I can’t help but feel lucky to be writing to you while I have 2 gallons of barbecue sauce in the pressure canner and a cute stray snoozing on a dog-bed by my back door. The barbecue sauce has a home, but this little 15-pound wonder-dog came home with me the other night and has been rumored to have been wandering from Rutledge to other further neighbors’ homes for a number of weeks now.
Julie here, writing to you this week beneath sheets of rain, and from atop its consequence, “quick mud”. I haven’t seen tomato blight since I was gardening in Connecticut back in 2009, and never thought I’d ever see the likes of it in these parts.
In the past 3 years, I’ve seen the ground so parched that its deep cracks shifted house foundations. Our gardens were so dry that you could almost hear their collective sighs as they were relieved with our sun-baked garden hoses, revitalized with portioned precious water until the next unanswered hope for rain. You get the idea.
Not so for 2014.
Although I am very grateful that I’ve only had to water my garden a grand total of once this year, not counting getting seedlings started, it seems a bit disturbing that moderation seems to be a word that is absent from mother nature’s vocabulary as of late. Now, I’m not sure how normal these yearly fluctuations really are looking back historically, but to me, the idea of feast or famine in terms of getting water needs met doesn’t feel sustainable from just about any standpoint. Of course there are notable expected differences year over year due to El Nino, La Nina, and the Jet and Gulf streams. The dichotomous extremes between this year and last are so unlike one another that it would seem that there is no reasonable explanation that doesn’t include a disruption of the natural order of things. Here’s to hoping that we experience a tad bit more balance in the future.
When it isn’t raining, I’ve been taking advantage of the 280 acres we have access to as one of the perks of living here, like ripe, wild plums that can be harvested with a small shake of a branch. These sweet juicy fruits can serve as refreshment along a walk on our mowed paths that follow both the perimeter of our land, as well as countless side paths that meander along prairies blanketed with purple bergamot.
It’s a beautiful time of year to camp at a campsite here, cook food on an open fire, and sleep under the stars. Of course, some of us do that everyday, but for me it is an event. Whenever I allow myself this treat, it seems as though my internal clock is reset in ways that living in my house cannot. There’s always a lot of stimuli in the village portion of our land, with our homes being very close to one another in a “village model”, and sometimes it’s just nice to get away and reestablish an inner rhythm.
This week brought with it a definitive decision from long-term member Sam. She has just purchased a house in West Virginia, and is hoping to begin the next chapter of her life nestled in an area of picturesque natural beauty. She has an entrepreneurial spirit that will allow her to thrive irrespective of her geographical locale. I have no doubt that we’ll soon be hearing about this thriving business or another. Good luck Sam, we love you!
But back to the pup, I don’t think I can keep her, as I seem to be moderately allergic. She looks to be about a year old, doesn’t seem to bark at all, does well on a leash, is house trained, and knows how to sit. Her red coloring and fluffy tail resemble that of a fox, and she needs and deserves a home that will spoil and love her as much as I plan on doing for as long as she is under my care. If nobody responds to the fliers I made to find her owner, I can only give her to a very loving and attentive person. Please consider making room for this pup in your life by offering her a forever home!
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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.