Happy 34th!

Yesterday, Sandhill celebrated it's 34th anniversary.

We had an all-day party, which included a gigantic potluck dinner, a Treasure Hunt for the young (or young at heart, and spry of foot), sweat lodge, barn dance, and may pole—all interlarded with lots of conversation and laughter. The rain almost held off until we were done. Some of the neighbors were caught by the late precipitation, and stayed the night, extending our party into this morning. It was a lovely time.

This year the revelers had a distinctively younger cast. In addition to Sandhill's under-40 additions of Apple, Thea & Jacob, Kevin & Ann, and freshly arrived intern Sarah, there have been four babies born at neighboring Dancing Rabbit and Red Earth Farms (two each) since our party last year. The wheel is turning.

The way I understand it, the Greeks considered 34 to be the perfect age—the point where youth and vigor were just balanced by age and experience. So what's not to like about the cmty being 34? Who can resist the lure of claiming to be the "perfect age"? Who knows, maybe we'll have the perfect growing season. (Though for that to occur, it'll need to warm up and dry off licketty split, and I'm not holding my breath.)

After years of a lower population (down to five adults) we're now on the rise again. While it would be a stretch to call life here perfect, morale is high, the sun is shining on our faces, and the wind is at our back. And that's worth celebrating at any age.