Building
Community, Person By Person
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Last week Bonnie called the Rancho Esperanza
residents together for the first meeting in years. Understandably, it is
difficult to have a meeting when the casas are, for the most part empty. This
year has brought changes. Do hotcakes sell fast? Well, these casas are selling
like the proverbial breakfast staple.
The meeting was called to announce
that we would have meetings. Oh, yes, there’s more. First, the nuts and bolts—choose
officers to preside. Bonnie’s vision is to follow her father’s dream. Together,
we will enhance our smaller Rancho community and contribute to our larger
community of Etzatlan.
What I know, because I’ve lived
longer than Bonnie, is that we will create
a vital community. And, yes, we will be a participating element in Etzatlan.
But we will not recreate her father’s dream, at least not fully. Certainly, in
part, yes. We are different people; these are different times.
Each one of us perked up. Each one
of us has a different dream. Like any normal, dysfunctional family, we’ll
figure out how best to live together.
Community happens in small ways.
Yesterday I went with John and Carol to Tonola for a day of exploration and
shopping. We left early in the morning, on the first day of time’s “fall back”.
We returned just as dark pulled the shade over what light remained. We returned
tired, weary, happy, muscles screaming from hours of walking on cobblestone
streets, standing, waiting—shopping. (I didn’t buy anything. There was nothing
I needed.)
I’d been in bed an hour when I heard
Lani calling my name from outside my window. “Are you home? Are you okay? Is
anything wrong? We were worried when you didn’t come home.”
I assured her we’d had a fun day, a
long day; all is well in my world. I think this kind of caring is the essence
of community.
Last week Teresa and her friend
Chris were here. Long-time friends, they both lost partners to cancer mere
weeks ago. They came to regroup, to grieve, to reassess their lives. At Josue’s
and Erica’s suggestion, about fifteen of us gathered for a community (that word
again) potluck of welcome. Before they flew home, we met again for dinner at a mountainside
restaurant. Community.
A mere three days on the Rancho and
Chris leased the “Peanut” casa with the hopes of buying it in a few months; if
not it, he’ll choose another. He’s going back to Portland to expedite his
retirement and sell his house. (I keep saying, there is “something” in the
water and that something is tricky.) Pamela, my friend who came here a couple
weeks ago, has her name on “Charlie’s” place. Milo, Bonnie’s brother, returned
from the States and bought a place. I count only five or six homes left empty.
We are in our fourth week of Qi Gong
in the Park, taught twice weekly by Samantha, with participants from the Rancho
and from the City. Community. We meet every morning in my back yard for
practice. Community.
Saturday was the “Farmer’s Parade”
in town. Farm families, men, women, children, babes in arms, marched carrying corn
stalks, sugar cane, flowers or chili peppers, led by flag bearers, accompanied
by dancers in traditional regalia, a “drum” much like we are used to seeing,
hearing, by religious leaders bearing a Statue, ranchers on dancing horses, and
tractors.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. Next to me stood Martina with
her family. Martina is one of our Qi Gong friends. The parade ended at the
Cathedral where people, crops and animals are blessed and thanks is given for bountiful
crops and good seasons. It’s a beautiful ceremony. I cried. I’m easily
sentimental.
We from the Rancho went to watch Leo march with his people.
Leo, who helps us all, has a small farm with cows and sheep on the edge of
town, in the hills.
Next week Crin will be here to
determine what needs doing in her new casa. She’ll be back and forth several
times a year from Victoria, B.C. The first of December Kathy and Richard will arrive,
perhaps for a short stay, perhaps with early retirement.
We are a community being birthed, in
transition, smaller than the smallest town. And we all know what that’s like.
My Dad told me years ago when he had made a particular difficult decision. “Some
will be happy. Some will be angry.” And in some fashion, like a dysfunctional
family without the blood connection, we will work together. Some grumbling.
Some smiling. Grumbles and smiles will shift with each new decision. Grumbles
and smiles—the cement with which we shall build.
Community.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
November 3,
2016
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