There are moments in life when you realize you’ve been close to something extraordinary for years without fully understanding its significance. That is how I feel about Apple Ridge Farm. As a young boy growing up on Linwood Road NW, I knew who Peter Lewis was. I lived just down the street from him and remember going to his house to play with his sons. At that age, I didn’t know anything about Apple Ridge Farm or the vision he was carrying. Looking back, I realize I was standing beside a legacy before I even knew what a legacy was. Years passed before I truly understood.
The first time I visited Apple Ridge Farm, John Lewis invited me, and a few friends to hike the trails. I expected a nice walk through the woods, but what I experienced was something much deeper. There is a presence on that land.
I’ve walked many trails throughout the Roanoke Valley. I’ve spent time on the Greenway and hiked Mill Mountain more times than I can count. But Apple Ridge feels different. The land has a quietness that speaks without words. It invites you to slow down, breathe a little deeper, and become fully present.
As a Sangoma, I’ve come to believe that every landscape carries a memory. Indigenous cultures throughout the world have long understood that the land is more than soil, trees, and rocks. The land remembers. It teaches. It heals. When we approach it with humility instead of control, it has a way of reminding us who we are. That was my experience at Apple Ridge.
It wasn’t just the beauty of the trails that stayed with me. It was the feeling that this land had been intentionally cared for, not only physically but spiritually and emotionally. It felt like a place created with love, where children could reconnect with something our modern world often causes us to forget: that we belong to nature, not the other way around. The more time I spent there, the more I began to understand Peter Lewis’ vision. He wasn’t simply creating a camp.
He was creating a place where children could experience belonging, discover confidence, and learn life lessons that can’t always be taught inside a classroom. One of the greatest blessings has been watching that vision continue through Jordan Bell. I’ve known Jordan for more than ten years. We’ve played basketball against each other at the YMCA. We’ve lived beside one another in the Hurt Park community. His mother invited me to speak and give him his flowers during one of his birthday celebrations. We’ve presented community knowledge together, and I’ve invited him to speak to my students at William Fleming High School. But until this summer, I had never seen him in his element at Apple Ridge.
Watching him with the children changed something in me. The moment he arrives, the children light up. They surround him, laugh with him, ask him questions, and simply want to be near him. What struck me most was that he wasn’t trying to be impressive. He wasn’t performing. He was simply being himself. And that “self” is rooted in love. It is expressed through humor, patience, encouragement, accountability, and genuine presence. He knows how to meet children where they are while still expecting the best from them. That balance is rare.
As an educator, I found myself paying attention – not just to what he was doing but also to how he was doing it. I left Apple Ridge realizing that I had learned something too. To me, Peter Lewis and Jordan Bell represent a bridge. Lewis is the visionary who imagined what was possible before many others could see it. Jordan is helping carry that vision into the hearts of today’s children. That relationship reminds me of something found in many Indigenous traditions: “elders plant trees whose shade they may never sit under, trusting that the next generation will continue caring for the forest.”
That is exactly what I see at Apple Ridge Farm. I walked onto the property thinking I was visiting a beautiful piece of land. I walked away realizing I had experienced a living legacy. And perhaps the greatest lesson the land taught me was this: When we invest in children, honor our elders, and remain connected to the earth, healing becomes something we don’t just talk about – it becomes something we live.
And remember the only way out… Is in.
