We went to the farm yesterday evening. It was a great respite from the city. It was much prettier than I was expecting, more trees than I thought there would be. There were goats, chickens, a farm cat and dog, and a composting toilet with a grand view of the cornfields next door. Fireflies lit up the field once the sun went down.
It reminded me of Northern California, especially because the last time I'd used a composting toilet with a nice view was on some friends' property near Arcata, which seems so long ago. But, also because there were people last night who talked of collectives and different ways of living.
One woman is about to embark on a cross-country tour to visit friends to see "what kind of life they are making." I like that phrase. It's so good to remember that we make our own lives. The one I would choose to make is different than how I'm living now. It would involve being in a collective, in a more rural environment, and truly creating things– community, art, media, writing, anything we could dream up. I'm at that point now–the one a lot of people I know have reached already.
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