Rituals: Dirtversary
Regular gatherings of various types. And stage combat.
A week ago about twenty of us gathered at the land for Dirtversary 8: The Ocho. Eight years of owning what has effectively been an adult sandbox.
It was a different from campouts in the early years. Similar vibe, but the ecological and social delineations pre and post-2020 wildfire were very noticeable.
Most obvious (other than the missing structures) is the radically changed landscape. Charred redwood trunks now hold a meager canopy above a surprisingly thick undergrowth of pioneer plants and juvenile sprouts. On the heels of a multi-year burn scar, the woods are finally lush, if in unfamiliar ways.Â
The faces have changed as well. Post-covid and deeper into adulthood, many folks have children and more responsibilities, or have moved away. The property, lacking many of the former amenities, activities, and comforts (an 80% drop in hammocks, and a 100% drop in wood-fired hot tubs), beckons a bit less. And our own reduced enthusiasm—or at least our more complicated relationship with the land—has dampened the draw of what was previously a much stronger social magnet.Â
Still, there is remarkable energy. New friends have come into the fold. (Some only know the place in its current form, which is so strange to me.) Many remain in attendance who have been around for the better part of a decade. Our build parties and general ethos have continued to ripple out, maintaining our dirt’s status as a hub for social connection. Same same but different.Â
I’ve said before that an upside in ritual is a sort of summer camp energy, where we collectively contextualize this experience through the shared recollection of those previous. That’s still true and was true last week.
There were memories shared. Familiar patterns. The same brands of play, arts and crafts, and antics that have become synonymous with these types of gatherings. Two people cut themselves whittling spoons, and I lost $21 competing in archery against Dan. All too familiar feelings.
Now, it wasn’t all amazing. For me, anyway. I’ve got some pretty complicated feelings about our property post-fire. A lot to unpack, for another time perhaps. And there are ebbs and flows to the enthusiasm required to facilitate these types of events. It’s not always easy. Rarely, in fact.
But the positives were—and are, the more I dwell on it—undeniable. The merits of investing in these long-term efforts are likely worth the squeeze. A lingering thought I’d like to hold onto as I mull future plans, projects, and workshops.
Regular gatherings that invoke ritual and the possibility of camp-friend connections seem rarer and rarer as life gets full. I think that’s why I appreciate them so much when I clock them out there in the world. I recognize they’re difficult to maintain. Especially those not-a-federal-holiday-events that exist entirely and only if someone sparks them into being and sustains their existence. They require intentionality and an unseen volume of logistical fortitude to keep the ball rolling.Â
This weekend I was chatting with Paul about about how he spearheaded his twice-annual friend’s getaway for nine years. When he tried to take a couple of years off of captaining that ship, it basically vanished into the ether. Not everyone is willing to bring the special sauce and necessary effort.Â
Where we had that conversation was at TEDxEmily—yet another annual event (that's the idea anyway)—a gathering of such impressive scope and herculean effort on Emily’s part that it merits its own write-up. But the gist was four days of talks, workshops, and activities, densely programmed by and for the 30 exceptional and engaged friends whom Emily had invited from around the country. Plus some serious summer camp vibes.
The most frequent curiosity lobbed at Molly and I was about our weekly sauna night. Something about the accessible ritual, open invitation, and the dependability of good people convening at a regular interval seemed to connect with folks. Not a surprise, given the character and interests of those in attendance (and the presence of a sauna). But this sauna-talk also swirled amid chatter of regular dinners and hangs, annual trips, and a pervasive and emphatic embrace of creative gatherings and ritualistic events (such as the one we were currently standing in). Like minds.
So that’s what’s been on my mind lately, and what I’ve been paying special attention to in recent conversations… the communal value of, and immense gratitude for, someone making the effort to ensure these types of gatherings exist for enthusiastic participants to opt into.
There's an exponential reward and loving appreciation in those long-road efforts of community building. A reality I’d do well to keep in mind when weighing my layered and conflicted thoughts about hosting events, and a notion I hope Emily keeps close as the stress of planning TEDxEmily 2025 inevitably builds to a boil sometime in the coming year.
