I am not a singer.
Nik here, and don’t get me wrong, I can carry a tune with a group. I even fronted a wailing band back in high school. But unlike some folks, a tune isn’t floating in the air as I walk down Main Street.
Coming home to Dancing Rabbit after a three-week-long trip, I am afraid that we brought an oppressive front of heat and humidity along with us. Overwhelmed with a feeling of homecoming gratitude mixed with a need to escape the heat, the first thing I did when we got in was head to the swimming pond.
Thankfully, not a lot had changed in our time away, though Hassan’s long, golden tresses are now short and he’s looking mighty dapper. Cans of seasonal jams and pickles have stacked up on the shelves of the Milkweed Mercantile, as well as a lot of progress on the building of the Milkweed’s honeymoon cottage, with the help of work-exchanger Irene and her dad, Norm (who has been an entertaining and cheerful guest for two weeks). The cottage will be a new rental space for guests of the Mercantile, and it will boast a (hold on to your skorts) solar-powered hot tub!
One change that Katherine was dreading on our trip was the inevitable growing up of her baby ducklings. What were peeping ping-pong balls of cuteness when we left had matured into peeping brown footballs!
As someone who hadn’t spent much time raising birds before this year, I hadn’t even thought of something that happens to all of us at a very special time in our lives. The ducklings’ voices started to change! They were hitting poultry-puberty, and their peep-peeping was gradually turning to little quack-quacking.
It was also a fantastic week to return for celebrations—Sharon celebrated her birthday with a Fiesta de Chocolate; sweet and savory dishes made with cocoa filled the table of her and Dennis’s timberframe and cob home, Robinia. Dan played a set of Latin-American songs on guitar, and everyone spoke Spanish for a chunk of the evening…well, some of us spoke and some of us stumbled.
Later, the very same evening, a group of us from Sharon’s party climbed the hill into Critterville. The candle-orange glow of a fire and the rhythmic sounds of drums grew as we neared the gathering. Didgeridoos buzzed alongside the cicadas. There was steady chatter of conversation and two of Bagel’s visiting friends from Chicago were dancing with flaming hula-hoops and juggling sticks. Our baker-extraordinaire intern, Dandelion, picked up a flaming hoop and joined in their dance. Jaws were collectively dropped, because we had no idea of her talent!
They all made patterns and movements that must have been practiced for years, and this doesn’t even touch the fact that not a single bit of fabric or flesh was burnt! Trails of fire danced in the night air for hours, along with the hypnotic drumbeat and didgeridoo roar (and more hidden talent was exposed, as I do now believe our didgeridoo competence ratio puts most places to shame).
It was a night like one I have held in my dreams of what Dancing Rabbit would be. I know that Dancing Rabbit and communities in general are never just one thing or one idea. But it was a perfect night that tickled my once-held preconceptions.
That first evening back home, as I emerged from the cool water, the last pink light of the sun faded from the horizon. Stars spattered across the Milky Way, already bright, and the frog and insect chorus crescendoed as I sat to dry on the wooden dock. Ursa Major hung in the northern sky.
Since I was a teenager, I would point out that most famous of constellations, and to whoever was my companion on that late-night stroll I would say, “That… is the BIGGEST dipper I’ve ever seen!” They’d groan, or sometimes even laugh if I was lucky. But me, I’d always laugh at my own lame joke.
Looking at the Big Dipper in the purple Missouri sky, I smiled to myself. For the first time in three weeks, I was without my companion; there was no one to groan at my joke. There is a joy in solitude, especially when community and companionship surround you all day. I smiled again at that thought, looked up at the stars, and began to quietly sing a song I learned at Dancing Rabbit:
We are living ‘neath the great Big Dipper
We are washed by the very same rain
We are swimming in this stream together
Some in power and some in pain.
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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.