Writing for the Village

26 02 2011

Here in the village, internal mail goes out from the office to every house on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Friday, “The Village Echo” goes out, with poems, writings, events, and any thing any one wants to put in (with a final approval by a few people who type up and print The Echo… I think most everything submitted is included). I’ve written two pieces for The Echo, and I’ll share them with you now.

This first one was written at the end of September, about Camphill overall:

Why We Play The Game

I do not follow baseball, but I do love the game. And with the “fall classic” nearing, I am realizing that Camphill Village is very similar to the game of baseball.

The purpose of baseball is to win the game, by offensively: scoring the most runs; and defensively: preventing runs from being scored by the other team.

The purpose of Camphill Village (as it seems to me, from my two months of living here) is to establish harmony and balance, by offensively: caring for people’s various needs, and defensively: removing obstructions to a healthy, care-full lifestyle.

In baseball, offense means batting and running the bases.

In Camphill, offense means many, many things, including, but not limited to: sowing seeds and harvesting the vegetables and herbs; cooking every meal; weaving warm clothes and table cloths and bags; crafting beds for people to sleep on; caring for the buildings and the land; creating events for the village; ordering food at the co-op; working in the office and in meetings; and actively listening to all people living in the Village.

All things considered, I think we’re hitting home runs every day; and there is always room for improvement.

In baseball, defense means catching the other teams’ hits, and fielding them through the team.

In Camphill, defense means catching any “problems”, and soothing them until life is, once again, calm and peaceful. This happens in many ways, like weeding in the gardens, to ensure the healthiest and strongest plants possible (picking weeds is like catching ground balls); cleaning the houses to remove clutter and contamination (catching fly balls); and doing our best to clear away unhappiness and frustration, utilizing many different therapies, special events, and times of quiet and relaxation.

Sometimes, we have to reach over the center-field wall to catch the powerful, negative, hostile forces… but more often than not, we make the catches and save the game.

Of course, the areas of offense and defense often overlap here in Camphill. The doctors’ office is both active care and problem-prevention. The same goes for many different groups and weekly / monthly meetings, both moving positive energy into action, and removing the negative, energy blocks.

Unlike in baseball, and perhaps the most beautiful aspect of Camphill Village, is if we play together, all with the shared purpose of peace and harmony in our minds and hearts… no one loses—every one wins.

Play ball. Play fall. Play all.

————————————————————————–

This second piece of writing was written a fortnight ago. Two week ago, the garden implement shed burned down, from some wood stove ashes. No one was hurt, but two garden tractors, tools, and a just-stocked meat freezer (from Camphill cows) were all lost. I wrote this piece:

A Garden Shed Memory

I would like to share a simple memory of the Garden Shed. Though it may not carry relative importance, it does have absolute significance, in that through our own lives, we immortalize all that is temporary.

A few weeks into last August, I brought my bicycle to the village. The kickstand was loose, and could not support the bike. So one day, after afternoon work, when the sun was on its way down, but still shining bright, I rode to the garden shed and rested the bike on the front porch, the porch where I greeted S____, A____ and other gardeners, when walking to the seed shop. I went inside the shed to find a wall of wrenches, flawlessly labeled, hanging courteously, in order of size, spaced evenly apart from each other. By guessing and checking a few tools, I found the right-sized wrench, tightened the kickstand, and returned the wrenches back to their proper places. I rode away, thankful for such a beautiful and useful space—the Garden Shed.

All things are born, and all things pass away; in our experiences, and in our memories, all that passes away lives forever. I encourage you to share any memories you have of the Garden Shed, that we may appreciate, and not forget, the blessings it has bestowed upon us. Perhaps, we could have a communal sharing ceremony, once the site is clean and safe.

Eternally yours,

Dan

 

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