OK, I admit it. I hate winter. I was born in Georgia. I lived there 'til I was six. That was long enough for me to learn the truth about snow. It's a natural disaster. Now I've decided to live in northeast Missouri, which, while sometimes considered part of the South, doesn't have one of the South's most desirable attributes, a serious commitment from the weather deities to keep things above freezing almost all the time.
So why on earth am I here? To be honest, I've never even considered living in a nice warm climate. I know that if I so much as show my face in a place like Southern California during winter, I'll be unable to leave. You know that song by the Eagles, Hotel California? I could swear it was written for people who were uprooted from a place with a reasonably livable climate, then relocated to a place like Siberia. Finally, they end up in Southern California, and they can never leave. Not gonna happen to me! Instead, I just showed up at DR in June, a time of year when no amount of rational argument could convince me that Missouri isn't part of the South, and therefore immune from that blight on humanity: winter. Unbeatable logic, don't you think?
Looking back at my time at Dancing Rabbit, it seems incredible that I've only been here since June. I feel like I've passed into an entirely new phase of my life, and the old part seems more and more distant every day.
I was drawn to DR because of its strong idealism, which shines in sharp contrast to the jaded fatalism that consumed almost everyone in the world of my previous life. When I visited DR for the first time, I found a group of fascinating, loving, energetic people. Within days, I knew I wanted to join. I'd been hoping to one day start my own community with egalitarian values and support for a diversity of social styles. DR was a dream come true for me. I discovered that I could essentially cut ten years off my plans for helping society, and in the process skip working for corporate America, which seemed necessary to build up enough money, but which appealed to me not at all. Instead, I have the opportunity to be a part of the development of DR, which seems like it has a good chance of becoming something really incredible.
It feels great to plug into a dream that's already becoming reality, a dream that's satisfyingly huge, but that can be realized in small pieces daily. We're really doing something here, we're constructing buildings, we're growing food. That's really exciting, and it's made even more exciting because I know we're not just building physical infrastructure, we're working on the systems that will allow us to have a sustainable village.
Since I officially joined Skyhouse and DR in early August, I've been struck by the closeness I've developed with everyone else here. I'm the first person to join DR since it moved to Missouri, and I had fears that it would be hard to integrate into the group, since everyone else has been together for years. Nothing could be further from the truth! I've been hurled into the tumultuous reality of living communally, which has been often joyous, and always exciting. I feel as close to my housemates now as I do to my closest friends, because they are some of my closest friends!
I wouldn't have guessed that I'd enjoy rural life nearly as much as I do. I've made dinner straight from the garden and driven a tractor. Wow, I had no idea that could be so much fun! One problem with rural life is the lack of a huge social pool. Fortunately, I really like the people I live with. Also, Skyhouse has a great relationship with our neighbors at Sandhill Farm, so I get a chance to see friendly faces that I don't see every day. At the Rutledge Fall Festival in September, I loved seeing lots of people mill about - like what DR will be like socially in five to ten years. For right now, though, I'm really enjoying the small group atmosphere here at Skyhouse.
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