Celo, An Intentional Community

Allow me to point out from the top that I would never choose to live in an "intentional community." However my sister-in-law Geeta and her husband Bob were accepted into Celo Community near Burnsville about forty years ago and have made it their base of operations since. They would choose no other way to live.

I have had this drummed into me in my 22 years of marriage to Geeta's sister so I shall try to get it right. Celo is based on Quaker principles though it is not a Quaker community. Every decision affecting the community is discussed at meeting and voted on. Consensus rules. This alone would drive me crazy. 

The setting is lovely, off state highway 80 south of Micaville there is a large patch of forest crossed by a public  right-of-way called Hannah Branch Road. The community has petitioned the state to keep it gravel to slow traffic to the required twenty miles an hour- observed more in the breach in my experience. For instance one HUGE controversy my brother-in-law Bob still moans about was the state building an "ugly" bridge as the old picturesque one needed to be replaced. 

It's what I call an Old White People With Too Much Time On Their Hands problem. Frankly I'd vote to pave Hannah Branch as driving daily on pot holed dirt is a drag and bad for a car. But that's why I am only an occasional visitor. Years ago the community was in decline and my wife and I could have joined relatively easily. Essentially you lease land from the community and either build a structure or buy an existing home which gets sold back to the community when you leave or die.  You can get in with little money but you get out with little money too. Not a bad deal if rural living is your desire. And nowadays the waiting list is huge, just to get a consensus vote from the community to put you on the (consensus approved) waiting list before you can hope to set up house here.

There is land to cultivate, animals to raise, and children to educate at Arthur Morgan School. Crime is non existent, no locked doors no fearful parents and the only stimulants around here are smoked I'm guessing but everyone is very discreet as I work for the police. Celo is photogenic in a Hallmark sort of way and it makes for excellent walking on roads and on the innumerable trails that crisis cross the rhododendron woods. I am not ready to walk through people's yards but it is accepted practice at Celo. I never have and never shall. If a trail passes a house I duck into the woods.

There are ways to join the community that take less time. If you accept an undesirable house for instance. A single mother raised her two sons here very happily in a supportive community with a good school. How? She jumped the line by taking a home that leaked, that had no plumbing, that others had failed to survive in, and she made it a fairy tale jewel in the woods:

The range of talents and skills at Celo is not to be underestimated. It is a place that generates fierce pride and loyalty.

 

In a part of the world where Trump signs litter the highway in economically distressed white rural America, hope for these eccentrics comes in the form of a gun-free society where art and literature and beauty ( and Bernie Sanders) are the way forward. After decades of uncertainty between "mountain people" and "hippies" there is a cease fire I guess. These people aren't dilettantes at living off the land, they have survived and they thrive. They have to be respected even by people who live differently.  

Celo community has enjoyed a revival especially since 2008 when the economic flaws of a system based on debt have been revealed. The place is bursting with earnest millennials providing for their families in the fields. The young bearded men of the new generation have the hooded suspicious gaze of peasants the world over when an old man and his dog walk by, obvious outsiders. It used to be people recognized me as staying with Bob and Geeta but that generation is in cancer treatment and the young set are strangers. Good for Celo.

Summer camp for youngsters, very well attended as you might imagine:

Fire extinguisher to bring a touch of the modern to a byre: 

They swim in this pond in summer.  Brr...

Rusty is starting to feel at home here: 

I hit the perfect week, 80 by day 50 by night. No wind so it isn't cold, clear blue skies, bright sunshine.

And the changing of the leaves. A much sought after sight for many, an accident for me.

Hiking With Rusty

We were going to leave around ten but I got up early to a morning of mistyness and dripping trees. Western North Carolina is not the Florida Keys. I wore shorts but temperatures just below 60 degrees were bearable only owing to the lack of a breeze. Rusty wasn't at all convinced by the views outside the house. He went out and got nervous among the dripping leaves an creaking noises. He preferred to watch from safety:

His unfamiliarity with and fear of the woods surprised me but I figured he would learn to enjoy this open spaces, so different from the South Florida he knows so well. When we all got going for our lunch time hike around 10:30 he was ready.

Finally we reached the pasture at the top of seven mile ridge just over two hours after leaving the house. 

It was a hell of a view so I tried a panorama shot with my iPhone. The white dog showed up friendly as you like and ready to share lunch. 

Bob wanted nothing to do with him but I was ready to try to get him to safety from this lonely place. 

Rusty wasn't very enthusiastic and the way the dog followed us told me he had nowhere better to go. We go him back to the Celo community and the teachers at the school took care of him while they look for his owner. Sweet dog. Rusty wanted no part of him.

The walk was downhill obstacle course, a carefully negotiated obstacle course of slippery leaves, loose rocks and branches. It was easier than it looked fortunately. 

It was an excellent time and it quite wore out Rusty.  Perfect all round.  

Road Trip With Rusty

To take off with Rusty on a week long trip grew in mind to become an event worth anticipating. My wife said that as my summer had been interrupted by her gall bladder I deserved a week off in the mountains while she was working. I squeezed in a week before winter descended on western North Carolina. There was some mention of a motorcycle trip but to me a week of wooded hikes with Rusty sounded just the job.

First though we had to make the 16 hour drive to the Asheville area where my sister-in-law lives in a cabin in the woods. We decided to split the trip in Columbia, the capital of South Carolina, eleven hours away. The idea was to have a short trip the next day to leave time for exploration on the way to Celo, the small community east of Asheville which was my destination.

We stopped here and there for short walks but mostly it was a matter of driving and to leave the Keys and reach anywhere that isn't flat involves a full hardcore day of driving. I don't mind the drive with satellite radio and a comfortable car. Rusty settled in to his bench seat in the back which is filled in behind the driver's seat to make an "L" shaped bed. 

Eventually it got dark around 7:30 and we arrived in Columbia around 9:30. La Quinta was full so we had reserved a Red Roof Inn, another dog-friendly chain. Check-in was a reminder of my work: 

A cop was taking statements from a family complaining they been harassed and someone had stolen an expensive knife from their room. I was past caring. The room was $59 all included, the TV didn't work which was fine by me and the sheets were clean (I think). Rusty was ready to pass out and so was I. He woke me with a cold snout to the face at 4:45 and over all my protests demanded a walk. The parking lot was silent as you might imagine but I found evidence of what might have been the stolen knife being put to use:

Not my blood, not Rusty's so all was well. We left the accursed motel at six and went foraging for breakfast in rural South Carolina early on a Sunday morning. I ended up eating the sandwich my wife had packed while Rusty ate a chicken strip on the road. My plan was to explore a patch of green I had seen on Google Maps and stick looked likely on street view. It worked out.

I parked in a small lot off a dirt road I had spotted on the map. Then a Honda Element pulled in and I asked the driver if it was safe to walk or were they shooting turkey today. Not on Sunday he said and offered to show me the way to Lake Wattacoo (I think). 

Pam had retired from 28 years as a school agronomist so she knew all the trees and their stories. Tom kept a close eye on their two rescued Plott hounds. We walked and talked and they told me of their latest rafting trip down the Grand Canyon. They live forty minutes away but they know these trails very well. We saw waterfalls a lake and visible signs of beaver, the first I've ever seen:

It was an extraordinary window into little know local sights near Cleveland, South Carolina. 

Insect eating plants:

Much gratitude and before we split they showed me a modern take on the Sugarloaf Key bat tower: 

We stopped again and again and Rusty was totally absorbed by the smells and sounds of these woods. 

Federal Highway 276 to Brevard, North Carolina:

And then we took a dirt short cut for fun:

It was time to make tracks to the Blue a Ridge Parkway to avoid traffic around Asheville and Burnsville. Unfortunately it was Subday night and weekend drivers were out in force and barely able to drive 30 miles an hour such was the draw of the colored leaves...we even found ourselves unable to keep up with a cyclist. The Italian driver within me was appalled: 

I broke free. 

Twin Tunnels means I'm close to the Highway 80 edit to Celo:

And so north off the parkway, still lovely still twisty:

And so to our base for the next three days where my sister-in-law and her husband have lived for forty years:

 Bob and Geeta conversing after a pasta dinner over pisco and rum. 

And so to bed.