Published at Resilience.org by Island Press
This spring my husband and I are moving three tenths of a mile and two-hundred years back in time.
We are moving from our super-energy-efficient, passive solar home built in 2001 to a farmhouse built in 1800. (And looking for someone to buy the cozy green home we raised our family in. Check it out here and spread the word!) We are excited to have more space to share with extended family. And, we will have a project on our hands! Regaining some of the features we are leaving behind — heat pumps, PV, a composting toilet and more — will take time. A fun and satisfying challenge we hope!
The great news is that we will still be part of the experiment we have participated in for almost thirty years: Cobb Hill Cohousing, a multi-generational community of 23 families in Vermont’s Connecticut River Valley. The house we are moving to is located within Cobb Hill, just a bit further from the cluster of houses we’ve called home.
We will still share 280 acres of farm and forest and participate in community celebrations and decision making. We’ll still have neighbors to help and to rely on. We’ll still have maple syrup, eggs, flowers, herbs, vegetables, milk, and cheese all produced by our neighbors on our shared land. We’ll have learning companions to navigate alongside in an increasingly destabilized world.
A big move like ours prompts reflection. We had to move, but we didn’t want to go anywhere else. Here are six reasons that came to mind when we paused to ask ourselves why.
1. People. As disasters become more frequent and politics destabilizes, it feels more important than ever to live connected to other people. People who can be there in an emergency or help make sense of the tumult. But not just people, these specific people. We are connected to our neighbors by shared work, shared fun and shared history. We are watching their children grow up and hopefully adding something to those kid’s lives. These are the people who brought soup when I broke my ankle, who loaned me a walker to get to the ER, who visited and cheered me up. These are the people I want to bring soup to when they need it!
2. Land. There’s the pleasure of coming to know a piece of land deeply. Of walking its paths in spring and summer and skiing them in winter. Of watching for the return of familiar birds and wildflowers with each season. There’s also the work and joys of stewardship, of seeing a once over-harvested forest slowly return to good health. And, by putting most of our shared land under permanent conservation easement and making it open to our neighbors for enjoyment, we find ways to share these gifts now and into the future, which is its own kind of satisfaction.
3. Learning. No one knows how to live sustainably and equitably in our current society or how to prepare for coming climate shocks. So we need to learn. And learning is faster with more minds in the mix. We took three tries to get a PV system at Cobb Hill. I led the first two, which ran aground. Then Sandy came in with new determination and a new path in mind. Every day when I walk past the solar-panel-covered barns I think about all three tries, how my “failures” and Sandy’s fresh eyes cracked the code. I think about the need to re-invent community meals after they paused for the pandemic (thanks Audrey!) or the need to wire EV charging ports on infrastructure that didn’t anticipate them (thanks Jesse!) And so on. We have a lot to learn at this moment in human history, but we don’t have to do it alone!
4. Food. There’s the taste of a fresh strawberry or an ear of corn moving from field to plate in five minutes. Then there’s the satisfaction of growing some of what you eat and knowing the people who grew more of it. In these times when the federal government’s ability to keep the food system safe is faltering, there’s also peace of mind in seeing at least part of the supply chain right outside your door.
5. Resilience. From the connections between good people, a well-loved bit of land, the capacity to learn, and the capacity to grow at least some food comes something bigger than any piece alone. It’s the capacity to cope. It is, hopefully, the capacity to help each other and offer support to wider circles when surprises come and the pace of change speeds up.
6. A link to the future. Many have passed through Cobb Hill. Some stayed for a growing season some for their childhood, some for the length of a learning program. They’ve moved on to start (or join) other communities, farms, non-profits. I like to think they’ve all taken something with them, a new skill, a lesson in what NOT to do, a belief that dreams can become physical stuff. Maybe in the end that’s the main reward of trying to do things differently — the encouragement to others that they can create the possibilities they see.
Cobb Hill isn’t the only way to find these six things, thank goodness. You’ll find them in smaller groups and larger ones, in cities, in the tropics, on the coast. In this time of transition and reflection in my own family, I hope that knowing they exist in one place might make it easier for you to imagine (or create) them elsewhere, too.
