Problem: ATLANTA, Georgia (CNN) -- On a plot of soil, nestled against the backdrop of skyscrapers in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, a group of residents are turning a lack of access to fresh produce into a revival of old traditions and self-empowerment. Urban farming is a way for African-Americans to connect with the earth, says Cashawn Myers of HABESHA. HABESHA Gardens is one of many urban gardens sprouting up around the country. Fruits and vegetables are thriving in this community garden located in an economically depressed area of the city known as Mechanicsville. But the garden serves an even greater purpose. The harvest helps feed some of the neediest members of the neighborhood. "It's a reawakening going on. It's almost like it's a renaissance," says Cashawn Myers, director of HABESHA Inc. "There's a Ghanaian proverb that says Sankofa. Sankofa means return to your past so you can move forward. Even if you look at coming over here during our enslavement, we were brought here to cultivate the land because that's something we did on the continent. So really, that's what many of the people are doing now," he said. Myers believes urban farming is a way for many African-Americans to reconnect with their past. iReport.com: Show us your urban farm "They are going through a process of Sankofa and going to what they traditionally did, which is connect to the Earth so they can move forward and grow," he says. But HABESHA Gardens isn't unique. Former pro basketball player Will Allen, who is considered to be one of the nation's leading urban farmers and founder of Growing Power Inc., estimates that there are hundreds of thousands of urban gardens in inner cities across America. Urban farms help feed people, sustain neighorhoods " "It's beyond a movement at this point. Its more like a revolution," says Allen.

Question: "Why does former Professional Basketball player Will Allen describe Urban farming by saying " It's beyond a movement at this point. It's a more of a revolution""

Answer: "Because the gardens inspire beauty in the cities"
Answer: no

Problem: The side of Malaquez's parcel gave way to reveal a greenmunk caught in a sheen of solid air. Bits of leaf mold flew from under his feet as he ran to greet a friend or a bringer of food. Tasha oohed in awe. I said, "Frodo's been visiting you, eh?" Malaquez said, "Your pet?" "Hardly. He lives around here somewhere. I suppose he was attracted to the commotion up the hill." "Ah," Malaquez said. "Why 'Frodo'?" Tasha said, "A little fellow with big, furry feet. What else could he be called?" She handed the sculpture to me. I almost dropped it; I expected it to weigh no more than a holo. "Heavy," I said, as if he might not have known. He laughed. "My last piece was of four old Undersiders crouched around a trash fire. Be glad someone didn't toss that to you." He spoke of his art with the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old. "Um, I should wait to importune you, but..."

Question: "Where does Frodo live?"

Answer: "Somewhere nearby"
Answer: yes

Problem: The old vaulted church was stripped down: there was no cloth on the altar, just a DJ's toolkit and his beer. Through the dark, I could see three bolts left in the wall from where they'd taken down the crucifix. A confessional too beaten-up to have been sold was shaking in a way that suggested activity inside, and where the pews had been taken out, a couple hundred people were testifying to the DJ's moving sermon. Rachel stepped forward into the crowd while I took a moment to drink in the ceiling's blue-lit, shadowed vault and the light-catching haze from who-knows-what rising between the DJ and the crowd. There was a terrific echo, each beat reverberating inside of the next, and the old stained-glass windows rattled in their frames. On the dance floor, people moved with their eyes closed and their hands in the air. I danced with Rachel for a while, but then something by the bar seemed to be pulling her eyes. She told me that she was heading for a drink and slipped out of the crowd. When she hadn't come back halfway through the next song, I glanced over at the bar. It was just a little set-up where someone had stacked a few crates and brought something alcoholic to share, mostly beer. Rachel was standing with a plastic cup, looking like she was having a conversation, but I couldn't see anyone else there. The next time the crowd split, I saw him. He stood in front of a blue light, so I couldn't see him clearly, but what I saw was memorable. He wore a jacket of what might have been blue velvet, and his hair gleamed black against his white skin. The blue haze seemed to stop just shy of his pallor, setting off his striking face without illuminating its details, and his wrists flashed white in the darkness. He didn't move, just stared and held his drink. The next time I saw them, his mouth was moving. She nodded and he took her arm. I watched them through the crush of dancers as they squeezed along the wall, and the feeling came to me that something was very wrong. Saturday morning, I woke up and saw that she still hadn't come home.

Question: "What was left when the crucifix was taken down from the wall at the old vaulted church?"

Answer: "Three bolts in the wall"
Answer:
yes