Right now, I am in the chair at the hair salon I visit every five weeks. This means that I have downloaded the WordPress app, figured out how to link to the On Media blog, and am writing my first post on the fly from my phone.
Probably half of you are thinking, “So what?” But, a quarter of you are amazed I took this initiative, and another quarter of you think it is cool.
That’s it for the new trick portion of this post; now it is time for a couple of big ideas.
If you know me well, no doubt you have heard me say, “I would love to live on a farm if I didn’t have to do any of the work.”
At least, I would love to live there on weekends and/or holidays.
The idea of watching a film about a nature cinematographer (also a creative force behind the documentary) and his foodie spouse leaving a cramped apartment in Santa Monica to take over a farm an hour north of LA is intrinsically appealing to me.
But, you don’t need to have a predilection for rural settings or non-fiction film to appreciate this doc because The Biggest Little Farm is outstanding by any measure.
The story unfolds over eight years but clocks in at a brisk 90-ish minutes. The vision it presents of how to live a better — if in some ways more complex — life speaks to me in a profound way.
A couple of days before I saw The Biggest Little Farm, I was telling my best friend about an idea I have mused over with another friend about establishing our own retirement community with separate homes, a communal social space, and shared amenities (like a visiting massage therapist, grocery shopper, and house cleaner). We would have independence and a higher quality of life at a lower cost than most conventional facilities would offer.
Then it hit me.
Wouldn’t it be lovely (okay, I picture an idealistic intentional community that may be a utopia, but just go with it) to take over a tiny old town that has seen better days and revitalize it?
Imagine red-brick storefronts stretching a block or two and a few blocks of vintage cottages spreading out from that locus underneath mature trees that fan out into fields and woods accessible by curving country roads. It needn’t be in the middle of nowhere, just evoke that feeling when needed.
An intentional community requires some…well…intention!
Retirees and remote workers looking for a slower place and less traffic would be the first to arrive. Younger people, artists and musicians and craftspeople, arrive soon after, lured by free studio space and cheap lodging contingent on odd jobs for individuals and service to the community.
My little town has a community garden, a microbrewery, a coffee shop/bakery, and aperture annex because an art house cinema is a must for me.
We would have some recreation facilities and a restaurant and who knows what else? Live music on Friday nights? Maybe. Thai Chi in a downtown park on temperate mornings? Why not. A volunteer fire department? Of course.
Local government? Naturally. Now wouldn’t it be fun to figure out something deliberative, participative, and civilized.
That brings me back to The Biggest Little Farm. I would love to see this little town ringed by biodiversity just like I have seen on the screen in this documentary…the only catch is that I don’t want the daily chores.
Time to have my hair rinsed!