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Published online 1/6/2008 12:15 AM
Heartland Farm: Mirroring its name, simplyBlend of communal living, solitude heals visitors' spirits
As one drives up to a large, old farmhouse, dogs wag their tails, happy to see the visitor. "Park the car and come on in. I'm making an apple pie for supper," Sister Terry Wasinger calls out, stepping briefly from the back door of the house. For some, Heartland Farm is home, as well as a place to experiment with small-scale organic agriculture. For others, it's a place to seek solitude for a time; others yet arrive for as little as an hour to experience a therapeutic massage, art lesson or National Alpaca Day. Just beginning its 20th anniversary as an intentional ecumenical Christian community, the farm is a project of the Dominican Sisters of Great Bend. After two decades of working the land and caring for people on the 80-acre homestead - a mix of pastures and cropland - there is much to reflect upon, says Wasinger, dressed in a blue hoodie and Crocs. But first, the paper-thin pie crust on top of the mountain of apples must get in the oven. Heartland Farm is where people reconnect with quiet and the rhythms of the Earth. For Eric Buller, pastor of First Mennonite Church in Ransom, the farm became a haven for a month in May, when he was experiencing burnout from the demands of work. The setting offered much-needed solitude, but also physical exercise that was good for the soul. He worked several hours each day pulling weeds and helping harvest the alfalfa crop. In return, he got a reduced cost for his stay. He spent time reading, meditating and stargazing at night. There were days filled with long walks along the paths through pastures and along creek beds. When his month was up, Buller drove away refreshed, renewed and ready to tackle the world. 6 p.m. A fire in the wood stove warms the dining room. The long table is set for the evening meal of hearty green bean soup and dumplings, made with vegetables from the farm's large garden. Hot apple pie is a reason to linger at the table, engaged in conversation with three of the sisters who call Heartland Farm home. Their diversity is apparent. When Sister Mary Ellen Dater isn't offering massage therapy at the farm, she's spending hours spinning alpaca fleece into yarn. Sister Virginia Pearl works part-time at Larned State Hospital. And Wasinger works closely with the farm's 14 alpacas, which are carefully bred as a moneymaking venture. The community members sheer the alpacas' woolly coats, spin and sell the yarn. Wasinger runs a strict breeding program. Not only is she involved in the birthing of the farm animals, she's a midwife who nurses as needed at Central Kansas Medical Center in Great Bend. Before coming to the farm 15 years ago, Wasinger did missionary work in Nigeria. Along with the sisters, other "core members" of the intentional community include two married couples, a single woman and two international volunteers with the Mennonite International Volunteer Exchange. Core members begin as volunteers for at least six months before making a commitment to join the community. Those living on the farm are Christians, a mix of the Catholic sisters and Mennonite members. "It's easy to be a disciple of Christ when you are with people who share your values," said community member Laurie Hesed. There is also accountability. Core members believe strongly in consensus, even for something as simple as naming one of the baby alpacas. Interspersed with the residents are visitors like Buller. Hearing about the farm through word of mouth, people come to visit. The cost per night is $15 per person, three meals a day $10, but Wasinger says no one is excluded from sharing the experience of Heartland Farm because of financial limitations; bartering of services is welcome. It's not a place for loud music or for raucous gatherings with alcohol. "People just know," Pearl says of the farm and the lifestyle. And the people who need to be here show up. "It's a place that gets to you here," she says softly, pointing to her heart. 7:30 p.m. The night air stung any exposed skin as Wasinger walked with her guest. It was time to put the farm animals to bed. First, the women made sure the chickens were in their house. Next, there were the male and female alpacas to separate and herd into different stalls in the big barn. Outside again, the flashlight beams narrowly lit the path, but it was the celestial-like dome above their heads, twinkling with a hundred times a hundred stars, that led the way past the orchard, then through a tree row, down into the pasture to the guest's straw bale hut. A switch inside the hut turns on fluorescent solar lights, but because of a cloudy day there isn't enough power to leave them on for long. Two oil lamps and the glow from a flashlight provide the light for the night's long reading. They call the dwelling the hermitage. Much like Thoreau's solitary cabin, it sits alone by a dry creek bed lined with trees. The quiet and the darkness are not easy to settle into. It takes time. By 6 a.m., the stars blanket the sky and the darkness slowly fades. Monday, 7 a.m. For those who want to participate, there is early morning prayer and Holy Eucharist in the farmhouse. "It's our little way of celebrating together, one time of day," Pearl said, before they all head to their jobs in Great Bend and Larned or to chores on the farm. In another straw building, this one octagon-shaped, there are several art studios, including a room for throwing pottery. The building doubles as a conference center. Hesed and her husband, Larry, came to Heartland Farm 19 years ago because they were committed to a simple lifestyle and wanted to live in an intentional community with people who shared their values. "We've been blessed all along," Hesed said about their life. In another room, two of the young volunteers - one from Mozambique, the other Cambodia - clean the straw and dirt out of the fleece that has been sheared from the farm's alpacas. Wasinger washes the fleece in a huge kettle. Dater stays busy in another room spinning the fleece into yarn. 12:15 p.m. Watering the lettuce and spinach in the solar greenhouse is one of core member Jared Gingerich's jobs as the farm's gardener. Pearl arrives with a mixing bowl to cut some of the greens. It's her day to prepare lunch, a meal everyone at the farm eats together Monday through Friday. She bakes huge sweet potatoes from their garden, and the table is heaped with organic food produced on the farm when the 12 people arrive for the meal. 3 p.m. A guest moves freely around the farm, walking the mowed paths through the pastures, reading in the hermitage, walking the mile through a labyrinth cut out of a field. Each second is a wonder when living in the present tense. For Pearl, Heartland Farm is a healing place. She describes the core members' role as being "facilitators of the healing presence." "In each of our own ways, we are definitely healers," she said. Because they invite people to the farm, they have a role in introducing Earth's healing presence, she said. Over the past 20 years, the farm has become a place to learn about ecology, Pearl said. She describes the Earth as a mother. "I think she allows the gentleness to help us as we share her. She isn't ours; she belongs to those who are hungering for her love," Pearl said. "Just to watch the moon, the sunrises and sunsets and walk in the pasture, those are the kinds of things I feel help people, but only people who want to receive it are the people who come here." 4:30 p.m. As the December sun sinks in the west, the shadows grow longer. Mother Earth puts on a dazzling show, tinting the sky a range of colors from deep Caribbean green to rosy pink to soft pastels. "I love to be outside this time of day," Pearl say. After hugs and goodbyes, the guest heads back out the long drive a little more than 24 hours later - refreshed, thoughtful, and especially hopeful that the reverie gained will last longer than the dwindling sunset. |
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