Howdy, gentle reader. Ben here, boots dripping from the morning’s trudge through the coupla’ three inches of wintry snow slush that has accumulated since the other night, heralding the arrival of spring. Yes spring is here, and though perhaps not in the air, it is most certainly on my mind, as I have (with the help of some friends) undertaken my first “spring cleaning” task of the season. No, I didn’t shower, but I did clear, disassemble and reassemble our mobile home and transfer it to a new location, using only human power. When I say mobile home, what I mean is yurt.
A yurt, for the uninitiated, is a traditional Mongolian dwelling, favored by nomadic herders for its ability to break down and move with the herd. It is usually made of fiber and wood, not unlike a tent, but much sturdier and rounder. Anyhow, that’s what I live in these days, and though a Mongolian herding family could probably take apart and put together a yurt in less than half a day, it unexpectedly took us three of four. Not wanting to sound self-centered (which I am), I will dutifully if not reluctantly relate to you the general chain of events surrounding our micro-migration, as the details of said move have completely engulfed my mental process for the past week. It was to be a test of my physical strength, intellectual cunning, and communication skills, and in all arenas I was found to be lacking. Day one, colloquially known as “Schlepp Day” featured the movement of all our worldly possessions to the top of the hill, where our home would soon sit. Now, granted a 175 square foot home probably does not contain as much stuff as a 4000 square foot one, but we really like to pack it in, as anyone who visits us can attest. The daylong work party (kind of an oxymoron, those two words) featured some amount of humiliation on my part. Without the benefit of cardboard boxes, all of our stuff (including our dirty laundry) was just sitting atop the hill, naked and vulnerable for the whole village to see. I am so grateful to live in a community where nobody judges me for the amount of recycling I horde. And attempting not to uphold the stereotype that rabbits are less than tidy, I must still report that the spring cleaning portion of day one was shocking, to say the least. I found many, many interesting trinkets beneath the furniture, including a sizable wad of cash.
Day two was the actual transport of our yurt. The fifty odd roof-poles, collapsible lattice walls, fabric covers, door, deck, and other related paraphernalia were disassembled and carried up to the hill. If it hasn’t been stated clearly enough, we did not choose to use a motorized vehicle for this, though it would have been faster. There is no specific policy about this at Dancing Rabbit, I’m just a curmudgeon when it comes to internal combustion. In Mongolia, this work is typically performed by oxen, but here we just call on friends, because I have more friends than oxen, they’re cheaper to feed, and generally make better conversation. By the end of day two, practically everything we owned was waiting for us at our new home site. It was one small schlepp for man, one giant schlepp for mankind. Ok, awful, gender-specific puns aside, day three was a change of pace. It was just me and my screwdriver, putting the deck together. Our home was no longer coming apart, it was being built again. What a turning point! I would be remiss to not mention that during this whole transition Mae, Althea and myself stayed in the Gnome Dome, sleeping on perhaps the smallest, oddest shaped bed at DR. Ouch. Day four was probably the most fun for me. We put the yurt up, and rather quickly, and began to import and arrange our furniture, books, tools, et cetera. The crowning achievement was the installation of our wood stove. I say this because after finishing that job, I promptly ceased to achieve anything. It was a couple hour fiasco involving an extremely awkward, heavy section of insulated stovepipe, the tippy top of a ladder, and crawling through a small triangular aperture. I think I gained some weight this winter, because it was a much easier squeeze for me to accomplish in October. Regardless, I was able to make it all happen, once again with help and support of some friends, and our chimney now happily draws exhaust out of our home, albeit at an angle that can best be described as rakish. If you like things that are plumb perfect, you may choose to bypass our house during the Saturday tour.
Technically speaking we have most of the same neighbors in our new neck of the woods; Robinia/Magic Schoolbus, Tim, and The Hermitage now lie to the East and South of us as opposed to the West and North, but there are some new voices up at our new homestead along the old hedge fence line. Cardinals and mourning doves fluttered and sang above us most mornings this week, and we hope to form good neighborly relations with them, as well as the skunks, rabbits, and deer which also have made their presence known previously up at the new neighborhood. As for the field mice… time will tell if diplomacy is the best strategy. I look forward to spending hot summer days within the embrace of osage shade. We are now situated near Dancing Rabbit’s new agricultural zone, and I expect that our quiet, secluded campsite will witness a lot of bustle and activity in the times ahead. As it is now, though, we have an amazing view of Try Again Prairie (successfully burnt last week), and a good portion of DR as well. From our front door we can see all the way to the Milkweed Mercantile, and to our north, the vineyard. In fact, last evening I enjoyed some of Dan’s wine whilst peering out at the rows of grapevine that produced the wine. I’ve eaten out of the garden before, but this experience was particularly inspiring to me. Not being a connoisseur of wine, I cannot offer a highfaluting endorsement without sounding amateurish, so I will only say that it was really, really good, just like the kind I can’t afford.
Ok, yurts and skunks and wine aside, this village was brimming with activity that I was too distracted to be present with. Despite the recent snow, some indicators of spring have come. The robins are here, fidgeting among the boughs and branches in their rowdy way. Geese honk across the sky, and I even heard the song of spring peepers on the outskirts of Rutledge. As I mentioned before, Land Management Team had a successful burn at Try Again Prairie. Mae and Joan built a chick brooder for some very special little birdies who will arrive soon. The Sisyphean task of inoculating oak logs with shiitake mushrooms continued on, without my presence this week, though I plan on jumping back into the task soon. By all accounts, the mushroom logging effort this season has been vast. In times to come, I will eat a lot of them (mushrooms, not logs). The tractor was out for a spin on Wednesday, mowing paths for the new agricultural zone, and on many warrens early season garden work was underway before the snow arrived. As for the garden that I will be cooperatively working with a few others, many of our seed flats have burst to life with little baby sprouts, doing my soul much good.
Speaking of little sprouts, this week we also welcomed our newest rabbit, Dmitri, with a “bon cabay”, or a traditional Nigerian head shaving ceremony. What I learned was that in Nigeria, where Alex and Bri served in the Peace Corps, a child is welcomed by the community in this manner, a week after her or his birth. I also learned a bit about Nigerian table manners, and find them to be more practical than those I was raised with. Though little Dmitri may have been nonplussed by the event, which one week olds often tend to be, I was thrilled by the drumming and traditional cuisine. It feels like a real gift to me that so many different cultural practices and traditions happen here in rural northeast Missouri, and I think we are all happy to have a new little one here to partake in it all.
Spring truly is a time of re-emergence. From the sprouts and shoots, to the fledgling birds, many of us living things are shedding the last vestiges of formation and hibernation in preparation for the active season, and on that note I’m going home to hibernate for one more day, while the snow keeps falling. By the time this reaches you, it may already be gone, and with some luck March will go out like a lamb. Bring on the solar shower weather!
Dancing Rabbit is an intentional community and educational non-profit in Rutledge, Missouri, focused on sustainable living. We offer free public tours twice monthly from April-October. For more info you can visit our website www.dancingrabbit.org or call (660) 883-5511