Howdy y’all. This is Ben, bringing you the latest spring happenings from Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage and environs. The asparagus is triumphant in these warm wet days, as is the milkweed shoot, in case you haven’t any asparagus established somewhere.
Peering down across the West Slope from stately Critter Heights we have great swaths of green grass, succulent and swaying freely. We move the goats and sheep onto a new paddock every two days, the high protein spring growth bringing forth a bounty of fresh milk to satisfy our family and our lambs and kids as well. Every other morning we scythe a block of grass, move portable electric netting, set it up and let the goats, sheep, and donkey in to eat the candy. The goats are particularly fond of wild parsnip and poison ivy this time of year.
I haven’t eaten much of that stuff, but there are currently a lot of spicy purple mustard greens in my life. A lot. During our most recent snow I broadcast a goodly amount of mustard seed in the garden as a sort-of mulch, and now I’m going to have to eat my way through a fair bit of mustard greens if I want to make room for other plant babies.
The days grow gradually longer, beginning as I groggily greet the masses of chirping birds flocking along the tree line. Nowadays, with our recent shipment of mixed heritage large breed chicks, the chirping never ceases until the evening hours. A mere four or five days old as I write this, we are heating bricks in the sun oven or on a fire and sticking them under the chick brooder to simulate the warmth of a broody hen. Sometimes Althea collects succulent chickweed and dandelions for the little chooks to get them interested in foraging from a young age. In our yet unfinished root cellar, we have a Muscovy duck sitting on some fertilized chicken eggs as another sort of off-grid brooding system.
In some ways spring is abundant. We have all the eggs, milk and greens we could want, as well as the hottest compost at Dancing Rabbit, and a rapidly growing flock/herd/tribe of animals that will provide us with both the fertility and sustenance we need to thrive as an agrarian sub-community. As far as humans go, however, we are severely deficient. By this time last year, we had our first work exchanger for six weeks. As of now, the Critter project is short of staff, with trees to plant, rocket stoves to cob, outdoor kitchens to build, and sheep that need shorn. I’m sure there is someone out there who can relate. I sometimes make lists, but in the daily chaos of our homestead, the lists get lost in the shuffle somewhere in between the committee binders and the castration bands. They resurface every few days, resurrected briefly, as fire starter.
The messes are abundant in spring. I just got around to stretching the deer hide I’ve had “preserved” in a bucket since Halloween. We have seed potatoes stashed in our laundry, buckets of chicken slop, buckets of buckwheat greens, buckets of something that I can’t tell what it is … I might be fossil fuel free, but I love me some white plastic buckets. You almost never see the buckets in pictures, but they’re here, you’ll see. I don’t mind ‘em a bit, personally. In fact, they, like sunchokes and mustard greens, are key to my survival.
And I’d rather have a lot of buckets than, say, a lot of tar sands, or a lot of electricity, or a lot of bills. Still, my warren is currently tough to appreciate, visually. I like things that work. Sometimes, the things that work aren’t pretty, like our outhouse. Some things that work are pretty, like an apple tree, or a bicycle. Then there are things that don’t work and aren’t pretty, like some old windows I’ve been holding onto for two years, or an impressively large mound of clay. There’s a reason our warren isn’t on the website, but by and large it is functional, with some subdued elements of beauty. It is also an easy place to trip on a bucket or odd shaped log.
So it’s Sunday as I write this, and I am in the computer room of the common house, which is used by dozens of folks and still is functional enough for my life. I check the radar for an approaching storm, when I could be fencing a chick yard or throwing siding on our kitchen or fixing all the bikes that need fixing around here. I don’t know where my daughter is at, but she knows what not to eat, or more importantly, where the food is at.
I feel calm, but eerie calm, like the lingering overcast sky. Like yesterday, right before a thundershower let on when I had to herd a very bouncy wayward sheep, and then unroll a massive round straw bale with Kyle out along a freshly planted contour strip in our silvipasture project. I am weary yet ready to act. This is spring at the eco-village. Mae, Sparky, and I have spent one potentially stormy afternoon this week pulling our Conestoga wagon-like shade device out to pasture to avoid sad, noisy, wet mini-donkeys.
The day before that I was helping out, in my own way, with the Give STL Day event. It sort of felt like being on a telethon, only in the common house, with kids coming in to get water and loiter. It was nice to have a break from subduing goats and planting potatoes. Anyhow, big thanks to all of those who participated in giving that day. Thanks especially to my Mom, who gives something to someone every day.
I go home for a moment, to put some bricks under some chicks. A storm brews, with clouds swelling faster than the expanding green on the tree limbs. I look around at my ducks and white buckets. The yard is strewn with lumber and deer bones. A light drizzle falls on the blooming horseradish. There’s a lot to do. Sometimes I think that Dancing Rabbit has a lot of superheroes.
Being able to manage a micro-sustainable-homestead requires a wide variety of skills, and those skills aren’t nearly as wide as what’s required to create a whole sustainable village. Sometimes, in these busy days, I see folks zip by as if to find a phone booth where they can put on their cape and tights and use their special super-power to aid our village and our planet.
You see what I do. Mostly I put bricks under chicks. Being a stay at homestead dad is my eco-super power right now. It’s easy at times because my child hardly ever stays at home herself. The best thing about being a superhero in eco-town is that I don’t have to be particularly good at my superpower to make a positive difference. There are chicken mothers in this neighborhood that seem better than me, or more accustomed at least.
There are gardeners who grow a wider variety of foods than mustard greens, sunchokes, and ducks. I make the best dandelion schmizzle, and I have the hottest compost. We all win. Nobody has to be a full fledged superhero all the time in a village where there’re so many of us with such diverse powers.
The storm has skirted us this time. The sun is out, and I must go. Like I said this is Sunday. I don’t know when the Sabbath really is and I don’t suppose it matters too much when, because I think the point is that people should take a break every once in a while. I probably won’t do that today, but it sounds like a good idea sometimes. I can rest, or not.
Either way I might get to see a hummingbird or a snake, and they never stop doing what they do. My human and non-human friends and neighbors both have a lot to offer in terms of superpowers. I cannot unhinge my jaw and eat a rat, like a snake, but I like that snakes do that. I cannot pollinate like a bee, or do math like an accountant, and I’m very lucky to have bees and accountants in my life that are my friends. That’s all I have to say right now, and so long.
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Check out this upcoming event! DR is hosting an educational workshop “Hands On” Intro to Natural Building, taught by Rabbit and builder Hassan Hall, on Saturday May 24th, right after the Village tour. The workshop, scheduled for 3:30 – 5:00 pm, costs $15 per person and will include: planning for different phases of construction; a look at some of the building techniques used at Dancing Rabbit: straw bale, light-clay straw, cob, earthbags, earthen plasters; and a hands-on experience with one of the above techniques. For more information, see the Events page on the Dancing Rabbit website.
Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage is an intentional community and nonprofit outside Rutledge, in northeast Missouri, focused on demonstrating sustainable living possibilities. Find out more about us by visiting our website, reading our blog, or emailing us.