A space of one’s own (Kaslo, B.C.)

Alternative Routes

Blog posting #14

BriarpatchMagazine.com

by Shayna Stock, with photography by Dominique Fenton

We recently had an intriguing conversation about the (un)sustainability of communal living. Paul, who has lived at Lofstedt Farm in Kaslo, B.C., for the past 5 years, said that he doesn’t think living communally is sustainable. From his perspective, “it’s tiring.”

His opinion comes both from his own experience and from watching other people’s attempts at communal living.

Lofstedt Farm was started about 23 years ago, based on Rudolf Steiner’s theory of biodynamic agriculture. Put simply, this means looking at the farm as a single closed system, where everything needed for agricultural production originates from the farm itself. It was intended as an educational and experimental farm — a place where any curious person could come and explore or enhance their skills in just about anything. Past community members have experimented with things like weaving natural fabrics, creating herbal tinctures, and building an outdoor cob oven; and, of course, everyone helps out on the farm, and absorbs some organic farming and gardening techniques.

The farm has had a long, successful life, with many people coming and going throughout the years. But there was a pervasive sense of end when we were there. The farm will soon be sold, and it was obvious that everyone there is preparing to move on.

According to Paul, people need their own space, to develop as individuals.

“I think we need to re-create villages,” he said, “I don’t think people are meant to live communally.”

His thoughts resounded profoundly with many of our experiences throughout this journey.

I shared with him the story of the Northern Sun Farm in south-eastern Manitoba. The community began in the early 1980s, with everyone living in the same building and sharing a communal garden. Slowly, as the community evolved over the past 25 years, people began to build their own houses, and plant their own gardens.

They still share some resources, still enjoy one another’s company, seek each other’s advice, and share potluck meals from time to time. In fact, they are in the process of constructing a large community building, to make communal activities such as potlucks more feasible as the community grows. However, for the most part, they function as individual units, with their own families, their own animals, and their own space.

Some of the younger communities we visited seem to be following similar paths. At Prairie’s Edge, in existence now for about 10 years, members are building individual houses. They do, however, still maintain a communal garden and eat all their meals together, at least in the summer.

Until recently, the people at the Waldegrave Farm in Nova Scotia squeezed nine people (seven adults and two kids) into one house. With another child on the way, the couple with the two children recently moved into a separate house, and I wouldn’t be surprised if others in the household began to likewise move into their own spaces.

I am brought back to a familiar question. It is this perpetual balancing act between the individual and the community: how can you foster a sense of community that nurtures and encourages the development of unique individuals, rather than squashing individual development in the interest of community cohesion. It is a difficult and obscure line to draw.

Perhaps Paul is right. Maybe we should focus on re-creating small villages — something like what the Northern Sun Farm has become. In this way, individuals can have the space to grow and develop on their own, while still enjoying the personal and environmental benefits of sharing resources and a general care for one another.

As Dom and I were packing up our things to leave Lofstedt Farm, I thought of the people there, and the general atmosphere of combined weariness and excitement — communally tired from a long growing season, and each member eagerly looking forward to their own individual futures. I knew that both Dom and I could fully identify with the feelings of fatigue that accompany the end of a journey, no matter how wonderfully enriching that journey may have been. I also knew we had both been distracted recently, with considerations of our own individual futures.

Shayna and Dominique are traveling across Canada in search of community, and sharing what they find with Briarpatch readers. Read their introduction to the project here.