Well, things are coming together. I have most of the rest of the year scheduled. I’ll be visiting East Wind, Earthaven Ecovillage, Blue Heron Farm, Acorn and Twin Oaks communities, and possibly Sirius and Ecovillage at Ithica in the northeast. Both the map and the calendar have been updated to show current plans. New places, new people.. I’m excited! I’ll be heading out on Friday to visit April for a few days in her new home, then it’s off to East Wind!
Tony Sirna, one of the founders of Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage, answered some questions about Dancing Rabbit and his experience. This is an abridged version of the interview. Click here for the complete interview.
BB: I know that you guys started thinking about the project when you were in school in California. What were some of the original goals that you had when starting Dancing Rabbit?
TS: In the early 90’s, there was a lot of stuff going on in the ecological movement. Global warming was really becoming apparent to those willing to accept it. It was real and it was going to be a problem and we wanted to do something about it. We wanted to do something radical. We wanted to do something that was a fundamental change as opposed to just sort of band-aid solutions. We didn’t really want to do protest work; we wanted to do something as a positive alternative. We were living in a coop, so we had this sense of cooperating in community. We had this vision - sort of like a New-England small town - as the model. The idea was that we could create this model town that was all focused on sustainability and that that would be an example that people could draw from. Making an ecological change was the first motivation and in some ways community and cooperation were sort of just an assumption because we were already living that way.
Since my camera was busted when we got to Dancing Rabbit, I didn’t get a chance to take any pictures of my own. Luckily, Richard, another visitor in our group, had a camera and shared some of his pictures with us.
 Kids playing on the hammock swing. Skyhouse (L) and Common House (R) in the back |
 Skyhouse ahead, grain bin to the right |
 Our visitor group |
 Working on a cob wall |
 Weeding the herb garden |
 Digging ditches for asparagus |
 Planting trees for restoration |
 Walking to the stream |
 Checking stream quality |
 Playing monopoly |
 Subbing out for the ultimate game |
 Playing ultimate frisbee |
 Humey stall in the common house |
 Solar shower outside |
 Weekly planning meeting |
 Living room at skyhouse |
 Bella ciao |
 Thomas’ wigwam |
 Inside the grain bin |
 Rich, our photographer. |
See Rich’s entire photo album here.
Some favorite shots: “Compost Kitty” group shot after ultimate frisbee a butterfly
Tereza, a six-year resident at Dancing Rabbit, answered some questions for us about her experience at the Ecovillage.
This is an abridged version of the interview. Click here for the full interview.
B: What made you seek out Dancing Rabbit?
T: Before I lived in DC - and I lived there for a year or two - I had been in the Bay area, California, where it’s a lot more liberal. People have a lot more consciousness about recycling and basic stuff that in DC I did not find. I was part of this horrible system. I’d get on the train and go to work and everybody looked the same. They just didn’t seem to give a flying f**k about anything except their little jobs and their little lives. I was going absolutely crazy and feeling more and more disgusted about what I was doing in the world, and not doing what I really wanted to do. I was involved with someone at the time and we thought we were going to homestead, so I was looking up homesteading stuff. I got really into permaculture and I put in a search for permaculture, and Dancing Rabbit - oddly enough - was the first or second search result. Because I’m a pretty social person I realized homesteading would never work for me. I need to be around more people and I thought it would be a lot easier to do with other people who had a similar idea. I did the same thing that numbers of people do which is devour the entire website and read every single page before I came. I was super-excited about coming. I really felt like I needed to not be destroying the planet and hopefully actually helping.
Read the rest of this entry »
Paolo Vidali, a friend of my sister, has been making his own biodiesel in upstate New York for two years. He kindly answered some questions for us via e-mail about his experience.
What got you into biodiesel?
Around the buildup of the Iraq war, I started feeling trapped by my complacency with the situation through my consumption. I was extremely opposed to a war for oil, yet every week or so I had to fill up my Honda Civic with gas, and it started to drive me crazy. It wasn’t enough to simply boycott Mobil brand gas, or to “buy Citgo” to support Venezuela. I started researching online about alternative fuels, and decided that making ethanol seemed too complicated and expensive. You need to register as an alcohol distillery, and in NY the laws are pretty draconian about that. Eventually I hit upon biodiesel, and found that there was a group forming that had spun off an eco conference at Marist College in Poughkeepsie. I went to the next meeting, and began networking with people around the Hudson Valley that wanted to get involved with biodiesel. I was especially attracted by the idea that you can both go off the petroleum grid, as well as reclaim used vegetable oil and get more use out of it. I have worked on farms before, and the idea of turning something that’s already been used as food energy into car energy was appealing. I ended up selling my Civic and buying an old Mercedes-Benz diesel sedan which I taught myself how to repair. Then, along with the fledgling Hudson Valley Biodiesel Co-op members, we started making biodiesel.
How did you learn the creation process, and what were some of the challenges you ran into along the way?
I must admit that most of what I learned about biodiesel production was from the internet. I was very fortunate to meet a few people at the co-op who were a little ahead of the game, and had already begun experimenting and building processors in their garages. The guide written by girlMark (at www.localb100.com) was instrumental to all of us, and pretty much lays out how to build a processor. We pooled our money and skills–some carpenters, some engineers, some accountants, some landscapers–and built a collectively owned and run processor in Ulster County. Our challenges were primarily improving upon our initial design as we ran into leaks and problems, and figuring out where to get grease (WVO or Waste Vegetable Oil) that was good enough quality to use. I would say that the initial setup, from building the processor to doing the chemistry, is daunting, but with one or two people to walk you through it becomes easy. A processor can have 10 valves and two pumps and filters and so forth, so there’s a lot to keep track of, but with a diagram you can figure it out quickly.
Tell me about your creation process - how often do you make a batch, how much do the materials cost, where do you get your oil, how many labor hours do you put into it, etc?
I now run a processor with a friend of mine that we built together in his garage that’s closer to my house. The initial cost of the plumbing pieces, pumps, filters, and hardware will run from $300-$400, assuming you can salvage some 55 gallon drums and an electric hot water heater. The chemicals are cheapest when bought in bulk, which means a high up-front cost, but a lower per pound or per gallon price. We end up paying about $2.25/lb. for lye (KOH) and $3.25/gallon for methanol delivered. I collect oil from 4-5 restaurants, most of which use soybean oil and go through 5-10 gallons of oil a week. Since we do 30 gallon batches of biodiesel, we don’t need to collect that much oil per week. The interesting thing is that the restaurants are all different–one diner, one bagel shop, one high-end Italian place, etc. A lot of people will recommend Chinese or Japanese restaurants for their oil since they have high turnover and will change the oil a lot, but we haven’t needed to ask yet. Collecting is really the easy part, once you get over the hurdle of asking! It takes about 2 hours to run a batch, from pumping the grease into the processor to measuring and mixing chemicals. It takes about a week to wash the biodiesel (bubble water up with an aquarium air stone) to get the impurities out, so that’s a big bottleneck, though it only takes 20 minutes to drain and change the water each time, the rest can be done with timers. The end product, high-quality washed home-brew biodiesel, ends up costing 85 cents per gallon excluding labor. I’ve never kept track of my hours because of the opportunity to buck the oil companies, make my own fuel, and drastically reduce my emissions is truly priceless. Do expect to spend a few weeks of tinkering to get a processor working if you’re doing it by yourself or with only one other person.
How do you think biodiesel will be a part of the energy/fuels market in the future?
As I see it, the cost of oil and thus petroleum products will never go down again. We will never see gas for $1.80 a gallon. Fuel oil will never cost $1.09 a gallon. Those were prices only three years ago, and the growth in cost and oil company profit has been exponential. Here in the Northeast, heating companies are turning to biodiesel to not only improve their environmental standing, but to cut costs as petroleum outruns commercial grade biodiesel in price. I do agree with critics that biodiesel is not the end-all solution, and neither is ethanol. At their core, these alternative, “eco” fuels are based on mono-cropped, usually genetically-modified corn or soybean plants. Our current levels of consumption place unbelievable demand on our natural resources, and that has to change. What aggravates me is that American auto makers know how to build efficient cars, and they do it all the time. See the upcoming film Who Killed the Electric Car? for more on GM’s all-electric car produced in California under the Saturn division, and how it got (literally) crushed. There are turbodiesel Ford Ranger pickups, Chrysler Mini-vans, and Ford Focuses all over Latin America, Europe, and even Canada. My uncle in Italy drives a Ford Focus wagon (manual transmission) that gets 60MPG, yet Ford doesn’t sell it here. We have been conditioned as Americans to bite off more than we can chew, and somehow that has to change. The only interim solution I can see, having a 25 mile roundtrip commute myself, is to use alternative fuels and attempt to get people to adopt them more widely.
Recommended links for more information: Hudson Valley Biodiesel Cooperative, Community BioFuels, BiodieselNow forums, Infopop forums.
We spent three weeks at Dancing Rabbit as part of their visitor program. There were 10 visitors in our group, half of whom stayed for the full three weeks. While our experience at Dancing Rabbit was very different from that at Lost Valley, I believe that each community is well structured to achieve its individual goals.
April will not be joining me on the rest of this journey. We spent a week getting her set up in Arkansas with a place to live, a car and a cell phone. She will be enrolling in classes this fall to begin work on a Registered Dietician degree. Meanwhile, I’m laying low in Dallas, taking some time to re-plan this journey as a solo adventure.
I’ve found updating this blog very challenging, mainly given the need to filter out the more technical and sanitary details of our day to day, to display here. unfortunately, there are too many emotional and messy aspects to the last three months to make that an easy task.
This trip has had it’s fair share of ajustments, singed circuits and heartbreak. Most of my stay at Dancing Rabbit was a juggle of experiencing the community and trying to fish myself out of a tangle of emotional consequence. With that, I first want to say thank you to everyone there who made that easier, and I’m sorry to everyone just waiting to hear about the place. I’m cofident Benjamin is in the process, now, of documenting a run down of DR’s details. I’ve dedicated myself, instead, on the composure and disection of personal realms that need attention.
We’re currently on break from the trip in Texas until May 25, when we’ll head out again stopping first in Arkansas to stay with my Dad.
Ecovillage and Permaculture Certificate Program 2006 at Lost Valley Educational Center (LVEC), Dexter Oregon
Summer program: June 26 - August 18, 2006; Fall program: October 2-27, 2006
This dynamic residential program provides a holistic introduction to ecovillages, in addition to a full permaculture design certificate course. Students may receive academic or internship credits.
Subjects: Ecological Landscape Design, Ecovillage Site Design, Organic Gardening, Ecobuilding, Personal Growth and Community Connection, Ecoforestry, Intentional Communities, and Renewable Energy
Instructors and Presenters:
* Diana Leafe Christian, Editor Communities Magazine,
* Rick Valley, permaculture instructor and designer
* Joshua Smith, ecological landscape designer
* Tree Bressen, facilitator and consensus trainer
* Mark Lakeman, founder of City Repair, Portland Oregon
* Toby Hemenway, author Gaia’s Garden
* Rob Bolman, founder of Maitreya Ecovillage
* Marc Tobin, MCRP, ecovillage approach to community planning
* Jude Hobbs, permaculture instructor and landscape designer
* and more…
See: http://www.lostvalley.org/epcp for details!
Contact: Keli Lindelian at Lost Valley, epcp@lostvalley.org, (541) 937-3351 x 112
Please forward this message to any appropriate people or listservs.
After we left Lost Valley we headed down the Oregon Coast the Scenic way and let our jaws drop a bit at the scenery that would tease us from the other side of the pines. The sky would drop jigsaw puzzle shapes of sunlight on our car as we weaved through the trees along the cliff side. We would hear the ocean and smell the ocean and strain our eyes at the distance waiting for a flash of waves. It wasn’t the wisest technique for the driver and not the best equation: steep drop offs into the ocean with no guard rails plus breathtaking views you have to stretch a bit sideways to see. Needless to say we survived our own wanderlust and made it to San Fransisco.
One of our stays along the coast was at Nehelam bay. It was clear and cold when we got there, but before we had our tent up it started to rain again. We stayed two nights and rained like clockwork each of them. The first night we went out to the ocean in our rain gear and walked along it’s long and extremely flat beach. Because of the flatness the ocean rolled onto the shore for what seemed like an exaggerated length. In the darkness it looked like the end of the world. This black mirror stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction was completely surreal. If we looked closely, though, we could see the violent breaking of waves, like a ruffled line of dim white light, out in the distance.
We came back the next day and I convinced Benjamin to take off his shoes and brave the painfully cold water.
“It hurts!” he said in shock as he ran from the touch of the water.
“I didn’t say it would be pleasant, I just said it’d be invigorating.” I told him. I guess he was expecting something else, big surprise. He stayed back along the “safe” part of the beach and enjoyed the sand and it’s natural-creamy-peanut-butter-like texture it has when saturated. I stayed close to the line of scrimmage and made designs like writing in the sand with my feet and watched them wash away, giving in to the temperate nature of life.
Our stay in San Fransisco was by far the most luxurious experience we’ve had so far. We stayed with Benjamin’s cousins Domani and John (siblings not partners… I’m sure they appreciate the distinction). They actually live in Tracy, CA, outside of San Fransisco. Our trend with the rain proceeded us and though Tracy has been described as nearly always sunny and temperate, it was raining when we arrived and raining when we left. I’m sure there will be jokes about how ‘April Rains brought the rain,’ I’m used to it by now.
We woke up Saturday morning to Domani making breakfast for us: breakfast burritos with all the fixings, made with ingredients fresh from the store, delivered from John by motorcycle (very cool). We spent the day lazying about (which was fabulous after the long camping regiment and driving to get there). That night they took us out to Indian food and a tour of San Fransisco that just kind of happened in the process of finding the world’s curviest road, which we did eventually find (go team!).
Despite discussing the possible tourist activities for the next day, we spent Sunday laying around as well. It felt like it was 5pm before we’d digested breakfast (another gourmet delight made by Domani: Berry pancakes and grits). That night they took us out again, this time to a fine restaurant where I had the best pork loin ever.
On our way to LA we hit a huge storm. Very displeased was I, the girl who freaks out driving in even a light rain, to drive in high winds and rain so thick I could barely see at times and when I could see, the sky blended with the road. There was no space between this storm cloud and us. With much relief we made it to Elleanor and Tipton’s house in LA.
Our LA schedule was packed. We jumped around staying with different people almost every night. I got to spend some quality girl time with Ellie. Benjamin got to spend some quality boy time with Shawna. We walked along Huntington Beach with Laura. My old buddy, Gentry, gave us a fabulous tour of all things fabulous in LA, including a store I am now in love with called Necromance where they sell random old interesting stuff often having to do with mortality. Where else can you think of to go to buy 1940’s anatomy diagrams, snake vertebrae, leaves and flowers pressed and identified in 1967 from LA county, and books about the evolution of death rituals in America over the last two centuries? It was hard to leave. We saw an amazing play I highly recommend called, “Man from Nebraska” that Benjamin’s friend, Jeff, ran the lighting. And last but not least I got to reminisce with Tipton and Ellie about the good ol’ canvass days of yore. This may still be something I venture back into.
We left LA and headed along my old childhood trail towards Arizona. When I was around seven we lived in Cathedral City (suburb of Palm Springs) but our congregation was in Ranch Cucamunga. Every Sunday we’d take our our pilgrimage to church through the desert. This became a family event I would look forward to every week. I’d sleep in the back sandwiched between baby blankets until we reached points of excitement. We’d sometimes stop at one the following stops: Cabazon, where the huge dinosaurs are (we’d eat at the cafe and Mom would almost always eat a strawberry Belgium waffle), the produce store in the middle of nowhere to eat a (fresh, local, awesome) date shake, or AMPM to eat a $.99 cheeseburger (another one of Mom’s cravings).
We made this journey and stopped for a Belgium waffle in Cabazon and had our tourist moment with the dinosaurs. It wasn’t the same without Mom… that’s what made it what it is in my memory.
When we got to Cathedral City, we (after some effort) found the house I used to live in. It looked totally different. The outside stucco walls had been covered in stone and the oleanders had been replaced too. My beloved olive tree still stood at the side of the house and all the palm trees had grown from 4-10 feet high to about 30 feet high (or more?). I built up the courage and rang the door bell. After an awkward introduction she lit up with excitement.
“Oh, my god! You grew up here! Oh, please come in!” Mrs. R______ gave me a grand tour of every room, it’s past, present and future. She was and artist and a hair stylist and her husband was a contractor. Given this duo, the house was significantly different. There were hand painted murals, retextured and recolored floors and walls. Bathrooms had been rebuilt and there were plans to totally redo the master suite (bathroom, and closet included). My bedroom had been remade into a hair salon (very surreal). We took pictures of most of the changes. The curious thing was how most of the house felt like it would if I had redone it (especially the kitchen), nothing at all the way Mom had it or would have it in the future. Everything was shades of gold and brown. There was leather and feathers. Things felt like things from Africa, the middle east and some nameless down-home ranch, blend well and let ferment. Mom would have described it as cluttered, I call it an expression of life, and lived in. Mrs. R_____ was incredibly kind and remembered the Armstrongs (Mom’s name). They were the same people who bought it from us some ten or more years ago. She took my name and said she’s email pictures of the house when construction was done, “… for your Mom” she said many times. She seemed so tickled there was another woman out there who had loved this house as much as she did. She was also proud, I think, at how much love and work she had put into it. It was obvious she was grateful and really wanted Mom to know that the house would always be cared for.
We made it to Tucson the night of April 3, the night before my best friend Tami’s birthday. Tami had just moved back to Tucson from Nashville, TN, so she’s staying in her Dad’s camper in his backyard. His place was an hour outside of Tucson, She was staying there until she’s saved up enough to get her own place in town. We had stayed with her for about three days, celebrating her birthday and catching up, when it just got too crowded. Some diplomacy was needed to balance Don’s family, Tami and two guests, but it wasn’t our place so we went to Tucson to re-discover my hometown and couch surf until it was time to go.
Tucson turned out to be more emotional that I was ready for. Asking friends if we could stay with them bothered me, as most my friend’s in Tucson are not in a situation to take house guests at all (too many roommates, living with parents, ect). Our trip, due to it’s nature, meant that Benjamin and I had to be around each other constantly. This had put a serious strain on our relationship. We had two serious, and emotionally charged, discussions that was exhausting. We really are due a little vacation from each other and some intimant alone time. On top of everything else my Dad called me to tell me my Uncle Terry had died and my Aunt Rita was devastated. All I wanted to do was go home and be with family. I didn’t want to be in this hot, dirt town, eating cheap Mexican food and being a burden on my friends. I was emotionally shot. It was unrealistic to get to Arkansas in time for the funeral so we decided to continue on the trip as planned. I’m just glad I’ll be there soon enough. I miss my Aunt Rita. I miss my lake.
The night we saw Glympse play at club crawl downtown had been just like my adolescence. Their music is still enchanting, still unique. I had a chance to reminisce with Omar that night of the old days in his photo album. We didn’t get to sleep till 4:20am.
The next night we stayed at Todd’s house. In classic Todd fashion we stayed up late discussing probing topics that challenge and entice, drinking Tecate until Benjamin was dizzy and Todd would stumble into the wall as he got up to get another. We slept in a bit then had strong coffee with chicken and tortillas over the news paper and discussions of religion and judgment. I appreciate his questions and how he makes me really think about my answers but he still hits my buttons relentlessly.
With some effort I managed to spend some time with Adrian. I’ve missed him so much. Part of me felt like such a short visit just made me miss him more, reminded me of why I liked talking to him. Even still time with him was emotionally quenching. I did get to see his daughter, Katherine Joe, whose about a year old. It was completely surreal. She was tiny, parts of Adrian and of Mary Joe blooming on her face. She was so beautiful. Mary Joe encouraged me to pick her up, I was kinda scared to touch her, but I held her a while. She examined my necklace carefully and stared at Benjamin, laughing occasionally. I think it’s the beard, kids can’t resist him.
We spent our last night as a delicate rumor in Tami’s camper (at least tried to), not to be seen or heard, trying not to stir up anymore tension around Tami’s situation there. With relief we left the next day.
We drove into Flagstaff late that next night and drank in the cold air. I relished in the action of retrieving my favorite sweater. Pamela, one of Benjamin’s high school buddies, met us at the door and we caught up in the foyer by the door. We were already talking too rapidly to get out of the foyer and into the light. We stayed up late talking in the kitchen over the counter top. Both days spent in Flagstaff, Benjamin and I hurriedly rushed to get caught up on all the stuff that piles up as we travel (laundry, postcards, mending, writing, ect), while Pamela was at school. We still didn’t get everything done, but we were close. Pamela took us out to Indian food that night and Ice Cream the next day. Somehow she knew Benjamin’s magic words.
I’ve been trying to post more regularly since we left Flagstaff, so that brings us up to speed.