"Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious." ~ Ruth Reichl
It started, our encompassment of community, with a jar of green tomato chow-chow left at our backdoor with a name and a phone number. Our first welcome to the place that was to become our Fat Hummingbird Farm and the first intimation of 'community'.
Well, actually, on second thought, it began when we first looked at the house in February of last year. The home inspector, Les, climbed all over and in and out of the nooks and crannies of our future home - flying his drone up and over the roof; it looking for all the world like a nosy turkey buzzard as it rocked on its rotors from window to window, from roof to chimney. Later we stood in the kitchen discussing the quirks, inconsistencies, and vagaries of the house. The lack of a bannister on the steep stone stairs into the cellar, the still bark-covered ancient strength of the beams (well, more like entire trees) that held up the house, the inconsistent height of the risers on the stairs to the second floor, how moving from the back of the house to the front of the house actually involves a bit of a climb, the overall and absolute strength of the bones of the house, and all other things. (Note: since then, the awareness of the presence of a ghost that really does not like one particular kitchen drawer kept closed - but that story is for another time).
The point is, as Les signed off on his report and shook our hands he said:
"We live just over the mountain from you. When you move here, come for tea. We are almost always home."
And he meant it. And it was an acknowledgement that he felt already that we were people that belonged here. So, we bought the house, and returned to the West Coast until we were to come back to our farm permanently six months later. And we spoke often while we were waiting about how we had not experienced that sort of open-handed and open-hearted hospitality in all the thirty years we had lived on the West Coast. That 'community' thing.
So, that first day at Fat Hummingbird Farm we found on our counter a bottle of wine and two glasses from the former owners of the house - who are our neighbours up the road, along with a card welcoming us to the road and to the community. We left to get some groceries and returned home to find that jar of chow-chow from another neighbour. The next day, yet another neighbour brought over a jar of his home-grown honey, inviting us to drop by for coffee anytime.
The Saturday of that week we went to the local farmers market in a lovely, quaint town about a half an hour away. People asked us where we were from when we stopped at their tables and, upon hearing that we were newly moved to the area, welcomed us enthusiastically. We also went to another market much further away - just because we liked that market a lot - and earned the moniker of 'that crazy Clarence couple". Eighteen months later and at both markets we are known and greeted by name. Going to market now is less about buying produce and things than it is about the communal social activity of just visiting and catching up with peoples' lives.
We know our local butcher by name and know intimate things about his family like when one daughter got married and when another daughter graduated from high school and when his dog was smitten and head over heels in love with a coyote and disappeared for a day, lusting after her. The plea was put out on facebook that he was missing and the whole of the community went looking for him. He was eventually found (and in a short time, neutered!). We know our local restaurateurs by name and also their suppliers as most often they are fellow farmers and gardeners. The local bookstore owner knows what kinds of books I like. The liquor store knows our favourite wines and the pharmacy knows when I will run out of medication before I do. That 'community' thing.
When we lived back on the prairies, our house was, as my mother used to say, Grand Central Station. There were always people popping in and out and, on Sundays, we cooked extra of our weekend pancakes and pineapple sauce because we knew someone would drop by, knowing pancakes were on hand. We have that community again here. Unexpected visitors are the norm and I love that that happens. Community means, also, always having the hot water kettle just off the boil to make up a pot of coffee or tea at a moment's notice. Or always making sure you have cookies or muffins in the freezer that you can take out and thaw quickly when you see a car of truck pull into the driveway.
It is not an easy thing here to 'keep yourself to yourself'. And that is probably a good thing. It is important for people, again, to look out for each other. It is vital, I think, to try and counter isolation and disconnection with the world and with our fellow human beings with things that will create commonality. We have found, since we have come here, that the sense of community has grown more and more. As a community spirit grows it tends to absorb almost everyone, with a wide range of activities, societies and goodly deeds and an expectation that one should get involved. That 'community' thing.
Approximately a year ago, we decided that a good way to meet more of our neighbours was to have a Winter Open House. We put flyers in peoples' mailboxes up and down the road and invited a whole mess of strangers into our house for food and drink and conversations. We thought that perhaps only those few people we had already met would attend. Instead, our kitchen was filled to the brim with people new to us and new to each other. A lot of strong friendships grew out of that day. Now our community has extended up and over the mountain to include the Ports of Lorne, George, and Hampton. It has extended west as far as Clementsport and east as far as Wolfville. And it has extended to each of the very far ends of the whole of the 20 kilometres of Clarence Road.
In just a few short weeks we will have our Winter Open House again. It is now an annual event as far as we are concerned. We will have to take the car this time to fill peoples' mailboxes with our invitations as the community now includes many more people. Thank goodness for facebook because that will include a lot more people that make up our rural community. I'm looking forward to a house full this time, not just the kitchen. I think we may have to prep our hay field for parking. And I begin cooking next week! This is what we have been looking for, this is what we have been missing, this is what is important. You know, that 'community' thing.
