Re: Deeper Than a Mud Puddle pt. 2

"Fingertipping" is one way that our social network is expressed. It's almost like a salute. People stretch their arms out to their sides with their index fingers extended, which sort of represents each person's world, and then they embrace. Each person has stepped into the other's world. Auggie, a four-year-old in our cohousing group, is going through a fingertipping stage. He sets out every morning on his village circuit and folks stop whatever they're doing when he shows up. If they're arms are full when he gets there, he patiently waits with arms outstretched in anticipation. His morning lap has become something of a neighborhood ritual.

I guess that's how we deal with the hiccups in the world. It's kind of like riding a bicycle uphill. The community seems to have figured out the best gear to be in so the hiccups don't feel like Himalayas. That doesn't mean there aren't still daily struggles, but we're able to see which ones are important at the fingertip level and which ones can be let go of. The ones we tend to spend time on involve strengthening our relationships and getting everyone's basic needs met. Maybe those are two versions of the same thing. I know our food system often falls in that category.

For instance, we started having trouble finding parts for the tractor several years ago. We had grown uncomfortably dependent on the contraption since the CSA had expanded and it was becoming a concern in the community. So when the cost for parts and fuel to keep it running became hard to justify there wasn't much debate when someone suggested replacing it with a pair of draft horses. Now its engine is mounted to a generator for emergency power and anything that wasn't stripped of parts for use elsewhere has taken up a life of leisure as a yard ornament. Often times the kids are out climbing all over it like a jungle gym. It's ironic; some of the horse drawn equipment we now use was filling a similar role when we bartered for them.

Since getting that original team we have gone on to buy three more seasoned horses, and recently two young mares that are still a bit green. The neighbor down the road whom we affectionately call the "horse lady" is our source. Apparently she was a big-time corporate executive back in the old days. I've heard her talk about how she used to take a jet here and there, always on the go. Then one day she realized that she didn't know who she was anymore. She quit her job - didn't even give notice. I hear stuff like that happens a lot. She and her bunch come to all of our potlucks. They're good cooks and always ready to eat. Tweet