Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage

My Bowl Went A-Wanderin’

The Webmaster — Tue, 13 Oct 2026 14:33:33 +0000

Do you obsess over the perfect bowl? Liz here, with a rambling tale of how a favorite bowl of mine took a trip around the village.

It started with setting up my first kitchen as an adult at the age of 26, when I moved in with my now ex-partner, in Oakland, California in the late eighties. Each choice of bowl, cup and silverware felt significant. I wanted to build my adult life with intention, beauty and integrity. New chapter, new life. Looking back, I realize that things tend to stay the way you set them up, until a new chapter presents itself. That’s where my attachment to perfect bowls started.

A lot of the people who come to visit Dancing Rabbit are at a crossroads in their lives. Our village demonstrates some creative ideas about how life can be lived differently, and visitors are fascinated with how a group of people have been able to cooperate enough to actually live that life. Some decide to join us, some take ideas back home to integrate into their lives. Some realize that the DR way of life is not for them. Everyone comes with a preconceived idea of who we are, and leaves with an adjusted picture.

When I initially moved to DR in 2017, I had to prioritize what would fit in my car for the drive from California. I mostly brought momentos and things I needed to set up my acupuncture practice. I had to pare down my possessions from a family house to fit a small cottage. I decided to buy one bowl, one plate, one mug and one set of silverware once I got to DR (and yes, this took a while). It was, after all, a new chapter, a new life.

So, years later, when I sat down next to Cob at a community dinner and saw his red ceramic bowl, I was instantly envious and covetous. It was several shades deeper red than fire engine red and the perfect size for ramen (larger than a cereal bowl). I forced myself through some chitchat before asking him where he got his bowl. The next day was gym day and I bought the same bowl from the bargain store where Cob bought his. As often happens in community life, we influence each other. My gym buddy, Christina, decided to buy a whole set of the red bowls.

About a year after I bought the red bowl, I brought it to one of Christina’s pizza parties (pizzas cooked in a hand-built cob oven), and I unintentionally left the bowl at her house. And then I kept forgetting to go pick it up. And when I finally messaged Christina (months later) that I was coming over to pick it up, she told me that she thought it was part of her set and that she had taken the whole set to the DR free store. I was disappointed that my household had gone from two bowls to one, but I tried to maintain my perspective. It was just a bowl, after all. Right? I didn’t pursue tracking it down. I thought it would be good for me to let it go.

It’s been a little over a year since my bowl was unknowingly taken from the free store to a new home. Last weekend, Christina’s husband was at a community party celebrating the wedding of K* and Thomas, and was offered a red bowl, along with leftovers, to take home. As soon as Christina spotted it, she knew just what to do. With a huge grin on her face, she knocked on my door and held out a red bowl. Without hesitation, and with a smile to match hers, I took back my bowl.

Liz Hackney is the editor and a writer for this publication. Aside from perfect bowls, she also covets the perfect mug and plate. But that’s a story for another time.

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Can You Dig It?: A Dancing Rabbit Update

The Webmaster — Tue, 29 Sep 2026 13:56:50 +0000

Ecovillage, hippie commune, off-grid community, intentional community…

These are some of the terms that bring people to our website, and looking over the list makes me think of when I first started searching for something different. I knew that I wanted community, but I didn’t really know how to find it.

Christina here, writing about what we look for, what we find, and how names sometimes get in the way.

A few years before I started really searching, we had moved to a small town in New Hampshire. I remember one of the first weeks we moved there we were at a summer magic show at the local library. I looked around at all the families and thought I don’t know these people now, but this will be my community one day! Fast forward to three years later and I still only knew one other family in the whole town. It’s not that people were closed off or that they didn’t want to make friends–it was that I just didn’t have enough time. Most of my life was spent getting ready for work, going to work, and recovering from work.

So I started looking for something different.

The only term that I knew at the time was cohousing and maybe I thought to look for an ecovillage. What I wanted was community but I didn’t know what people were calling it.

Eventually, after enough research, I learned that what I was looking for was an intentional community.

Now that I’ve been here for over 10 years, I’ve answered a lot of the same questions from visitors (I actually love answering the same questions over and over. As a former teacher, having someone ask me something and then actually listen to my response is a delight of which I never tire!). Some of the common questions we get are, “Is this a commune?” or, “Are you off grid?”

As someone who was once looking for something that I didn’t exactly know how to name, I generally assume that people are asking something that they don’t quite know how to ask.

Technically, since we aren’t income sharing, this isn’t a commune. But I do know that people frequently find our website by searching for “hippie commune.” At this point, 60 years after the 1960s, I think that “hippie” has, for better or worse, become more of an aesthetic than a political belief or a way of life.

So then I wonder what they are really looking for. My guess is that people looking for a “hippie commune” are actually looking for a place where people work and live together, where they share and take care of each other, and where they have some hope that they can do things differently–and better–than the mainstream way of life in the U.S. And if that’s the case, then I think we might have a lot of what they’re wanting.

I also think there’s a bit of an overly romanticized version–a search for something that they feel is missing in their lives–which we don’t offer. I’ll never forget a visitor who years ago asked, “Isn’t it great to live such a simple life like you do?” Of course, other people’s lives always seem less complicated. And in many ways I do think that our lives are more in touch with the seasons, the land, growing food and raising animals.

But also, my response to someone saying that our lives are simple is just, “Ha!” Because let me tell you, human beings are anything but simple. We are all complicated and messy and prickly and difficult and when we work and live in close proximity to each other, our lives are definitely complicated. Not to mention when you are trying to create your own governance; if you spend any time reading over our agreements, you’ll quickly see they are very much not simple.

Similarly, when people look for an off-grid community, I suppose plenty are genuinely looking for a place where people aren’t connected to municipal water or the electrical grid. And by that technical definition, we are not an off-grid community. There are still a few houses that are not grid tied and just rely on their own solar panels for power, but the community as a whole is tied to the electrical grid, and everyone who lives here uses the Common House and other shared buildings that are grid tied. We also catch and store a lot of our own water, but we use plenty of municipal water as well.

But again, I think that often people are trying to name something that they don’t quite have the words for; in this case, I think it’s something about being unplugged, metaphorically speaking. And so again, it’s a yes and no. I think that we are unplugged from a lot of the stresses of the outside world like commuting and pollution and keeping up with the Joneses. But we are also very much connected to, and a part of, the “real world.” We’re online, we’re informed, and we’re also involved in the world outside of our little village.

So I guess what I’m saying is that what people are looking for and what they actually find here are sometimes the same and sometimes not. You can get some idea of what it’s like by working through the website and watching the YouTube videos, but ultimately you have to come and live it for a while to see if we really do meet your definition of whatever the thing is that you’re looking for but can’t quite name.

Christina Lovdal Gil is currently serving on our Village Council. She is a regular contributing writer to this publication.

The post Can You Dig It?: A Dancing Rabbit Update first appeared on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

Like Pulling Teeth Sometimes: A Dancing Rabbit Update

The Webmaster — Tue, 15 Sep 2026 14:21:38 +0000

Colt and I are proud to announce that we have recently became official members at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage! To say that the road to my becoming a member was seamless would be far from accurate. It has been difficult to explain to non-community family why anyone would have a problem accepting yours truly, a perfect angel, into the DR community.

Kelly here, describing what the DR membership process can be like, using a dental allegory.

The process of applying for membership is a bit stressful for everyone, in that an applicant has already been living in the village as a resident for at least six months or more (three years for Colt and me) and decides to take the leap of greater commitment by becoming a member. The fear of rejection for membership has been stronger than any other fear of rejection that I’ve ever experienced.

That fear is multiplied when an applicant has one or more community members who think that the applicant is not a good choice for joining the village. When people aren’t accepted for membership, it can often cause severe, irreparable hard feelings. Some rejectees even go on the internet to voice their disgruntlement. To non-community members it may sound like the village is full of harsh meanies, but I’d like to offer a different perspective through the use of a dental allegory.

Imagine that I didn’t brush my teeth. Maybe I was interested in moving to an ecovillage because I thought it could be a safe place to be as free as my dirty mouth wanted to be. Eventually my stinky breath starts effecting others; people begin avoiding sharing spaces with me. If they’ve grown to care for me, there might be growing concern when my teeth start rotting. There might be concern around how my future medical issues could impact the village. There might be concerns around my roles that involve the public, if my visage or breath were off-putting. How many people in the village need to believe that I am not brushing my teeth enough before it becomes abnormal? How many before it is viewed as wrong?

There is also the impact on my kid. There may be a healthy population of people who don’t care at all about how well I take care of my teeth, but if I discourage Colt from brushing his teeth, many would consider that endangering a child. Most people, including myself, feel more drawn to intervening on others’ personal freedoms if it crosses our individual comfort levels around child safety.

What considerations should be taken in broaching the subject of toothbrushing with me? A concerned villager might check their feelings with neighbors first, or come to me directly. They could approach with curiosity or feedback. They could escalate the problem to my liaisons (residency shepherds) or even to our Conflict Resolution Committee. What if I have trauma around brushing my teeth? What if some villagers have trauma around smelling stinky breath? There would probably be someone from Care Committee showing up to make sure that I have all the support that I need to brush my teeth, making sure that I have the toothbrush, the water, the toothpaste and the skills. If the issue is bringing up trauma, maybe Care Committee would see if anyone involved was interested in professional emotional support.

I’ve always despised gossip and work hard to avoid engaging in it since I moved to the village. Recently, I learned that matriarchal hunter-gatherer villages modified people’s behaviors through social pressure, public ridicule and gossip. As villages shifted toward patriarchal hierarchies, behavior modifications began leaning more towards punishments and penalties, while idle gossip began being vilified. There is information sharing that is required in a rustic village such as ours. Venting is sometimes necessary. When my neighbors begin talking to each other about my oral issues, I trust that they are doing it with good intent. Actually, I am working on learning to trust that everyone is motivated by good intent. When plenty of talking happens around an issue, a context is created that can inform it. When does gossip cross the line into toxicity?

Maybe only one or two people have an issue with my toothbrushing and the rest of the village quells the conversation. Maybe those few people want to insist that I brush my teeth way the way they do. Maybe the majority of the village think that it doesn’t matter at all how often Colt or I brush our teeth, and so aren’t as invested in the conversation as the people who insist that I am doing it wrong. The people who want me to do it differently probably just want to live in their ideal village where their standards are the norm.

There is an extreme to any social pressure and change. Ethics can potentially be attached to any side of any issue. What if social pressure creates an environment where people are ashamed when they skip brushing their teeth? What if pressure escalates to a point where it’s considered normal to brush your teeth until your gums bleed? Do we need to start tracking our neighbor’s habits? Do we propose a document to outline how often each villager should be brushing? Do we base our outline on government recommendations? Does everyone in the village trust the government recommendations? Once we create rules around brushing teeth, how do we enforce them, through penalties and punishment or gossip and ridicule?

Once we have created a structure that everyone agrees on, what happens in 10 years when we have a new resident who has a different set of circumstances that prevent them from brushing their teeth to our collective standards? Some people may want to show them grace while others might feel the duty to draw a hard line. Everything is relative, so maybe flexibility or a hard line would look different to different people. Would the information even be the same in the future? Will teethbrushing eventually become a thing of the past? Will future-us make fun of ourselves for how many meetings we had about how we should brush our teeth?

I think that there are a million more ways that I can use this allegory to illustrate other potential hiccups with welcoming a new member to our “fluffle,” and every intentional community will have a different set of speed bumps. If you are still looking for a community that feels like the right fit, that feels like home, it’s not about being in perfect alignment with the group. It’s about agreeing with the main tenets and bracing for some wiggle room!

Kelly Brandt is a periodic guest writer for this publication. She is the house manager for Skyhouse. Congratulations on becoming a member, Kelly!

The post Like Pulling Teeth Sometimes: A Dancing Rabbit Update first appeared on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

Signs of fall: A Dancing Rabbit Update

The Webmaster — Tue, 01 Sep 2026 14:34:11 +0000

The last few weeks here have felt marked by a combination of frenzy and fatigue. The program season is rushing toward its conclusion, bringing with it a flurry of activity, while the weather and our energy levels have finally begun to cool. The running joke is “it’s finally fall!”, although we have a ways to go until the equinox.

In some ways, though, it still feels very much like summer. The humidity remains high, flowers are still blooming, and the community garden is flush with beans, cucumbers, eggplants, potatoes, greens, and well, the tomatoes have been notably absent. Victims, we suspect, of the thieving raccoons who have apparently decided that our garden is their personal buffet.

By the way, this is Keith. I’ve lived in the village for two years and just officially became a member of Dancing Rabbit. I live here with my small family unit and do remote work in the behavioral health field on top of my various engagements with the community here. This is my first attempt at writing one of these newsletters.

The last two weekends marked the completion of the Cob Oven Workshop and Singing Rabbit, our community’s singing festival. I had a chance to chat briefly with some of the attendees of the Cob Oven Workshop, who appeared to be having a thoroughly good and very muddy time helping to build the new cob oven for Critter Kitchen. It is very satisfying to watch friends and guests transform simple materials into something tangible that will serve many for years to come.

Next up is our final visitor program of the season and the Ecovillage Weekend Experience (where visitors come for a long weekend and an abbreviated version of the visitor program). From mine and many others’ perspectives, this program season has so far been a success. I’m personally grateful for the opportunity to co-facilitate our Conflict and Communication workshops. It’s always a joy to talk with others about how communication and conflict take shape within the village, and each workshop gives us another opportunity to learn about the challenges people encounter.

As I’ve been planning and writing this newsletter, I’ve found myself reflecting on my perspective and relationship to the community. I have something of a unique situation as a member of Dancing Rabbit. I participate in village life: serving on committees, engaging in social activities, helping with the community garden, doing chores, and attending council meetings. However, I also work a traditional full-time job from my home office.

I have to be mindful of how I spend my time because the hours I have outside of work and caring for my family are limited. I often fear missing out. There is always something happening here, and when I know a gathering, project, conversation, or spontaneous adventure is unfolding just beyond my cob and plaster walls, it can be difficult not to wonder what I’m missing.

However, that limited time has given me a deeper appreciation for the life happening around me. I can often hear laughter, see people coming and going, or know that I’m missing a meeting or shared activity I’d rather be engaged in than doing my work. This makes the opportunities I do have to step away from my desk and engage with the community feel especially meaningful.

Even from my home office I’m noticing that as the season winds down, the rhythm of the village is changing again. The intensity of summer programs is giving way to a quieter season. There is still plenty happening, but there is also the promise of more breathing room with more lingering conversations, slower afternoons, and time to reconnect without quite so much urgency.

I’m particularly looking forward to fall this year: sweaters and flannel, fewer mosquitoes and ticks, and, most importantly, friends and family being a little less busy. There is something lovely about that seasonal shift. The world seems to exhale a little, and we get the opportunity to do the same.

After months of heat, activity, travel, workshops, gardens, meetings, muddy construction projects, and the general whirlwind of village life, I think I’m ready for that exhale.

Keith Wilder has joined our writer’s rotation for this publication. Welcome Keith!

The post Signs of fall: A Dancing Rabbit Update first appeared on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

Singin’ in the Rain: A Dancing Rabbit Update

The Webmaster — Tue, 18 Aug 2026 15:37:19 +0000

Here at DR a storm has just passed, leaving behind the hum of late summer crickets, the tapping of water droplets as they fall from leaf to leaf, and tentative bouts of birdsong in the forest canopy above me. A hearty plop emanates from my neighbor’s rain barrel as big drips of water release from the gutter into the now-brimming drum. The land feels drowsy and full.

It has been an August of storms, roaring in from the west, laying billowing sheets of rain across the prairie, making deep, clear puddles that delight the kids endlessly. The storms bring life and destruction, ripening the eggplants and peppers to glossy plumpness, while also strewing branches of fruit trees and maples haphazardly across the paths. Turbulence and resolution, potential and risk, new growth and demolition–all are encompassed in the wild Midwestern storms that both nourish and batter our community in the summer months.

In this season we have also faced some emotional storm systems as we grapple with big questions, including those of community membership, village council leadership, and the stewardship of our collective agreements. Topics like these, which dig deep into our individual sense of security and belonging, generate their own social weather–inner and interpersonal storms which buffet through our bodies, hearts, and minds before eventually blowing into the eastern horizon. They leave behind their own broken branches, as well as those reserves of water that come from facing hard things together and making it to the other side.

After four years living in community I have come to see moments of emotional turbulence and conflict as natural parts of the human ecosystem, arising out of social winds and pressure systems that are beyond any one person’s control. Often, we do not need to run from the storm, but rather, make sure our house is in order and we have pulled in the laundry.

August has also brought moments of excitement and change. Having declared July our “summer break” from hosting workshops and visitors, many of us returned from travels this month, and the kitchen co-op I eat with went from being a skeleton crew to operating at full capacity in a sweep of joyful reunions. We said bittersweet goodbyes to some beloved community kids as they made their way off to college, and said hello to a new collaborative school for the younger kids organized by several parents and community members. We hosted a really lovely group of participants in our first Ecovillage Experience Weekend of the season, as well as a large group of freshmen from Earlham College.

Looking forward, Alis is working hard to get the base ready for the new cob oven that will be built in Critter Kitchen next weekend and I am putting my time and energy toward prepping for Singing Rabbit, our community singing festival at the end of the month. I often get really stressed out planning gatheringings like this, but as a wonderful team of song leaders and space holders have coalesced around the event I have slowly let go into enjoying the process and starting to build my own excitement around creating beauty with my friends. All is ripening, the moon is waxing, soon we will teeter into fall.

Upcoming Programs:

August 28-30: Singing Rabbit (10 spots left) *Registration closes 8/25

Emeshe Amade is Co-Executive Director of DR’s nonprofit, the Center for Sustainable and Cooperative Culture. She is a regular contributing writer for this publication.

The post Singin’ in the Rain: A Dancing Rabbit Update first appeared on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

Sometimes Worth the Effort: A Dancing Rabbit Update

Connie Tao — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 18:46:06 +0000

This morning was the work party in the community garden, and similar to Emeshe, I often have a lot of deep thoughts while I’m working outside. I enjoy tackling village problems and working through big questions while I am busy pulling grass, looking for cucumber beetles, or harvesting basil tops.

Christina here, writing about effort, cynicism, and why I don’t like to grow carrots.

As it often does, the conversation this morning eventually went to the fencing issue. We have deer and rabbits that get in the garden and really demolish certain crops every chance they get. In the past we’re tried all sorts of methods to keep them out: adding chicken wire to the fence, tying string high over the fence, adding a string of electric wire around the perimeter, and even spraying a mixture of hot sauce and soap on the bean plants.

Eventually, the animals figured out a way to get what they wanted, and once they had access, they’d just mow down the crop they were after. Side note to animals: Are those sweet potato greens and bean leaves really worth all that effort when you have a whole forest right there??

So this year, we’ve given up in a few ways. We didn’t plant any sweet potatoes down in the community garden, and for the beans we have settled on a small bean cage, sort of like a fence within the fence, that seems to mostly work.

When I was a teacher, I learned fairly quickly that I could put in 100 percent and get about 90 percent from my students or I could put in 60 percent effort and get about 80 percent from them. Learning how to not burn myself out while still getting at least some of the outcome that I want has definitely been a lifelong struggle. And like so many things in life, trying to garden has been a great way to, um, re-relearn those valuable lessons.

I’m personally not a huge fan of beans, so it’s not such a tragedy for me; it seems like an easy way to give up that 40 percent.

The beans-and-sweet-potato issue also brings up the question of how much to be the garden grinch. I can be very cynical about growing food around here! I’ve been gardening in Northeast Missouri on and off for about 10 years, and between the bugs and the clay soil, there are some things that to me don’t seem to be worth the work–especially if I can get them easily at the store. So I’d personally pass on growing carrots, cabbage, onions, and watermelon.

But what if someone in the community garden is really passionate about growing something on that list? Do I try to tell them all the ways that I tried and failed to keep the borer worms off the zucchini? Do I try to convince them that the onions will probably be small, or they’ll bolt, or they’ll rot in a few weeks anyway? Or do I just let them put in the time and effort and see if they can prove me wrong?

I’ve found myself asking this same question with so many other endeavors that I have attempted and found mixed success with in the village. Whether the topic is homeschool co-ops, making money at pizza nights, or houses built with almost zero natural materials, I am rarely at a loss for an opinion. But when should I share that opinion, in the hopes that others learn from my mistakes? And when should I just let them try for themselves–and maybe prove me wrong? Last year we had an amazing onion crop, and the year before that, we grew some of the most delicious carrots I’ve ever tasted. And maybe the current crop of parents of young children will pull off a homeschool co-op after all.

I’ve settled on a philosophy of trying to keep my mouth shut more than I want to, which is probably a happy medium where I still say more than I should, but less than I otherwise would.

Ultimately, I don’t really expect to find answers to many questions in life–from beans to homeschool to building materials–but I do really enjoy spending time in the Down Below Community Garden, talking with friends new and old about big ideas and trivial stuff.

And if anyone is really excited about planting fall carrots, I promise to help weed and water them, even if I’m skeptical they’ll make it.

Christina Lovdal Gil is a regular contributing writer to this publication. She has lived with her family at Dancing Rabbit for 10 years.

The post Sometimes Worth the Effort: A Dancing Rabbit Update first appeared on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

Come sing your heart out at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage!

Connie Tao — Mon, 27 Jul 2026 17:30:55 +0000

Gather ‘round–we need you grounded
Calling our cousins into spaces we have woven
Bring the frayed ends of your fears, you are welcome here
We are not afraid of your light or your darkness, bring it

These are lyrics from a melody written and composed by song leader Biz (I wish I could be certain of their last name), from one of my favorite songs of all time. It is a call to step forward with the full spectrum of our wisdom and also the fearful prejudices that we carry. It is a gentle and courageous call, and one that I am now extending to you.

One of my favorite things about Singing Rabbit is that there is always a seat around the fire for everyone. Whether it is your first or your fifth time, you have a place here. No voice is too small or shy or inexperienced. I sing off-key all the time, especially when I try to catch an elusive harmony just out of my vocal range. I often forget lyrics to songs that I’ve been singing for years–right before it’s my turn to choose a song for the group to sing! I’ll mumble a few words, struggle through a snippet of melody, then suddenly, someone else in the circle remembers the rest, and with a collective breath, the song comes through.

It is in those moments of convergence that I am reminded of our capacity to build a culture that holds one another. In a song circle, the individual becomes a note in our collective chorus. I love to sing, but I rarely enjoy singing alone because my throat knows what it is to meet another in this act of vocal devotion.

Folks who know me well have heard me say that song circle is my church. Although community singing is not inherently religious, for me it is undeniably spiritual in the spontaneous connection I feel with myself, our planet, and people I know deeply–as well as people I may not even know the names of. When I sing with others, I am awestruck by the strength and beauty of our differences, similarities, and ultimately our interdependence. We don’t have to all agree on everything in order to share space with one another in a meaningful way. What we each carry into the circle only adds to the container we are building together. There is room for your grief, rage, regret, joy, sorrow, curiosity, ecstacy, playfulness, confusion, exuberance, and love. During some circles, I find myself spilling over with laughter. In other moments, silent tears stream down my face. No matter the emotion, I know that I am welcome; so are you.

Since I was a child, I have longed for a culture that fostered closeness, trust, and belonging amongst its people. When I moved to Dancing Rabbit with my family as a young teen and started attending group singing events locally and beyond, I finally experienced those pieces that had been missing in my youth. Starting at age 14, I witnessed deep emotional connection between strangers at singing events across the Midwest. I watched people who had never shared their singing voices with another soul open up for the first time. I started writing and teaching my own songs. I found instant, forever family through simply sharing my voice with others. I was so moved by what I experienced that I found myself saying yes over and over to help make events like Singing Rabbit possible, from taking on the responsibility of infrastructure leader at age 16 to finally leading my own song circle at age 21.

When traveling, I have a little propane single burner stove, and it’s wonderfully convenient. Unless I’m out of propane. So if I had to choose one cooking method, I’d leave the stove at home and pack the hatchet. I can’t think of many places where you can buy propane that you can’t find firewood, and all it takes is a couple of small branches to fry some potatoes. Many folks at Dancing Rabbit cook with gas (and electric), but I eat with the Critter Kitchen. We cook exclusively with fire (well, and sun). We can feed 10-15 mouths on two square meals a day on offcuts from construction projects, complemented by free scrap wood from the local furniture shop. It takes longer to cook (at least until you’re good with it), but it’s a great way to feed yourself. So long as you don’t mind the soot on your clothes–but hey, it’s a great way to hide the dirt.

These days I’m not much of a leader or a follower. I prefer to linger along the spectrum in between, which lends itself so well to group singing; even if I inhabit the role of song leader, what follows is always a co-creation with whomever is gathered. My dedication to song has never been a solo endeavor because I know that whatever melody emerges through the cracks in my life can become a part of something bigger that I will one day weave with others. I hope you will join me in this weaving of songs at Singing Rabbit, August 28-30 at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

I never know what exactly is going to transpire here between all of our voices, but that is what excites me the most: this mysterious force that brings the right people together at the right time, called by the mystique of melody, led by that which leads all of us toward deeper connection with ourselves, our planet, and our animal and human neighbors near and far. We will be singing, of course, and probably dancing. Also eating great food. Oh, and smiling and laughing a lot. So, you should come. Take your seat in the circle. Bring all that lives inside of you. I will do the same. See you soon.

Prairie Johnson has been singing in song circles since she was 14 and writing songs since age 11. She has led songs for community singing events Village Fire and Singing Rabbit, parties, events, workshops, and the other myriad cracks in Earth’s corners that only songs can fill. She attended Dancing Rabbit’s weekly song circle from 2017-2023 where she got her first taste of song leading in community. Prairie is a spoken-word poet, writer, pianist, avid reader, lover of food, bare feet on the Terra, biking, cooking, and the enlivening love-mess-nest of authentic connection with humans.

The post Come sing your heart out at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage! first appeared on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.

Heat and Harvest: A Dancing Rabbit Update

Connie Tao — Mon, 20 Jul 2026 19:27:29 +0000

Dew is dripping off tomato vines, plaster is getting smeared on sun soaked walls, and everyone is a little grumpy. Yup. It’s high summer in the ecovillage, and despite rampant sweatyness, itchiness, and brain fog, we are continuing to work together on our collective projects–ideally indoors or between the hours of six and 10 in the morning.

Emeshe here, with a Dancing Rabbit update.

One thing I feel proud of this year is our community garden, which we have started to colloquially call the Down Below Garden because it sits towards the bottom of a long, sloping hill. Its location allows us to use the gray water from the showers, sinks, and washing machine in our common building to water the plants. Gravity draws the water down into a constructed wetland that empties into a vibrant green pond ever-ringed by croaking frogs this time of year. In the spring, an intrepid gardener wades into this pond and siphons the hose so water can flow even further downhill to the garden, hopefully without getting a mouth full of pond slime in the process. This system allows us to reuse water to grow food, which I think is pretty cool. It also means we need to be really careful about what soaps and shampoos we use so we can maintain a balanced ecosystem and not introduce anything we don’t want into the soil.

I’m very much a beginner gardener myself, so it’s incredibly humbling and gratifying to get to learn from the more experienced people around me. Organic gardening takes a lot of care and attention to detail. It also takes knowing the natural environment deeply and being able to shift methods creatively as different years present us with different problems. For example, this year is bringing us a bumper crop of flea beetles which simply delight in consuming the tender leaves of the eggplant. The solution we came up with when the plants were young was a combination of mesh row cover, regular dusting with diatomaceous earth, and giving the plants a morning pat down with tape–a process which made me feel both morose and also quite satisfied. Many flea beetles met a sorry fate by my hand, stuck to our trusty roll of blue duct tape, with a little prayer that they find peace in whatever form they take next.

A community garden isn’t just about tending plants, however. It is in large part about tending and nurturing human relationships. Just as organic gardening takes adaptability, flexibility, and a willingness to roll with the punches, so does organic group organizing. Working with other people requires a solid amount of surrender, particularly if it’s in an anarchic setting where nobody is officially in charge. This method requires good communication, a commitment to show up for your friends, a certain detachment from control, and, perhaps most importantly, a willingness to give people a little grace and gratitude even when they planted okra in the bed you were saving for squash.

The degree to which I micromanage and try to push for specific outcomes has definitely decreased since I moved to community. Trying to impose what I think is right on the multifaceted and ever-evolving fabric of group life just tires me out and rarely achieves the best end result. Instead, what I’ve found works for me is an orientation towards listening, engaging with curiosity, and a commitment to process over product. In the garden, and in all things, people’s energy, availability, and inspiration comes in waves and I find that riding those waves gets me a lot farther than trying to swim upstream and force a work party on a day when people are busy, uninspired, or just plain hot.

Overall, this organic method seems to work for our gardening cohort, although it can produce unexpected results. Things are definitely not planted where we said they were going to go on the garden map we crafted in March, but there are abundant potatoes to harvest for lunch, plenty of kale to share, and the promise of almost infinite tomatoes, eggplant, and cucumber on the horizon, so I am happy to keep showing up and letting things unfold.

Emeshe Amade is Co-Executive Director of DR’s nonprofit, the Center for Sustainable and Cooperative Culture. She is a regular contributing writer for this publication.

The post Heat and Harvest: A Dancing Rabbit Update first appeared on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.