Tobias Jones and his family in their Somerset woodland home. Photograph: Antonio Olmos for the Observer<\/p>\n
As any relay-racer knows, the moment of passing on the baton is a nervous time: you dont want to lose momentum, but neither do you want to rush and fumble. Eight years after founding Windsor Hill Wood, our residential sanctuary for people in a period of crisis in their lives, were at that stage. Were moving back to Italy and a new family is taking over the running of the woodland. <\/p>\n
Its a strange feeling, handing over everything for which you have sweated for almost a decade: the flock of sheep, the newly-hatched chicks, the beehives, the eccentric outbuildings, the mature trees and young saplings, the polytunnel, pond and chapel, a wonderful workshop and all our hand-made furniture. <\/p>\n
There are, hopefully, many more intangibles that were passing on: great relationships, abundant goodwill, a settled rhythm, a decent reputation, a degree of wisdom about communal living, spiritual stability and so on. So although were ecstatic that a courageous and experienced couple are taking it on, and will continue to share the abundant fruits of nature with the marginalised and mentally ill, its a real wrench to go. <\/p>\n
Ironically, the main reason to leave is one of the reasons we started WHW in the first place: the children. When we lived in other communities for my book Utopian Dreams, we met many kids who had grown up in compassionate, open-door spaces. Those children had spent their childhoods surrounded by rough diamonds and smooth talkers, and appeared to us both streetwise and gentle, both canny and caring. We hoped for our children to grow up like that, and one of the great results of WHW is that our three kids are, I hope, very open-minded and open-hearted. <\/p>\n
But, after the meadows and mud of Somerset, our girls yearn for their mothers chic Italian city as much as their mother yearns for them to speak, and feel, Italian. Theyre also entering an age in which its possibly not right for them to be surrounded by some of the slightly manipulative teenagers referred to WHW by rehabs and psychiatric units. As for little Leo, he just reckons that living in a country that has won the World Cup four times will be beneficial to his footballing career. <\/p>\n
There are also career decisions on my side. For the last eight years I feel as if Ive done something of a Cat Stevens, renouncing art for faith and very often putting career on hold for communalism. On the occasions I have written about Italy, Ive felt something of a fraud writing about it from the depths of the English countryside. Now, having been commissioned to write two nonfiction books about Italy, it would be absurd not to live there. <\/p>\n
But as well as pulls to Italy, there are pushes from WHW. Sharing your home, your life, and all your meals with half-a-dozen troubled people is exhilarating but also exhausting. Over the years, one begins to suffer from mild compassion fatigue. Its not the big things theft of petty cash or the occasional, spectacular relapse that get to you, but the tiny, constant ones: the hourly holding of the boundaries, the incessant site maintenance, the daily listening to deep woes. Even the profoundest people-person begins to feel slightly sociophobic when living in what sometimes feels like an ever-available village hall. Personally, Im still far more exhilarated than exhausted, but I can feel the balance shifting and want to entrust it to others while I still have that enthusiasm and energy. <\/p>\n
For all the frustrations of forestry and farming, they are meditative and constantly gratifying <\/p>\n
Were aware, of course, of the many things we will miss, most of all, of course, a sense of purpose. Well miss, too, a sense of wonder at all the arrivals: the randomness of, but also the perceptible pattern to, the stream of visitors. Theres never a dull day when strangers are constantly rolling up, bringing blessings and issues, but over the years you become sensitive to the mystery of their coming. Sometimes they themselves dont even know why theyve come, or how they heard of the place. But time and time again, when weve urgently needed a forester or a seamstress, a benefactor or a car mechanic, they have punctually shown up. Its mysterious, miraculous even, and reassures you that there is a generosity to fate (or providence) the wider you open your doors. <\/p>\n
Well miss being able to meet almost all our energy needs with our own hands, coppicing, splitting and stacking logs. I feel melancholic at the idea that Ill no longer hear the shrieks of laughter as our children play in the clearings with guests, inventing games and showing each other how to both regress and mature. Play, after all, has always been one of the greatest therapies here. Well miss sitting in silence at dawn in our tiny chapel with its straw bales, and will definitely struggle with having to cook more than once a week. The lack of integration with nature will be felt keenly: for all the frustrations of forestry and farming, they are meditative and constantly gratifying. At the end of the day, once the kids are finally in bed, the ability to saunter in the woodland what the Japanese call Shinrin Yoku (forest bathing) is a balm for the soul. <\/p>\n
Just yesterday, in our weekly wellbeing meeting for all the residents, one of our visitors was talking about how she is trying to internalise WHW so that she can take its spirit with her when she leaves. Its something weve spoken about with our guests for years, and now, of course, were having to learn what we want to take with us: a sense of simplicity, certainly, but also a confidence that you can turn your hand to almost anything that you can make a new kitchen table rather than click on Ikea. <\/p>\n
It is, for me, about learning patience, living in a time frame which isnt frenetic or instant, but measured in tree time of years and, even, generations. Its about temperance, not just in terms of alcohol, but in terms of temper, being quick to listen and slow to anger. Its about sharing belongings to find that holy grail of modern life belonging. Its about making peace at the same time as learning not to avoid conflict; about being vulnerable but also resilient; about rugged action but also deep stillness. <\/p>\n
We are (I hope our successors would agree) very relaxed about the idea that the place will evolve and develop in our absence. And there are certainly many things which could be improved on finances, fundraising, formal procedures, policies and IT to name but a few. But we hope it will always be a place which offers old-fashioned Christian hospitality to the marginalised and displaced; that it will always be centred on the love and informality of family, resisting the constant temptations of institutionalism and bureaucracy; and most of all that it will continue to be inspiring and therefore emulated, not in an identikit way, but bespoke to the situation and circumstances of each place. We, certainly, hope to emulate it in years to come in the Apennines outside Parma. <\/p>\n
Tobias Jones is the author of A Place of Refuge. His next book is about the Italian Ultras <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Read more here:<\/p>\n
The pleasure and pain of leaving the woodland utopia that taught us so much - The Guardian<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Tobias Jones and his family in their Somerset woodland home. Photograph: Antonio Olmos for the Observer As any relay-racer knows, the moment of passing on the baton is a nervous time: you dont want to lose momentum, but neither do you want to rush and fumble Continue reading