It’s the Sunday of IU move-in week. Thousands of students (and their parents) descend, en masse, into Bloomington Indiana. Easily navigated streets during summer are already clogged. 

Meanwhile, here in Green Acres Permaculture Village, for a few months in early summer we were undergoing an extended period when we didn’t really know what was happening, in terms of new people moving in to replace the ones moving out. For the first time ever, we were about to have four openings (out of nine) in this tiny permaculture paradise in the middle of a suburb. But that quickly faded about ten days ago, when at least eight people (most of whom heard about us first through the ic.org site) called and emailed to see if they could fill one of the three slots we still have open. Usually, we fill open rooms naturally, through meeting people at our weekly Community Dinners, but last week we decided to cancel the dinner, since one resident had come down with Covid and another one (me) with a second wasp attack. Plus, this coming Thursday, many of us will attend the Andreas (former resident, now teaching in Ireland, except in summers) piano concert, Passion and Despair (Brahms), so we’ve cancelled that dinner, too. 

Which meant that the most likely “candidates” all had to make appointments. Will meet them this week.

Here’s how the patio looked last Thursday, forlorn:

Two days ago, an IU student who has just moved to Green Acres neighborhood (into a corner house a block down the street) contacted us to say he just loves what we’re doing, and how can he get involved? So he came over and I gave him “the tour,” much to his delight. From the way he acted, it appears that he holds the same vision we do, of regenerating a sense of shared communion with the land in small urban spaces. A third year undergraduate, he wants to participate in both our twice-weekly work parties and our weekly community dinners. So I put him on the email list.

Then I told him that he could do the same where he lives. Just get to know the nearby neighbors first. “Maybe one of your next door neighbors will be amenable to working with you on a small garden in the area between your two houses,” I told him. “Maybe not. In any case, start slowly, with one small step; watch as the universe rearranges itself in the direction of your intent. Then, with the altered landscape, take another small step . . .”

He was excited. “Oh I’d better go write that down!” 

I asked him what his major is, and he responded, “I’m wavering, between Art and Philosophy . . .”

Here’s another photo, of corn, now spent, entwined with beans on their way up. We had planted squash there too, but the third “sister” didn’t come up.

Yet more beans ‘acomin,” on one of our trellises . . .

Love beans.