In Search of True Community

Or, When Literature and Life Collide

Monday we received some devastating news. Our friend passed away suddenly, leaving his daughter and wife in an upheaval of grief. A pastor, veteran, and fellow fiber enthusiast, he was hard working and generous, always giving of himself and loving those around him, despite his own “bingo card” (his daughter’s words) of physical ailments. We got to know him after his daughter and I became friends at our library’s knit night. He patiently tried teaching me how to spin wool, and his wife shared her forays into natural dyes. He and Ryan connected over writing. After that, he was always offering us apples from his trees, we’d help him put up hay for their animals, and he’d have us over for dinner. When our car was crushed back in the spring, he lent us his van while we hunted for a replacement. Compared to many others, we hardly knew him, but the weight of his loss to us is a testament to the way he lived. In an ever growing digital world, he was physically there for his neighbors, offering tangible support in whatever way he could.

Naturally, we felt the desire to help his wife and daughter however possible. Our first inclination is to cook, so Ryan brought over a meal, which led to his throwing down a week’s worth of hay with the promise to return once a week to replenish them.

Recently, our family has been reading two books in the evening, both set in the late 1800s - the Little House series and Little Women. Reading those while navigating the desire to help our friends highlighted the theme of community that runs through both tales. (Side note: I don’t know how I got this far in life without reading the Little House books.) Our entire family is enthralled with Laura Ingalls Wilder’s stories of her early life in the big woods, and everyone, from baby to husband, is eager for the next chapter. The first night we read, Ryan looked at me and said “Is this a story, or a how-to book?” While it’s interesting how physically isolated the family is, the little girls having never seen a town, much less two houses together, they are not alone. Family shows up to help butcher a pig, Pa hikes miles in a day to help his father, and the community finds reason to gather and turn a maple sugaring day into a celebration.

There’s such comfort in the simplicity and certainty of that kind of community. It’s something that doesn’t exist in the same way nowadays. Families are spread out around the country or the globe, wrapped up in their own worlds and schedules, “connected” by technology. Neighbors hardly know each other or take issue with each other. Community events are marketed via social media, and the hosts hope there will be a decent turnout. Traditionally seasonal events that would excite community celebrations like maple sugaring have been watered down and lost as we’ve become disconnected from our food sources and a bottle of “maple syrup” is available at the convenience store year round. There’s this unspoken need for independence and self reliance - the fear of being a burden to others if you need help. No longer physically isolated, we are mentally and emotionally isolating ourselves.

Ironically, since moving from the suburbs of Massachusetts to the woods of New Hampshire, we’ve found genuine pockets of old fashioned community through our homeschooling, our church, and through our town library. 2024 revealed the strength of our local community and broke down our resistance to “needing help”. When our van was crushed under the tree, the guys from Ryan’s men’s group showed up with their chainsaws the moment the electrical lines were cleared. The families in our co-op and men’s group raised some money to help us get into a new vehicle before our baby daughter arrived. Then there was the loan of the van from our late friend which allowed us to search high and low for that replacement. Our families helped a great deal as well despite their distance, but our physical local community showed up in force for us.

When Éowyn was born, that same community brought hot meals for weeks after - which, as a seasoned mom had NEVER happened before. It is the most amazing gift, one that I will give going forward. It reminded me of a scene from Little Women, where the Marches bring their own Christmas breakfast to a nearby family with young children, including a baby. They return home to discover a more lavish spread of food and treats gifted to them by their own wealthy neighbors, the Lawrences. The girls are eager to befriend and thank them afterward.

After receiving such an outpouring of support from our friends, we too are eager to repay these kindnesses and pay them forward to support others whenever we can. When my friend mentioned the need to trim her sheep’s hooves, I asked when I should be there. I had never trimmed hooves before, but I knew that extra hands would be helpful, and, selfishly, it would give me some needed education before I get my own dream flock. Late Friday afternoon found me wrestling a 250+ lb wether onto his butt so he could get a pedicure. If you’ve never been a chair for a massive wooly beast, it’s a work out - and I enjoyed every moment.

I eased my sore body onto the couch that evening and opened up Little Women to the next installment. My daughter and I read the “The Lawrence Boy” and “Being Neighborly”, where Jo and the Marches get the chance to meet and befriend the neighbor boy and his grandfather. In what started as a way to repay the kindness shown to them, the impoverished young women foster relationships that are mutually beneficial and soul-warming. True community and friendship doesn’t keep record books, assistance offered to one another is not transactional. Much like my experience that afternoon, lending a hand can, yes, repay a kindness, but also be mutually beneficial - allowing for learning, growth, fellowship, or simply a chance to look beyond one’s own situation.

Life was not meant to be done alone. Society is not what we see on our screens. True community exists, but it is over dinner tables and coffee cups. Broken plumbing lines, stalled car engines, and loads of hay. It’s at library groups, co-ops, churches, farmers markets, and other places where you sit and linger. It’s in slowing down, reaching out, and showing up. But more importantly, it’s in looking beyond what we don’t have to what we can offer to others.