Howdy, reader! Kenny here with a meditation on individual responsibility within the collective whole (or at least, what thoughts I can stick together as the world melts my thoughts like so much Dairy Co-op ice cream at the pond).
It has been a hot, sticky summer in Northeast Missouri. I have formed a close personal attachment to the box fan that was donated to me upon my arrival to DR; anything I can do to cool down Allium, the 400-square-foot cottage the Goslings and I call home. As someone who tries to be conscientious about their AC usage, the breeze and that fan are often our only respite from the heavy, wet air.
Fortunately, the straw bale walls and earthen plaster do a lot for keeping things cool. The only thing that could drastically increase the inside temperature would be, say, if a five year old were to leave the door open when they leave to go to the playground right across the gravel road (not naming names).
One of the many lessons I have learned about living life as a Rabbit, is the immense importance of one’s sense of individual responsibility. There is truth in the magic and strength of community to hold people as they are, and it draws on the hard work and dedication of the whole. Being able to contain the sometimes conflicting feelings that 1) the collective will hold me, and that 2) my responsibilities are my own, is fuel for some occasionally crippling cognitive dissonance.
As a parent to three rambunctious, mischievous, and perfect kids (my sweet, silly Goslings), my attention is often split between farm work, personal projects, and the Goslings themselves as they buzz around the clarion days like the many, many, many bugs who share an affinity for the same conditions. My responsibility is always to them; to provide a safe, secure place to land when they’re overwhelmed, when they need water, sunscreen and comfort, and to shepherd them through the emotions that arise in their beautiful, multifaceted lives, as well as to act as their liaison with the adult world that surrounds them.
There has been a wave of children washing through the village as of late, and my privilege has enabled me the opportunity to continually provide a cool, shaded place for them to gather, get a sandwich, and some comfy space to color a picture. The kids of the village are as safe as they feel they are; otherwise problems that may need adult intervention may never arise.
At the same time, I owe myself and my kids the grace to say (to whoever is knocking on our door as I write this), “no kids over for now, we need time to reset and be quiet in our space.” This was harder for me to do before moving here. Boundary making and setting was something I did not learn until I became a parent, and I have had immense difficulty applying to myself. “Yes” was the default; anything to make others happy. It took far too many yeses to land me in a place where I was out of anything left to give, even to myself, and when I have nothing left, I have nothing to share.
Individual responsibility used to mean simply recognizing one’s singular responsibility to provide for the whole. I am working through the realization that individual responsibility is also a responsibility to my individual self (and the selves of the Goslings). I can only give to this community if I am not running on a deficit. I can trust others to do the same, and to respect the feedback of telling them that things feel out of balance. Nobody is going to raise my kids for me, but there are so many people willing to raise them with me, and I only have to be willing to allow them to share that responsibility.
There are Rabbits who take time out of their schedule to mow common paths, one of which goes right by my home at the front of the village, and so often I do not need to worry about a strict lawn care schedule. Also, my individual warren (a plot of land managed by a Rabbit) is my responsibility. There are common paths that cut through my yard and a communal laundry line that those in my immediate subcommunity of surrounding warrens utilize, and the maintenance of those pathways and utilities falls on those who rely on them.
Cutting back the ever-encroaching foliage is a season-long obligation. There are wild berry bushes with raspberries, blueberries, and dewberries, which fill our pies, fruit salads, and often, the bellies of village kiddos. There are abundant, invasive mulberry trees which bring bittersweet fruit, and frustratingly fecund flies. There are wild grapevines that weave through the lattice, shading my home (and blessedly, my outhouse). And there are the many, many prairie grasses that all make seasonal appearances, and the harvesting, cultivating, pruning, and weeding thereof are responsibilities of the whole; the whole, of course, made up of individuals.
Recycling needs sorting, paths need mulching, tools need maintenance, libraries of things need organizing, the Free Store needs stocking, the Common House needs cleaning (especially after the weekly potluck), and it’s not my revolution if the dishes aren’t getting done.
Individual responsibilities can be difficult for me to fulfill, especially when the air is nearly as wet as the pond, and when the pond water is the same temperature as a hot bath. Earlier this week, I spent hours and hours working through dozens and dozens of emails concerning committee work, parenting schedules, village events, cook shifts, money and insurance management, healthcare, land trust bureaucracy, management of the queer collective’s wexer projects, pride celebration plans, and village council selection preparation, all while taking care of the menagerie of requests from the Goslings throughout the sweltering day, and by 6 pm I was spent. So much work, so many emails sent, so many chores done by me and me alone in my room, some “village,” right?
After I stood and stretched and took several breaths in front of the fan, I settled the Goslings and got changed to go help out a dear friend. She is someone who arrived at DR around the same time as me, and who is already deep into the immense project of turning a patch of prairie into their very own home on their very own warren. She and I have shared similar lamentations about the difficulty of involving others in highly specified work, how, sometimes, it’s much easier to not stop what you’re working on to explain to someone else how they can be helpful. And then, there I was, with her and over a dozen other people. She was calling out directions and within the hour, a 12-foot wall, the first of the build, was up and braced and there were celebrations and tears and calls of congratulations for the collective effort that came together with just a single request to the community. The magic is in the union of the individuals recognizing their individual responsibilities, not the things they’re ultimately responsible for, but the things that we all are, and that couldn’t get done without a lot of responsible individuals. I love it here.
Kenny Dane has leaped into community life and we’re so very glad! Kenny and the Goslings have added much life and love to our village.