Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage

By Alline Anderson

Once upon a time there were three little pigs and the time came for them to leave home and seek their fortunes. Before they left, their mother told them, “Whatever you do, do it the best that you can.”

The first little pig built his house out of straw because it was the easiest thing to do. The second little pig built his house out of sticks. This was a little bit stronger than a straw house. The third little pig built his house out of bricks.

I’m here to tell you that the first little pig was right (although it is probably best if you do not let a pig build your straw house).

I live in a house built of straw bales. And no matter how determined the big bad wolf or the Alberta Clippers, there is absolutely no way it is going to blow down.

But that’s getting ahead of myself a bit. My straw-bale house is located at Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage. Nestled among the gently rolling hills on the edge of the tallgrass prairie, about 300 miles east of Lincoln, in Rutledge, Mo., Dancing Rabbit is a nonprofit and residential community that demonstrates ecological sustainability. In plain English that means that we are crafting a village based upon ecological principles. Sustainable lives are what we seek.

Started in 1997 by a determined group of six idealistic, creative and determined 20-somethings fresh out of college, Dancing Rabbit now has 40 adult members. Our 280 acres, once a heavily used and abused hog farm, are held in a nonprofit entity called a Community Land Trust. This structure enables us to share the land without having any one person in charge. We make decisions by consensus, which is a step more inclusive than one person, one vote. If everyone does not agree, we go back to the drawing board to find a solution that will work for all.

Imagine starting your town from scratch, and you’ll begin to comprehend what we are doing. Dancing Rabbit is not, as many of our parents fear, a commune—we are an intentional community. Each of us is independent financially from one another. We own our own homes. We tax ourselves 2 percent of our annual income to help with the infrastructure of the village, much like condominium association fees. We grow a lot of our own food, but are not attempting to be self-sufficient—we’ll never grow rice here, for instance. We believe in supporting our local economy, buying locally grown food and locally produced items. This is for ecological reasons (why use petroleum to transport stuff from California or Vermont when it is available here?) and because we want to see our wider community thrive. We have dozens of committees, ranging from Land Use Planning to the Kid Committee, which help move the decision-making process along. From rules about pets (When is barking too much? How many dogs can we have roaming free?) to deciding how much to charge ourselves for use of the Community Building, we’re doing it all ourselves. It is dizzying and time-consuming but ultimately incredibly satisfying.

The 40 adults here share many values and yet are very different from one another. Some, like my husband Kurt and me, come from a decidedly middle-class background, and had worked for 30 years before coming here. Some folks arrive right out of college, or came as interns, and have stayed. Most of us vote. We pay taxes. We work really hard—we build our own houses and grow a lot of our own food. We have phones, computers and high-speed wireless. We don’t have televisions, but a few of us subscribe to Netflix. Most of us are not wealthy. We earn our livings a number of ways—carpentry, computer/online businesses, gardening, teaching music, consulting and many other things. It is often challenging, but we feel that the hard work is worth being able to live our lives as we do. Many of us are vegans or vegetarians, and yes, we eat tofu. Some of these same people love a good pork barbecue (while, clearly, others do not). On a sunny day you may find a tie-dye shirt or two around and not many neckties. Some Rabbits go to church; others do not but consider themselves to be deeply spiritual. We try not to judge one another and strive to get along respectfully. And we hardly ever sing “Kumbaya.”

Our bottom line is ecological. We have six ecological covenants, which we all agree to abide by when we become members. We use only renewable energy (our village is totally off-grid, powered by solar panels and wind turbines), build with recycled/sustainable materials, recycle everything and use organic gardening methods. Most controversial, and probably most important, is that we don’t own cars individually. Instead, we have a vehicle cooperative that owns two cars, a Ford truck and a John Deere tractor. We pay for use by the mile, which covers fuel, car payment, insurance and maintenance. We understand that this feels like a drastic measure to many people, and many of us would be the first to agree. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area—having one’s own car was a rite of passage. But someone somewhere has to say “enough is enough.”

But let’s get back to those little piggies. As I mentioned before, our homes are built of sustainable and/or renewable materials. We use a lot of reclaimed lumber from buildings that we tear down (with the owners’ permission, of course). Straw, which is what is left over after the grain is harvested, is just that—left over. Using technology as old as the baling machine, we stack these bales amongst traditional stick framing to provide18 fabulous inches of insulation. We then cover the bales with plaster, creating a weather-proof barrier. Our homes are consistently 15–20 degrees cooler (in the blazing hot summer) or warmer (in the frigid winter) than the outside temperature, all without air conditioning or central heat.

None of this is to suggest that everyone should move to the country, build a straw-bale house, grow organic broccoli or sell your car, although these are all fabulous ideas. What we hope to demonstrate is that change is possible, and not excruciating. There can be joy and abundance in living lightly upon the earth. Not owning a car in a rural area would be extremely difficult; however, in a city, with the many car-sharing programs, it is an exciting option. If everyone grew just one kind of vegetable in their yard or even on their apartment balcony, that much less food would have to be trucked here to the Midwest, using less fuel and fewer resources overall. Using compact florescent light bulbs, insulating homes to save fuel (and on fuel bills!), carpooling, riding a bike, composting—all these things make a difference. You can make a difference. And just imagine what could happen if we all did just a little bit? One of my favorite quotes is from Dorothy Day: “People say, ‘What is the sense of our small effort?’ They cannot see that we must lay one brick at a time, take one step at a time.” So let’s all do the best that we can. Just like those three little pigs.

For more information on Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage, please go to dancingrabbit.org. Tours of the village will resume in April.

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