The sunflowers are sprouting!

I’m in town this morning to catch a bus this afternoon. We share 17 cars among all 100+ people who live in the community, so we carpool as much as possible. My bus doesn’t leave until 12:45, but the Wednesday town trip doesn’t leave Twin Oaks until 12:30 and it takes at least half an hour to get to town. Instead, I came in early with someone who had chiropractor and dog grooming appointments early this morning (we left Twin Oaks at 7am!), so now I have the morning to spend in town. My first stop was to the Downtown Mall to check out the places where we planted sunflowers almost 2 weeks ago, and SOME ARE SPROUTING! I’m very excited. There are lots of places where either they haven’t sprouted yet, or (more likely), have already been weeded out, like the neatly-groomed planters in the middle of the walkway. But the ones at the base of a big tree, and in some small planters outside of individual shops, there are obviously 2-week old spindly sprouts shooting up out of the soil. It’s refreshing to already see the effects of our work!

And now I’m sitting in the public library, looking like a vagabond with my enourmous backpack and sleeping bag on the floor next to me. I love it. This vagabond is the woman that two years ago I wished I could be. I forgot to take a shower before I left the commune, so I ducked into the bathroom first thing and did some brief washing. Still no deoderant (see previous post), but I want to respect the noses of my fellow Greyhound passengers once I board the bus this afternoon. I hadn’t taken a shower in a while, and my natural “spice” was overtoned with general funk. So I used the liquid handsoap and a few papertowels and had a nice spongebath in the public library before jumping on the computer. I’m not really writing this because I think you want to know about my washing habits, but more because I’m enamoured with my vagabond persona.

As I’m writing this, I’m well aware of the “middle class white girl idealizing the hard life” trap. It’s something I’m uncomfortable with in myself and judgemental of in others. I think that’s one of the reasons why I enjoy this — because I’m actually doing it. It’s not a one-time thing, it’s becoming my life. I travel by bus and sleep in bus stations regularly. I’m comfortable being at the mercy of circumstance, without a cell phone or a credit card to bail me out. Am I just giving my vagabond credentials? Proving that I’m not just a college-eduacted poser? I’m sure there’s some truth to that. Shit, I don’t know. I’m poor. And yet I’m choosing a life of poverty. I could easily choose something different, and that choice is my freedom. That’s why I can enjoy my vagabondry, because I choose it. And that’s fine, that’s great, me enjoying my life doesn’t oppress anyone. It’s when I mentally align myself with people who don’t have the same choice as I do that I loose sight of the nature of my priviledge, the reality of cultural and economic stratification.

And finally, for your enjoyment, more search terms that brought up “Over the Edge” on Google:

“boots store – purfumes”
“finding nigari” (which is the substance we use to curd our tofu… see previous post)
“water baloon slingshot”
“cheerleader blog ‘tights'”
and “Jealous Pet Band”

who knew the merits of mispelling words? Fellow mispellers find my blog all the more easily! (Purfumes is actually “perfumes”, and baloon in normal English has two “L”s. So I’m an anarchist when it comes to spelling too… Ha — it’s a joke. No ranting comments about anarchy and the English language. uhh… that’s a joke too. If you have brilliant ideas about anarchy and vocabulary, rant away.)

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