An Alernative to Madness

A year later
I woke up without the alarm, and looked through the bedroom window, seeing before me a panorama of green hills, glittering streams, yellow fields and market gardens. The church and community hall were also in sight, and I admired the way their striking, Scandinavian lines still somehow harmonised with the ancient English landscape. I wasn’t the first one up, and our ‘family’ now numbered ten people; six adults and four children. We shared the domestic chores between us, and today it was the turn of myself and two other residents to make the breakfast.
There were many houses like this in the village, and together we ran the farms, workshops and training centres which made up the community. We lived and worked together, took turns with the jobs and talked things through when problems arose. There were some arguments, but not many, because the cows and fields wouldn’t wait for debate, and our lives followed well-established routines rather than ‘progressive’ projects. We received no money, lived quite basically and followed the seasons rather than our ambitions. We lived only on what we made, grew and earned, and we agreed that the community as a whole was just as important as the individuals within it.
To us, a constructive act was worth a thousand words.


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