It's Not Actually Chaos

Through all the years when we had young children and even for years after that, we went to the Big Apple Circus when it came to town. It was a highlight of September, getting ourselves to the big tent, wherever they had found space to rent for a few weeks. In this area, there is always a field that is going to be developed sometime soonish and there are big swaths of pavement -- roads that will someday have houses and businesses built on them but they are perfect for setting up a circus in the meantime.

In so many ways this circus was perfect. It had one ring, an entertaining ringmaster (who was the creator and visionary), lots of fast-paced acts, a few beloved clowns, and some amazing talent. We didn't have to think about what went on behind the scenes but I am sure there were the inevitable troubles that would come with a high pressure job performed by a crew of about 100 people and some dogs and horses, all traveling together for months at a time.

Often the act that stuck with me the most was the juggler. There was always something new that he devised in the off-season. The one with the hats just boggled the mind -- he somehow managed to juggle bowler hats that bounced off his head or his chin or his elbow, with increasing complexity as more tricks got introduced with each new hat that was added to the perpetual motion going through his hands.

I have often thought of the farm season as one of those juggling acts. I usually talk about adding more plates, keeping more and more plates in the air as the season goes on. But as I think about it now, I see that they aren't plates. It is more like those acts where the juggler starts with some tennis balls, then adds a grapefruit, then a shoe, then a hatchet and just keeps on going.

At a recent morning meeting (once a week we take time to sit together for longer than a couple of minutes, and we ponder something that is just interesting, but not about farming) we talked about the culture of this farm, and how chaotic it can be. One of the original thinkers, the founding visionary, my dad, was known for his undiagnosed ADHD. In his day, he was one of those students who frustrated his teachers and his parents with his lack of academic focus. Plenty of intellect, but not a lot of linear, organized learning.  

One of his college friends described my father this way: "Some people have “completion tension.”  Once started, they can’t think about anything else.  Tony had “incompletion tension.”  I don’t know anyone who had more simultaneous projects…half a dozen projects, unfinished." He could stay focused intensely, but was not focused on finishing things.

Sixty years into it, this farm is still deeply influenced by that trait. But we have added many more influences to the mix. If my dad were the juggler, some of those balls and shoes would drop and not get picked up again for months or years. My mother, on the other hand, would be someone who would pick up the dropped objects if it seemed necessary. She would put them back into the hands of the juggler. And over the years we have opened up the circle so that it is not just one person keeping all the objects in the air. The group that keeps its eyes and hands on those flying objects keeps expanding.

To be more specific (and here is where we might lose the non-farming reader), we are right now at the point in the season where we are about to add the last two unwieldy objects to the collection that is staying in motion.  We are about to add real vegetable picking and opening the stand for the summer, which includes buying stuff that we don't grow so there are logistical issues that need to be confronted. We need to get the sweet corn from one place and the peaches from another. 

Why do I say real vegetable picking? Because up until now we have been picking moderate quantities of leafy stuff,  just enough to fill the market trucks. Leafy stuff can be picked on Thursday and Friday and it can be gone by the end of Sunday, if all goes well. We are on the brink of harvesting. In my mind, there is a difference between picking and harvesting. Picking is something that happens over and over, day in and day out. Squash, lettuce, tomatoes, kale.  Harvesting is when you have to find a place to put all that stuff and keep it safe and at the right temperature. Harvesting is stressful for the person who has to think about all the issues. Picking is not stressful.

In the next few weeks we will harvest all the garlic. Last fall we planted a record-breaking 1000 pounds of garlic seed. That was easy compared to what is about to happen. Because I knew that this was going to be a huge task, we have been pecking away at the ends of the field, gathering up green garlic to sell, making the field just a little bit smaller.  We planted approximately the same amount of onions that we always do (so many) and those will need to be handled carefully so they don't just melt before we sell them.

But here is the real challenge, and I hope it goes away soon. About 10 days ago our trusty cooler died. This has taken juggling to a level never attempted before. We have learned a lot in the last 10 days, and we are doing the vegetable Tetris game in our tiny 8 x 12 coolbot, instead of in the much bigger walk-in.  We cannot harvest onions until that cooler is fixed. We need to stash dozens of crates of onions in a space that will keep them safe and cold.

As for the stand, we have opened the stand every year for the last 60 years, in one form or another, and it will happen again.  We have already opened quietly for Saturdays and Sundays in June (and nobody has noticed, since covid is no longer keeping people out of the grocery stores), but peaches and corn and tomatoes are the driving force there, and that happens in July.

When the original juggler was here, our circus involved three different farms and a lot of rented ground nearby. It was not chaos, but it was complicated and things were very weedy on all three farms. Now we are down to two farms and no rented ground. Much simpler, many fewer weeds. But we have a CSA that includes about four other farms and their vegetables. More complicated. And our two farms both have full crews, it's not one crew commuting between them.

Anyway, it's getting to the part where the last objects are getting added to the spinning mix, and if the cooler doesn't get fixed soon there are going to be a lot of tennis balls and hatchets sprinkled all over the ground. But I can guarantee you that we will always have a plan for getting them back into the air. There is always a way. This circus has more tricks up its sleeve, and lots of talent in its crew.

Anyone Want Some Lemon Tart?

Last night we got an email from a neighbor saying that they had made a big lemon tart and they had too much leftover. If anyone wanted some, bring a plate and come by before 9:00. I read my messages too late or I would have been down there with a clean plate, for sure.

There was another message yesterday afternoon from the newest neighbor, asking someone to water his tomato plants. It was done within minutes.

And an announcement from a recent college graduate, just home for a bit, letting us know they were setting up a movie in the Swale Theater and they would select the movie soon -- showtime was in 20 minutes.

Today we got a haiku from another new neighbor who couldn't find the lawn mower.  And he got a haiku in return, almost immediately.

In spite of all the best efforts of the techies in this community, we still communicate by email here.  They have set up online calendars and WhatsApp and message boards, but since we built this place in the time of email, that is who we are.  We have had to make some rules about what is appropriate, and all of those examples meet the requirements. We are not allowed to discuss issues of substance and we certainly are not allowed to be rude. It has taken some time and experience to be good email neighbors.

We have lived here at Blueberry Hill for a full 20 years now.  When we first moved in, it was pretty exciting.  We had spent a few years getting to know each other through a steady stream of meetings and potlucks and it was just amazing to be in one place together, living the dream.

A lot has changed in 20 years, but it is still amazing to live in a place that has so many homegrown traditions by now. Some of us feel like things have gone downhill and there is no way to re-capture what we had because the good old days are gone. Half of the original residents have moved by now. Others of us still believe in the dream and are willing to go with the unexpected downs and ups that are part of living with people.

The part that is disappointing is the number of houses that are occupied by people who do not really care that they live in a cohousing community.  Some of the people who sold their houses sold them to people who didn't even pay attention to the documents, and they have filled their houses with renters. We did not anticipate this, so we didn't make any rules to prevent it. We do our best to include these people in everything, inviting them to dinner, inviting them to meetings and workdays, but they really just don't care. It is hard not to be bitter about this, that we put so much effort into building an intentional community and we didn't imagine that people with different intentions (a desire for a good location and relatively inexpensive housing) would just move right into the middle of all this.  We have always had renters, trying to include people with different amounts of wealth, and the first renters were completely involved in everything. Many of the current renters are almost nameless, although they are on the email list and get the same invitations to have some lemon tart for dessert.

Anyway, all is not lost. On Memorial Day the whole community played together all day long, thanks to the momentum of tradition. One of the engaged renters of the present had introduced the idea of mini golf last year -- and this quickly became a goofy shared pastime.  The most motivated neighbors designed complex and entertaining holes using plumbing and croquet sets and steep hills and wind chimes.  People went from one yard to the next with their makeshift golf clubs.  Then that afternoon we had the annual recital which I have described before. It continues to be a well-attended event, focused on the performances of the youngest neighbors (lots of dancing, piano, some jokes) and I usually play the piano pieces that I have learned for my own adult recital that is around this time.  After that there was the all-community picnic where we each brought food to share and something to cook on the grill.  The weather was perfect after a weekend of cold rain.  

We got through the sad year of covid and it was hard. We had eaten together in the Common House at least twice a week for 19 years, and suddenly we couldn't cook or hang out together indoors. We did see each other outdoors but the effort of cooking and serving a meal outdoors overwhelmed us in the winter. There was a diehard, sturdy group that met every single evening on the greenway for Happy Hour, rain or shine, snow or sun all through spring, summer and winter. The group got small but it persevered. I fell off the wagon in the middle of summer when 6:00 was still the middle of the workday and I never got back into it, but I could hear the voices and the laughter every evening.

Our meetings were on Zoom.  In some ways it was better because more people attended and of course in some ways it just wasn't as good. But in recent months we have started to have common meals again and we are so glad to be together in person again. Everyone is vaccinated. It is so nice.

I remember the voices of the skeptics when we first built Blueberry Hill.  They were older and wiser and they had seen dreams come and go. But I think we have managed because we don't have so many rules, and we don't try to maintain something that isn't natural to us.  We just keep having meetings, building traditions, learning more about each other, eating together a lot, and singing some songs that we have learned over the years. Even though there are houses that are occupied by some uninterested folks, it is not hard to keep the dream alive.  Yesterday there was a BBH grandchild playing in a sprinkler in the shade, watched over by her doting grandfather and almost-grandmother (the grandparents will marry soon). Everyone knows the child's name, everyone knows the grandparents, and everyone knows the boy who grew up here and is now a father.  That is what happens when people spend years living in the same neighborhood, intentional community or not.  

I believe that we will still be a successful cohousing community, even another generation from now. It might not be just like this, but it will be something special. I know this because there are so many new people who live here who are part of building the traditions, and they have the little kids now. Those little kids are growing up in cohousing just like our kids did, and they are the craziest source of joy there is.  They climb trees and wear costumes and play instruments and ride bikes and dance with abandon, and they live in a cohousing community.  

All may not be well with the world, and perhaps there was never a time when all was well. But Blueberry Hill is doing a good job of keeping its part of the world functioning, with lemon tarts and sprinklers and decision making by consensus. This train is chugging along, in spite of the hazards along the way.