I can’t say how relieved I am that March, 2025 has only a few days left in it. Of all the months in the year, March is my least favorite. Liz here, bringing news from our small village.
Every winter for eight years now I miss the window where there are no birds nesting in the peak of my roof and it’s warm enough to safely climb up a ladder to plug the tiny space where they nest every year. So now, as every year, I listen to the noise of starlings raising a family in a space too small. As the nestlings get bigger, the scrambling and squawking for space gets louder. I can see out of my window the parents flying back and forth, the gusts of cold bracing March wind bending fruit tree branches, and the clouds racing across the sky, bringing rain, hail and lightning, tornados, and a day or two of light snow that is typical March weather.
Eight years ago today I rolled out of my driveway in Berkeley, California, my car stuffed to the gills with what I hoped would be the essentials for starting a new life at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage. For once in my life I listened to my sisters and signed into an app that would allow them to track my progress across the states as I headed east to my new life in Missouri. I had a feeling of having climbed out on a very long limb and I tried mindfully to avoid spinning scenarios of possible outcomes of my decision to move to DR. And that feeling of groundlessness made driving for four days across the country by myself seem less like an adventure and more like folly. Hence the tracking app.
Either way, my gut wouldn’t let it go; I had to see for myself what Dancing Rabbit was all about, not through a visitor’s eyes, but through experiencing day to day life there. I left behind an established life with a home and friends I’d known for decades. I left behind a relationship of 37 years and two adult children. And so, looking back, did I think it worked out? Everyone who is thinking of moving here, or is new to the village, wants to know. The answer to that is that my answer won’t really help you; our lives, and the times we’re living in, are unique. We all have to answer that question for ourselves. Hence the feeling of groundlessness.
With my gym buddies off on a trip to Japan, I decided to cut my transportation costs by ridesharing with Rabbits I don’t often rideshare with. As the next writer for this column, ridesharing is a great way to gather gossip, er, I mean, village news for said column.
I heard that the building we call Clover, one of the more beautiful and architecturally interesting buildings here at DR, has been sold to its current occupants. I’m hopeful that this building will get more of the TLC it deserves.
Speaking of DR houses, Cat’s house we call Cat’s Cradle has been sold to Danielle, who becomes my new neighbor across the street. Cat has moved to Memphis, but remains DR’s town clerk for the time being and is much missed.
The Rabbit we call Parmajean has moved back to the village in the last month or so. He was gone long enough that he had to reapply for membership, which I’m betting will go through without incident. John has friends and family in nearby states and likes to go visiting for weeks at a time. This time he is determined that DR will remain his home base while he continues to make the rounds of visiting.
Unfortunately, water leaked behind the wall of one of the Common House bathrooms and some of the drywall behind the tile got wet. This had probably been going on for quite a while, but one unlucky shower-er picked the wrong time and place to lean on just the right spot to poke a hole in the wall where it was weakest. That provided me with the fortunate opportunity to give the wall a much needed makeover. I decided to break out of the institutional design concept that ruled the room with some color and a mosaic border. I don’t expect everyone to understand how setting tile is fun, but for those of you who do, let’s exchange knowing grins.
We welcomed five new DR members in the last month, and some of them want to build houses. When I first moved here there was a wait list for builders to build, but only one house has been built in the last five years or so, other than the Hub. This is good news for the village, helping us to meet our need for more housing as our population grows.
Living in California for most of my life, I had gotten accustomed to long lines for just about anything that had to be done in person, and enduring long lines of cars for going anywhere. One thing I love about the Midwest, at least in my rural area, is the distinct lack of lines for anything. So when it was time to renew my driver’s license, I got that familiar knot of foreboding in my stomach after years of my experience with the DMV in California. After locating a local DMV in Edina, I walked through a labyrinth of hallways and finally identified the tiny office big enough for one employee, a desk, and a counter. No one else was there. Less than 10 minutes later, I was back in my car, mission accomplished.
Barely able to believe my luck, I decided to drive another half hour to my local Social Security office to straighten out a problem I was having with applying for social security. I was later told that it had been a busy week for them so far, but it was hard to believe, with one person ahead of me in line when I walked in. Twenty minutes later, I was back in my car, problem solved. And yeah, my taxes are done too.
Overnight it seems, the grass has turned green and the fruit trees are starting to leaf out. It was a dark, uncomfortable winter for me, full of dread for what the future would bring. But thankfully, the Earth and the seasons turn, bringing new possibilities and hope. Life goes on here, despite what’s going on in the wider world.
Another couple of weeks and my garden at Morel will start to bloom with purple irises, and for a while at least, they will bring me much joy.
Liz Hackney is the editor of this newsletter as well as the owner/builder of the Hub building. After five years of working on the project, she still finds joy creating and building. Articles and photos of the project can be found at thehubcollective.substack.com.