Its also how I transition speed on my runs: It’s Beyonce Be Alive… “It feels so good to be alive Got all my family by my side Couldn't wipe this black off if I tried That's why I lift my head with pride I got a million miles on me They want to see how far I'll go The path was never paved with gold (gold) We worked and built this on our own (own) And, and can't nobody knock it if they tried (no) This is hustle personified Look how we've been fighting to stay alive So when we win, we will have pride Do you know how much we have cried? How hard we had to fight?”

. . .

‍
The first piece of music I ever bought was Usher – My Way. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that album held a deeper truth for me. In hindsight, it wasn’t just about confidence — it was about listening to something greater than yourself. In a way, Usher was echoing what the Earth has been saying for generations: that conventional systems aren’t working, that it yearns to return to what it once was — whole, respected, and cared for. That message lived in me long before I knew I’d become a farmer. My 9 year old self was wiser than I thought.

‍

I was working in middle management as a healthcare administrator — on paper, I had “made it.” But inside, I was burned out. I was managing systems that didn’t
truly serve people, and I knew I was called to do something deeper. After resigning from my job and a solo trip to Martinique, I realized 
I wasn’t here just to manage health — I was here to help people heal. That’s when Agriculture found me.

My ah-ha moment for Farmer Jawn came during an Airbnb stay hosted by Black farmers. For the first time, I saw people who looked like me not just working the land but owning it — and doing it in a way that felt deeply intentional. It wasn’t hustle for hustle’s sake. It was hard work that mattered — rooted in care, in legacy, and most importantly, in rest. Rest for the land meant rest for the self. As someone coming out of burnout in healthcare, that model of healing through stewardship changed everything for me.

‍

Over the past three years, my work life has expanded in every way — more land, more impact, and more incredible people on the team. We now provide living wages year-round, not just during the growing season. My work is my life — it’s purpose-driven and deeply personal. In farming, there are no guarantees, just rhythm and resilience. I’ve learned that rest is the cheat code — winter is my time to recalibrate, dream bigger, and make sure it all flows with intention.

Farming connects me to ancestral memory and intention. I grow crops like okra and cowpeas — seeds that were once braided into the hair 
of our ancestors as acts of survival and resistance. Planting them now is my way of honoring that legacy. I also love growing watermelon and callaloo — crops that bring joy, nourishment, and cultural pride. Working with these plants grounds me 
in history while feeding
the future.

Right now, I’m inspired by Donna Brazile, Konda Mason and Aurora James — women creating change in entirely different but deeply connected ways.

 Konda Mason inspires me with the way she weaves together regenerative land stewardship, finance, and justice.Her work proves you can build systems that honor the Earth and heal communities without compromising integrity. She leads with both structure and spirit —something I strive for daily.

Aurora James inspires me as someone who turned a creative vision into a national movement with the Fifteen Percent Pledge. She understands how culture, commerce, and accountability intersect —and uses that understanding to push for real, measurable change.

Donna Brazile, her rise from grassroots organizing to one of the most respected political strategists in the country is powerful. She became an expert on her own terms, in rooms that weren’t built for her — and stayed bold, visible, and true to herself. I admire that kind 
of resilience and mastery, and I’d love the chance to sit across from her one day.

‍