Tales from the Commune: Part I

I know, I’ve left you (whoever you are) in suspense over “Tales from the Commune” (like Tales from the Crypt! only less mummies, more hippies!), but the effects of the commune were long reaching and have left me in a life-altering vortex for the last few weeks. It’s hard to tell someone where the tornado has set you down until it stops spinning, but I think I can at least give you an accurate description of the landscape now.

So, here you are…

Tales from the Commune, Part I.

First of all, will someone remind me to stop thrusting myself into life-altering situations before I give myself time to prepare for them? K thanks. With the working two jobs and applying to medical school thing, I have not exactly been in leisurely hippie mode, I have been in soldier mode. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a hippie at heart (minus the whole non-shaving, drum-circle loving aspect) but my vibes were on lockdown as to not offend the boss(es). So, I was not a hippie when I arrived at the Farm, I was a soldier and instantly felt as awkward as if I had walked into a peace circle wearing my fatigues. I was totally the new kid at camp, and like the new, nerdy kid who had never heard of the book Ishmael and didn’t know to only bring dirty clothes and thought that cob structures were made with the remnants of ears of corn.


Not that everyone wasn’t completely lovely and welcoming (exhibit a: see above blackboard), as is one of the best traits of hippies, but I felt like an impostor. I drive an SUV and shop at Target and love Mountain Dew and red meat. I was pretty sure they could read all of this on my face, but I used my voice to assure them that I was going to be a doctor on an intentional community (also true, but you go ahead and reconcile the two in your head and then tell me how.)

So night one, I awkwardly leafed through pamphlets while sitting on the couch, had an overwhelming fear that I might starve on a vegan diet, ate some really delicious sweet potatoes which abated my fears, had serious qualms about what would be considered reason enough for me to flush a toilet, blushed with guilt over charging my cell phone and settled into bed shivering on two pieces of foam covering some squeaky springs cursing this spartan, hippie lifestyle and my spoiled, consumer-driven pansy ass that couldn’t take it.