Harvest of Hope Foundation moving forward, president says

By: Emily Hoover

Photos by: Gena Anderson and Phillip C. Sunkel IV

For Phil Kellerman, president of the Gainesville-based Harvest of Hope Foundation, philanthropy runs in the family.

After his grandmother Helen Zand, a professor and social worker, mentioned she would be leaving an inheritance to her grandchildren, Kellerman said he was going to put the money to good use.

“[My grandmother and I] used to talk about the issues involving poverty,” he said. “She was really smart and really ahead of her time. This was right around the time I was thinking of setting up a foundation for migrant workers and I told her I was going to set up a foundation in her honor.”

Kellerman said migrant farm workers are important because they handle the consumer’s food. Because a lot of crops still must be hand picked, they are some of the toughest laborers, he said.

As a migrant advocate for 23 years, Kellerman said Harvest of Hope has been a grassroots, direct emergency service provider for migrant farm workers for over 15 years. He said he also worked at a national migrant hotline for 16 years and retired recently after over one hundred thousand calls. But federal money was not used for financial aid, he said.

“I was increasingly frustrated that all we were was a referral hotline and there wasn’t aid out there,” he said. “So the foundation has been able to fill in some of those gaps.”

According to the Harvest of Hope foundation’s website, as of July 2011, the foundation has disseminated over $899,000 to seasonal and migrant farm workers and their families. However, Kellerman said the foundation, which functions independent of federal and corporate aid, has had its ups and downs.

“Like any other nonprofit, it’s always a struggle,” he said. “We never have enough funds.”

Lack of funds is a primary reason for the suspension of Harvest of Hope festivals in 2011 and 2012. After holding two festivals at the St. Johns County Fairgrounds in Elkton, Fla., Kellerman said another festival would require a boost in financial support.

“We would love to do another fest, we get asked that all the time,” he said. “But the reality is we need financial backing. We pay for car breakdowns, rent, utilities, funeral expenses. We’re really unique in that way. Most governmental agencies, they don’t like to deal with that—it’s a hassle. But that’s what the migrants need.”

Flagler College senior Lauren Ruotolo said she went to the 2009 Harvest of Hope Festival, but could not afford the second fest.

“It’s a really awesome cause,” Ruotolo, 21, said. “Farm workers are exploited and they work for minimum wage, sometimes less. They have no external support and it’s important to support those not given enough attention from the government and society in general.”

Ruotolo said she first heard about Harvest of Hope through her friends at Flagler. She said in addition to being excited about camping and seeing live music, she was happy the money she spent went towards the foundation’s cause.

However, Randy Covington, who has written for Historic City News and Conservative Research Network, said he does not advocate many of the festivals handled by St. Johns County.

“Every [Harvest of Hope] festival lost money. They were money losers,” Covington, 56, said. “[St. Johns County] is not — and should not be — in the business of promoting entertainment. I object to the county dipping their toes into things they have no experience in. We can’t be buying into losing ventures because a small constituency might like it.”

In a series of articles published on Conservative Research Network, Covington — who said he has lived in St. Johns County for eight years and works as a technical manager for a custom windows company — described Harvest of Hope Festival as a “Cash for Punkers.”

“It was billed as a punk rock fest,” he said. “The county subsidized ticket sales through a Ticketmaster account, $18 for one year and $13 for the second year, I believe. Essentially, they subsidized personal entertainment.”

St. Johns County Commissioners Ron Sanchez and Ken Bryan did not return calls for comment.

However, Ruotolo said she thinks the festival supported local businesses.

“[The festivals] definitely helped out,” she said. “People were coming [to St. Augustine] from a distance. Local businesses were making profits at campgrounds and hotels. Artists might have sold [their work] at the festivals, because it’s a specialty niche that attracts artsy, music-loving people. I saw nothing but smiles when I was at the fest.”

Yet Covington said he does not believe the festivals generated revenue for the community. He said he cites the closing statements made by the county as evidence. 

“These festivals took place 25 miles from business areas,” he said. “Nobody can quantify how this is beneficial, if these people were at the fest all day and all weekend. Putting six thousand kids at a campground for a weekend isn’t going to have an effect on local businesses.”

Jeff Sapp, the owner of Back 40 Urban Cafe, said his business vended at both Harvest of Hope Festivals. He said while Back 40 “did great” during the first festival, his decision to return in 2010 was not beneficial.

“During the second one, I didn’t make a lot of money,” he said. “I know [St. Johns County] added more vendors. There weren’t enough people. I was definitely bummed when it was decided that they wouldn’t do a third one, but the county lost money on the whole deal. So I guess you have to look at it from a business perspective.”

Sapp said rainy weather and scheduling—the foundation booked the festival at the end of Spring Break—also contributed to the losses.

Kellerman agrees.

“If we had some of the same attendance [the second year], we would have made a lot of money,” he said.

Harvest of Hope president Phil Kellerman poses with a pair of used sneakers, collected from Lloyd Clarke Sports Store.

After organizing smaller benefit concerts at Cafe Eleven and arranging a Dead Prez concert at The Present Moment Cafe, Kellerman said even though he has not left St. Augustine behind, the foundation now centers itself on traditional fundraising.

“The current powers that be, the political forces in St. Johns County, have not been receptive,” he said. “The political atmosphere is changing and people are questioning the revenue generated for the county. With all that going on, it’s not the right time to put on a third.”

However, Kellerman said the foundation is still moving forward.

“Some benefits work, some don’t,” he said. “Now, we’re trying to maximize our efforts and focus less on benefits. We’re doing more on eBay.”

Ruotolo said perseverance is key.

“If you keep knocking on one door and no one answers,” she said, “then go knock on another door.”

In addition to supporting over 50 different funds, which help specific migrants—including the Willie Harvey Fund in St. Johns County—Kellerman said the foundation is doing antique drives and selling political memorabilia via their eBay account, which is “free publicity” for nonprofits.

“We’re donating sewing machines and furniture,” he said. “We’ve collected sneakers, giving over 2,000 pairs to farm workers around the country who can’t afford footwear. These people are working in blueberry farms with split sneakers.”

Bobby Burk, one of two general managers of the Lloyd Clarke Sports Store in Gainesville, said placing a bin inside the locally operated store is an effortless responsibility.

“It’s easy, it’s like: ‘yes, we’ll take your shoes,’” he said. “Because we specialize in running shoes, runners burn through their shoes when they can still be used. Now, when customers see the bin, they walk in the door and they donate.”

He said the store also donates returns they can’t re-sell. Since beginning the drive six or eight months ago, at least a thousand shoes have been given to migrant farm workers from Lloyd Clarke, Burk said.

“I love anything that’s about helping people,” he said. “These are folks that need shoes and they have very little.”

Kellerman said Harvest of Hope is also doing a textbook drive, which accepts textbooks from 2009 to the present. He encourages students to participate in order to sustain a connection with the foundation without having to donate financially.

“[Migrant farm workers] earn our support because they do the farm work that most local citizens just will not do, “ Kellerman said. “And growers are dependent because they have short growing seasons. [Growers] need to have as much produce harvested as they can so they can make their living. This is our way of helping out.”

Originally published by Flagler College Gargoyle on 10-14-11.

Is healthy eating a luxury? Locals reveal cheap tips to eating right

By: Emily Hoover

Graphic by: Kendall Braccia

For St. Augustine resident Sarah Alarcon, healthy eating is a luxury.

Because she said she lives on a small budget, and does not have a car, everyday expenses like housing and bill payments often come before eating nutritious meals. As a result, she said she worries about her health.

“My health situation is often terrible,” Alarcon, 21, said. “After I pay my bills, that change is how I get taxis to go to the store to buy food. Sometimes, that leaves me with $30 [for food shopping.]”

Alarcon, who is from New Smyrna Beach, Fla., said she spends her limited funds on fresh produce, but also finds herself buying low calorie frozen meals she can microwave.

“I can go a month on Ramen noodles, but I would love to have kale on a regular basis,” said Alarcon, who works at the Conch House on Anastasia Island. “When all I can buy is iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers, as a meat eater, sometimes I feel like my body is dying.”

According to a study released by the journal Health Affairs, eating right and staying healthy is expensive. While this study called for more potassium, dietary fiber, Vitamin D and calcium in the average American’s diet, it also said adding these items can add up to $380 to a consumer’s budget, per year. Consumers who have more money to spend on food meet the dietary requirements for healthy eating, but those who spend less eat a diet that is rich in added sugar, sodium and saturated fat, the study said.

Alarcon said she is feeling the effects of the economic recession.

“The way things are priced, it blows my mind,” she said. “The price of milk is outrageous. It costs more than a gallon of gas. I honestly feel for the middle class.”

However, Nick Baine, a business major at Flagler College, said he believes the economy is only part of the problem. For Americans who work full time or attend classes full time, finding the time to purchase and prepare healthy food is even more difficult.

“People who work can’t find the roadside stands and they don’t have time to go to the Farmer’s Market on Saturdays [at St. Augustine Beach],” Baine, 21, said. “It’s a lot easier to get a 99 cent hamburger at McDonalds than to cook a healthy meal when you’re beat. If you’re writing a paper, you’ve got even less time.”

Alarcon, who said she was taking classes at Daytona State College before taking some time off, agrees. She said she and her husband, Edwin, who works at Acapulco Mexican Restaurant, are often too tired to cook after a long night at work.

“A lot of nights, Five Star (pizza) is all that’s open,” she said. “But Five Star is as far as I go; I don’t eat fast food. Sometimes, I just grab a piece of bread or a [peanut butter and jelly sandwich].”

But Flagler College English and philosophy major Phil Grech said lack of time is just a way for people to rationalize unhealthy eating habits.

“If you say you don’t have time, then you won’t be healthy,” Grech, 29, said. “Options do exist, if you take the time to find them.”

Grech, a vegetarian, said although he works 30 hours per week at Make Me Social, a local marketing company, as well as taking classed at Flagler, eating “healthy crap” is a way to avoid unhealthy habits.

“If I do eat out, I try to get tofu or black beans,” he said. “If I’m at the student center, I just grab a power bar. Sometimes, I go hungry for a few days, in between paychecks, but I try to get as much as I can with my budget.”

Katie Taylor, a communication major, agrees.

“Sometimes, when I’m busy, I don’t want to go to the gym,” she said. “But it’s all about willpower. I bring snacks to school, so I don’t need to grab something bad at [the student center.] Find foods you like and would enjoy eating. Don’t let your schedule overwhelm you.”

Taylor said she works a part time job at a local tanning salon, but said she is grateful when her parents can help her financially.

“I grew up with my mom making all my meals,” she said. “My mom is a stick figure and is really healthy and fit. I’d rather put $20 towards groceries than go out to eat.”

However, Alarcon said it is not always that easy.

“I eat healthy a lot of the time,” she said. “But when you’re looking at peppers in Wal-Mart and three [different types of peppers] cost $6, it’s ridiculous. There was a time when I was using meal replacement shakes to get the nutrients I need and fill me up.”

Yet, Flagler graduate Chuck Riffenburg said it is best to shop around.

“Diane’s [Natural Food Market] is there and I also go to Whole Foods in Jacksonville,” he said. “I’ve gone to Scratch & Dent Discount Groceries a number of times.”

Baine said when buying produce, he tries to buy what is local and what is in season.

“Buying local is cheaper,” he said. “It is a regional and local thing. Here, we’re lucky because we are so close to farm communities. If I go to roadside vendors or Stewart’s [Market] on the island, I can pay 99 cents for guacamole—versus Winn Dixie, where it’s $3.99 for a singular avocado.”

However, Alarcon, who said she walks to the Conch House from Lincolnville, said her lack of transportation keeps her in the downtown area.

“My bike is broken and I need a whole new tire on the back,” she said. “Plus, it’s really hard to stabilize yourself when you’ve got groceries on a bike. I walk to Winn Dixie with my backpack, but they need to put a market right here.”

Alarcon said although she enjoys the close proximity of Carmelo’s Marketplace on King Street, she said she has trouble finding the fresh produce she wants and does not like paying for convenience.

“The people outside Carmelo’s ask me for change,” she said. “But I’m like: ‘do you have some change you can give me?’”

Yet, for Bryant Loeffler, one of the chefs at Local Fare Farm Bag, delivering local food to customers who may not have the means or time to travel to the grocery store is a key component of his business.

As a chef for 15 years, Loeffler said he has “done everything” from dishwashing to cooking. After working at a restaurant in Savannah, Ga., that also had its own farm, he said harvesting and preparing local food has become a passion of his.

“We moved down to Florida because there are a lot of farms down here,” he said. “It was a great opportunity for us to step out of the kitchen, harvest on Monday, and deliver fresh and local food to the people who can’t get to the farmer’s market and can’t get to the restaurant.”

Loeffler said in addition to receiving a bag of seasonal, local produce for $25, Local Fare also includes a few recipes for preparing the food and couples these recipes with instructional videos from the company’s website.

“Sometimes when college kids [and young people] go to the farmer’s market, they don’t know what to do with all the produce,” he said. “They think: ‘It’s a hassle; I’ll go grab a burger.’ The key is to give it to them and give them direction.”

Originally published by Flagler College Gargoyle on 9/16/11.

To Cold Mornings

By: Emily Hoover

The sky’s light opens like the cover
of a dusty book, capping waves with
crests of red, orange warmth, revealing
erect nipples, smell of steaming Joe.
I take a piss, smell your scent, even
though today radio signals deploy
you to western skies. Can’t sacrifice
hygiene. I wash, scrub you from my flesh.
But your freckled body still blankets
my shivering mind, despite heavy wind
gusts, light precipitation, peaking sun.
Escape velocity. Gravitational
pull of deflated mattresses. Beyond
my cigarette pack, I reach for the light.

American Confessions

By: Emily Hoover

I once saw the ugly American.
Wedge high heels, ceramic face.
She clutches currency in her
moisturized hands, staring coldly
through Ray Ban sunglasses,
protesting the same system
she endorses with her shades.

I once saw the ugly American
caught up in the virtual reality
of living. An abandoned baby
carriage floats near a posing
family, blocking traffic. I beep.
They are the ultimate dream
through the lens of their camera.

I once smelled the ugly American
before I saw him. Sunscreen
perfumes the air. It mixes with the
elements. His kids scream, cry.
His wife smacks her gum, removed.
Yet sweaty feet still squeak in
unison. Their Crocs march.

I once saw the ugly American
when I looked in the mirror.
I love trees. I love mountains.
I love oceans, streams, sand.
But I can’t say I love the TV.
Brand names validate identity.
Memos and meetings shield
sunlight. Episodic comedies
define familial perfection.
Still I watch them. A voyeur.

O Little Armored One

By: Emily Hoover

The early morning breeze hums, gently,

as my boots glide

from the shoulder of the road

to the sight of new death.


Pink, porcelain piles of flesh

meet the gray, broken asphalt

of a deserted, cold highway

far from your home.


The Aztecs called you turtle-rabbit.

The Spanish called you armadillo.

You are indistinguishable, now,

O Little Armored One.


Yet I can distinguish your species,

for they call you Nine-Banded.

You dominated this soil.

I recoil from the sight.


I grab the shovel, which sat

in my county truck.

Yet, I pause because I know you.

We are one in the same.


I too dig and grub for food to feed

my emaciated imagination.

I too do not possess sight,

but have large eyes.


O Little Armored One, I too have armor

to protect from insecurities.

I too use  armor

to shield myself from regrets.


The shovel falls from my hands

as the flies feed on fragments

of your flesh. I cannot

see your armor; it has failed.


But still you take risks.

Blind, you yearn for night.

You birthed four identical babies,

but still you hunt alone.


I imagine you treading water,

your armor as weights.

I imagine your teeth,

feeding on small invertebrates.


A prehistoric creature,

adapting to a modern world.

We have dissimilar features,

But I too hunt alone.


I investigate my own guarded boundaries

as this highway separates me from the world.

I scrape you from the earth,

leaving blood on the ground.


I too wish to cross roads.

I too seek food in greener pastures.

I too jump, surprised

at the sight of headlights.


I too have thought myself

indestructible. Resilient

Mamalia, I envy your strength.

The sunlight illuminates.

Hotel Room

By: Emily Hoover

With moistened lips, I do consent to
smoke deep inside my lungs. I shiver,
lightheaded. But the thick ember grows 
smaller, like clockwork. It's crushed
out. Insatiable, I buy a different pack.

You’re Beautiful, Even in the Morning

By: Emily Hoover

After ten years in the Navy, complete with ten hour days and even longer nights, Rob simply cannot wake up these days—he is a rock, dead and still. He slams his hands on the snooze alarm multiple times in one hour, grunts when he picks himself out of bed to urinate, lies down in the shower, and falls asleep again. Fifteen minutes before class, he checks his Facebook page and lights a cigarette, stinging my nostrils with an ashy wake-up call. We kiss, exchanging saliva and morning breath before he departs, leaving me to my dreams.

Local produce serves health with authenticity

By: Emily Hoover

Sometimes I think I’m really paranoid. Sometimes I get the fear when I walk into a grocery store, such a deep fear from within, that I want to run back to my car, as if someone is chasing me with a blunt object.

It’s not about the sensory overload I experience when my eyes finally adjust to all the artificial lights and I observe consumers scrambling through the aisles, looking for sales, just waiting for the exchange of currency for nutrients. It’s not about budgeting, since I now live with my boyfriend and our combined income makes good food easier to afford.

The fact is: I can’t buy bagels without staring intently at the back of the package, looking for chemicals and preservatives. I can always locate xantham gum and high fructose corn syrup—oftentimes a combination of both—especially in food marked “All Natural” and “No Preservatives.” So I find myself putting products back on the crammed shelves, hunting for something not just certifiably organic, but really organic.

I have always believed that the wealthy can afford to be healthy. They can afford to eat grass-fed beef and organic kale from Whole Foods. Meanwhile, those of us who are lower or middle class, well, we’re stuck eating out of a package. We may choose to eat baked Cheetos instead of regular Cheetos, but who really thinks they’re made from real cheese, anyway?

But it’s really fatalistic to give up on being nutrient-rich, just because our wages can’t compete with the raising prices. There are plenty of healthy alternatives to crap food out there, especially in a community like St. Augustine. We have two farmer’s markets held weekly on St. Augustine Beach—one on Wednesday and one on Saturday—as well as one in Lincolnville, held on Sundays. Lincolnville is also the home to the CitySprout community garden and Anastasia Island harbors Stewart’s Market and Diane’s Natural Food.

If you’re like me and you work all the time—I work on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday and I’m in class on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday until 7:30 p.m.—then you’ve definitely braved the grocery store, weighing and fondling produce from Mexico or California. Maybe you’ve wondered about chemicals. Maybe you’ve wondered how the food is still fresh, after its long journey from South America to your shopping cart. Maybe you’ve even asked yourself: is this food really healthy? I know I have.

That is, until I stumbled upon Local Fare Farm Bag. Local Fare is a new business in St. Augustine that functions primarily online. Their goal is to provide seasonal, locally grown food to their patrons and promote area farmers, according to their mission statement. The prices range from $25 to $45 per bag and can feed up to eight people. I subscribe to the bi-weekly $25 program, but the company offers weekly and monthly programs as well. They deliver a bag of fruits and veggies to my house every other Tuesday, complete with a loaf of fresh bread.

The best part about this company is the newsletter, which includes two-to-three written recipes and a link to a video recipe. I’ve always had kitchen anxiety, even though I’ve been a vegetarian for three years. So I’ve eaten my fair share of black beans and rice, avocado and sprout sandwiches and garlic sautéed zucchini and squash because that was about all I knew how to do.

Because of Local Fare, I’ve learned I can make a stir-fry with baby bok choy, a roast with kohlrabi and watermelon radish and brown-sugar glazed roasted beets with fresh-squeezed tangerine juice. Before, I would have never tried kohlrabi—or learned to pronounce it—and beets gave me the heebie jeebies. I had forgotten how good spinach and carrots taste when they’re not coming out of a bag. I didn’t even know cauliflower could be purple.

I went to the grocery store last night to buy organic sweet potatoes for my beet roast. I figured sweet potatoes would go well with brown sugar and tangerine juice. My boyfriend and I were planning to combine the roast with a salad of baby spinach, leaf lettuce, and organic green onions.

As we entered the produce section, we learned that we could buy most of the ingredients we needed for our meal at the store. Some of the ingredients were pretty cheap, like a buy-one-get-one-free deal on green onions that looked like they were wilting. A head of mass-produced lettuce costs $1.49. A box of organic baby spinach, which may or may not really be organic, costs $5.99. But I couldn’t even find fresh beets. I would have had to settle for canned beets for $1.69, the grocer told me.

I know I paid $25 for all that food and could have saved some money at the store, but if I had shopped there I would have had to stomach beets that taste like a can. If I had bought that spinach I would have been asking myself: am I eating artificial coloring and who knows what else, despite the word “organic” being scribbled onto the package in bright green cursive? I would have been using my paper money to pay for plastic packaging and the illusion of freshness and authenticity.

Something about that notion gave me the fear again as I preheated my oven. Good thing I only have to wait until Tuesday for my next delivery, I thought.

Dealing with tourism discount demands

By: Emily Hoover

In an economy where prices are raising and job wages aren’t, tourists are used to getting a discount, and they often do, thanks to AAA, student, Florida resident and military discounts.

But when a place doesn’t offer these discounts, what makes people act like its a personal attack?  Just because they’ve slapped on enough sunscreen to protect half the state of Florida from the perils of ultraviolent rays and they are still sunburned, they think everyone who is selling goods or services is going to do them a favor and take 10 percent off their purchase. Perhaps even get them in free just for stimulating the local economy.

Silly rabbits, this tourist industry isn’t for kids—especially when it’s the only industry a small town like St. Augustine, Fla. has. Sure, we’re the oldest continually inhabited city in the continental U.S. Sure, we love people, history, good food and the arts. But, that doesn’t mean we’ll smile and wave when tourists cut us off in traffic, ignore the crosswalk, and “forget” to tip that poor coffee barista who makes less than it costs to manufacture their Crocs and then honor their AARP card.

I understand times are tough. My parents moved to Palm Coast, Fla., before the housing boom, because we couldn’t afford the cost of living in St. Augustine. Every time I drive my car down their street, I see all the cookie-cutter homes crammed next to each other, housing nothing save for dust and the smell of fresh paint.

I work 32 hours per week and juggle a full-time school schedule to get by, to pay my rent and bills and buy food for my dog.

I know I’m lucky to even have a job when the national unemployment rate is approaching 10 percent. I am grateful for being lucky enough to attend college—especially a private college—when tuition is becoming more expensive each year.

Yes, I know these problems exist all over the country. In some countries, poverty is worse than I could imagine. It pains me to exist in my little microcosm when a percentage of the world can’t afford shoes to walk to school or food to nourish their starving stomachs.

But I’ve worked in restaurants, retail, telemarketing, and, currently, in tourism. I’ve been determined enough to land a job every time I’ve needed one. As a result, I’ve had my share of consumers spouting off on me for the prices of the goods and services I’m selling.

“Do you have military?”

“No, sir, unfortunately not,” I say, maintaining my toothy smile. “But the St. Augustine Lighthouse & Museum grants free admission to active duty military and I believe there is a buy-one-get-one-free discount with one—or both—of the trolley companies.”

“You don’t support our military. You and that Obama.”

Sometimes, it really makes me feel guilty when I engage in conversations like that, because it’s not like I don’t support military members, regardless of how I feel about war. It’s not like I don’t enjoy conversations with Florida residents about the best beaches, boiled peanuts and fresh-water springs. It’s not like I don’t understand the plight of being a working college student, about to spontaneously combust because of lack of sleep and time. It’s not like I don’t want to save a buck or two.

But, I don’t make the rules.

When tourists spend $400 at Disney World and opt for classy meals at fine restaurants, I have to remind myself I’m not obligated to give them a discount. It’s not my fault they went on vacation and engaged in some over-spending.

When they roll their eyes at me and tell me they are broke college students, I have to remember that they know, like I know, they’ll be in debt up to their eyeballs with student loans when it’s all said in done. They are really  just learning to budget and experimenting with bargaining.

When 55-year-olds make sarcastic comments about the lack of senior discounts, I choose to believe they’re projecting their anger at me. They’re really lamenting the future of Social Security and they worry about the federal retirement age going up.

When they denounce me as un-American for not honoring a military discount, I have to remember they’re not really mad at me. They’re worried about the economic recession and inflation; they’re worried about paying for their children and they’re worried about the economy, like everyone else.

This kind of thinking helps me keep my cool when I’m at work. It keeps me from blowing up on them. I don’t know them. They don’t know me.

If they want to be friendly and they have questions about where to eat, I just remember to ask for their price range before listing my suggestions.

Celebration by night: Seeking imperfection 8 miles from the ‘Happiest Place on Earth’

By: Emily Hoover

Photos by: Robert H. Heinrich

We headed west, my boyfriend Rob and I. Southwest to be exact. We meant to head back to Winter Park after enjoying the capitalist decadence that is the nightlife in downtown Disney, but some indescribable force coerced us into merging onto I-4 West. Perhaps, subconsciously, we wanted to continue to celebrate.

Upon getting off at Celebration, Fla.—US 192, the same road that takes one to Magic Kingdom in Kissimmee—we expected a voyeuristic journey into a sleepy little town. It was Sunday after 8 p.m. I envisioned us walking down deserted streets, holding hands as lovers, peering through shop windows and making up stories for the denizens of this mysterious little town, so close to Disney World—built as a utopian community by the Disney Company in 1994—that it had to be worth thorough exploration.

By the interstate, it looked like a typical Florida town—transplanted palm trees, shopping plazas containing gluttonous steak houses and a Chinese food franchise. They had a discounted Disney t-shirt shop. Hell, they even had a Golden Corral. For what more could a tourist ask?

We decided to turn right and were bombarded by white picket fences and winding roads. The picket fences served as décor, a shield of protection for the retention ponds that mimicked the many lakes of Central Florida. I laughed, searching in vain for June Cleaver and the whole crew, before Rob sucked me out of my self-righteous cynicism. He turned Primus down, which was playing loudly, almost too loudly, on my CD player.

“Oh God,” he said, slowing down and taking his right hand off my thigh. “People live here.”

Large, ivory houses with double balconies, columns, wrap-around porches and towers blanket both sides of Celebration Avenue. Rich tourists call it a suburb, I know, but it’s a suburb with houses that have to cost six figures, at least, especially when combined with the Mercedes Benz, Jaguar, Hummer and BMW cars parallel parked oh-so-perfectly in front of them. This neighborhood looked like it cost more than my life, so we edged on in my little oxidized Volkswagen Cabrio, hearing only the click of my failing starter and relishing in the fact that we looked out of place.

Celebration Avenue is the main artery of this creepy town, we discovered, for it brought us directly into the downtown area of Celebration. It looked pretty busy for a Sunday night, so we decided to park, walk around, and observe the behavior of the American Dreamites who actually call this place home.

This place, almost like another dimension, looks exactly the way it looks when one walks into Magic Kingdom. There is a quaint little park with a fountain. There are pastel apartment complexes lit up with bright florescent streetlights. The only recognizable brands are Starbucks, Columbia Restaurant, and Kilwin’s Chocolates and Ice Cream; the latter two familiar to me in my home of St. Augustine, a more authentic tourist trap.

In addition to these businesses, other shops, pubs and restaurants exist in Celebration. However, devoid of American brands, they are somehow generic. They don’t seem real, kind of like the way a movie set seems real but isn’t. There is a Market Street without a market. There are clothing shops and bakeries given the tag of Market Street this and Market Street that. There is an Irish pub called Shannon’s of Celebration and a New York style pizza place called A Cut Above.

As my eyes studied the shops, noticing the perfect nature of the stylishly dressed mannequins, I found myself looking for a real person sitting on a quaint park bench or leaning against an even more quaint building. I could hear them chattering at the pub but I wanted to see them up close. I felt like I had stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone and expected to see Rod Serling around the corner, smoking a cigarette and narrating the next chapter.

According to Flagler College junior Lauren Benetti, whose family moved to Celebration when she was 10, the lure of Celebration is all in its appearance.

“It looks picture-perfect,” she said. “People go there to fix their problems. But, it’s not perfect. The foundation of the family is messed up. There are couples divorcing, having affairs and gossip in families.”

Benetti, an English major, said her family stumbled upon Celebration while on vacation from Wisconsin. She said they got lost looking for Disney World and “fell in love with the place.” While she said she arrived in Celebration when it was under the ownership of Disney, she likes it better now that it has become its own city. According to an article in the New York Times, Disney sold it in 2004.

“I was there when [Celebration] was a baby,” she said. “It’s gotten better after Disney, because it’s not so picture-perfect. The cops are really cool; they’re not out to get you. It’s a really safe community, more relaxed.”

I didn’t see anyone of color while I was in Celebration, apart from a Latin waiter smoking a cigarette outside Columbia. Everyone else looked the same—blonde hair, blue eyes, smiling in pearls, pea coats and high-heeled leather boots. They looked like the Pod People from “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” thrust into a life with no pain, anger or love. Everyone looked so incredibly happy, I felt sick.

According to city-data.com, Celebration’s population was about 7,109 in 2009. Rob and I meditated on this number as we sat on a bench by Celebration’s man-made lake in the town center. I looked out into the lake, trying to imagine the undisturbed wetlands that used to grow there years ago. The water looked so calm, the lily pads looked as if they were sucked out of one of Monet’s landscape paintings. The silent serenity was deafening and I knew that this land really was perfect before being destroyed by Walt Disney’s kooky utopian dreams. I was standing in imperfection, looking at imperfection, insidiously resilient in its illusion of perfection.

We passed by the park’s quaint fountain on our way to the recreation center, where we sat in perfectly comfortable chairs and listened to the perfect sounds of cars as they left the now deserted town. Where were they going? Didn’t they realize they didn’t need to pay $15 for parking at Magic Kingdom to experience paradise?

As we got into our car, driving towards reality, I watched Celebration dissolve in my rear-view mirror. I remembered touching the artificial turf, which served as grass at the recreation center, as I watched the houses bloom around me, trying to recreate the Old Florida life Disney so happily destroyed. Rob again put his hand on my thigh as I removed my right hand from the steering wheel to touch his.

We could see the fireworks at Disney through the trees. Although I’ve been to Disney many times as a child, I cannot convey how badly I wanted to get back on I-4. As we drove east, we drove through downtown Orlando. We watched a homeless man quake on the street just to see the sadness in the world, so we could feel once again.

First published by Flagler College Gargoyle on 3-30-11.