In “EcoVillage at Ithaca, Pioneering a Sustainable Culture,” Liz Walker tells the story of how she helped create a caring co-housing community 1,100 feet above sea level in Ithaca, N.Y.
Liz’s search to find a “culture that respects others and treats everyone equitably” did not spring out of nowhere. From the time she was 5-years-old until she was 10, Liz climbed the 80-foot, majestic white pine tree in her parents’ backyard in Plainfield, Vermont. Unbeknownst to her, the twin perspectives of life, from living among song birds on the pine to the everyday life lived below, laid its grip on her.
She listened to the choir of pine warblers, larks, swallows, and a wide range of other birds, and to the Morse code of woodpeckers and chickadees. Her clever hands built birds’ nests, and a teacher at her school asked her “to find out the species of birds that created each nest.”
No separation in life is as poignant as the first one. Saying good-bye to the white pine tree was hard. Her parents were moving to Peru to serve in the American Friends’ Service Committee on a Quaker mission to help save some of the most impoverished people of the world. Her father left his position as the dean of Goddard Graduate School and professor of Psychology and Community Development.
In Lima, Peru, Liz’s mother, Margery, her “life-long hero,” worked for social justice and inclusiveness. She was in her element among the slum dwellers in Lima, most of them indigenous native people from the Andes who were marginalized for being non-Spanish speakers.
Then during her teen years, the family moved to Birmingham, England. She says, “In Birmingham, in the 70s, no one we knew had a phone, fridge, or car. People rode the bus or walked. They went to the market daily, and if they wanted to talk to someone, they ‘posted’ a note by mail and they received a reply the same day.”
On a “Global Walk for a Livable World” to end the U.S. nuclear “First Strike Policy,” Liz worked closely with the amazing Joan Bokaer, the cofounder of the EcoVillage at Ithaca.
Joan’s vision of starting an Ecological community in Ithaca had come to her in a flash while she was crossing a meadow. Joan had the vision; Liz had the ability to translate vision into practical reality.
I have just this week moved into a house in EcoVillage. At dawn each morning, I walk around the meadow singing to my heart’s core the praises of Joan Bokaer and Liz Walker.
They have given back to me the air I breathed in a rain forest in Kerala. I hear the patter of raindrops over my low roof. I smell the herbs in the berm behind the house. My heart leaped like Wordsworth’s when I saw the daffodils. My heart leaps when I watch the smog-free sunrise. I pause in front of each individual garden in front of each cottage. I savor the smell of rosemary and basil wafting the air.
The land dips and rises across the expanse of the two other Hills of Ithaca. I see mourning doves preening about on the lane. I hear the birds singing as they did for Liz in her childhood.
The children of the village climb trees and find safe perches. They swim in the pond and skate in the winter. Every leaf and blade glistens with morning dew, and I am momentarily happy.
Liz’s search to find a “culture that respects others and treats everyone equitably” did not spring out of nowhere. From the time she was 5-years-old until she was 10, Liz climbed the 80-foot, majestic white pine tree in her parents’ backyard in Plainfield, Vermont. Unbeknownst to her, the twin perspectives of life, from living among song birds on the pine to the everyday life lived below, laid its grip on her.
She listened to the choir of pine warblers, larks, swallows, and a wide range of other birds, and to the Morse code of woodpeckers and chickadees. Her clever hands built birds’ nests, and a teacher at her school asked her “to find out the species of birds that created each nest.”
No separation in life is as poignant as the first one. Saying good-bye to the white pine tree was hard. Her parents were moving to Peru to serve in the American Friends’ Service Committee on a Quaker mission to help save some of the most impoverished people of the world. Her father left his position as the dean of Goddard Graduate School and professor of Psychology and Community Development.
In Lima, Peru, Liz’s mother, Margery, her “life-long hero,” worked for social justice and inclusiveness. She was in her element among the slum dwellers in Lima, most of them indigenous native people from the Andes who were marginalized for being non-Spanish speakers.
Then during her teen years, the family moved to Birmingham, England. She says, “In Birmingham, in the 70s, no one we knew had a phone, fridge, or car. People rode the bus or walked. They went to the market daily, and if they wanted to talk to someone, they ‘posted’ a note by mail and they received a reply the same day.”
On a “Global Walk for a Livable World” to end the U.S. nuclear “First Strike Policy,” Liz worked closely with the amazing Joan Bokaer, the cofounder of the EcoVillage at Ithaca.
Joan’s vision of starting an Ecological community in Ithaca had come to her in a flash while she was crossing a meadow. Joan had the vision; Liz had the ability to translate vision into practical reality.
I have just this week moved into a house in EcoVillage. At dawn each morning, I walk around the meadow singing to my heart’s core the praises of Joan Bokaer and Liz Walker.
They have given back to me the air I breathed in a rain forest in Kerala. I hear the patter of raindrops over my low roof. I smell the herbs in the berm behind the house. My heart leaped like Wordsworth’s when I saw the daffodils. My heart leaps when I watch the smog-free sunrise. I pause in front of each individual garden in front of each cottage. I savor the smell of rosemary and basil wafting the air.
The land dips and rises across the expanse of the two other Hills of Ithaca. I see mourning doves preening about on the lane. I hear the birds singing as they did for Liz in her childhood.
The children of the village climb trees and find safe perches. They swim in the pond and skate in the winter. Every leaf and blade glistens with morning dew, and I am momentarily happy.
