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On the stretch of Chicago Avenue that borders what remains of the Cabrini-Green housing project, something is growing. It started 10 years ago, when a community garden sprang forth in the vacant lot between Hudson and Cleveland Streets. But the story of Chicago Lights Urban Farm goes back even further than that, and maybe it’s better to start with a different beginning: once, there was a basketball court. On that court stood a 14-year-old boy. The year was 1985, and the boy was William Gates. The young costar of Hoop Dreams would spend a lot of time dunking and pump-faking over the next four years, trailed by a documentary crew as he followed his dream of playing in the NBA. Gates never quite made it to the pros, and his struggles underscore what was once a fact of life in Cabrini-Green. With so few options available to them, too many of the area’s young residents were left with big dreams and little to fall back on. Planting the Seeds for Change  But life for the kids at the Frances Cabrini Homes is starting to change, thanks in part to the ongoing efforts of Chicago Lights. The outreach organization has served the Cabrini-Green community for nearly half a century, beginning with a one-on-one tutoring program established in 1964. But Chicago Lights’ newest program is one of its most promising yet. Where the Hoop Dreams court once stood, there’s now a lush urban farm that gives kids a lot more than a game of five-on-five. It gives them a safe sanctuary where they can grow organic produce and develop the skills necessary for a career in urban agriculture. Such a sanctuary is a promising development in a neighborhood that was once a paradigm of inner-city poverty. When the Chicago Housing Authority announced a controversial plan to transform the area in 1999, Chicago Lights seized the opportunity to make a positive change. According to urban-farm program director Natasha Holbert, Chicago Lights was uniquely suited to step in and help, thanks to its longstanding relationship with the residents of Cabrini-Green. “We wanted to stake a claim in this neighborhood,” she explains. “We wanted to be a voice for some of the people who were being forced out of their homes.” The neighborhood has changed rapidly in recent years, and residents of the row houses have indeed struggled to make their voices heard. Chicago Lights has done what it can to combat this, including making garden plots available only to people living or working within a five-block radius. “This is one of our ways of trying to build a bridge community in the area,” Holbert says. “There are so many people who are moving in and people who have been here their whole lives. … This is a way to build a relationship around something we all have in common.” From Community Garden to Urban Farm  Giving longtime residents a place to grow produce wasn’t enough, however. To truly make a difference, Chicago Lights had to find a way to level the economic playing field. That’s where the Urban Farm comes in. Founded in 2010 as a partnership with nonprofit Growing Power, the Farm instantly became a hot topic of conversation among the local youth. “They came here on the first day,” Holbert remembers. “Some of them were like, ‘What’s going on? This used to be an empty lot!’” The kids were curious enough to stick around, and the Urban Farm eventually developed programming that catered to their interests. “That’s the beautiful thing about it,” Holbert says. “Some of these kids have actually grown up on this site.” One of those kids is an oft-touted 19-year-old named Malcolm, who began making daily visits to the garden as a young child. Malcolm was instrumental in transforming the community garden into a fully functional urban farm, showing his peers the ins and outs of composting and harvesting. Today, he’s a full-time staffer with Growing Power. Twenty Years of Youth Programming Malcolm’s story is exceptional, but it’s hardly an isolated case. Holbert talks excitedly about the Urban Farm’s Youth Corps program, which is designed to guide 14- to 18-year-olds toward careers in urban agriculture. And in case you were wondering, “urban agriculture” isn’t something that’s limited to the city’s seasonal farmers’ markets. “There are a lot of restaurants that are starting to grow produce on top of their roofs,” Holbert says. Those restaurants are going to need people who know their way around a tomato vine, which is why the Urban Farm recently began experimenting with a culinary internship for Youth Corps graduates. Throw in an introductory program geared toward the 5–13 set, and you have the makings of a farm that defies categorization. “I think we’re pretty unique,” Holbert reflects. “We’re like a community-development project that uses urban agriculture as a vehicle.” Others seem to have noticed. “Last year, we had over 600 volunteers come through our doors,” she says; it seems inevitable that more will follow. One can’t help but think back to that opening sequence in Hoop Dreams, in which young William Gates drives to the rim against a background of asphalt. Basketball has given way to baskets of fresh produce, and the clanging of chain-link nets has been replaced by the soft hum of sprinklers. It’s a development that lacks the angst and heartbreak of a compelling drama, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Chicago Lights Urban Farm is located at 444 W. Chicago Ave. To learn more about the farm and how to get involved, visit the website. Photo: © Micah Marty

On May 25 starting at 9:30 a.m., 200 or so people will gather in the Pulaski Park Fieldhouse, face one another in a giant square, take a collective deep breath, and launch into song. Their collective voice will ricochet off the walls, creating a torrent of chaotic, yet hauntingly beautiful music that leaves audience members breathless. Except that there is no audience. The event is free and open to the public, but if you come, you have to sing. No experience? No problem. In fact, Sacred Harp was invented as a means of teaching people to sing without them needing to read music. As Jeff Breting, a local singer dedicated to rounding up new performers, says, “all voices are welcome.” Sacred Harp is a form of shape-note music—so-called because the notes are written as square, ovals, triangles, and diamonds—that came to America with the first settlers. It spread from New England to the South via traveling song-book writers who stopped in towns to teach rural families to read and sing their music. The Sacred Harp, the book from which the genre takes its name, was first published in 1844 and has survived as one of this country’s oldest living traditions. And now, the tradition of not only singing this music, but teaching it, thrives in Chicago thanks to a small group of musicians who stumbled across Sacred Harp 30 years ago. After spending 25 minutes learning one of their first songs, founding member Ted Mercer remembers the whole group felt “this unanimous spark. The whole place lit up.” And they were hooked. Today, the Sacred Harp community thrives in all corners of Chicago with weekly performances at singers’ homes in Hyde Park and Evanston, and city-wide gatherings every few months somewhere in between. The last one was held on Sunday, April 21, in Logan Square’s Beauty and Brawn Gallery, and of the 30 or so singers in attendance, four or five had never sung Sacred Harp before. But the euphonic energy in the room demanded not only attention, but participation. As the group's website says, “try it; you’ll like it.”   How to get involved: On May 18, singers and non-singers are invited to an introductory workshop from 2 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. led by Jeff Breting. During the session, Breting will give beginners the necessary tools to participate in the upcoming Midwest Convention. Free and open to the public, the convention will take place on May 25 at the Pulaski Park Fieldhouse, and on May 26 at the Irish American Heritage Center, from 9:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. on both days.

“Divergent” stuntman Kurt Gowan teaches me to scale walls and vault rails until my quads fall off. Kurt Gowan is basically a pair of web shooters away from being Spider-Man. As an advanced practitioner of parkour, he’s able to rapidly scale buildings, slip through obstacles, and execute impressive aerial maneuvers. And though he might not be an actual superhero, his talents did land him in an actual movie: he was a stuntman in Divergent, the dystopian novel-turned-movie that was recently shot here in Chicago. Film sets aren’t his usual stomping grounds, however. Kurt is the owner and head trainer of Parkour Ways, an all-ages instructional studio he invited me to for a private lesson. As we got started, Kurt asked me why I wanted to learn parkour. I immediately had flashbacks of YouTube videos I obsessed over in college, the mind-blowing Madagascar sequence of Casino Royale, and a daydream I’d had that very morning about climbing into the L station instead of battling with my Ventra card. (Incidentally, Kurt lived out my daydream for a stunt in Divergent.) He took what I thought were grandiose ideas in stride. “Cool, so you want to learn the movements,” Kurt said. “I just wanted to make sure the lesson steered toward your goals.” We warmed up with a series of low-to-the-ground movements, crawling, bunny-hopping, and sidestepping in laps around the gym. It sounded easy in theory, but after a few minutes of constant squatting my thighs started to burn. Kurt, for his part, was on his seventh round of warm-ups for the day—earlier he had been teaching parkour to middle schoolers in the suburbs. Even so, he was much faster and quieter than me. After our joints were limber and my quads were on fire, we started with an actual parkour move: the safety vault. “It’s the safest way to vault a wall,” Kurt said as he demonstrated on an approximately 4-foot-high homemade wall. Instead of jumping cleanly over the wall, he alighted atop it briefly, placing one foot and his opposite hand on top of the wall as he leapt. He then threaded his trailing leg through the gap between the two limbs and pushed off, landing safely on one leg on the other side. As I followed hesitantly in his footsteps, Kurt explained mental tricks he used to keep himself from tripping mid-jump. “Think of it just like walking,” he recommended. “Whatever foot you happen to be standing on [before you jump], you know that the other one is going on top of the wall, like taking a big step.”  My technique improved after each pointer, and eventually I was able to leap over the wall at will. We then practiced the same move on metal railings, where the lesser surface area made finding footing a bit more challenging. Later on, Kurt constructed a miniature course for me to run, using all the walls and rails I’d practiced on so far. I ran and vaulted, chaining the move together in twos and threes, striving to flow “like that water you’re about to get,” Kurt joked. As we stretched out at the end of class, Kurt suggested I keep practicing by using the back of a sturdy couch or any stretch of pavement in the city with a low wall or railing. That’s when one of parkour’s greatest aspects clicked with me—it’s an exercise form you can take anywhere and do anytime without the need for a gym or special equipment. I plan on returning soon to perfect my moves so that I won’t be tempted to practice by illegally hopping an L turnstile. Try it if: Feeling like a superhero sounds cool to you. Beware of: Scaring yourself out of a jump. Invite a friend who: Has a great vertical. Come prepared with: A bottle of water. It’s thirsty work. Wear: Long, comfortable pants and good running shoes. Intensity level: Extremely beginner-friendly, though it’ll lead to soreness. Photo: courtesy of Kurt Gowan