Each year, near the middle of October, strange figures start appearing in the front yards of suburban homes that are otherwise unremarkable. Foreboding tableaux of skeletons and graveyards, ghosts and ghouls, or an occasional witch, greet neighbors and passersby alike. Such lawn ornamentation has become almost as popular as jack o’ lanterns and trick-or-treating.
Yet on a recent morning walk I happened to see one of these displays with fresh eyes. For as I paused to gaze at three skeletons, dressed in bright clothes and seemingly having a good time, a sentence spontaneously took shape in my mind: “Halloween helps us deal with our subliminal fears.”
Glimpses of Light Morning’s homesteading lifestyle in autumn. Links to photos from earlier seasons are here. (Click on any image to enter slideshow mode.)
I awoke with this dream on November 28th, the morning after a momentous neighborhood celebration of Thanksgiving in 1997. The celebration took place in Rivendell, Light Morning’s new and still-under-construction community shelter. Nearly twenty-four years later, “Crying For the Beauty of the Earth” remains one of the strangest and strongest of my strong medicine dreams. While it seemed to come out of the blue, it was presaged by a song by Bob Dylan called “Not Dark Yet.” The dream was a descent into unimaginable darkness, and the following eleven days were darker still.
What follows was originally intended to be shared with a small circle of fellow Quakers. But as the writing unfolded, it took on a more general relevance, which is why it’s now appearing here. An earlier post, Two Roads, traces the ongoing influence of my Quaker family background. Another post, Medicine Wheels for Story Orphans, explores the evocative similarities between the lives of George Fox (who founded the Religious Society of Friends), J.R.R. Tolkien (who wrote The Lord of the Rings), and Carl Jung (whose Red Book is discussed below).
For those unfamiliar with Quaker ways, and especially with the unprogrammed branch of the Quaker family tree, meetings for worship last about an hour and are mostly silent. Now and then a Friend may offer a brief inspirational message. These sharings are often called vocal ministry.
This continues an ongoing series of posts about a young girl growing up and pursuing child-led learning at Light Morning. The series begins here with an introduction. Links to the other posts in the series are here.
A few notes about the following journal entries: Lauren has asked everyone to call her Lofty. In my journal I sometimes use one name and sometimes the other, and she herself sometimes goes back and forth between the two. / We’re a common table community, meaning that we take all our meals together in the community shelter. / We’re also off-grid, so we heat and cook with wood and use kerosene lamps for light.
This continues an ongoing series of posts about a young girl growing up and pursuing child-led learning at Light Morning. The series begins here with an introduction. Links to the other posts in the series are here.
The Old Paths
Bedtime Stories (Friday, 7 February 1992) Last April (here) I listed the books that Joyce, Lauren, and I had been reading aloud as bedtime stories. Here’s what we’ve read together since then.
Gifts of Unknown Things, Watson Star Wars, Lucas The Empire Strikes Back, Lucas et al The Return of the Jedi, ibid A Wizard of Earthsea, LeGuinn The Tombs of Atuan, ibid The Farthest Shore, ibid Treasure Island, Stevenson The Adventures of Robin Hood Afternoon of the Elves, Lisle George Washington Carver, Holt Carver’s George, Means Oversoul Seven and the Museum of Time, Roberts A Swiftly Tilting Planet, L’Engle
This continues an ongoing series of posts about a young girl growing up and pursuing child-led learning at Light Morning. The series begins here with an introduction. Links to the other posts in the series are here.
On Loan From the Universe
A New Kind of Family (Thursday, 5 December 1991) A passing impression this evening of life in the emerging Light Morning form of family. After supper, Joyce went to a village meeting at the Institute for Sustainable Living and Marlene went to a weekly gathering at our neighbors Harry and Doris. The rest of us are sitting around our off-grid community shelter which is lit by kerosene lamps.
Adam’s in the kitchen reading the current issue of Harrowsmith. Ron’s by the wood-stove studying a book about dreams. I’m on the couch with an old issue of Whole Earth Review. Lauren is sitting on Tom’s lap in the rocking chair, listening to stories about his youth, for which she seems to have an insatiable appetite and which Tom loves to share. Everything’s warm and cozy and family.
This continues an ongoing series of posts about a young girl growing up and pursuing child-led learning at Light Morning. The series begins here with an introduction. Links to the other posts in the series are here.
The Irony of Pinocchio
You Can’t Just Say No (Monday, 2 September 1991) Our new grain grinder has just arrived. It’s an expensive machine whose large flywheel should make it much easier for us to convert wheat berries into whole wheat flour. Even seven-year-old Lauren can crank the handle with no trouble. She’s thrilled to finally be able to grind flour with the rest of us.
Unfortunately, the output is far below both our expectations and the claims of the manufacturer. After seeing how little flour it seems to produce, we use a timer and a measuring cup to run some trials between our older, harder to crank machine and the new one. The results clearly show that the new grinder will have to be returned.
Our daughter, however, has not been included in this decision-making process. Lauren’s eyes fill with tears when she learns that we’re going to ship back the beautiful new machine she’s been using to help make flour. All our reasons and statistics are meaningless to her. We who value making communal decisions by consensus have acted as though consensus is for adults only, thereby disenfranchising the littlest member of our community. We have, in effect, become a bunch of neighborhood bullies.
A 47-year-old summer tradition at Light Morning: Canning tomatoes on a wood cook-stove. Over 100 quarts so far this year. Links to photos from earlier seasons are here. (Click on any image to enter slideshow mode.)
Rather late in coming (as explained in last week’s post), here are a few images from this past spring at Light Morning. Links to photos from earlier seasons are here. (Click on any image to enter slideshow mode.)