Django and the Hippie Commune
a French holiday Special
Django here, Natalie’s ride or die.
You may remember me from such posts as Django and the Great Phone Outage (a thoughtful meditation on smartphone addiction, set in a Turkish mountain village). Also, The Sunbeam, and Our Second Best Life—from the 30 Days in Istanbul series, in which I feature heavily.
Today, I want to tell you about our time in France.
As you may know, our arrival to this country did not bode well. First, I was stuffed in a bag and carried onto two very large cars with no wheels. Then, we took two more very large cars which both vibrated a lot. This caused me considerable distress. Finally we walked, dragging all my mom’s luggage, through a misty place that smelled completely different than Turkey.
In the dark of night, we arrived at a large, quite lovely homestead.
There were lots of people there. Mom explained that we were going to live in community.
Apparently, this is the term humans use for being in a pack. Honestly, they make things so complicated. What ever made them think it was a good idea not to live like this? Why do they mostly insist on dwelling alone, or with 1-3 other humans, in separate boxes, not sharing anything with their neighbours, staring at other humans on screens all day?
Moving on.
The next morning, in the light of day, we had a look around. There was a park nearby with lots of crunchy orange leaves and loads of sticks to throw. Next to it, a river. On the other side of the river, a town that looked like something out of a painting.
Then it was time for lunch. The humans in the house ate most meals together. During the week, these meals could not contain any meat or cheese, but apparently were quite good, since despite my best attempts, they did not share any with me.
They took turns cooking, which meant that the whole six weeks we were there, mom only cooked once. But it was for more people than she’d ever cooked for before, and making food is (to put it politely) not her strong suit, so she was exceedingly nervous. She decided she would cook Middle Eastern food, and got loads of instructions from two of her friends* who live for away. Everyone in the house were so supportive! It took her a really long time (far longer than it took anyone else), but her day in the kitchen was a really good experience for her.
At the house, they buy fruits and veggies from farmers who don’t use sprays on things. I tagged along to the local market and met some of those farmers. All the locals in the town were quite welcoming. At one pizzeria, the owner even announced that “everyone who comes into my restaurant eats,” and gave me a giant pile of shaved meat.
I will never forget that day.
The humans shared all the house chores, like chopping veggies, cleaning floors and washing dishes. At night, they did things like sharing circles (which I enjoyed sitting in the centre of), improv, games, singing around the fire, and 5 Rhythms dancing.
Aside from the walks, the French dog food which I liked a thousand times more than my usual kibble (AHEM, mom), the smells, the park with the leaves, and getting cuddles from so many people so many times a day, the best part about our time in France was how much my mom learned.
She talks a big talk about being vulnerable, but actually she’s not so great at it. Being around people who were so open and honest, she learned to be more that way, too. Daily life just felt easier: having folks around to talk to, share with, and laugh with was like having an emotional shock absorber.
When someone in the house was sick or having a hard time, other people checked in on them. When someone needed help with something, they asked. One day, mom mentioned she was struggling with her sleep. A discussion ensued about exercise, and within 5 minutes a fitness instructor was offering daily sessions, which lasted the rest of our time there.
Most of the folks at the house were a lot younger than mom, which was challenging from her ego. (Humans are so obsessed with getting older! As if it’s something one can control.) She started to see how judgemental she was being about herself. She stopped comparing herself and decided she would start learning from all the young ‘uns. How well they communicated. All the things they knew about stuff like emotional regulation" and neurodiversity—areas in which my mom has much to learn. How good they were at playing and having fun (something at which I, too, excel, but who’s keeping tabs?). How many great questions they asked. How good they were at something called “boundaries”, which apparently means asking for what you want and saying no to what you don’t want.
Don’t get me started.
It wasn’t always easy following a schedule, and making decisions as a group. Humans can very individualistic, and for mom, sometimes, learning to value the collective over her own individual desires was a challenge—but worth it, she said, in the end. Also, sometimes, she’d think she needed to be alone, but then she’d have to cross through the dining room for a cup of tea or the living room to let me outside, and she’d end up having a short chat with whoever was in there. Immediately, she’d notice she was feeling better. She learned that a lot of the time she thinks she needs alone time, she actually just wants to hide because she feels bad about herself.
If only humans paid more attention to how we canines do things.
Close to the end of our time at the house, something important happened in a place called Syria.
Afterwards, mom got really quiet. She stayed that way for the rest of the day.
That night was sharing circle night. Mom didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to talk about how she was feeling to the group. She was worried she’d cry. She felt like a “downer”, she said.
But by that point, she had learned that it was more important to be honest. So we went. And she shared.
I encouraged her to by sitting in the middle of the circle again.
She said she was struggling with being in this place with all this kindness and beauty while others were suffering so much. She said she can’t understand how so much sadness and violence can exist on the same planet as all this goodness.
She didn’t look anyone in the eyes as she said this.
But our new friends were so kind. They said that this was the kind of place where people should talk about things like this. They asked to learn more. That day was really special, and really sad, too.
Later in the week, in another circle, we all did a prayer together for the Middle East.
Apparently, there are lots of places around the world where humans can live together, but not places like the one we went to. Mom explained this to her dad, my Pop-Pop, before we came.
“It’s not just about sharing a house,” she said. “It’s about their approach to activism, to food, to spirituality, and to art.”
“Oh,” Pop-Pop said. “So it’s a hippie commune.”
Mom laughed. She said that she thinks this way of living is really helpful, with the way things are going in our world. She said that one day, she’d like to live in a place like this, and even help set one up.
To he surprise, Pop-Pop was supportive of this idea.
Sometimes, I think she underestimates him.
Hippie commune or not, I didn’t want to leave France. Being there made mom slow down. It’s gotten her to appreciate the little things more. To be herself more, and to trust other people more. And to have more gratitude—even for me.
Hopefully, she has now learned her lesson, and will bring me along on all her adventures.
* Sandra Bahbah runs Palestinian cooking classes and wrote a Middle Eastern cookbook that’s available by PDF. Jasmine does Syrian cooking classes and catering. Many thanks to them both.
If you liked this post, you might also like:
The Great Phone Outage
It was my birthday. I was promised a special day, but aside from extra cuddles and baby talk, neither of which are edible, the festivities were disappointing. Thankfully, my friends met us on our morning walk to share their well wishes.
Django, i admire your style. Obviously you are both a good boy and a good muse!
What a wonderful way to start the day. Thanks for the inspiration, Django. Your Mom is lucky to have you, and you- her.