2000 Winter

By Jesse Wolf Pardoned (author of Rendered Spirits: The Dis'ing of Woo-Woo and She's O.K., We're Not O.K.: Whole Earth, Fractal Humanity)

 

"I now have the world's largest collection of my own books."
--Henry David Thoreau (after personally buying up all the unsold copies of Walden)

"Mirth First!"
--slogan from an infamously incestuous eco-tribe

Wild, wild, wild! What else can I say? Grab your arm, feel for a pulse! Wildness: that glorious liberatory samba, faith healers and all Gaia's creatures on the path to stay. Not a march of new toys or boy soldiers, and subject to no orders. Boogie to the protest, boogie in front of chain saws, boogie to the untrammeled beach! Rock and roll, stones and biscuits--"this is the real world, muchachos, and we are in it!"

I have always enjoyed visiting the great Gothic cathedrals of Europe and musing about how these buildings expressed so well the philosophy of their era. In their design, sculptures, stained glass, and lofty spaciousness, they were a metaphor for the way medieval people thought. The building of these cathedrals was a joint venture, funded not only by the wealthy but by townspeople who were members of the many medieval guilds and by peasants and pilgrims who had little cash to spare. Architects, stonemasons, glaziers, and other laborers worked for many years to make their vision come to fruition.

Yet the mind-set the building itself expressed was, in the end, hierarchical: the worshippers stood in the nave, and the clergy presided from the high altar, at the top of the stairs that led into the choir and sanctuary. The building told the stories of the Christian faith, articulated in stained glass and statuary for those who could not read. The building was not merely a worship space but a teaching tool, that helped people to understand the world from a certain point of view.

One year after the Fellowship for Intentional Community (FIC) published its landmark Communities Directory 2000, a rival group, the Associated Confederation of Intentional Communities (ACIC), is attempting to outdo that volume.

Sales of the FIC's 456-page Directory have been swift, and the book's extensive maps, charts, community descriptions, and articles have guided many community-seekers and attracted the attention of major print and broadcast media. Nevertheless, ACIC insists, the Directory is not enough.

This Spring sees the release of Intentional Communities Guide 2001. At 1200 pages, it lends itself less easily to packing on a bicycle tour. However, say its creators, it is worth every ounce of its hefty eleven-pound bulk.

Close your eyes and imagine--It is a beautiful summer day in the Pacific Northwest. The sun is shining, the air is warm and dry, and a gentle breeze is blowing, caressing your skin and stirring the maple and alder leaves. Sweet chitters are heard overhead as a flock of kinglets passes overhead, and the gurgling rush of a brook looms up ahead. You are surrounded by the beauty of nature on all sides, from dark-green lacy boughs of cedar to the ocean-blue sky above and the cool brown earth below. Sword ferns dot the landscape as far as the eye can see, and the soft layer of conifer needles sends tendrils of an ancient scent into your nostrils. You feel at one with nature, with creation, your mind passing from thought to thought like a stone skipping over the smooth surface of a mountain lake. You can't think of anyplace else you'd rather be, until...wait! Jeez, what is that godawful sound? Squeaky shoes on a basketball court in the middle of the woods? A forgotten alarm clock? Someone hiding in the bushes dragging fingernails over a small blackboard? No, my friends, I'm sorry to say that it is none of those things that has shattered your blissful excursion through this peaceful forest. I wish it were, for the odds of having this wonderful image interrupted again by the above disturbances would be slim and unlikely. Unfortunately, this disturbance is much more common, and you run this risk every time you venture out into the woods. Welcome to the realm of...the chickaree.

The chickaree, or Douglas Squirrel, is a year-round resident in the Pacific Northwest. Smaller than most squirrels, it has huge beady eyes, gray fur, a reddish-gray belly, and a short stubby tail. It is typically found in evergreen forests, often simultaneously shucking Douglas-fir cones into its fur-lined cheeks and into big piles on the ground below. And, of course, watching and waiting for poor, unsuspecting naturalists or outdoorsy-type folks to wander past just so that it can emit its terrible cry and take its revenge on humans for all that we've done to its home. The chickaree. Just writing about it causes my muscles to tense and my face to grimace. I can hear the sound playing in my head, over and over like a broken record, as one barks from its post, stubby little tail punctuating each shrill emission. If animals really are helpless against humans, then this creature is truly the great equalizer, for there is no way to stop it. Much like the dreaded Energizer Bunny, it keeps shrieking and shrieking and shrieking. The only recourse is to run away, and even then one has to run rather far before the sound is out of earshot.

Without Carolyn Moran, it's almost certain you would not be reading this particular magazine. Carolyn's initiative and dedication created Talking Leaves twelve years ago, helped it grow, and shepherded it until it found its new publishing home at Lost Valley Educational Center. Since handing over the magazine to us in late 1997, she has been as active as ever in working for an ecologically and socially sustainable future--this time, as President of Living Tree Paper Company. She has also provided us with invaluable assistance in obtaining grant funding for our library subscription program. We figured it's high time we interviewed Talking Leaves' founder. Because of the nature of both my work and her work (we have full schedules even without leaving home), and also because one of our cars has taken up residence at the mechanic's, we were not able to arrange an actual physical interview. Instead, I emailed her questions, and she responded in writing. Hopefully, what is lost in spontaneity of interchange is compensated for by the depth and thoughtfulness of answers she was able to give. We thank her again for making Talking Leaves a reality, and for continuing to provide inspiration with her far-reaching, visionary work.