependency and need wherein they are not imagined as burdens or waste. Maybe one way of recognizing that harm is in the transformation of the site itself—from land once used to contain people to land revitalized and cultivated to meet growing needs. Here’s Supervisor Rod Sullivan speaking to that register of healing: 

Rod Sullivan, 35:17:
And then there's the more figuratively healing the land, this land absorbed the sweat and tears of a lot of people and they're gone now, and we can't go back and fix what was done to them, but maybe we can use the land in such a way that it does good things for other people.

Emerson Narrates, 35:36:
Looking back to that first visit out here, when the site was in rougher shape, my conversation with Fixmer-Oraiz stayed with me. To them, this was a project grounded in the promise of healing—not so much individual people, but people’s relation to land. For individuals, that promise depends on their own relationship to harm, healing, and the site itself. 

But thinking of that conversation now through the lens of my own deepening relationship to the land, the restored prairies, and my attempt to grasp the names and lives of people who resided here, I find myself coming full circle. What becomes possible when we value—in all the registers of that term—people’s inherent dignity? What if difference is not a burden but a critical component of biodiversity? What if honoring dependency is the greatest transformation we cultivate for the future?  

V Fixmer-Oraiz, 36:48:
We have invested a significant amount of taxpayer dollars, and I think that the benefits that we get out of this are just generational, and I feel like the majority of people, once they see and come out here and understand and experience the transformation, the re-imagining that has occurred, I think they will feel that impact. I think we are doing the work and it really hits you on a heart level, I think. As somebody who's been out here working for five and a half years, it's very humbling to feel like you can change and shift things in the ways that people say you can't. But it's like, well, this is what it's always been. This is what it will always be, and I love that we don't have to. I love that. That vision came through and these voices are here and they will continue on. I'm really humbled and honored to hear people from the Disability Advisory Committee that could make it here say, "This is everything we ask for and more."

[audio of guitar strumming, and humming for fifteen seconds, and fade]

Emerson Narrates, 38:12:  
In the first half of 2025, I thought a lot about this mission of healing, as programming for the site’s food projects faced funding freezes and outright cancellations. More specifically, 2025 had me asking: does healing have a finish line, or an end point? How will we know? Healing is above and beyond a process, and even with intention and care, we can never predict how external factors will add new layers of challenge and test our commitments. 

In the next two episodes, we’ll turn to what healing might mean relative to the land itself. Between prairie and wetland restoration, food production, and land access projects, life at the farm is growing…when values shift, so do priorities and possible futures on the horizon. Until next time… 

[audio of karaoke singing to “this little light of mine, and people talking in the background]

[1] Backyard Abundance Website https://www.backyardabundance.org/about