Calliope
06-01-2008, 09:12 AM
To get there, follow the winding road past shadowed woods and sunlit fields, past the tiny church with its tall steeple, past the eerie old mill and listless river, until finally you come upon the sign that taunts: “If you lived at Twin Oaks, you’d be home now.” Venture through the gate, down the dirt driveway to the white clapboard farmhouse, which is precisely where the path ends and the journey began.
~ “The Other American Dream,” Washington Post Magazine, November 15, 1998.
The sign is faded but the community isn’t. Almost 10 years on, the fields remain sunlit and the journey continues to compel. Visitors from all over the world, albeit sharing a distinct inclination towards the left, have perennially poured into the ramshackle cottage called Aurora (visitor quarters for the 3-week [per month] visitor program). Although frequent mainstream media invariably point out Twin Oaks' steady population turnover, they unfailingly photograph the community members who have lived here for decades ~ and remain, contently. Fresh youth keep the organic produce harvested, the tofu business bustling and the evening conversations (romantic or platonic) sparkling.
The 200-plus acres are undeniably lovely. Barns, cows, chickens, shacks, paths, swimming hole and the occasional loopy piece of hippie sculpture. In the summer, lizards skitter, bunnies frolic, aging farm dogs amble. A riot of trees everywhere enclose an enchanted village of earthy-crunchy elegance. No litter, few cars, green expanses; at night, a million stars in heaven, a handful of pathway torches on earth. Everyone who lives here is modestly attired in psychedelic hand-me-downs (well, almost everyone), busy coming and going, quietly self-possessed ~ and unflaggingly polite. Salubrious and safe, Twin Oaks ~ born the “Summer of Love” ~ is intentional.
The gravity here is a touch stronger than in “the mainstream.” Unlike the animated MySpaces of the shopping mall, possessions, communal or personal, more readily fall, roll, disappear and break at Twin Oaks. Since this is another planet, it only figures the physics, following the ideology, would be somewhat nonconforming. Well, it’s not really gravitational pull; the original hippie architects just installed short coat-hooks, sloping shelving and unsteady flooring. On the other hand, there are flocks of cardinals frisking year-round in the courtyard, whereas in the Mall they are, by necessity, transmitted.
What explains the longevity of Twin Oaks when so many other “communes” failed? Was it that founder, Kat Kinkade, inspired by Harvard behaviorist B.F. Skinner’s 1948 novel Walden Two, was anything but a “hippie”? As long-term member River told me: “Originally, there was a proposition to keep out anyone who might be seen as a hippie ~ long-hairs, pot-smokers, and the like.” There was a high ideal guiding the inception of Twin Oaks, as Kinkade wrote in her 1994 memoir Is It Utopia Yet?: “That ideal was essentially 'communist,' as I understood it, and its name was Equality.”
Understood in base free market terminology, however, the initial and continued prosperity of Twin Oaks is simple enough. Twin Oaks was, and remains, a quality hammock many people choose to purchase. For decades Pier One Imports bought zillions for retail and, independent today of the chain company's profit-driven patronage, Twin Oaks hammocks continue to enjoy brisk business. (Diversifying, Twin Oaks has regionally produced a popular line of tofu for several years.) While the “no hippie” edict never took hold, the Skinnerian-socialist conception of an honest labor culture certainly did.
It’s an orderly world. Benign and affirming ~ no one ever utters words such as “fag” or “fat” ~ Twin Oaks is cultured and structured. Everyone receives a labor sheet, approximately 44 hours a week per member are expected, containing scheduled tasks such as kitchen cleanups or garden harvests. Many jobs are specialized according to skill, inclination and seniority. Whatever the labor, everyone is “paid” the same ~ a personal room, access to clothes and food, and a monthly allowance of 76 dollars. Recreational activities ~ weekend movies, self-actualization groups, dance parties ~ are posted, where and when. Intentional communication occurs on the communal (“3x5”) bulletin board.
Twin Oaks is also romance. “You may say that I’m a dreamer but I’m not the only one; I hope someday you’ll join us and the world will live as one.” Word. So prevalent among guests and visitors are individual preconceptions of peace, love and understanding ~ often befuddled by the quotidian outcomes of real-life community life ~ Twin Oaks greets newcomers with a little FAQ fingerbook entitled “Not Utopia Yet.” I was no exception. Nothing more substantive than a funky wooden sign, posted on the corner of Bryant Ave. and Willow St. (Menlo Park, CA), which read, improbably enough, Twin Oaks induced my arrival here.*
* This section was written, and forgotten, months ago.
Six months into life here, my schedule is as regular and rewarding as I could desire.
Most of the jobs I am assigned are jobs I have requested. Almost all of these are solitary tasks ~ laundry of various types; tidying Commie Clothes; cleaning the dining hall; cleaning the hammock shop; cutting fabric; inspecting hammock pillows; setting-up hammocks ~ which suits my housewife experience and inclination intentionally. I have complete autonomy; when to start, stop, take breaks; I am my own supervisor. The only “team work” in which I’m engaged is dinner cooking, which I do with my usual partners.* These five-hour shifts are occasionally intense (producing a cornucopia of items ~ dairy, vegan, gluten-free, etc. ~ serving over 100, exactly at 6pm) and almost always exhilarating. It's “marquee” work: no one especially notices if I fold 30 linens a day but everyone appreciates a good meal ~ dinner is the community’s day capper.
* No big coincidence, one thing dinner shifts have in common with my solitary jobs is music. Cooks get to crank music. My partners, Angie (Monday) and Madge (Wednesday) and I enjoy sharing similar tastes ~ Joni Mitchell, Madonna, even Britney Spears. I am proud to have been the communard who brought Blackout to the farm. Resistance to the bourgeois hype fell fast in lieu of her hot beats. Hippies, please observe: The Dead are heard at Twin Oaks once or twice a year; Britney's ratio is presently 5x a week.
My mornings start around 8 or 9. It’s near-miraculous, the bathroom (in my SLG [Single Living Group] residence [called Harmony], housing 10 people*) is almost always free when I arise. Wash face, brush teeth, shave, back to my room; get dressed, apply makeup, straighten hair, roll cigarettes. (Every other day, shower and complete epilation.) Off to Llano (courtyard kitchen) to make coffee** ~ often crowded with communards preparing breakfasts ~ then slip away to the next building, Compost Cafe (smoking shack), where I plug in my ipod and blast awake for 20 minutes. My breakfast is two cups of instant and three smokes; between them, I return to Harmony and get a load of Commie laundry going. (My success with CC/laundry owes to the felicitous coincidence of living in the same building as the laundry machines and CC, upstairs.)
* There are 8 SLG’s at Twin Oaks, each with its distinct demographic. There is one for families, one for elders, one for libertine youth, one for the ecologically correct, and so on. Harmony is sort of the MYOB SLG,the least interpersonally cohesive. How appropriate for yours truly.
** There are hundreds of mismatched cups here so I can choose a cup to match whatever outfit I'm wearing. Everyday, a fashion statement.
After cup of coffee #2, I hang the laundry on the line, right outside Harmony, then proceed to my scheduled task of the day. It’s either (1) cheesecloth laundry, washing (by hand) 80 cheesecloths (used to produce tofu), (2) cleaning the hammock shop, (3) cleaning ZK (bathrooms, dining hall floor, etc.), or (4) cooking dinner. (These tasks are 3 to 5 hours long; plenty of breaks, at individual discretion.) Here and there, an hour pillow shop shift is scheduled. Only one morning requires an early alarm clock ~ a K (kitchen) clean, with two other women, the virtue of which is this task exempts us from being scheduled for any after-lunch or dinner dish-washing (K1 or K2). The “hive” always lunches at noon; I do not eat lunch. (Noon is the best time to find a free computer to email my mother ~ and, sometimes, daughter ~ and blog away.)
Throughout any day, there are dozens of micro-social moments ~ hellos passed on the paths and blips of “business” exchanges (“Can I ask you a CC question?”, etc.). Sometimes these are warm communications (“Lovely outfit, dear”) and sometimes they’re not (“I noticed you did this incorrectly”). The flow goes up and down, continuously, since this “family” has some 100 members. Possessing equilibrium ~ and a solid editing apparatus ~ is paramount to harmonious community life. I enjoy light banter and convivial acquaintance.* I am cautious about forming close relationships and exchanging confidences. I believe these habits are essential for long-term happiness in a society at least periodically characterized by office politics and sibling rivalries swirling covertly (sugar-coated with PC vocabulary and ellipses) in a dorm.
* My SLG roommate, Woody, is the naughty uncle from the 60’s par excellance. 19th century (dairy + poultry, woodcarving) by day, 21st century (photoshop, other computer tricks) by night. In his 60’s. He shows me the wood shop, expecting to shock me with ribaldries ~ “I tell all the ladies this vacuum gives a great blow job” to which I reply, “I’m great at blowjobs.” He’s quiet, momentarily. Months later, we have a few beers, I offer to do his laundry, we’re the best of pals. I’m his rotten little sister, especially when Woody is trying to impress the young {visitor} ladies ~ and he announces, gleefully, he’s starting to take Viagra. Ooo, naughty Woody. I tell him (in front of everybody), “when it kicks in, just knock on my wall, neighbor.” Now Woody is blushing. That’s why I love him. (Plus, he’s the photographer of all my Twin Oaks portraits.) Just this morning, we both acknowledged our heavy drinking the night before (in Compost Cafe) and he said to me, “Did we end up getting married last night?” What a wit. “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers,” I deadpanned. Across the gender divide (and Woody is sure old enough to believe in that), respect.
The other significant person in my new life is Madge. She’s on this side of the gender divide, pink as punk, that makes a deeper relationship. Madge was the first person here with whom I shared my prior life photographs and my emotions regarding my children; she's read all my blog entries. She bought me a pink tutu. She’s getting pretty in me. We swap books. We have a lot of things in common ~ some of them too personal (sexual) to document, but, heavy links. Like me, Madge visited 10 years prior to joining Twin Oaks; like me, she was required to visit twice ~ and our “detractors” included the same people, too. We draw very similar conclusions when assessing other members here, which makes for some fun, often naughty, bonding. I believe Madge is high-testosterone, probably even more “intense” than me. I call her “twitchy.” Self-critical, aggressive, outrageous, wounded, flamboyant. Smart as hell. She’s made the reach to understand / dig Britney so we have a straight bolt together when cooking. And she’s the best cooking partner; we scare the bejesus out of the visitors tasked with helping us on those madcap shifts. Did I mention? Madge is as loving and loyal as humanly possible.
Dinner, the main community event, is at 6. Before, I tend to laundry, then take some time to powder my nose, fix my hair, get into an “evening outfit.” (Unless I’m cooking, then it’s right into the ZK bathroom to freshen up.) I like to look nice at mealtime. I have a large salad, a serving of vegetables & rice ~ and a very small amount of tofu (tofu is loaded with calories); I always pass on the baked goods (that’s the key to my diet), whether bread or cake. I eat at the “older folks” table, primarily women, and we exchange social pleasantries. Then, from 7 to 8, I take a 5-hour walk, ipod a go-go, loving the rural sunset. Like I mentioned, I engage in solitary tasks. I do my work, collect my paycheck and mind my own business.
After my walk, I collect the day’s laundry from the lines and put them away in Commie Clothes.* My work day is concluded. Off to Compost Cafe ~ sometimes quiet, sometimes partying ~ until bedtime.
* Commie Clothes is my domain, my boutique world. It’s a marvelous setup, being the one assigned to assess and put away the fresh donations, which are almost invariably fem attire. I also enjoy being the first to appraise the incoming arrivals from various members here on the farm. There’s a dialectical line running through (1) dinner, (2) brisk walk and (3) laundry. Yesterday, I was taking in the laundry ~ wearing a pink minidress with green stockings ~ when Fernando (one of TO’s hottest young men) noticed, and said: “Say, that dress used to be Marcia’s (his wife), she just dropped it off at Commie.” Pause. Then he added: “You look good in it.” Well, swoon. Most of the gals here end their work days with dessert and hanging out, maybe swaying in hammocks with their guys, then back to Llano kitchen later for a snack. When these ladies gain so much weight their clothes no longer fit, the clothes end up on me.
Around midnight, when almost the entire farm is asleep, I’m found in Llano kitchen, reading chick lit, nursing a bowl of raisins and just generally chilling out like the old lady that I am. Once in a while, there’s a party; then I reapply makeup and go drink & dance with some female pals and try to get the guys charming. MIA, B-52’s, Freezepop; but there’s a supersweet spot in my heart for the gals who have danced to Britney with me {hi, Erin!}. But, usually, nice and quiet because it’s a labor culture here. In the morning, roosters and a million birdsongs.
Northampton, Portland (Maine), Menlo Park recede peacefully. I’ve enough of a history now at Twin Oaks to feel like it’s my present.
More text, plus photos: calliopeharmony.blogspot.com
~ “The Other American Dream,” Washington Post Magazine, November 15, 1998.
The sign is faded but the community isn’t. Almost 10 years on, the fields remain sunlit and the journey continues to compel. Visitors from all over the world, albeit sharing a distinct inclination towards the left, have perennially poured into the ramshackle cottage called Aurora (visitor quarters for the 3-week [per month] visitor program). Although frequent mainstream media invariably point out Twin Oaks' steady population turnover, they unfailingly photograph the community members who have lived here for decades ~ and remain, contently. Fresh youth keep the organic produce harvested, the tofu business bustling and the evening conversations (romantic or platonic) sparkling.
The 200-plus acres are undeniably lovely. Barns, cows, chickens, shacks, paths, swimming hole and the occasional loopy piece of hippie sculpture. In the summer, lizards skitter, bunnies frolic, aging farm dogs amble. A riot of trees everywhere enclose an enchanted village of earthy-crunchy elegance. No litter, few cars, green expanses; at night, a million stars in heaven, a handful of pathway torches on earth. Everyone who lives here is modestly attired in psychedelic hand-me-downs (well, almost everyone), busy coming and going, quietly self-possessed ~ and unflaggingly polite. Salubrious and safe, Twin Oaks ~ born the “Summer of Love” ~ is intentional.
The gravity here is a touch stronger than in “the mainstream.” Unlike the animated MySpaces of the shopping mall, possessions, communal or personal, more readily fall, roll, disappear and break at Twin Oaks. Since this is another planet, it only figures the physics, following the ideology, would be somewhat nonconforming. Well, it’s not really gravitational pull; the original hippie architects just installed short coat-hooks, sloping shelving and unsteady flooring. On the other hand, there are flocks of cardinals frisking year-round in the courtyard, whereas in the Mall they are, by necessity, transmitted.
What explains the longevity of Twin Oaks when so many other “communes” failed? Was it that founder, Kat Kinkade, inspired by Harvard behaviorist B.F. Skinner’s 1948 novel Walden Two, was anything but a “hippie”? As long-term member River told me: “Originally, there was a proposition to keep out anyone who might be seen as a hippie ~ long-hairs, pot-smokers, and the like.” There was a high ideal guiding the inception of Twin Oaks, as Kinkade wrote in her 1994 memoir Is It Utopia Yet?: “That ideal was essentially 'communist,' as I understood it, and its name was Equality.”
Understood in base free market terminology, however, the initial and continued prosperity of Twin Oaks is simple enough. Twin Oaks was, and remains, a quality hammock many people choose to purchase. For decades Pier One Imports bought zillions for retail and, independent today of the chain company's profit-driven patronage, Twin Oaks hammocks continue to enjoy brisk business. (Diversifying, Twin Oaks has regionally produced a popular line of tofu for several years.) While the “no hippie” edict never took hold, the Skinnerian-socialist conception of an honest labor culture certainly did.
It’s an orderly world. Benign and affirming ~ no one ever utters words such as “fag” or “fat” ~ Twin Oaks is cultured and structured. Everyone receives a labor sheet, approximately 44 hours a week per member are expected, containing scheduled tasks such as kitchen cleanups or garden harvests. Many jobs are specialized according to skill, inclination and seniority. Whatever the labor, everyone is “paid” the same ~ a personal room, access to clothes and food, and a monthly allowance of 76 dollars. Recreational activities ~ weekend movies, self-actualization groups, dance parties ~ are posted, where and when. Intentional communication occurs on the communal (“3x5”) bulletin board.
Twin Oaks is also romance. “You may say that I’m a dreamer but I’m not the only one; I hope someday you’ll join us and the world will live as one.” Word. So prevalent among guests and visitors are individual preconceptions of peace, love and understanding ~ often befuddled by the quotidian outcomes of real-life community life ~ Twin Oaks greets newcomers with a little FAQ fingerbook entitled “Not Utopia Yet.” I was no exception. Nothing more substantive than a funky wooden sign, posted on the corner of Bryant Ave. and Willow St. (Menlo Park, CA), which read, improbably enough, Twin Oaks induced my arrival here.*
* This section was written, and forgotten, months ago.
Six months into life here, my schedule is as regular and rewarding as I could desire.
Most of the jobs I am assigned are jobs I have requested. Almost all of these are solitary tasks ~ laundry of various types; tidying Commie Clothes; cleaning the dining hall; cleaning the hammock shop; cutting fabric; inspecting hammock pillows; setting-up hammocks ~ which suits my housewife experience and inclination intentionally. I have complete autonomy; when to start, stop, take breaks; I am my own supervisor. The only “team work” in which I’m engaged is dinner cooking, which I do with my usual partners.* These five-hour shifts are occasionally intense (producing a cornucopia of items ~ dairy, vegan, gluten-free, etc. ~ serving over 100, exactly at 6pm) and almost always exhilarating. It's “marquee” work: no one especially notices if I fold 30 linens a day but everyone appreciates a good meal ~ dinner is the community’s day capper.
* No big coincidence, one thing dinner shifts have in common with my solitary jobs is music. Cooks get to crank music. My partners, Angie (Monday) and Madge (Wednesday) and I enjoy sharing similar tastes ~ Joni Mitchell, Madonna, even Britney Spears. I am proud to have been the communard who brought Blackout to the farm. Resistance to the bourgeois hype fell fast in lieu of her hot beats. Hippies, please observe: The Dead are heard at Twin Oaks once or twice a year; Britney's ratio is presently 5x a week.
My mornings start around 8 or 9. It’s near-miraculous, the bathroom (in my SLG [Single Living Group] residence [called Harmony], housing 10 people*) is almost always free when I arise. Wash face, brush teeth, shave, back to my room; get dressed, apply makeup, straighten hair, roll cigarettes. (Every other day, shower and complete epilation.) Off to Llano (courtyard kitchen) to make coffee** ~ often crowded with communards preparing breakfasts ~ then slip away to the next building, Compost Cafe (smoking shack), where I plug in my ipod and blast awake for 20 minutes. My breakfast is two cups of instant and three smokes; between them, I return to Harmony and get a load of Commie laundry going. (My success with CC/laundry owes to the felicitous coincidence of living in the same building as the laundry machines and CC, upstairs.)
* There are 8 SLG’s at Twin Oaks, each with its distinct demographic. There is one for families, one for elders, one for libertine youth, one for the ecologically correct, and so on. Harmony is sort of the MYOB SLG,the least interpersonally cohesive. How appropriate for yours truly.
** There are hundreds of mismatched cups here so I can choose a cup to match whatever outfit I'm wearing. Everyday, a fashion statement.
After cup of coffee #2, I hang the laundry on the line, right outside Harmony, then proceed to my scheduled task of the day. It’s either (1) cheesecloth laundry, washing (by hand) 80 cheesecloths (used to produce tofu), (2) cleaning the hammock shop, (3) cleaning ZK (bathrooms, dining hall floor, etc.), or (4) cooking dinner. (These tasks are 3 to 5 hours long; plenty of breaks, at individual discretion.) Here and there, an hour pillow shop shift is scheduled. Only one morning requires an early alarm clock ~ a K (kitchen) clean, with two other women, the virtue of which is this task exempts us from being scheduled for any after-lunch or dinner dish-washing (K1 or K2). The “hive” always lunches at noon; I do not eat lunch. (Noon is the best time to find a free computer to email my mother ~ and, sometimes, daughter ~ and blog away.)
Throughout any day, there are dozens of micro-social moments ~ hellos passed on the paths and blips of “business” exchanges (“Can I ask you a CC question?”, etc.). Sometimes these are warm communications (“Lovely outfit, dear”) and sometimes they’re not (“I noticed you did this incorrectly”). The flow goes up and down, continuously, since this “family” has some 100 members. Possessing equilibrium ~ and a solid editing apparatus ~ is paramount to harmonious community life. I enjoy light banter and convivial acquaintance.* I am cautious about forming close relationships and exchanging confidences. I believe these habits are essential for long-term happiness in a society at least periodically characterized by office politics and sibling rivalries swirling covertly (sugar-coated with PC vocabulary and ellipses) in a dorm.
* My SLG roommate, Woody, is the naughty uncle from the 60’s par excellance. 19th century (dairy + poultry, woodcarving) by day, 21st century (photoshop, other computer tricks) by night. In his 60’s. He shows me the wood shop, expecting to shock me with ribaldries ~ “I tell all the ladies this vacuum gives a great blow job” to which I reply, “I’m great at blowjobs.” He’s quiet, momentarily. Months later, we have a few beers, I offer to do his laundry, we’re the best of pals. I’m his rotten little sister, especially when Woody is trying to impress the young {visitor} ladies ~ and he announces, gleefully, he’s starting to take Viagra. Ooo, naughty Woody. I tell him (in front of everybody), “when it kicks in, just knock on my wall, neighbor.” Now Woody is blushing. That’s why I love him. (Plus, he’s the photographer of all my Twin Oaks portraits.) Just this morning, we both acknowledged our heavy drinking the night before (in Compost Cafe) and he said to me, “Did we end up getting married last night?” What a wit. “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers,” I deadpanned. Across the gender divide (and Woody is sure old enough to believe in that), respect.
The other significant person in my new life is Madge. She’s on this side of the gender divide, pink as punk, that makes a deeper relationship. Madge was the first person here with whom I shared my prior life photographs and my emotions regarding my children; she's read all my blog entries. She bought me a pink tutu. She’s getting pretty in me. We swap books. We have a lot of things in common ~ some of them too personal (sexual) to document, but, heavy links. Like me, Madge visited 10 years prior to joining Twin Oaks; like me, she was required to visit twice ~ and our “detractors” included the same people, too. We draw very similar conclusions when assessing other members here, which makes for some fun, often naughty, bonding. I believe Madge is high-testosterone, probably even more “intense” than me. I call her “twitchy.” Self-critical, aggressive, outrageous, wounded, flamboyant. Smart as hell. She’s made the reach to understand / dig Britney so we have a straight bolt together when cooking. And she’s the best cooking partner; we scare the bejesus out of the visitors tasked with helping us on those madcap shifts. Did I mention? Madge is as loving and loyal as humanly possible.
Dinner, the main community event, is at 6. Before, I tend to laundry, then take some time to powder my nose, fix my hair, get into an “evening outfit.” (Unless I’m cooking, then it’s right into the ZK bathroom to freshen up.) I like to look nice at mealtime. I have a large salad, a serving of vegetables & rice ~ and a very small amount of tofu (tofu is loaded with calories); I always pass on the baked goods (that’s the key to my diet), whether bread or cake. I eat at the “older folks” table, primarily women, and we exchange social pleasantries. Then, from 7 to 8, I take a 5-hour walk, ipod a go-go, loving the rural sunset. Like I mentioned, I engage in solitary tasks. I do my work, collect my paycheck and mind my own business.
After my walk, I collect the day’s laundry from the lines and put them away in Commie Clothes.* My work day is concluded. Off to Compost Cafe ~ sometimes quiet, sometimes partying ~ until bedtime.
* Commie Clothes is my domain, my boutique world. It’s a marvelous setup, being the one assigned to assess and put away the fresh donations, which are almost invariably fem attire. I also enjoy being the first to appraise the incoming arrivals from various members here on the farm. There’s a dialectical line running through (1) dinner, (2) brisk walk and (3) laundry. Yesterday, I was taking in the laundry ~ wearing a pink minidress with green stockings ~ when Fernando (one of TO’s hottest young men) noticed, and said: “Say, that dress used to be Marcia’s (his wife), she just dropped it off at Commie.” Pause. Then he added: “You look good in it.” Well, swoon. Most of the gals here end their work days with dessert and hanging out, maybe swaying in hammocks with their guys, then back to Llano kitchen later for a snack. When these ladies gain so much weight their clothes no longer fit, the clothes end up on me.
Around midnight, when almost the entire farm is asleep, I’m found in Llano kitchen, reading chick lit, nursing a bowl of raisins and just generally chilling out like the old lady that I am. Once in a while, there’s a party; then I reapply makeup and go drink & dance with some female pals and try to get the guys charming. MIA, B-52’s, Freezepop; but there’s a supersweet spot in my heart for the gals who have danced to Britney with me {hi, Erin!}. But, usually, nice and quiet because it’s a labor culture here. In the morning, roosters and a million birdsongs.
Northampton, Portland (Maine), Menlo Park recede peacefully. I’ve enough of a history now at Twin Oaks to feel like it’s my present.
More text, plus photos: calliopeharmony.blogspot.com