Coming from a conflicted broken family in a white conservative suburb, home was always a place I tried to escape from. In my room, my safe space, I would daydream of the days when I will explore the world around me without the chains of adolescence..
Children growing up in broken homes are not an unusual phenomenon, and unfortunately they are inclined to carry some abusive patterns they witnessed, well into adulthood.
I’m sure I carried some with me, but as the little rebel that I was, my given reality was always debatable. If it is family values, nationalism, religion or other societal hierarchies, I turned over every stone and poked every taboo I came across. Breaking norms into pieces is very satisfying, but as I learned, it often leaves you with more question than answers.
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It’s a misty spring afternoon and we are driving up winding rural roads in the mountains of southern France on our way to visit Louise. As we pass small medieval villages drowning in lush forests the air becomes cooler and moist. Finally after an hour of endless curves, following an address on a piece of paper rather than unreliable GPS, we reach our destination. We park the car next to the red tractor on the side of the road and make our way to the main farm house of grey old stones, typical of the old French buildings of the region.
As we reach the last steps leading to the entrance door and twist the handle, a wave of sounds gush at us from the house. Like an animated scene from a movie, the door opens to a warm living room, consisting of a choir and a band, performing a local Celtic song.
We stand embarrassed in front of the crowd, like in a vivid dream where you are on stage in underwear, but it seems no one is really impressed. They all smile at us and continue to sing forcefully.
Apparently, as we learn in the kitchen over a slice of homemade pizza, this is a rehearsal for a big festival the community is organizing in few weeks. The kitchen is a colorful mess in the most beautiful way, and I admire all its little details while Louise puts on his shoes for the grand tour of the property.
As we walk between the garden beds and the scattered yurts around the hills, I learn more about Louise and what brought him to this special place.
A few years back Louise and his partner decided to leave Paris, their home at the time, for a long bike trip through rural France. The aim was to visit friends and collectives, and to be inspired by different ways of living. When they reached this collective up in the mountains north from Montpelier, they fell in love with the landscape and decided to settle down. The small region is home to few collectives, farm houses and a small village, yet all together it counts as little as 150 inhabitants.
Many times the number 150 refers to the ideal size for communities. As the theory goes, our human capacity for meaningful connections is limited to this magic number, and indeed Louise approve that the relationships between the community as a whole are wonderful without much friction.
When I ask if it ever gets boring living outside the city, Louise laughs. “I wish I had more time for myself! There is always something going on and I’m always behind.” It seems that despite the rural context, the FOMO phenomenon (Fear Of Missing Out) didn’t spare this quiet place. Many activities are initiated frequently by the residents, and keep everyone happy and busy.
“I do miss the vibes of the city sometimes”, Louise admits. “But we have friends in the cities who are always happy to see us, making it easy to escape every couple of months for a long weekend.”
Conflicts in this scattered community are rare, and are usually solved in a weekly Friday drinks down at the village in the local bar. The same is valid for their small collective, Between the 10 residents it is quite easy to delegate assignments and cover up for each other in order to balance between commitment and freedom.
Some of the members earn salaries outside of the collective and some maintain the house, garden and the goats herd. Extra produce and delicious homemade goat cheese is sold in the local market to give the community some extra cash, additional to a yearly “membership fee” of 5000 euros.
What I find the most interesting in Louise story happened 3 years ago, when Louise and another member of the collective decided to bring a child together. The little boy was effectively born to a big family with multiple parents. This unusual family structure seems to be a win-win situation for all sides: The kid is happy to grow up in such a big playground, the parents are happy to share the responsibility on a part-time basis, and the rest of the collective enjoys having this adorable troublemaker around.
Louise always has the confidence that the little one is in good hands even when the boy is out of sight, which allows him also to be more free to live his own life.
Even in this scenario, freedom is relative. As the old saying goes, “the grass is always greener on the other side,” people tend to look elsewhere, to what is out of reach. When I share with Louise stories from my own journey he sighs: “Sometimes I wish I could leave everything for a year and just wander around like a nomad.”
After seeking his truth and finding it in the shape of a beautiful mountain with wonderful extended family, Louise still has a particular sensation that tickles his fingers and heels, making him feel somehow still tied to the ground.
Some seed are carried in the wind on their journey to make roots, but even when they do, that wind never stops blowing.
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