Our ecoVillage
Is more of mind than of fact
And yet cherished still
The deceptively simple answer to this question is that, quite frankly, I'm not at all certain that I would want to live in an ecoVillage full time.
Why deceptively simple?
Because there are many aspects to the idea of an ecoVillage that I love, such as community, sharing, and building a peaceful community for the betterment of all involved.
At the same time, from a very early age, I discovered within myself a strong dose of wanderlust, which is amply shared by my husband, and both of us would like very much to be able to travel more, much more, to see more of the world, and to experience different cultures.
Fear of taking a leap has for the most part not been my issue . . . I learned to sail and SCUBA dive as a teen, dove with whales and sharks in the kelp beds off of California, camped and hiked in the Rockies with my grandparents and older sisters, and generally went where my interests took me, without much fear in the process.
I took the leap at age 25 to leave my native Los Angeles and move cross country to Tampa, Florida, where I literally knew only my dad and one couple who were long time friends of his. Friends and loved ones thought I was nuts, and the culture shock was pretty drastic, not to mention the shock of moving from an arid desert climate to the humid subtropics.
Five years later, after the stock market crashed when I was a young bond broker, I moved to Luxembourg, in Europe, for the better part of a year, to do research for a German lawyer and banker whom I barely knew.
Again, friends and loved ones thought I was nuts, but I had always wanted the chance to live in a foreign country, and this was my chance to do so while I was still young and unencumbered, having neither spouse nor children.
It remains an experience I wouldn't trade for the world. I had a wonderful time, and fell in love with Luxembourg and her people, not to mention Germany, France and Belgium. Unfortunately, I never made it to the Netherlands.
I absolutely love the tiny house movement, partly because I have had a dream for decades of having half a dozen small pieces of property in particularly beautiful places, and having effectively a small shed or cabin on each; small enough not to require onerous permitting or budget to build, but big enough to allow for some creature comforts while staying there.
In early 2011, while we were actively searching for the property we ultimately found in Tennessee, I happened upon the wonderful book, "Twelve by Twelve," by William Powers, which made this seem even more of a realizable dream.
In the book, Powers describes an unsettled period in his life when, having returned from doing serious activism in the Bolivian rainforest, he was at odds regarding the next step he should take in his life.
His parents introduced him to a rather eccentric doctor of their acquaintance, who lived not far from them in North Carolina, in a self-built 12' x 12' offgrid cabin, surrounded by her 2.5 acre permaculture farm.
When she offered him the use of her cabin for an extended period, during which she would be traveling, he jumped at the chance, and his experiences there resulted in this book.
I was writing for www.Examiner.com at the time, and gave the book a glowing review, which Mr. Powers liked well enough to post on his own website.
So even though www.Examiner.com may no longer exist, thanks to Mr. Powers, my review of his excellent and moving book lives on.
Another inspiration for my desire for several tiny living spaces, rather than one big one, was a river cabin owned by friends of mine in north central Florida.
Nicknamed Hooty Point, both for the street it was on and for the MANY owls in the neighborhood, my friends had owned it since early in their marriage, but only ventured there occasionally themselves, and so generously allowed their friends and family members to use it whenever they weren't planning to be in residence.
Which was most of the time.
I wish I had photos to post, since I took a LOT of them over the years, but I have none handy. I'll try to post some here later for reference.
I did recently write about a weekend spent there with two close friends, where between us we picked 27 pounds of blueberries in 99-degree heat one afternoon, only to have a tropical storm move in that night, and cool it down to the extent that we were able to enjoy evening fires in the fireplace for the remainder of our visit.
The house only had one actual bedroom, which was rarely used, as we all preferred sleeping in the loft, which had three beds overlooking a balcony into the living room, and thus open to the heat from the fireplace. There was also a double bed in the bedroom, a recliner and a large couch in the living room, so it would easily sleep six to eight adults.
Our favorite place in the house hands down was the screened porch, which overlooked a large parcel owned by a local doctor, which he left to nature, and planned to never develop.
It was a favorite hangout for deer and other wildlife, and I remember one early trip there with my former spouse, drinking our coffee in the early morning, when he asked if I had seen any wildlife, at which point a black cat began stalking across the open field.
My immediate comment: "Look! Wildlife!" ;-)
We also dearly loved the wooden deck leading to the front door, which had been built around a huge sycamore tree, absolutely covered with resurrection ferns, which was effectively the spirit of the house. The deck was about 6.5' (roughly two meters) above ground level, which was the height of the basement, and gave far more privacy than a ground-level deck would have.
Please note that when I say "we," I'm referring to me and Marek, and my former spouse, and my girlfriends with whom I often spent weekends there, and my friends who owned the place, and a number of other people who spent time there over the years.
It was an amazing place, very peaceful and spiritual, and the single best getaway to recharge your batteries that I've ever personally known. Not surprisingly, that cabin is what Marek originally gave the name "Crescendo of Peace" to, which it certainly deserved.
Years later, Marek and I strongly considered buying it from our friends, before we left Florida, but for a number of reasons, partly financial and partly just the fact that Marek and I really wanted to leave Florida, it never came to be.
But the spirit of the place never left us, and the desire to recreate it elsewhere, in ways large and small, is what led directly to us choosing to keep the name Crescendo of Peace, and to give it to the ultimate property where we planned to build our lives.
The only official rules at Hooty Point, according to the owners, were that guests clean up after themselves, and replace any supplies (such as toilet paper) or condiments that they used the last of while staying there.
However, because my friends were charging us nothing to stay there, and yet we were using their water and electricity while there, we decided that would do something in return, to compensate them by way of saying Thank You.
So our own unofficial rule, which my former spouse and I decided on the first time we went there, was to leave the place better than we found it, which falls directly in line with my own personal motto of making my corner of the world better than I found it.
At first it was things like leaving a six pack of good beer and a nice bottle of wine, which they appreciated, and they told us so. We also left VHS cassettes, music CDs, books and board games, to add to their collection.
I also I sought out, and occasionally made, collectible owls in keeping with their existing collection of owl figurines, in honor of their cabin's nickname.
And, because we were having more and more fun getting creative, that naturally evolved into more elaborate gestures over time.
And it was always a surprise. We never told them about anything we had done . . . we let them discover it the next time they visited. ;-)
As one example, one of the things that bugged everyone is that the refrigerator door opened the wrong way, in relation to the way it was placed in the long, narrow kitchen, making it a bit of a pain to get things in and out, especially with other people in the kitchen.
So, one afternoon, my then-spouse and I removed everything from the fridge into our large boat cooler, and I acted as tool assistant while he proceeded to remove the door, flip it over, and install it so that the door opened in the proper direction.
It cost us nothing, and took us maybe an hour, but everyone who used the place appreciated and commented on what we had done.
They also had well water that stank to high heaven, and stained everything burnt orange, so on another visit, we brought an unused whole-house water filter that had belonged to my dad and installed it in the basement.
We still brought drinking water with us when we stayed there, but taking a shower was no longer onerous, and once again, it cost us nothing, and helped everyone.
And it rubbed off.
My girlfriends loved the idea of making the place better for all, which they were already doing in their own way by deep cleaning after their stays, so one long weekend when the three of us stayed there, we bought a new kitchen range to replace the aging and malfunctioning range that they had had for decades.
It marked the first time since I had been coming there that we could cook in the oven.
We also bought them a new DVD player, upgraded their stereo receiver (we had an extra), added more speakers, wired the TV into the receiver for better sound, and did a lot more over the years that I'm sure we've all forgotten about long since.
The best part is that, needless to say, we were all always welcome guests, because they knew that not only would we always clean up after ourselves, but that we would take it upon ourselves to fix or upgrade something while we were there.
We were quite literally helping them to maintain and improve their property, and were happy to do so, as the bottom line is that with everything we did over the years, it still cost us far less than staying at a hotel or resort would have, and it was far more comfortable and homey.
And we all got to share in the benefits. ;-)
And this brings me back around to my own perfect idea of an ecoVillage, which is not necessarily a collection of dwellings in one place, but rather scattered over a wide area, available to friends and family, and quite likely rented out via AirBNB or a local realtor otherwise, to help each place recoup at least a part of its own expenses.
My plan is for every tiny home or cabin to be offgrid, as self-contained as possible, heated with a bench-type masonry rocket stove (which could double as a couch or sleeping area), and surrounded by a small climate-appropriate perennial garden, obviously including food-bearing plants.
And every cabin in a seriously cold climate would either have an attached greenhouse, or possibly be built inside a greenhouse, which is what I'd really like to do with our tiny building lot in northern New Mexico.
I have absolutely zero desire to sit on the porch outside when the wind is ripping and it's minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit. On the other hand, sitting on the porch inside the greenhouse sounds much, MUCH nicer.
I'd love to eventually have a decent sized sailboat in one location, a houseboat in another, a log cabin deep in the woods, a bottle house somewhere else, possibly a small earthship, maybe a yurt somewhere where bears aren't frequent visitors . . . there are so many cool ideas out there, and so many incredibly beautiful places, that the possibilities are literally endless.
And, as I've said before, I'd love to build several in secluded areas on our property here in Tennessee . . . but not for year round living.
So would I ever want to participate in an ecoVillage that is more of an established community in one location?
Maybe. If I can be a part-timer from the outset. Then . . . who knows? As I get older, and possibly less mobile, I might find it's just the thing.
Thanks to @ecoAlex and @ecoTrain for another great QOTW.
The photo above was taken by me on 18 April 2019 using my Samsung Galaxy Note 8 smartphone.
I jokingly refer to this as our "Leaning Tower of Black Walnut," as the tree toppled over in a wind storm after a period of heavy rain late last fall, but perpendicular to the two large trees that fell a few months earlier, which intruded nearly forty feet into our neighbor's yard.
Even this tree's uppermost branches didn't reach our driveway, because of the direction it fell, though it was nearly as tall as the others, though without their girth.
We decided to leave it alone, as its roots were still in the ground, but although it leafed out fully this year, I saw no catkins, and I haven't seen any developing nuts. I'm guessing that this means the tree is slowly dying, although it could also mean that it is simply not yet old enough to bear, so we are maintaining our "wait and see" approach.
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