The Farm :: Summertown, TN

Ellie was a colorful elephant at the edge of the jungle. As the only patch of color in a sea of gray, she was understandably quite self-conscious. Luckily, she had charisma and a wild sense of humor.

The other elephants loved Ellie’s jokes, but still she felt like an outcast. One day, she figured out how to disguise herself by rubbing her body around in elephant colored berries. After finally seeing through the ruse, the elephants erupted in celebration. They all decorated themselves in Ellie colors while Ellie was dressed in elephant color. The parade was beautiful, marching boldly forward to the music of The Beatles.

The kids were absolutely adorable, wearing those foam wacky noodles strapped on their noses for little trunks and constantly forgetting their lines. They were all dressed in drab gray, except for one little girl who wore tie-dye. Parents gave a standing ovation, aiming camcorders and flashing cameras at the stage. As the two-piece jam band began their set, parents slowly dispersed, disposing of several untouched burritos in the compost bucket. Meanwhile, the film crew from Animal Planet hovered in the back, aggressively trying to angle their way into The Farm’s more juicy pockets for a possible reality show.

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Idyll Dandy Acres

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Everything moves more slowly now. People sleep more and work less. The weight of winter would continue to press down on us for a few months, but tonight was symbolic. The bitter cold would persist, but from here on out the days would slowly grow longer, minute by minute until we’d finally shed all these heavy layers and float with the colors of spring.

It was the longest night of the year. The sun had sunk behind the ridge before 4:00, and our evenings had been spent huddled near a wood-fire stove with ten or so others at IDA, eating homemade meals and falling asleep encased in goose down. The Winter solstice was little more than another cold, dark night here. Right over on the mountainside though, the Radical Faeries were preparing a pledge of renewal, remembrance, and rebirth.

We got in the car with Phil, who made his home in the area with The Faeries almost two decades ago. Phil has a zen-like jolliness about him, confidently calm and always grinning at an inside joke. And the icy roads were no match for his gleeful disregard for conventional concepts of safety. Floating between the lanes and blazing through stop signs deemed utterly ridiculous, we finally arrived at the potluck, plopping our dish with the rest before joining hands in the circle.

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The Montana House – An Urban Homestead

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Just fifteen years ago, downtown was mostly boarded up. People tell stories of street parties that raged through dawn and dilapidated industrial spaces squatted by artists. Those times are over now, and what was once a haven for dreamers and freaks has been glossed over by tourists, upscale boutiques, and yoga studios. Even with the rampant gentrification though, the city manages to hang on to a unique combination of understated southern charm and unbridled artistic expression. Musicians play banjos and fiddles in the street, and rusty pickup trucks haul supplies to small organic farms all around the city.

Asheville came into its own on these legs, and it now comprises a robust oasis of liberalism in the midst of the bible belt. The town’s been attracting the type for awhile now, and you can’t help but feel it’s become a bit mired in its own mythology. As with any trend, followers can be fickle. Style can give way to fashion, cool to hip, and cultures anchored by authenticity and creativity can sometimes degenerate into murky popularity contests.

But this is the way of things I suppose, and it’s hard to get too offended by a fad when so much of it centers around something as noble as sustainability. Converting diesel engines to run on used vegetable oil, utilizing local plants, and buying clothing second-hand can’t do too much harm. And even with all the hype buzzing around Asheville, you can still find architects in the city if you look hard enough—people building exactly the lifestyle they want for that reason alone and quietly grinning when the noise around them begins to mimic their own spontaneous tics.

We rode up to the house where Rob stood silent, eyes burning and slightly elevated to the sky. “There’s a bear.” The words came out like they were supposed to mean something, but after seeing our confounded silence, he went on.

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