On Prairie’s last night at Dancing Rabbit we swirled her up into a big, spiraling group hug and sang: All is change. All is motion. Though I once believed that there might be something firm beneath my feet, all moves on in steady change; the world we know will come and go and everything will rearrange; lyrics from “All is Change” by Anni Zylstra, a song beloved to our community song circle. Many of our voices were husky with the tears we had cried minutes before as we shared our memories of Prairie’s coming of age in this community, as well as our well wishes for her future as she embarks on her next adventure at trade school. We sang together as humans were meant to sing–our grief, gratitude, loss and love so palpable that they hovered around us like the gauzy fabric of wedding veils.

Emeshe here, and I believe it is moments like these where community is created. The moments when we push past the mundane and ho hum in order to be vulnerable together. Moments when we celebrate and mourn the passage of time. Moments when we affirm that we see each other and are seen. Moments when we not only let go, but let go with meaning.

And it is the season of letting go. The year is growing old and letting go of its long summer days, the lush green of its hair, the soft hazy warmth of its nights. This half of the earth is exhaling life as the other hemisphere begins to inhale with fresh spring buds and migrating birds. It is a time of year that invites us to think about endings and the seeds of beginnings that they contain. 

One thing I let go of recently is my trusty 22-year-old truck. A white behemoth I called the GGM, short for Gas Guzzling Monstrosity. It wasn’t an easy choice to make, although I have never really needed it since moving to DR. I had teetered around the sale of this hunk of metal and plastic for years, weighing the pros and cons: It’s just rusting out there. Rats are gonna eat the wires one of these days. Used cars are selling for so much right now… But, what if my life goes up in flames here and I need to run away? What if I spontaneously get offered my dream job in some far off city and I need to move? The cheapest car is always the one you have… torment.  In the end, a crunchy axle joint with a $500 dollar repair finally tipped the scales in favor of letting go. Just letting go. For something that had taken up so much brain space and thought power, it was shockingly easy. One day, the truck was just gone and my life was, well, almost exactly the same minus $16 dollars a month in parking fees.

It was hard to get here, but the change feels good. Like a weight has been lifted. I am prepared to open a new chapter in my life and am willing to see what comes in to fill the void I have created. What will be the beginning in the end? What new challenges will I face? What will I learn? 

This is a theme that resonates throughout the village right now, as our visitor season closes and our season of rest and introspection begins, as the leader of our nonprofit transitions out of her role and we narrow our pool of potential new candidates, as we say goodbye to the work exchangers who came with the last wave of visitors and prepare ourselves to create new bonds with a new group of strangers. As we harvest late season fruit and ask ourselves the question: what do we have to let go of in order to make space for something new?

Emeshe Amade has recently moved into the role of facilitating DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) issues within our nonprofit and our community. We are fortunate that she has taken up residency in our village.