by Lara Struckman
Entry 1: June 4 2021
Being on this land for the past two weeks, I feel as though I have inhaled for the first time. “Ahh, this is what community is like,” my sweet breath says. These first few weeks of living and working as part of Common Ground Ecovillage have in many ways been a dream. I was met upon arrival with a warm and hearty welcome. Walking into the bustling barn that would become my new residence was intimidating at first but quickly became familiar and communal. Surrounded by a stunning array of green textures and hues, a guardian persimmon tree, and a sprightly pair of Carolina wren who visit me daily, beaks full, on my personal observation perch. I have been finding fulfillment both in simplicity and solitude as well as in the vibrant communal gatherings and passing conversations. I have been welcomed into the Nest for nourishing dinners and throughout the first week I was struck by the generosity of this community through the ways so many checked in on me, made sure I had what I needed, and were willing to chip in what they could to make here feel like home.
I worked long days in the garden until the burning sun kissed the western horizon and I 
loved it. I relished in the way we kept time only by the amount of daylight left and not by watch or clock. I enjoyed using my body in service to that which is meaningful, getting to meet the crops and sing songs of praise and gratitude for their abundance and their thriving. On the more technical side of things, the first pages of my notebook are already filled with rememberings and teachings from Doug, Caleb, Margaret, and Jeffry. I am inspired by the way all of them work so diligently and calmly even amidst the trials and hinderences inherently present in this type of work.
The climax of community this week was surely the Memorial Day workday and moving up ceremony celebration on Saturday. Never have I been swept up in such a swell of sincerity, generosity, and loving workfullness. The connections were abundant, the food nourishing, and the gratitude palpable. My heart was touched through witnessing the outpouring of love and admiration towards Jeffry and Margaret in their moving up ceremony, recognizing their new level of engagement and commitment to the community. This was an excellent entry point into not only the grit and dedication of the community, but also the heart and soul.
I tucked all these moments and more into my back pocket to save them for the times of less serendipity that will undoubtedly ensue. I was surprised however, that one of those moments happened very soon after. When I felt the culture shock of venturing out to Food Lion for groceries after only a week in an intentional community, I realized both the richness of these experiences and how strongly I yearn for them to be the norm in our society rather than reserved only for those few who seek it out.
As I embark on the next 6 months here, it feels important to spend some time reflecting on why it is I am here and respond to what many have asked me so far which is what I hope to learn or receive from this experience. I said “yes” to this internship in part because I knew it would push me not only to grow both in my knowledge and experience of farming but also as a whole person. This intention has already been supported by the fact that in just 10 days I already feel in many ways changed. It is as if layers of noise are beginning to peel away to reveal an innate sense of belonging. Belonging to life, to myself, to others, and to land.
It was a chilly, rainy Memorial Day weekend, but our spirits soared as we gathered to work on finishing our magnificent barn. Today’s main project was prepping and applying slip straw insulation to some remaining walls. Some, like Theresa, pitched in to the elbows and got busy. Others went to the far corners of the land to work on clearing some trails and forging others. Still others worked in the garden and helped prep farmer Doug’s weekly CSA. And it all came to a close with a fabulous potluck and a music jam at the fire drum circle…
nd. Stepping from the lawn into the forest always takes my breath away, and I like to pause, consciously taking the first step, as if crossing a threshold into a magical place of wildness.
After a few minutes Doug called to me and waved, so I made my way to the barn to see what I could help with. He pushed a garden cart and I followed with a wheelbarrow down to the rows that we would be harvesting. I was assigned the broccolini for starters. Doug found me a sharp blade and demonstrated how to select the tender shoots with miniature broccoli “heads” and how far to cut them down. It reminded me of pruning roses: make the cut just above the branch below that held the beginning of another tiny sprout. I had always assumed that “broccolini” was an early cutting of broccoli. What I learned was that regular broccoli sends out smaller side shoots after the main, larger head is cut. Broccolini, however, is a separate variety that only sends out the smaller “side shoots” with teeny broccoli “heads”. They’re lovely to munch on raw, and cut up for stir-frys or for steaming, only very light cooking is needed as they’re so tender. So I got to work. I had brought my trusty wooden stool in case I needed it, but held off as long as possible just because. I guess I wanted to wait and see how my back did. Well, about a quarter way down the row my lower back was starting to communicate with me rather vociferously, so I resigned myself to fetching the wooden stool. Ahh, much better! Doug and I chatted a bit, but it was clear that we were both working quickly in order to get in the harvest before he had to leave around 11:30 or so. There were two types of broccolini in the row, a green variety and a dark purple variety. I filled up the first 5 gallon bucket and about 1/3 of a second bucket, covering two sides of a single row.
much away while picking, which I did of course. Picking them is done without a knife, just using the hands. Two hands actually, as you need to hold on to the plant while tugging just above the end of each pea. The tug is stronger than you would think, that’s why you need to hold down the plant to create some resistance, or you would pull the whole plant out. Doug showed me how the peas mature from the ground up, so the chubbiest peas, which are also the sweetest, are the ones near the bottom of the plant. It doesn’t really matter how long the pea is, but how chubby it is, and he showed me the minimum chubbieness to go for. 
I learned that the farm is prolifically producing, but unfortunately there are not enough CSA members to keep up with the abundance. So spread the word, and sign up yourselves! The produce is AMAZINGinly wonderful. I especially like that each week Doug sends you a list of what’s available, and you check off what you want and how many “units” of each. Then your order is available at a nearby pick-up spot.
We met at the barn at 9:30am and started to look and listen. There went a bluebird, straight to a small clump of leafless persimmon tree. We had barely gotten our binoculars focused when his mate appeared. Then, unbelievably, the branches filled in rapid succession with more bluebirds, a small flock of juncos, a pair of cardinals, and a pine warbler. Talk about instant gratification! As I beheld this flock of the three primary colors, plus black-and-white, I wished my binoculars had been a camera.
Energized by our early success, we quietly passed through the pines and circled the left side of the far field, where we saw crows and heard a blue jay and a red-shouldered hawk. We entered the woods at the McGowan Creek Trail and headed into an otherworldly silence, the damp path absorbing the sound of our footsteps. We are both avid botanizers, so no, we did not stay on the trail. We wandered and paused for putty-root, interesting leaves, spectacular mosses and lichens, winter fungi, gnarly tree trunks…
As we passed through different habitats, the species changed. The brushy thickets on the South side of the far field were alive with sparrows; we eventually identified three different kinds. Just when I thought our bird count was winding down, and we were headed toward the hartery Trail, I spied an extremely rare specimen perched on the footbridge by the treehouse—a Multicolored Bobble-bird! Take that, Mr. Audubon!
birds, totaling more than 85 individuals in four hours. Over the years, and in different seasons, I’ve seen and heard many other varieties which sadly were not in evidence this day, including pileated woodpeckers, phoebes, hummingbirds, yellow-billed cuckoos, yellow bellied sapsuckers, yellow shafted flickers, indigo buntings, and summer tanagers. Care to join us this summer for our very own CGEV bird count?
