Thanksgiving with Four Part Harmony and Feeling

“Before we get covered in mildew, I suggest we go get pancakes. All in favor?”

Kayte and I raised our hands quickly.

“Settled!” Rayne announced, and we bounded away from the tofu factory for fresh pancakes.

Thanksgiving started out golden, with vegan pancakes stuffed with chocolate and banana. After breakfast, we returned to the tofu hut, suited up, and attacked the strange molds that feast on soy.

While I’m happy that Twin Oaks has a tofu factory, working there is not my favorite task. When tofu is being processed, the factory is loud and muggy, with a hint of okara in the air. On my first tofu shift, I had a low level panic attack for 2 hours. Being around large garbage buckets of very, very hot water makes me very uncomfortable. Having to reach into the buckets is similarly troubling, even though the green elbow-length gloves we wear are incredibly sturdy.



The cleaning shift with Rayne is always nice because all the machines are off. The lion sleeps tonight. Even better, I started outside on the deck, cleaning off the remnants of okara and gunk that live on the walls. Okara is one of the byproducts of tofu, the parts of the soybean that remain in the filter to create soy milk. It resembles feta cheese, but smells like rot.

When I finished the deck, I laid out a few pieces of cardboard, built a bed, and scrubbed the underside of the centrifuge. Above me, Rayne scraped off rust with a box cutter, while Kayte power-washed the doors and walls. Sadly, we did not use my favorite thing in the tofu hut: the Slicer. You know how tofu gets sliced into little blocks? I assume in non-communal mega-industrial factories, they have a fancy-shmancy machine do that. Here, the tofu packers use a row of 10 butter knives welded to a strip of metal. It looks like a cheap rake or other implements of destruction but is incredibly effective. The Slicer.

On the shift we spoke about power dynamics, sexuality, and how relationships work. To answer Jessie’s question on how sexual dynamics work on a farm of 92 consenting and mostly unattached adults: it’s complicated. Quite complicated.

After some righteous scrubbing, I showered, lunched, and moseyed to the garden shift. Our struggle: ironweed, a tenacious beast-plant that chokes out the raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries. After about an hour of pulling and digging, Jessie asked how we’re all doing, and whether we’d like to leave early to buy wine? Maybe?

We cleaned up in record time, drove to Food Lion, and bought very cheap wine. On our return, I headed to the Compost Café, sampled some of the inexpensive Zinfandel, listened to Alice’s Restaurant, and got my face painted, an incredible mask of blues, reds, and glittery stripes.

Tia, stared at me for a few full minutes before she applied paint. “I like to make the masks match the person who wears them. I think you’re an exotic bird.”


"If you want to end war and stuff you got to sing loud. I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing it for another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired.

So we'll wait till it comes around again, and this time with four part harmony and feeling.

We're just waitin' for it to come around is what we're doing. All right now.

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant."


ZK, the dining area, was absolutely full. The dining room was stuffed with tables, somewhere around a hundred people sharing the meal. We had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat. I sat next to Tigger, his children and partner, Madge. Across from me sat David and Maggie, sweethearts who give me advice about Cleveland. To my right were Purl, Summer, and Anya, with Tim and Renee kitty-cornered on the other side. In the larger circle was a village of wonderful people: devoted, dysfunctional family of Twin Oaks. Even here so briefly, I trust so many of them.

As everyone settled in, but before the rush for seconds, Tigger stood up and tapped his glass. “Hello! Hello everyone, and welcome everyone! It’s a tradition here to go around and say briefly what we’re all thankful for!”

Tigger started, and the line wove away from me, trailing through Twin Oaks members, their family, guests, visitors, and members of the neighboring commune, Acorn. Folks gave thanks for their friends, family, circumstances, and community. There was no reciting of platitudes: people were honest. One woman gave thanks for this year’s calves. Another for long-johns and cupcakes. A man gave thanks for being alive. Another gave thanks for the new births, the new visitors, and the newest beginnings.

“I feel thankful that it’s our job to care for each other. Even when we don’t want to,” Calvin said.

At that point, I got choked up. I feel very lucky to be where I am. I have friends and family that I love very deeply, and who return that love. I have a partner I adore, and I have close friends with whom I share incredible intimacy and care. I can work hard, smile wide, sing loudly, and become an exotic bird. I’m free and flexible. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m excited to muddle my way there.

When it was my turn, I said something to this effect: “I feel lucky to be spending Thanksgiving in a place that exemplifies generosity and hospitality. So many of you have become true friends, even after a very short time. And I’m thankful to have found a place where my beliefs seem valid, not stupid.”

After dinner, I called my grandmother and my parents, then went to Degania, the children’s building. Nearly thirty people stuffed into the living room, and we sang until past midnight: folk songs, pop songs, 1930’s jazz. Ben, of the Vermont Joy Parade, played some amazing ukulele music, Edmund tickled some great euphonium solos. Janel, Alisa, and I belted out some classics. I sang until I was filled with warmth.

I still feel that warmth.

Friends, family, and everyone who blends the two: thank you for being in my life. Thank you for sharing care and trust. Thank you for forgiving my failings. I am grateful to share love with so many people. I hope that in the year following, I can pay forward all the luck and love I’ve been given.

Thank you.