Before I moved to rural Missouri, I didn’t realize there were so many different forms that snow could take: large flakes that float silently to the ground like the finest goose down, what look like tiny styrofoam balls that hit my coat with a hard pat-pat-pat sound, and a combo of rain and ice called freezing rain that stings my face as I walk from my cottage in the hinterlands of the village to coffee group at the Mercantile.
Liz here, sending you snowy holiday greetings and an update on my home, Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage.
There are a few more official weather names for forms of water that I hadn’t heard of until I moved to the Midwest (like freezing fog), although there are not nearly as many names in English for different forms of rain as the Scottish use. And how do I know this? Yes, you guessed it, my winter watching guilty pleasure is Outlander and now I’m hyper aware and enthusiastic about all things Scottish (and unabashedly so, thank you very much!). All I need now is a romance with a Highlander descendant and my life will be complete (but only after, of course, he has spent several years adjusting to ecovillage life and been vetted by the community during our challenging residency process).
When I was still living in California, some friends moved from California to Minneapolis, and the advice they got about surviving the winter there was to get outside as much as possible. I think about that during each of the nine winters I’ve been at DR, and this winter I’m once again aspiring to this advice. Going for a walk in the snow might seem unpleasant to my neighbors, but I find it invigorating. After being inside for a while, the landscape is a welcome change of scene and is quite beautiful in the snow. After growing up on the coast of Northern California, where the landscape changes from brown hills in the summer to green hills in the winter, a winter wonderland right outside my door is magical.
This winter I have returned as a host of coffee group at the Mercantile once a week, and I’m witnessing a change in our village demographics, and in the coffee group vibe. Instead of older folks with all the time in the world for conversation and an atmosphere not unlike a coffee shop anywhere in America, I see an eating co-op of parents and young children sitting down to breakfast, the Dairy Co-op folks banging and clanging their way through filtering fresh milk in the kitchen, and diehards like me raising my voice over the din, determined to have a conversation while trying to welcome everyone, as a good host must do. Rolling with the group vibe is the epitome of community living, and in this case, I embrace it.
Adults and children in the village have been making paper maché lanterns for a lantern walk on the Solstice for several weeks now. On the Solstice, a group of us gathered in the Casa to sing songs beckoning the return of the sun’s light on the longest night of the year. We then went outside to light the lanterns and walk together through the village. An appreciation for ancient rituals stirs in me when I think of how many centuries humans have marked this pattern of the sun. And it makes me happy to think of how we are able to celebrate this as a community.
Cob sent out invites to the community for his annual Christmas Eve dessert potluck at his home, Thistledown. He has been hosting this event well before I moved to DR nine years ago, and I look forward to it every year. For several weeks before, his home becomes a cookie and confection factory, as he sends edible goodies to friends and family as well. My favorite is always the candied orange slices dipped in dark chocolate, and I try to get to the potluck early enough to get a taste. I tuck myself into a corner where I can see everyone and nibble on goodies with a glass of wine, while the large house hound, Penny, invariably snuggles next to me on the bench seat. Now that’s a good party…
DR’s Christmas brunch potluck has been announced as well, and I’ve made plans for my contribution. Every year I bring cranberry sauce made with bourbon and orange zest. It’s a dish I used to make every Christmas and Thanksgiving in my pre-DR life, and while I could still make it for myself, it tastes better made for a crowd.
I salute our nonprofit during this time of year, for being a solid pillar for our community, a source of change and possibility, and a place where hardworking and inspired Rabbits can advocate for progress. We are currently running our end of year fundraising campaign. The money we raise goes toward fulfilling DR’s mission of promoting and sharing our sustainable way of life and our ecological viewpoint. Please consider a donation if DR has inspired you, allowing us to continue to inspire others.
Double your impact and help us reach our $20,000 matching goal!
In honor of the Solstice, I’ll leave you with this quote by Christine Caine:
“Sometimes when you’re in a dark place, you think you’ve been buried, but actually, you’ve been planted.”
Liz Hackney has been editor of this publication for the past five years and a contributing writer for the last nine. She spends most of her time constructing the straw bale building called the Hub. For more information and photos of the build, see thehubcollective.substack.com.