‘Oh, it’s cold!’ ‘Oh, it’s hot!’ ‘Oh, it’s rainy!’ ‘Oh, it’s dry!’ It seems like you hear a lot from us about the weather. It’s not that we’re complaining, we are just affected. For us the weather isn’t small talk (it is that as well), but here the weather holds great sway over many aspects of our lives.
Stephen here with my first appearance on the MemDem roster. That was my small talk, back to the weather…
Here, weather is not just a background painted upon our lives, as it is for many people living in cities; for us it is part of the paint with which we color our canvas.
A week ago the temperature was about 65 degrees colder than it is as I write this now. That was a six and and a five. The thermometer on the dashboard of the car to which I was constrained read -15 degrees F in that late morning Monday. That was a big deal. We were tested. We claim to know a thing or two about natural building; we claim that straw bales can insulate houses as well as, if not better(?), than standard materials; we claim that burning wood can keep us warm in these cold winter months. This week we were tested. And how did we fare?
Well, we all fared differently, as is the way with the world. Each of us are different people with different proclivities and different ways we react to the waves of life. And we even, believe it or not, build and warm our houses in different ways. One thing was common, though, between all of us—the locals gathering at Zimmerman’s Store and the more local Rabbits and RedEarthers and Sandhillers—we all loved to talk about how insanely cold it was. And it was. The coldest on record in an unknown (by me) number of years. And we all felt a little bubble of pride that we were surviving through it, and surviving with relative comfort.
Ted I found smiling because his off-grid power system was floating high on that sunny cold windy day, and he had the freedom, he felt, to do whatever he wanted. Hassan and Dee were warm and toasty in their little round Hermitage. And I’m sure the Mercantile was nice and toasty serving up coffee at 8 in the morn. Others, I know, were warm as well, and others were warm enough, and I know even others were downright cold. Two animals actually did not make it through the night. It is quite sad.
I, along with Jennifer and Cynder, were warm and toasty, a little too toasty, if I may say so, three to a hotel room in Quincy. What? Hotel room? Excuse me? Did you say that you escaped the cold in the ecovillage by going to a hotel?! Welllll, that isn’t quite as it seems. You see, while we (the Royal we) were cuddled in our strawbale and related houses, Jennifer and Cynder were coming back on the Amtrak from Chicago to Quincy. And while we (again, Royal) were stoking our fires, Jennifer and Cynder were waiting on the train, stuck in some Illinois town, for Amtrak to fix the engine which couldn’t handle it in that weather. And while we (I should just say they) were sitting, warming toes by the fire and looking romantically out the window, I (the quite common non-courtly, I) was sitting inside of a warm movie theater in Quincy waiting for Jennifer and Cynder to arrive so we could drive back to our romantic country vista as well.
But their train never got fixed. I continued my movie watching experience. (American Hustle is great, by the way, just great). They hopped on the next train that would arrive 10 hours later, and that train too broke in the exact same spot. Weather is not just small talk. It was late, I ended my movie experience, checked into a hotel, and waited for their eventual 4:30am phone call to say they have arrived and would love my presence to pick them up. I did. We had a sweet little hot nap for a few hours until daylight brought stale hotel breakfast, and then we headed home…to our romantic country vista. And to my romantic and beautiful house, that had now, in 27 hours without fire or human presence, dropped to 20 degrees, and had lovely romantic jars of frozen water, only one of which was shattered.
The weather warmed, spirits rose, and some of us decided to go sledding. And oh! Oh, what a world! They built a jump! To jump on…with a sled. Sounds to me like a bruised butt waiting to happen, but well, you know those…adults…these days. The kids were smart enough to avoid the jump. We have something to learn from them. More than one thing, of course. However, no matter how much Simon and Mariana tried to avoid the jump, it sucked them into its vortex and spit them out like a wood chipper. Most especially Simon. Mariana fared ok. Simon, however, was so badly leg-hurting that he could not be removed from the sled with which he was travoised (is that a word?) by Bear up the hill back to the village.
David, our friendly neighbor from Edina, and coincidentally Simon’s dad, knocked on my door asking if I would drive them to the hospital in a DRVC car (the sled was too big to fit in their small sedan). It was three in the afternoon and I was procrastinating on my writing project, yet a selfish piece in me still wanted to stay home and do, well, nothing. And then I thought about that, and I thought about all of the myriad of reasons that I moved to community, and I thought about what has really given me life in the past few years, and I found the mutual support and lifting up of our fellow humans. So, I gladly got my coat and became the designated (not hurt) driver.
We drove. We talked about Charles Eisenstein and The Ascent of Humanity. Simon was quiet and content enough. He was hurting too much to philosophize about life. And he is only, like, five years old. We arrived at the hospital (not yet the emergency room) and I walked in to see what we should do with our boy still on the sled, and there, lo and behold, sat our friendly Sandhill neighbors, Trish and Emory! What a world! One of the aspects I love about living in this small little community is all of the overlapping connections that are constantly happening…like running into your friends at the hospital.
For them it was nothing too serious or surprising, Joe was in the back getting his shoulder injury inspected, routine maintenance of a sort that we must get used to as we dismantle our imperfect bodies (again, Royal we…scratch that, regular we). Back to Simon, poor guy, it turned out he had a very badly broken lower leg, and now, in this cold and icy weather, he has to hobble around with a cast and crutches. David is trying to get him a wheelchair of some kind to aid in the process. So, if any of you have one to donate, or would like to take the next few weeks off to carry Simon around, please contact David in Edina.
In other news, many people are still gone, which is sad, but it gave us the opportunity to have a quaint and lovely little potluck at Sandhill where we all sat around the kitchen table! Imagine that. Well, it happened. Thankfully Rae and Kassandra and Ben and Mae and little Althea are back and in high spirits. And Sharon shipped off to her permaculture chocolate farm in Ecuador for a month. Yeah, I feel sorry for her too. Don’t worry Sharon, you’ll be back to winter soon enough!
And to tail off this lengthy initial column, I would like to mention our celebration last night. A celebration of nothing, of course. It actually wasn’t even a celebration, really. We, at Ironweed, were just lucky enough that Hassan decided it would be enjoyable for him, and us, if he made sushi for dinner. That’s right, I spoke correctly, sushi. Like the kind you get in New York. But this was more of the California style, no not quite California style, Missouri style. We had no fish or minced crab meat; we had bell pepper, avocado, fermented rutabaga, grilled tofu, raw tofu, egg, mung bean sprouts, cheddar cheese, cream cheese, grated apple, and, my favorite, almond butter. Where have you been so lucky to have that assortment of ingredients in your sushi? Go to your favorite sushi fusion restaurant and order that instead of tekka maki and they will kick you right out the door.
So, to conclude, now, in this moment that I write, we are experiencing an unseasonably sunny 51 degree day, yes five-one, and everyone’s spirits are alive and bright. Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but mine are!
Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage is an intentional community in northeast Missouri, practicing ecologically sustainable living. We offer free public tours on the second and fourth Saturdays of the month from April-October. Tours are over for this year, but you can find out more about DR by visiting our website, reading our blog, or emailing us.