It pains us to watch. We try to help by giving advice and offering to mediate. From our perspective, equanimity could be easily arranged. Community could be restored if only a few simple steps were taken. It would begin with an agreement to move forward as a democracy wherein all tenants have a say and every vote counts.

We lived at Oilseed when it was a thriving community of friends and helpful neighbors. We had weekly potlucks and monthly meetings. We didn’t always agree but we were able to make decisions as a group and more forward. The driveway got graded. We vetoed the wedding and long-term camping in the woods. The guineas were approved and came home to roost.

We remember well the painstaking care with which we crafted a pet policy and the evening we spent deciding what to do with one of our members who was behind in their rent. Better remembered are the laughs, deep discussions and warm hugs. Oilseed once meant music nights, craft nights, bonfires, shared meals, long walks and community projects.

We brought what we learned about community with us when we moved down to the bend. We take turns helping each other. We purchase, own and share community assets. We sit on the porch and discuss ways to build neighborhood resilience. We share projects, meals, bonfires, long walks, laughter, deep discussion and warm hugs. Our lives vibrate with positive energy and purpose. Life is good.

We met the latest horror story with disbelief. The situation had escalated beyond mistrust to outright disregard for personal privacy. It can best be described as a violation of human rights complete with illegal searches and legal threats.

What was once a cooperative community has become a not-so-benevolent dictatorship. As sad as this is, the level of outrageousness has actually given us hope. Hope that the community has bottomed out. That it can’t get any worse. That this time, remedial action will be taken to turn things around.

Or, if no fix can be had, hope that our friends at Oilseed will finally walk away. That they will survive this experience and, despite the bad taste in their mouths they will have the nerve to attempt community living again at some point in the future.

In 2001, when the original lease was negotiated, it opened up much-needed affordable housing and provided a revenue stream to support the broader community we call the Bubble. Since then, Oilseed Community has been home to college students, farm and fuel interns, and people who worked at The Abundance Foundation, Piedmont Biofuels and Chatham Marketplace. Oilseed provided a soft landing portal into the Bubble.

Abandoned houses on land awaiting development became community housing and revenue. It was a triple win. The developer was happy. The tenants were happy. And the Bubble flourished.

Bob and I moved to Oilseed in November of 2007 after approval by the community. Because Oilseed was more about community than cheap rooms, we were screened like everyone else. We were very grateful to move into the trailer, which we cleaned up and renamed “Camelina.” On many an afternoon, it wasn’t unusual to open our door to find see either Matt or Greg and the fresh, new face of a prospective tenant.

During the two years we lived in Camelina, we formed lasting friendships with many wonderful people including Simon and Jessica, Link, Matt, Dana, Greg, Kathryn, Jack and Adah. Revenue from Oilseed rents fueled the bubble, helping pay for Biofuels Coop remediation projects and helping Lyle and Tami keep their many philanthropic projects afloat.

None of the original tenants live at Oilseed today. We bought Trouts Farm. Greg moved to Michigan. Simon and Jessica bought a home in Durham, Link in Siler City, Matt in Bynum. We all fledged.

Although we know many of the new Oilseeders, I have yet to meet them all. Most of them are snugly plugged into the bubble. But sadly, the Oilseed revenue stream that used to benefit the bubble is over, dammed up by the tenants themselves. In a bold move, the new crop of Oilseeders re-negotiated their lease with the developers.

When I first heard about this, I assumed they had discussed their intentions with the current lease holders. Given that assumption, I accepted that they were taking their destiny into their own hands. Empowering themselves.

It sounded like a positive move except for the part about removing all financial support from the bubble. Making payments instead to the developer when they weren’t asking for money seemed like a waste. But hey, if this was the new direction of Oilseed, who was I to protest?

Come to find out, no one knew except for the tenants themselves. It was a surprise to everyone else. The bold move began looking more like a mutiny.

We all assumed Oilseed would die at the hands of the bulldozers one day. None of us could have guessed it would have come at the hands of the community itself.

We also share our moist, green habitat with some thirty species of birds, ranging in size from Blue Heron and Turkey Vulture to Hummingbird and in color from Cardinal to Bluebird to Goldfinch. Our sky is filled with dozens of songs ranging from Chickadee to Wood Thrush to Barred Owl. In the morning, I hear two geese moving into their day and a rooster from a few houses over.

In the mammal department, we have deer, fox, possum, rabbit and dogs across the street. We’ve not seen signs of bear, although will swear we spotted bear scat in the woods outside of Oilseed.

I once observed a fox calmly scratching fleas on the main path through the woods before it noticed me and ambled off. On another day, a Barred Owl swooped down closer and watched me for a minute.  When I took a step forward, it turned and flew back to its original perch. Jason had an encounter with what may have been the same owl a week ago in which they had a dialog, the owl making a clicking sound none of us have ever heard before and both vocalizing the characteristic “You allll”.

The deer get hunted and hit by cars but still number enough to require vegetable gardens be surrounded by seven feet of fence. Sam harvested at least two road kill deer last Fall. One he hit and the other he saw get hit. If (when) the world economy does collapse, the neighbors are prepared to augment their protein intake with venison. Road kill is local food in the same way free food found in dumpsters is.

The road to Pittsboro from Moncure is a vulture smorgasbord, offering every flavor carcass imaginable. We tootle down this road kill buffet an average of ten times a week and have seen everything from deer to chicken. There’s a chicken plant on up the road and sometimes they lose one to the asphalt god.

Until Friday, nothing has been killed on our piece of property by the road; the stretch of grass and asphalt I’m watching Bob mow from the window behind my monitor. Both Bob and I saw the dead squirrel alongside our ditch as we pulled into the driveway after work but we got caught up in potluck preparations and forgot to go out and drag it off.

The next morning, while checking my email I saw a Turkey Vulture swoop down closer than I’d ever seen one and land on that squirrel. “We should drag that off.” I said, hoping the ‘we’ part wouldn’t turn out to be me. “No doubt the vultures will carry it off.” was Bob’s sensible answer.

And then this morning, Garth told us he saw Ickle Bickle dragging a large, grey carcass, alarming him for a moment when he suspected it might be Kome. Which made our day because Bob didn’t have to mow around a pile of squirrel. I’m always amazed at how everything always seems to get taken care of by one of us around here.

It’s Christmas Eve.  Or Holiday Eve, if you will. Bob and I have a little preparing to do for the big holiday tomorrow.  I’ve already begun by moving the Tofurky roast from freezer to refrigerator.

I’m planning to make gingered molasses cookies this morning and if they turn out well, I’ll take some to Fred and Reda next door.  I promised Jason and Haruka I’d bring a chocolate beet cake to Christmas dinner tomorrow.  Bob will roast the tofu and seitan beast and I’ll make gravy.

We dressed up the front porch with new lights and sparkly garlands cast off by an unknown person.  Spot is wearing a red holiday bow in anticipation of meeting many new visitors to Trouts Farm on the first day of 2011.  Our second annual Hoppin’ John New Year’s Day Party is bound to draw some new faces.

Bob bought two cases of champagne and we’ve been amassing a supply of bottled orange juice.  I bought six pounds of organic black eyed peas, and rice and corn meal and checked our deep freeze to make sure we have enough greens to go with the Hoppin John and corn bread.  We’ll have plenty of cleaning and cooking to do next week in preparation for our big party.

But today is a quiet day.  A good day to reflect upon our good fortune.  We moved into this house the day after Christmas last year, joining a neighborhood of great people.  We traded garden harvests with Fred and Reda all summer.   Big bags of sweet corn and peppers came across the fence in exchange for potatoes and carrots.

Most Tuesdays we picked up a big box of freshly harvested produce from Jason and Haruka at Edible Earthscapes.  Beans and rice!  Butterhead lettuce, arugula, tomatoes, edamame, carrots, beets, daikon, shishito peppers, garlic, white and sweet potatoes – the list goes on and on.  Nearly every Thursday evening, we shared a meal with anywhere from two to twenty neighbors and friends.  Spot’s scrapbook has grown to eight pages, one new face at a time.

The list of activities we enjoyed over the past year without having to drive anywhere is impressive. There was a trail crawl and numerous games of disc golf and badminton thanks to Lyle and Tami.  We plugged mushroom logs, participated in work parties, harvested mushrooms in the woods and cleared trails together.  Tami and I occasionally walk through the woods to work at each other’s homes.

We are also fortunate to be connected to the larger community in meaningful ways through Bob’s work with Central Carolina Community College and my work with The Abundance Foundation.  Our roles, both professionally and personally are to put positive energy into promoting local food and renewable energy.  Our work connects us to a diverse group of like-minded people and puts us in the path of the growing stream of people drawn here to learn how to create community resilience.  Our ultimate, collective reward is watching local self reliance bloom and grow.

January 1, 2011 will be an extraordinary day.  Perhaps even a spectacular day.  Our home will be filled with old and new friends and co-workers.  The synergy will make our heads spin.  As will the mimosas.  And then the next day will just be another day.

…”Hayseed”.

There I said it.

Many of us “Oilseeders”  have been musing lately about the past (and future) of Oilseed Community. The original order with the cosmic waiter, as I understand it, was for our small community of three houses to demonstrate the feasibility of growing an oilseed crop as an accoutrement to country living rather than another golf course.

And so a crop was planted near the pink cinder-block house, over on the other side of the 83 acres. Matt, Lyle, and Kim (among others I’m sure), planted an acre of canola after tilling the pasture grasses under. Unfortunately, this trial helped support the notion that a single tilling of pasture grasses won’t keep the aggressive ones from coming back and choking out your canola. And so it was….

Then, without really knowing how it might relate to the initial goal set forth, that of coaxing an energy crop out of the red North Carolina clay, Greg contracts with a local hay farmer to come and bale about 75 acres of pasture grass, because as we learned above, that’s what grows well here. Oilseed has a hay crop taken off, dozens of 950 pound bales that provides part of the biomass required to produce beef and milk here in Chatham.

And a year passes by. And another hay crop comes ready for baling, and again Oilseed provides biofuel for Chatham cows and goats.  And this is why I’ve been thinking lately that Oilseed should change its name to Haybale. Clearly, growing hay has been a winner for our community – very little work on our part – and tons of hay roll off the line every year.

But now, a newcomer is emerging on the Oilseed scene, pushing its way up in the red clay, liberally amended with Amanda’s worm castings. This year I followed my first wheat crop with a crop of soybeans in two varieties.

So with an oilseed crop coming along this summer, that  puts the current iteration of our community’s name at Hayseed. And I for one, think it fits.

I never actually expect winter to happen. After living in the tropics for eight years, I kind of got out of the habit.

I’ve heard people say that we don’t really have winter in the south, but that’s not my reality. I know that North Carolina is considered part of “The South” but it feels like the north to me. For one thing, there are no avocados growing here. No breadfruit, either. At 35.622 degrees north of the Equator, Moncure is peach country, not mango country.

Maui – January, 2003 and Moncure -January, 2009

And here its happened again – we’ve got winter. No matter how deep I am in denial, winter keeps happening. It’s been cold for months and then, just like the weather service predicted, we got snow. I looked out the window and saw it swirling around the garden and blanketing the lawn. I couldn’t believe it, so I propped the door open with my foot and took a picture.

Later, I saw my friends playing in the snow, but still I didn’t want to go outside. They were romping like kids in the stuff. It looked cold and wet – two conditions I try to avoid. Finally, I forced myself outside. With a leaf rake, I cleared our back steps. I took a whisk broom and dusted off Christine, our faithful car.

Lauren and Val walked by, dragging branches from the woods to burn in the stove next door. They were planning on making snow cream. Meanwhile, a pot of coconut cream potato/corn chowder simmered on our stove. I tried not to think about how nice some breadfruit chips would go with that soup.

As I chatted with Lauren and Val and saw how happy they were, I found myself enjoying the day despite myself. The sun felt good, the sky was bright and clear and the air was fresh. I let down my guard and embraced it for a moment and then I ran back inside.

Bob and I had a perfect Christmas Day. We lazed around in the morning and then took some food over to Jason and Haruka’s at noon. Bob showed us how to make Seitan and I made some seitan lunchmeat. David came by and we walked through the woods to play some disc golf at Augusta.

We saw a flash of orange (it’s still deer hunting season) and here came Lyle walking through the woods towards us. He joined us on the course, which he created on his property. We have not played with him since his brother Mark died a week and a half ago.

The weather was blue sky, sunny, warm, gentle puffs of breeze perfect! Absolutely the best weather imaginable. There was silence between shots, while we waited for the next Frisbee tosser to line up their shot and in that silence we listened to the birds and the gentle swish of the pines.

Bob and Lyle and I are birders so I was paying particular attention to the bird calls and at one point asked, “What is that bird?” Lyle listened and answered, “I don’t know.” And that was the hole he threw a birdie at.

We were all playing well and Lyle threw a putt from nearly 100 feet which landed in the basket with a resounding “Ka-ching!” Everybody ran up and gave him high fives and he was beaming. He was one under par and it was the best shot any of us had ever seen him make. I wondered if Mark was helping him by blowing little puffs of air under the disk to make it float better.

After we played, Lyle walked back through the woods with us and Greg arrived. Jason broke out an expensive bottle of Japanese liquor and poured everyone but Greg, the teetotaler, a drink. We sat on the deck behind Scott and Rachel’s house and drank and chatted as the sun went down and the temperature began to drop.

Lyle borrowed Greg’s phone and called Tami. She came over and we went back to Jason and Haruka’s to finish pulling dinner together. Haruka showed us how to make Daikon “steaks”, Greg fried up some awesome potato latkes and David brought some biscuits and Challa he had baked. We all ate and drank some more and laughed and listened to that silly Christmas music Bob brought (Bob Rivers’ hysterical Christmas Carol parodies.)

Tami and Lyle went home to be with the kids who had called, wanting some mom and dad time, and Greg did the dishes with help from the rest of us. Then we played a card game called Apples and Apples. It was quite the fine afternoon/evening in every way and Bob and I were glowing by the time we went home.

The after dinner group that remained after Lyle and Tami went home.The post A PERFECT CHRISTMAS DAY first appeared on Plastic Farm Animals.]]> https://troutsfarm.com/2008/12/25/a-perfect-christmas-day/feed/ 0 127