The Official Dancing Deer Baking Co. Blog

Latoya is the Administrative Assistant to Donnis. She is a success story. She was a teenage Mom, went through the shelter system, was a resident here at Help Philadelphia and made it out the other side. She got an education and a career and is an inspiration. Donnis guessed for me that this program runs about a 60:40 success rate if you define success as moving to permanent housing and independent lives.

I spent some time with Peaches. The details of her life are staggering. You name it; abandoned by her mother, never knew her father, family history of substance abuse, first cared for and then put out by a cousin, abusive relationship, young mother without a HS diploma. Yet she is a sunny and positive person with a stunning determination to do better. She’s in school and studying for something in the medical field and I’m afraid my brain is too fried at the moment to remember any more details. But her smile and her sweet little girl made an impression on me that I won’t forget.

The Lancaster, PA Intelligencer Journal reports on Trish’s visit to the Lancaster Transitional Living Center, referring to her as a “sort of modern-day Willie Wonka”.  The Deers agree…

Read about her visit here

It’s possible that one has clarity somewhere around mile 1,000 while breathing the beneficial (?) vapors of freshly spread manure. Or maybe it has the opposite effect.

Trish reflects on cows and the landscape.

. . . . to stay in your own space, whatever the description, and you’re exhausted and know that the next day is another uphill climb, it is a great luxury to be able to choose where to lay your head. I made that choice tonight. There happened to be rooms in the center, clean sheets and a real shower! We could easily have stayed and everyone in the shelter was welcoming and it would have been fine. Beth and Kim were agreeable either way – especially since Beth is willing to sleep on anything – including a roll out cot which was the option. But I was thinking about how I’d drag myself out of bed and do another one of these marathon days. I was on the sidewalk working on my bike. It was totally encrusted with mud from the day of riding in the rain. I couldn’t even spin my rear wheel and wasn’t sure how to fix it or how I’d managed to ride it the last 20 miles. I was doing an inventory in my head while pouring lube on my chain and wiping, wiping, wiping with the rag (hoping it would magically make the thing easier to peddle tomorrow) of the bits of things I needed to pull out of the camper and in to the shelter and wondering what the bed would feel like and whether I would sleep in a new space. My team mates made the call for me. We were staying in the camper. I didn’t argue. I was glad. It was home. I didn’t want to be somewhere that wasn’t. Just too tired. And THAT is just too ironic. Need I say more?

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