Minnesota Farm Program Offers Hope for Rural Men on the Rebound

Dwaine Vise rode the rails for years, hopping off in tiny towns, getting drunk by day, going hungry and homeless at night. He slept almost anywhere--even a morgue. Then he found refuge.

It was on a farm, the kind of place where he was raised. When he arrived, Vise had no home, no family and no future.

“They say you’ve got to hit rock bottom,” said the ruddy 55-year-old Vise. “I guess I was damn close. I just found out I had to do something, or I was going to die in the street or alleyway.”

Vise lives at Terebinth Farmstead, 54 acres of solace and soil that offer temporary and permanent housing for a small group of men who’ve lived on the streets for years. Most are recovering alcoholics. Many also were rail riders, sneaking onto freight trains, living in box cars, moving from town to town.

One of Several Programs

The western Minnesota farm, one of a small number of innovative programs serving the rural homeless, is owned and operated by the Dorothy Day House, a short-term shelter in nearby Moorhead named after the Roman Catholic activist and journalist who co-founded The Catholic Worker newspaper.

The farm, which opened 17 months ago, follows Day’s philosophy: Treat the poor with dignity and respect.

Terebinth has two purposes, said Barb Martens, the farm’s director.

“For the long-term guest, it’s their home--a place they can live and die and not drink themselves to death,” she said. “For the short-term guys, it’s just a safe place to be.” She said short-termers stay six months to two years.

The pastoral setting--the farm has a barn, lake, cow, rabbits, cats and dogs--was chosen to get the men, many of whom have rural roots, back to the land.

“There’s something about that place that is so healing,” Martens said. “It’s not a place no one else wants. It’s a place where we’re saying: ‘We think you deserve the best. We’re going to give you the best.’ It makes them something other than the least, the waste of society.”

Name Drawn From Bible

The farm, named after the tree in the Bible under which Abraham provided hospitality and shelter for the messengers of God, holds up to 10 men. All must live at the Dorothy Day House before moving to Terebinth. Moorhead attracts rail riders because it is on a freight train route.

All prospective Terebinth residents with alcohol problems must undergo treatment before they come to the farm. Drinking is taboo there. Martens said the residents’ drinking problems were considered when choosing a location. The nearest tavern is 9 miles away.

“You don’t have the temptations you do in town,” Vise said. “You feel like you’re on your own, not in some institution. There’s not someone standing over you. You just do your own thing. Out here you can keep busy.”

Some men pick up work at nearby farms. They have a garden, can vegetables and care for the animals. A Dorothy Day staffer lives there full time.

Still, the presence of homeless men--a few have criminal records--aroused fierce opposition. Martens said the program was rejected in three communities before the farm outside Hawley was found.

Alien Environment

The five-bedroom house, replete with fireplace, den and wood shop, is alien to men who have spent years scrounging for food, selling blood to survive and sleeping under bridges, in sawdust piles or hotel restrooms.

Even now, beds, hot meals and a roof don’t guarantee success.

Andy De Maio, a Terebinth resident who has been homeless many of his 52 years, has never held a job an entire year. A fifth-grade dropout, he says he has trouble reading and making change.

“It isn’t as easy to turn your life around as people think,” De Maio said. “Some say: ‘All you do is get yourself a job. It’ll cure your problems.’ (But) you can’t live on the streets and expect to go to work everyday. You can’t function well enough.”

The farm “gives you a good chance to get straightened out,” he added. “I hope I do. I think it’s going to be mostly up to me.”

Although there’s no follow-up program, Martens said about half of those who have left the farm have succeeded in getting on with their lives.

Gets Fresh Start

For Vise, who came to the farm last summer, it’s a fresh start. Vise, who was divorced, says he has been in alcohol treatment programs four or five times.

He said his life deteriorated when his drinking got out of control. He couldn’t hold a job and ended up on the streets. He was too proud to panhandle and too embarrassed to let his three children see him.

“When I got sober enough, I realized there was nothing,” he said. “No family. No home. No nothing.”

Vise doesn’t intend to drink again.

“You never say that’s it,” he said. “I won’t say I won’t, but I doubt it. I don’t think I’ll be on the streets again. I’ve learned a lot since then. If you want to quit, you can quit. If you can get your self-respect back, then you’ve got a chance.”