community

When I set out, I wondered whom I would meet on the road. Who were these people that would be my new community, although we wouldn’t necessarily have a geographical location in common? What kinds of things would we have in common? What kinds of things or places were they searching for, and would they be able to give me directions on my search? Would I be able to offer words of advice or navigation to any of them, sending them to places I’d been, or experiences I’d lived?

I’ve already met a few; the WWOOFers here at the Hacienda seemed to form a mini-community. We work together, often at the same tasks, and we share our interests and ideas. I’ve been learning why my companions are traveling, a little about what they’re hoping to learn along the way. I must say we have similar goals. None of us seems to know what we’d like to do everyday. Some of us are hoping to live simply. A few of us are trying to learn how to live self-sufficient, sustainable lifestyles. There are even some who just want to travel cheaply!

I grew close to them in a short time, and found it just as difficult to say goodbye to those who’ve gone as it was for others I’d known longer. This is one thing I’m learning about myself: I need community.

I always thought of myself as a dyed-in-the-wool introvert, needing nobody and drawing my life from my own interests. Now I’m finding that, an introvert I may be, I need the people that surround me more than I ever thought. My time growing up at home and at college taught me that I could easily be worn down by spending too much time around others. My time at the Farm taught me to balance my time between being alone and being with those others who sometimes drained me. My time in contemplation of these things has taught me that I truly draw energy from those around me, and that I surround myself with a core group of people who can sustain me even when I am alone.

Growing up, I was lucky to have a large family, immediate and extended. Not only did I share a house with three siblings and two parents, I had a host of cousins to play with and aunts and uncles all over the place where I lived taking care of me. All my grandparents lived within a five-minute drive (if that), and I saw them several times a week. Many members of my father’s family lived on the dairy farm where I grew up, and there were always holiday gatherings when all the others came back. My mother’s family, likewise, lived in town and I often spent weekends with them when we would gather at my grandparents’ house for dinner or just to read the newspaper. Saturday night was a popular time to meet up for card games and Solid Gold Oldies.

In high school, my friends rounded out my community when my cousins and I went our separate ways. We obviously spent all day together, sharing the same classes, activities, and frustrations.

College was a rebuilding of my community, and I found it in the music department. I think we were a group unto ourselves there, the overworked students (and sometimes faculty) who spent 14 or more hours a day in Zug Memorial Hall. Again, we had a space in common (Zug), similar experiences (“what did you think of Dr. So-and-so’s class today?”), and supported each other through our trials and triumphs. We were inseparable, rooming with each other, teaching each other, eating together, and having fun together. Saying goodbye was inevitable, and painful.

The Farm has been the most obvious community in my life. The people there, staff and guests, have chosen to live together. We took the step for ourselves, this time, to be intentional about building community, not being thrown together by the circumstances of birth, geographical proximity, or shared study. The concept behind the Farm is to foster mental and physical health by doing meaningful work and fostering healthy community life. Importance is placed on living together: the staff are provided on-site housing by the company and the guests share houses. Importance is placed on community events: there is a meeting for the whole community weekly, three meals a day are shared in a large dining room, and activities fill the evenings and weekends. And each person is considered vital to the functioning of the work of the place. Each team is designed to perform a task that is sustaining to the Farm, be it producing crops, preparing meals, maintaining the grounds, or maintaining the buildings, and each member of each team helps keep the work running smoothly, or at all.

Now that I’ve removed myself from those communities that had supported me, I find that I automatically grasp at those people around me, trying to mold some type of cohesion for myself. My old communities aren’t far away: my friends and family are scattered across the places I’ve been and will someday be going to. However, without physical proximity, I have a hard time drawing support from these former homes I’d built for myself. In leaving them behind, I’ve discovered that I try to rebuild immediately and realize just how important those previous communities were, are, and will continue to be to me.