h 85-7
does community have a value?-a reply
'so long been drawing re-
file with verY little if anY
ncrishment, and ruin' We
r develoPment of healthY
l:lh--forfina\no other
rs, and the interest of our
opment of local land-based
izl and cultural ideal of 1o-
of adequate locai cultures
nould introduce into agri-
quatrty control, for neither
economy destroY itself bY
plete at last the task of gain-
Eestors more than rwo hun-
CARL D. ESBJORNSON
D u R r N G the great flood of 7993, a woman who lived in one of the threatened
Missouri towns along the Mississippi River was asked why she insisted that she
would not leave this town once the waters receded. She replied that such a flood
happened only once every fifty years and, more important, solidified friendships,
requiring the whole communiry to pitch in and help build a levee strong enough
to hold back the flood. She wanted to stay because, in saving itself, her corrrrnu-
niry exemplified the ethic of mutual help and cooperation. I suspect that the flood
proved to her the need for solid comrnunities, and that the community is the ba-
sic social unit of human life, ensuring our survival not only in an emergency but
in daily life. She knows now that she cannot live in a better place.
I cannot be sure that, prior to the flood, she had much reason to feel that way.
I suspect something else-that, up to that time, her town was like so many oth-
ers, made up of individuals pursuing their own careers, accumulating material pos-
sessions, and going their own way. Her town never had to really be a communiry
until that flood came along and demanded of them a true netr,vork of interde-
pendent members, each of them important, indispensable to the whole.
"Does community have a value?"This question figures in the title of one of
'Wendell
Berry's essays on the subject, and what he has to say confirms the im-
portance of the values my wife, Rilia, and I hold, ourbeliefs and practices relative
to the value of communiry and how these sustain us. These values include shar-
ing among friends and neighbors, mutual help, cooperation, and consolation-
not for want of self-reliance, but because self-reliance is best served in the context
of neighborly support and concern.'Without the values that make for true com-
muniry it is difficult to come home or to make a home. Berry asserts that this sense
of community needs to be rooted in an actual place, in the long-term relationship
of people to that place. The members of that cornrnunity must be aware of its his-
tory and must make a comrnitment to the place itself as something beloved, not
unlike the comrnitment in marriage. Such a commitment enables them to ride
out the imperfections and limitations of the place where they live.
My own experience of growing up on Valiey View Road in St. Peter, Min-
nesota, confirms that the place-based communiry that Berry talks about has a
value. My parents lived much of their adult life onValleyView Road with the same
neighbors, most of them (including my father) college professors and their
spouses, who were devoted to the college, Gustavus Adolphus, as a beloved place
and gave their lives to it.
Many children lived in that neighborhood when I was a boy, and I had all the
playmates I needed. The mothers always looked out for us, in small ways, helping
to raise us. ",It takes a village to raise a child."The familiar African saying certainly
; ;;;;tging. My own mother and rather had diffi cutty teaching me
Still, while growing up I was sometir
the value and dignity of the little daily household tasks, but not Bea Martinson. pecially as a teenager, impatient *-ith sm
When I went over to the Martinsons'to play with their boys, Bea would put me But I loved our neighborhood onVallry'
and them to work washing the dishes before we could play. For one who hated
sented to my parents'moving away. Like a
chores, I loved washing the Martinson dishes because I was doing it in the com-
but it was a good place, and the source q
pany of good friends. I even began purposely going over to the Martinsons'right
of place."
after supper and after we had loaded our dishwasher so that I could wash the dishes
Good, because our neighborhood a
with them. My mother was astonished. I had learned, however, through a kind of joy. On April 3, 1'990,rny mother died 6
neighborhood co4l111gnd-s,5pgle_t9e,to see the importance of doing even me- to her brain.'When I returned home fu
nial tasks. I dont think my mother or father failed so much as the neighborhood about the value of the communiq- t*icrr
succeeded in teaching me. in the context of community; for her lifr:
Over several years three famiLies, the Johnsons, the Martinsons, and mine, relationship with a place and is peoplc-
pooled their resources to purchase a lawn mower, which we kept in the Martin- M y m otb er spen t )t er )as t daTs in N
son garage. I would trudge over there in the heat and humidity of aJuly afternoon,
dow facing east to where the sun roee cnEr
pulling the lawn mower out of the garage, rolling it across the street, and mowing ter. My father had taken her out of Se b
our quarter-acre, hating this chore but also feeling a certain pride in sharing com- house where she had lived for thinr-rct
munal property and doing the necessary work of adding a neatly cut lawn to the morning ritual of watching the sunrise,g
appeannce of the neighborhood. aloud to each other. The last book thry u
I gained lasting friendships as wel1. Several of my playmates became close
Jackson's Altars of Unhewn Stone.
friends and confidants as we grew into our teen and college years.To this day I re- On the flight home for the fuaeral I r
tain some of these friendships: by some strange coincidence, Peter Martinson and mothert life was defined by the iong-cra
I have both ended up in Bozeman, Montana. Even though the lwo of us have marriage, extending oufward to the long
changed, we know each other so intimately that it seems as though we instanta- enced as a result of being able to stsv in Sr
neously pick up conversations we left years ago. Recently we talked about lea:n- _ for the last forty years of her iife- Hcr h&
ing the. value of communiw. from growing up on Vailey View Road, and we agreed text.
that our lives had been enriched by the sense of communiry we experienced dur- Accordingly, my mothert funeral wr
ing our upbringing. For Peter and me the superficial differences acquired in our grief.The uproarious laughter at herfimc
adult years seem to matter little. reliving those summer evening coffee pl
Some of my most pleasant memories are of the sociabiliry the conversation. of the stories told about her by the pam
the laughter, and the good cheer of neighborhood get-togethers. Our entire ing the luncheon following the sen-icc-
neighborhood often went on picnics and hadpotlucks. Once we evenwent camp- place. Her living person, her love of lis'
ing together, in Flandrau State Park along the Cottonwood River near New IJlm, and dedication to the church were real prr
Minnesota. A huge thunderstorm flooded the Martinsons'tent during the night, stories. And one hymn we sang, "ForAllr
and the following morning Vic Gustafson, an outfitter, veteran of many canoe thundered in the vast echo chamber of, r
trips to the Boundary'Waters, flipped pancakes for all of us to eat. hymn celebrating the great communirv c
Evenings, my parents often hosted neighborhood get-togethers on our life. Most significant of all, my mother6o
screened-in back porch. On warm, breezy sumrner nights I would fall asleep to her life had been worthwhile. She fearcd,
the sounds of lively conversation, story teliing, Chet Johnsont wry humor and but I sensed she was as prepared to die s c
deadpan voice, and uproarious laughter-with Betty Gustafion's ringing laugh Her life had been pleasing 1e hs1 ani rln
rising above the rest and out into the night, rningling with the sound of crickets. My father did not grieve alone- Hc d
The hilarity would increase as the evening progressed, sometimes keeping me pist. He was surrounded by people who
awake. I know now that they were gettingbrzzed on coffee, for alcohol was never
Friends and neighbors kept dropping by
served.
issuing invitations to dinner. Thev scill &
 does community have a value?-a reply 97

rhr- teaching me
Still, while growing up I was sometimes bored and restless with St. peter, es-
Bea Martinson. pecially as a teenager, impatient with small-town ways and narrow-mindedness.
a r-ould put me But I loved our neighborhood onvalleyview Road and would never have con-
'one who hated
sented to my parents'moving away. Like any other place, this was not an ideal place,
g it in the com- but it was a good place, and the source of many of my convictions about .,sense
{aninsons'right of place."
lrlash the dishes Good, because our neighborhood and community shared sorrow as well as
hrough a kind of joy. On April 3, 7990, rny mother died from breast cancer that had metastasized
doing even me- to her brain. When I returned home for the funeral, I learned something more
e neighborhood about the value of the communiry where I grew up, the value of love and family
in the context of community; for her life and death is also the story of a long-term
rsons, and mine,
relationship with a place and its people.
r in the Martin- My mother spent her last days in bed in her own room, looking out the win-
eJulv afternoon, dow facing east to where the sun rose over the Minnesota RiverValley and St. pe-
e'er and mowing ter. My father had taken her out of the hospital so she could die at home, in the
: in sharing com- house where she had lived for thirty years, where she and my father had made a
p cut lawn to the morning ritual of watching the sunrise, saying morning prayers, and then reading
aloud to each other. The last book they were reading, but never finished, was'Wes
ns became close (Jnhewn Stone.
Jackson's Altars of
lTo this day I re- On the flight home for the funeral I reflected on how the significance of my
rr Martinson and mother's life was defined by the long-term friendship and love she enjoyed in her
e nro of us have marriage, extending outward to the long-term friendships and love she experi-
ugh rve instanta- enced as a result of being able to stay in St. Peter and be a part of that communiry
lked about learn- for the last forry years of her life. Her life was meaningful in relation to its con-
rd-andwe agreed text.
uryerienced dur- Accordingly, my mother's funeral was a celebration as well as an occasion for
r acquired in our grief. The uproarious laughter at her funeral was appropriate, alrnost as if we were
reliving those summer evening coffee parties on the back porch. For it came out
dhe conversation, ofthe stories told about her by the pastor during the service and by friends dur-
then. Our entire ing the luncheon following the service-testimony to a life and the history of a
L=.r*.rrt..-p- place. Her living person, her love of life, sense of humor, warmth of friendship,
rnear New lJlm, and dedication to the church were real presences at the funeral, preserved in those
&rnng the night, stories. And one hlirnn we sang, "For All the Saints," selected by my sister Louise,
n of many canoe thundered in the vast echo chamber of the First Lutheran church sanctuary, a
rf,-
hymn celebrating the grear communiry of faith to which my mother devoted her
bgerhers on our life. Most sigrrificant of all, my mother faced death with the serene conviction that
ould fall asleep to her life had been worthwhile. She feared dying, and in her last monrhs withdrew;
b ql. humor and
but I sensed she was as prepared to die as one could be, because she had lived well.
ni ringing laugh Her life had been pleasing to her, and thus complete.
rcund of crickets. My father did not grieve alone. He did nor need a support group or a rhera-
times keeping me
pist. He was surrounded by people who were his friends, who cared about him.
'alcohol was never
Friends and neighbors kept dropping by with food, coming around for visits, or
issuing invitations to dinner. They still do-after four years. And he still has them
over for dinner parties, playing the host and chief cook as my mother did when Lisa, a younger neighbor woman. r,,-horr
she was alive, some of the food coming out of his own garden. In between comes Motors and took ajob driving a delirrr.
grief, loneliness. Or the peaceful morning meditations that he continues without a sununer evening was spen! charri:rg u
her. She is still present, a presence held in place, in memory. The friendship and ple, on their front porch. Bill and \eli c
love that defined their marriage were nurtured in the larger context ofValleyView withyardwork and we looked ouribrq
Road, Gustavus Adolphus College, and St. Peter' Now, the qualiry of my dad's life else: hiking in the woods. inr-rrir-e 6
is sustained in her absence by community; for he stays active, in various ways serv- potlucks. Every summer Rilla and I lq
ing the life of the coilege and the communiry that has been so intimate a part of a colleague of mine at Michigan S-_ere I
his life for so long. butjoyful and companionable. one ot tft
Ri11a and I have admired the kind of stability and deeply rooted sense of neigh- for the food bank and the rorarine shch
borhood and communiry that my parents experienced in their town.'We have shopped the locai farmers'marker orbo
hoped for that kind of life. But we iive in a diflerent time. My father virtually with them while leisurely selecrine wo,
walked into his job at Gustavus Adolphus in 1950 and taught there for the next the crowds, the hurry the cold impe:rot
thirry-five years. some of his contemporaries had a choice of five or more aca- Our experience in Michigan Frcord
'w'hen I applied for academic jobs, I competed with three hun-
demic job offers. well in a piace. All these-frien,i:qpr
dred to five hundred applicants per opening. This scarciry of tenure-trackjobs has through the uncertainty of mv,iob rro":n
kept us on the move, from one temporary j ob to another-migrant workers, we've cially. For rwo weeks, while Rilla l:s :s
called ourselves in a spirit of grim humor. I roamed from one-year stints teaching died at birth, two friends, Celesre ,ri Aq
literature and writing at Oklahoma State universiry and the Universiry of South day so that I could tend to mv teach:rgd
Dakota, then settling in for four years at Michigan State (Jniversiry before budget 'When
it became clear that rm -;ob ru
and program cuts and internal politics ended myjob there. In the 1990s universi- academic job market only gemingr",ronc-
ties, like corporations, are not adding jobs, they are eliminating them-"down- in particular, an alternative career rh;r s,o
sizing.,'Most of my generation, and perhaps younger generations as well, cannot muniry and sustainabie agriculrure. R.riIIr
expect to live very long in any one place, and some of us can expect to change ca- cussions about where we wanted ro jirc:
reers up to five times. of our lives. Rilia argued for the priorrrr
Many in my generation simply roll with it, but my memories of a settled com- tions of career. I found these talLs ereq
munity life cause me to resist these current trends angrily and to see them as a making "place" our vocation and ulked e
grave social injustice. Even so, during our wanderings Rilla and I have found that iife that would enable us 16 fini 5us6rinint
the transient experience of community has a value. In Stillwater, Oklahoma, in a garden every year, grow old. ani lic
Velina, a young woman rwo houses down, befriended Rilla and helped us when Rilla and I continued our late-nig*r r
Rebekka was born; Bill and Elizabeth, fellow Universiry of Iowa graduates who we would move to St. Peter.Whr- nor?Tl
raughr in the English Deparrment, provided us more friendship, and their son, most part fondly, with deep affection win
Edward, played with our daughter Rachel every weekend;we basked in the warn in my imagination. My father urgeC us u
welcome that we felt at Salem Lutheran Church, where we sang in the choir and situated and estabiish ourselves.
played on the church softball team. InVermillion, South Dakota, we found a com- Returning to my old home made so
munify that was cool to newconters. But Rilla chatted over the fence with Marge, did return, we could not find emplor-naeu
our next-door neighbor, some sixry years old and a devout Catholic. Marge sti11 strangers in a familiar land. Manv peoeie I
writes to us, missing us and our children' Nancy, took an interest in Ril1a and rhe ft
In Michigan we found a rich communiry life. we found it because we went gan. She hired Rilla to teach a comrnunin
about living there as if that were the place we were going to call home for the rest dren, which was a success. But for rhe nao
of our lives, even though my job security there was shaky.'We lived in a pleasant An April return trip to Michsa:r reil
working-class neighborhood in Lansing. Rilla went for walks every evening with lost, for there we felt the reneu.ed rl-erffi

k a-. mv mother did when
gari:n. In between comes
du: he continues without
:rnor'. The friendshiP and
rser .ontext of VaileYView
,dre :ualiry of my dad\ iife
ctir-e. in various ways serv-
i teen so intimate a part of
riplr' rooted sense ofneigh-
ed in their town' We have
t rir:re. My father virtuallY
d uught there for the next
:hoice of five or more aca-
con.rpeted with three hun-
in' ot tenure-trackjobs has
er-migrant workers. we've
om one-year stints teaching
rrd the Universiry of South
ae University before budget
rherc. In rhe 1990s universi-
rliminating them-"down-
: EEnerations as well, cannot
tu-. can expect to change ca-
r me mories of a settled com-
ngrilr' and to see them as a
p Ri1la and I have found that
e- In Stiilwater, Oklahoma,
rC Rilla and helPed us when
rsin of Iowa graduates who
re rriendship, and their son'
kend: s'e basked in the warm
rere \\-e sang in the choir and
uth Dakota, we found a com-
d or-er the Gnce with Marge,
der-out Catholic' Marge still
f:e iound it because we went
ilorng io call home for
the rest
i shail..We lived in a Pleasant
tbr s.alks every evening with
does communiry have a value?-a reply 89
Lisa, a younger neighbor woman, whose husband had been laid offfrom General
Motors and took ajob driving a delivery truck for the Coca-Cola Company. Many
a surrner evening was spent chatting with Bill and Nell, an elderly retired cou-
ple, on their front porch. Bill and Ne11 often lent us tools. Rilla would help them
with yard work and we looked out for one another. We found satisfaction in much
else: hiking in the woods, inviting friends for dinner, hosting free-spirited
potlucks. Every summer Rilla and I canned tomatoes and applesauce with Ann,
a colleague of mine at Michigan State lJniversiry. Hot, miserable, sweary work,
but joyful and companionable, one of the happiest times all year. We volunteered
for the food bank and the rotating shelter for homeless women and children. We
shopped the local farmers'market or bought directly from local growers, chatting
with them while leisurely selecting produce, a sociable and relaxing contrast to
the crowds, the hurry the cold impersonality of supermarkets.
Our experience in Michigan proved that much can be said for the ffirttolive
well in a place. All these-friendships, marriage, sense of place-carried us
through the uncertainty of my job situation at Michigan State. Friendship, espe-
cially. For nvo weeks, whiie Rilla was away in Seattle because her sistert baby had
died at birth, nvo friends, Celeste and Aspen, took care of our children during the
day so that I could tend to my teaching duties.When grief was near, they helped.
When it became clear that my job at the universiry would end, and with the
academic job market only gettingworse, I began to think about a career change-
in particular, an alternative career that would bring me closer to working for com-
muniry and sustainable agriculture. Rilla and I engaged in long, late-night dis-
cussions about where we wanted to live and what we wanted to do with the rest
of our lives. Rilla argued for the prioriry of place and comrnunity over the ambi-
tions of career. I found these talks energizing.'We came up with the notion of
making "place" our vocation and talked about moving to a place with a qualiry of
liG that would enable us to find sustaining work, form long-term friendships, put
in a garden every year, grow old, and die happy.
Rilla and I continued our late-night conversations until finally it was settled:
we would move to St. Peter. Why not? These were my roots, remembered for the
most part fondly, with deep affection, with the memory of my mother foremost
in my imagination. My father urged us to move in with him until we could get
situated and establish ourselves.
Returning to my o1d home made sense as far as we could see. But when we
did return, we could not find employment. (Jnsettled, jobless, we were outsiders,
strangers in a familiar land. Many people kept their distance. One young woman,
Nancy, took an interest in Ri11a and the fiber arts business she had begun in Michi-
gan. She hired Riila to teach a communily education course in fiber arts for chil-
dren, which was a success. But for the most part we felt isolated.
An April return trip to Michigan tellingly revealed just how much we had
lost, for there we Glt the renewed warmth, the spontaneous joy of those lovely
friendships that had been sustained, even from afar, across the great gap of our
neighbors, and a good place to raise rheir r
loneliness and sense of loss. our friends welcomed us back with lively conversa-
and people are willing to pay a hig! pricr
tion, potlucks-get-togethers that felt like the happiest of family reunions.
their savings and careers, wrong_hea.ie.{ e
In the end, St. Peter could not hold us. Perhaps the people there knew more
The irony does not escape me: \rre rnc
than we did, knew that we would leave, that we could not stay, even though we
many people migrate to Bozeman. i.n sea
tried. we had explored the idea of community-sponsored agriculture, of starting
sion was based on a resistance to care=r rrr
our own market garden based on the community-sponsored agriculture model,
vor of cultural and spiritual considendoc
the first one in southern Minnesota; but that required capital to begin, capital we
gave priority to a sense ofplace and
did not have.'w'e never found the sustaining work we had hoped would be there corm
we found in St. peter, which requi:t-. ;ou
when we first came. Indeed, we were shocked when we first arrived in St. Peter
the real work of community dificulr- erpl
to discover that many coupies had to hold two, three, even fourjobs, to make ends
for each other or for children, ler alore for
meet. During our last three monrhs there, Rilla held a temporary low-paying job
school on the value of communin. r-h:lc
with the St. Peter Greenhouse, the only work either of us could find, and work
American small towns. today has fes.g: rDr
Rilla happened to love. I floated r6sum6s. one floated to Montana State ljniver-
jobs, less local economic seif-sufEciencr
siry.'when the of[er came, I accepted immediately. I was back to teaching litera- e
for some with higher-payingjobs rn ia:gcr
ture and writing.
Because my selflconscious decision m
So we moved to Bozeman, Montana. Surrounded by spectacular mountain
permanence, I began to think that it mrEful
ranges, vast wilderness areas, and blue-ribbon trout streams, Bozeman is consid-
a hometown is a place to return to as ir-rs m
ered one of America's most desirable places ro live. Andpeople are following their
leave, even though Wendell Bern, pornn r
desires-in droves. It is notjust the mountain vistas, though. people are also mov-
home is a prevailing-and unhealtln__trq
ing to Bozeman seeking the ideal community life that has eluded them in places
the times demanded thar we bring our sca*
like Los Angeles, in some cases risking their careers and entire savings. Some come
go instead of expecring to settle and fi_n,C
without jobs or prospects, with only their life savings, taking a long-shot gamble irr
and I have found that transience need not
that they can establish themselves. Most often.they fail, for opportunities are lim- I
that community comes through a kind oigl
ited and the local economy cannot absorb such a huge influx. consequently, Boze-
grve in return, rather than as somethinE se
man has a staggering rate of small-business failures, many of which are experi-
the graciousness ofothers, out ofbigfrJera<
enced by relative newcomers who came dreaming of "the good life.,' Only
spiritedness and love that come *-ith sp,onta
independendy wealthy people, "modem cowboys"who work out of their homes
clean fun, or tipping a few beers. Ir er-en con
and a lucky few others, are able to sray. Even some of these end up leaving. Eighry
or not any of us are rooted in a place. wc lr
percent of the people who lived in Bozeman ten years ago are now gone.
that is the actual human and ecologrcai con"{ii
This transience is divisive, in many respecrs undermining true communiry.
munity still possible, even in ffansience . rf r
is
The long-time residents bitterly resent the newcomers, partly because the influx
During our long odyssey Rilla and I hare for
has driven the price of homes beyond what many of the locals can afford and partly
who exemplified the practice of comrnu:lrr
because the changes are too rapid, disrupting the stabiliry familiariry and conti-
pected hours, in the midst of the our rror
nuity of life in the Bozeman they once knew.
not forgotten that we spent four years in
Nonetheless, the people of Bozeman, newcomers and old-timers alike, are -\lrr
bors, went to the local farmers,markets. we
dedicated to making the rown livable and attractive, to supporting fine public
and drank Michigan wine in good cheer sfo
schools and the arts. In short, they are community spirited. Because of the tran-
Thus I reply to Wendell Berry-bur not
sience, this communiry spiritedness does not have much chance to deepen, over
point. For he rs right, because he asks the rrg
the long term, into the particular love of place, strong friendships, or neighborly
having all the right answers; because he
affections that charactefized rny boyhood experience on valley view Road. srer-
to chew on; and because he has ,horn , I ho
People have surprisingly few friends; many do not even know their neighbors.yet
also right in that, even though we har
what the newcomers to Bozeman desire and value most is good friends, good e h:,J r
value much more the bedrock stabilin or mr
 does communiry have a value?-a reply 91

r gleat gap of our neighbors, and a good place to raise their children. Comrnunity does have a value
rh hvely conversa- and people are willing to pay a high price to find it, even to the point of risking
dh- reunions. their savings and careers, wrong-headed as that may be.
: there knew more The irony does not escape me: we moved to St. Peter for the same reasons so
tr-. e\-en though we many people migrate to Bozeman, in search of the ideal comrnunity. Our deci-
culrure, of starting sion was based on a resistance to career motives and economic expediency in fa-
rgriculture model, vor of cultural and spiritual considerations, in favor of a philosophy oflife that
o begn, capital we gave prioriry to a sense of place and community. But an economy such as the one
red rvould be there we found in St. Peter, which requires couples to work lwo or three jobs, makes
errired in St. Peter the real work of community difficult, especially when couples barely have time
rjobs. to make ends for each other or for children, let alone for friends. St. Peter, where I had gone to
rr1-. lorv-payingjob school on the value of community while growing up, like many contemporary
ruId nnd, and work American small towns, today has fewer independent businesses, more low-wage
rrena State lJniver- jobs, less iocal economic self-sufticiency, and it serves as a bedroom communiry
r to teaching litera- for some with higher-payingjobs in larger towns and cities.
Because my self-conscious decision to return did not result in comrnuniry or
ecracular mountain permanence, I began to think that it might be as false to assume automatically that
Bozeman is consid- a hometown is a place to return to as it is to assume that a hometown is a place to
e ere tollowing their leave, even though Wendell Berry points out that leaving rather than returning
bople are also mov- home is a prevailing-and unhealthy-tendency in American life. I wondered if
rded them in places the times demanded that we bring our sense of community with us wherever we
srrrns.Some come go instead of expecting to settle and find it in any one piace in particular. For Rilla
e iong-shot gamble and I have found that transience need not be wholly destructive of communiry
ryrorr,unities are lim- that community comes through a kind of grace that we readily accept as a gift and
)onrequently, Boze- give in return, rather than as something we can have on demand. It comes out of
t s-hich are exPeri- the graciousness of others, out of bighearted, open generosity, and perhaps a free-
le good lifel'Oniy spiritedness and love that come with spontaneous outbursts of laughter and good,
h out of their homes clean fun, or tipping a few beers. It even comes when you least expect it.Whether
d up leaving. Eighty or not any of us are rooted in a place, we live in a condition of impermanence (for
re no\\' gone. thatis the actualhuman and ecological condition, if the truthbe known);yet com-
ng Eue communiry. munity is still possible, even in transience, if we accept it as graciously as it is given.
h- because the influx During our long odyssey Rilla and I have found friends, who became like family,
ican afford and partly who exemplified the practice of communiry or neighborhood in the most unex-
miiiarity, and conti- pected hours, in the midst of the our most wrenching impermanence.'We have
not forgotten that we spent four years in Michigan surrounded by caring neigh-
old-timers alike, are bors, went to the local farmers'markets, went berry picking and apple picking,
pponing fine pubiic and drank Michigan wine in good cheer with the best friends we ever had.
Because of the tran- Thus I reply to Wendell Berry-but not to prove him wrong. That is not the
ence to deepen, over point. For he ls right, because he asks the right questions, rather than necessarily
rlships, or neighborly having all the right answers; because he gives us something of substance and value
r Vailey View Road. to chew on; and because he has shown in his own life what can be done. Berry is
r *reir
neighbors.Yet also right in that, even though we have had a rich community life in transience, I
s good friends, good value much more the bedrock stabiLity of my upbringing and what I learned from
 part f\\'
;;;.;;" right relationship to others and to particularplaces. out of
that expenence I received the neighborly values that have enabled me to find a
semblance of community while leading a transient life'
Living in place over the long term, as my father has, with the same friends and
neighbors, strengthens social ties and affections and through the graduai building tF KilOl
oi\nrstlro{r\otesto\erarrce,genetosr\,arrdasprrrtot coolettt\ol\.S\gNlf\CtNhU-
man relationships begin tentatively, warily even, and need time to grow and ma-
ture. tansience only stunts the growth of such relationships, sometimes prevent-
ing them from even taking root.
But sustainable local economies will be needed if we want truly settled com-
munities. Our current way of life, oriented toward the global economy, is tend-
ing the other way, resulting in more bedroom communities, more commuter mar-
riages, and ever-greater social mobiliry including the ever-stronger expectation
that even more people will change careers several times in their lives. The rapid THAT
outflow of capital to distant corporations and centers of commerce and finance
in the current economy weakens local economies, for money flows out of rather
than circulates within the local economy. People go where the jobs are, which are A]
not long in any one place. The consequent social mobility loosens communiry
and, along with that, social ties and a{fections.
Does this mean that transient communiry is the most we can hope for as the
future of American sociefy? Not necessarily. I have found that the desire for set-
tled communiry is hidden in secret places (such as in a flooded Mississippi River
town in Missouri) , out of reach of the Internet and the global economy, and is like
a tiny, dormant seed packed with a powerful yearning that may well outlast the
depredations of our current age. Given a chance, this seed may yet bloom, like the
proverbiai chestnut seedling in Wendell Berry's essay "Discipline and Hope,"
growing into something strong and durable, its knotted roots ensuring alocal habi-
tation held in place for a long time. Yes, comrnuniry has a value that may be one
of the greatest of all human values, our hope and our help for years to come.