Jess Ramirez, a graduate teaching assistant at the Staley School of Leadership, steps in as a guest contributor to reflect on her recent experience with K-State Service teams as they traveled to Garden City, Kansas, for an Alternative Break. This immersive program hosted by the Staley School gives K-State students the opportunity to serve within a community during regularly scheduled Kansas State University breaks, in this case, spring break.
Each of us carries a particular vision of Kansas, shaped by our own lived experiences. For many, the state is a vast stretch of farmland and small towns, often overlooked in discussions of diversity, resilience, and systemic complexity. Before this trip, my understanding of Kansas, too, was incomplete. But my time in Garden City shattered my preconceptions and revealed a community that is, in many ways, a microcosm of global migration, economic interdependence, and the deep interweaving of food systems and human stories.
This was my second Alternative Break with K-State Service Teams, and while my first was meaningful, this trip was transformative. Alternative Breaks are not just about traveling to a new place—they are an introduction to new people, new ways of living, and new ways of practicing leadership. Two months after returning, I still find myself reflecting on the experience daily. In fact, I am now in the process of producing a documentary on food access and food systems, with a focus on Garden City, because this journey left me with more questions than answers. But before I get ahead of myself, let me take you back to the beginning.
As we left Manhattan, excitement buzzed among us. Each of us came on this trip having done prior research—whether on the region, the organizations we would visit, or the populations we would meet. Without even knowing it, we had already begun to form connections to the people and places we would soon encounter. And yet, nothing could have truly prepared us for the learning, the stories, and the moments that lay ahead.
That first evening, we shared dinner at the home of Andrew and Amanda Lee, a couple deeply connected to the K-State community. Walking into someone’s home for the first time can bring a sense of nervousness, but their hospitality immediately put us at ease. As we sat together, getting to know one another beyond surface-level conversations, we began to feel a sense of belonging—not just in their home, but within the journey we were about to embark on. As we left that night, Jadhida—a junior in Agronomy and Global Food Systems Leadership, who typically sees herself as shy—turned to us and said, “Well, now I feel at home.” That sentiment would follow us throughout the trip, reinforcing the idea that community is not just about geography—it is about connection, shared experiences, and the ways we choose to show up for one another.
Day one began with a visit to Charles O. Stones Intermediate Center, where we spent time with fifth and sixth graders, many of whom had never met a college student before or even considered higher education as a possibility for themselves. This experience was different from the others on our itinerary; for once, we weren’t the ones asking the questions. Instead, these students wanted to know about us—what college is like, if it’s hard, if it’s fun, and if they, too, could see themselves there one day.
In these small groups, we saw parts of ourselves reflected in them. Andrew, whose father sought refuge in Garden City after the fall of Saigon in the 1980s, connected with students whose families had also risked everything for a better life. Jadhida, fluent in Spanish, found herself in a room full of newcomer students, bridging the gap between uncertainty and possibility with her words. At first, they were hesitant, their questions tentative, their voices barely above a whisper. But as she translated, their eyes brightened with recognition—someone who understood them, who spoke their language, who could give them answers without barriers.
One boy, his voice laced with both curiosity and doubt, finally asked, “Is college hard?” Jadhida met his gaze, a warm smile spreading across her face. “It is,” she replied in Spanish, “but it’s also an adventure. And one day, you’ll be a college student—maybe even at K-State.” In that moment, the weight of uncertainty lifted, replaced by the possibility of a future he hadn’t dared to imagine before.
For Sunday, a doctoral student in Leadership Communication and an international student from Nigeria, the connection came through food. One sixth-grader, new to the U.S. from Kenya, told us she rarely ate the food served at school because, to her, it simply wasn’t food. It wasn’t a matter of preference but of unfamiliarity—nothing looked, smelled, or tasted like home. She was adjusting, but in a place where everything felt different, she couldn’t help but feel like the outsider. Listening to her, I thought of my own grandfather, who immigrated from Mexico, struggling to navigate a world that felt foreign in every way. In that moment, I saw parts of myself in that child. And when we left the school, we all joked—but sincerely meant—that we had just met little versions of ourselves.
Our next stop was Catholic Charities, where we were welcomed with a home-cooked Haitian meal and an in-depth discussion about refugee services. The warmth of the meal mirrored the warmth of the people—nearly every staff member had their own migration story, and each one was now working to make a difference for others. That theme followed us throughout the trip—stories of people who had come seeking refuge, opportunity, or simply a place to call home.
At the Finney County Historical Museum, Johnetta, a lifelong resident, painted a vivid picture of Garden City’s past. She recounted tales of early settlers and the agricultural boom but did not shy away from the town’s painful racial history. She told us of the community pool her father helped build—a pool her darker-skinned sister was forbidden to swim in. Her words carried both heartbreak and hope, as she explained how the town has reckoned with discrimination and come together to stand against hate.
That resilience carried over to the meatpacking industry, a backbone of the region’s economy. Touring Brookover Feed Yard, we saw firsthand the grueling labor required to sustain the state’s beef industry. Later, at the Tyson meatpacking plant, we were overwhelmed by the sheer scale of operations. Thousands of workers—many of them newly arrived immigrants—moved with precision, performing repetitive, physically demanding tasks that kept the country fed.
Then, the paradox hit us. The very people responsible for feeding America were often the same people who struggled with food insecurity themselves. Research shows that refugees are disproportionately vulnerable to food insecurity due to systemic inequities, yet here they were, ensuring others never had to go without. It was impossible to ignore the contradiction.
That night, as we processed everything we had seen, Andrew called his father, who had worked at that very Tyson plant in the 1980s. His father described the dangers of the job, the long hours spent in cold and fast-paced environments, and the camaraderie among workers who all understood what it meant to be ‘the stranger in town.’ He told us how the work was grueling, the pay was just enough to get by, and how there was an ever-present risk of injury. Yet, it was a job, a means of survival, and a stepping stone toward a better future.
Listening to him, we realized the invisible sacrifices made by so many—the laborers who kept the food supply chain intact while struggling to afford the very products they processed. It was a sobering reminder of the contradictions within the food system, where those most essential to production are often those most marginalized.
The weight of these stories stayed with us as we continued our day after touring the Tyson plant with a visit to the local food bank, the first formal food bank in the area, where we volunteered to pack backpacks full of food for children. These backpacks were designed intentionally—no stigma, just a simple bag filled with meals to sustain students through the weekend. While there, we spoke with community organizers who explained how access to food is a persistent challenge, particularly for immigrant and refugee families who face additional barriers to stability.
From there, we met with Matt Allen, the City Manager, to ask deeper questions about the intersection of policy and community engagement in a town where over 30 languages are spoken at the local high school. He spoke about the importance of cultural competence, about how understanding diverse lived experiences is critical to fostering an welcoming and thriving community. ‘The key,’ he told us, ‘is not just welcoming people but making sure they have a voice in shaping the community they now call home.’
On our final morning, we met Amanda Lee for coffee at a local café—coincidentally, the same café featured in the ‘A Stranger in Town’ documentary we had watched our first night. Saying goodbye to Amanda felt like leaving a new friend, and leaving Garden City felt like departing from a community we had grown to care for deeply.
Even now, weeks after returning, we continue to reflect on the people we met, the connections we made, and the lessons we learned. Garden City was not just a place we visited—it became a part of us, a lens through which we now see food systems, migration, and leadership in a new light.
Our experience in Garden City was more than a trip—it was an immersion into the interconnected realities of food systems, migration, and leadership in action. It was a reminder that leadership is not about a title but about showing up, listening, and engaging with the complexities of the world around us. This trip challenged us to think critically, to step outside of what we thought we knew, and to build relationships that extend far beyond a single week of service.
But the work does not end here. The stories we heard, the people we met, and the lessons we learned have left a lasting impact, one that continues to shape our perspectives and future actions. This is the power of a K-State Service Teams Alternative Break—an opportunity to not just witness change, but to be part of it. for those who seek to grow, to challenge their own perspectives, and to make a tangible impact, there will always be another community, another story, and another opportunity waiting.
Maybe it’s your turn to experience an Alternative Break.
-Jess
