Yurt Raising

The idea for the farm yurt, future home and studio for Atma Devi, was born during those long summer days. Barefoot and shorts. Remember them? They will be back and not a moment too soon. Making stuff happen felt easier then. Long days stretching out languidly, a time of dreaming, when the hammock actually got some use.

Who doesn’t get tongue tied translating intentions into substance? I always do! Take this dreamy Mongolian yurt. Where to buy it, how to find the money, what the platform that it sits on looks like, is there an ideal size, color, height, will it adapt to the rain?

The more I dabble and dig, the less confident I become. Once it was a single, pretty picture on Bing Images, on a summer afternoon. But now it gets real, broken open into a thousand essential decisions. What am I saying Yes to? And what am I saying No to?

Much as I would like to believe the bumper sticker “It’s the journey, not the destination”, as a dreamer I have no problem taking the shortcut and even embracing Instant Manifestation on occasion. Let me tell you friend, the bane of us dreamers is the journey. Not the destination. It’s that exhausting detail that can eat us alive.

I want to keep this short so let’s just say, the platform took shape a few months ago and with that the budget was pretty much all sunk. But we were committed. While the platform was ready and waiting under tarps, our tent lady was on the high seas. Finally in snowy January after some diligent customs x-ray antics, we scooped up the crates. I am reminded of a quote from the Marcus Aurelius that goes something like ‘only madmen look for figs in winter’. Only amateurs put up yurts in the rain.

It takes a dry spell and at least 6 bipeds to raise a yurt. And I don’t have to tell you about our weather lately.. Rain, snow, more rain. Finally on Sunday, friends and weather came together in one spot. Incredible, a fine posse of dear ones turned up for the Yurt Raising!

Now I love the simplicity of the circular structure, but an instruction manual would still have been handy, What I had was in Mander’glish and too generic to be useful. So we hive- minded our way through, giving the finger to perfection in favor of ..wonderfully adequate. Just the way I like it.

Writing this now raises an ancient memory. We once raised our sukkahs, our barns, our mud and straw huts, our tepees... together. In community. You cannot do it alone. So it feels like a minor miracle that it still happens in this age of cyber relationships, lonely drift and building codes. Freezing temperatures all day, yet a dozen friends chose to pass up Sunday lunch with family and underfloor heating, load up their tools, share skills, and make it happen.

Blows my mind this generosity. This community that ties me in. Buoys me up. Holds me tight.

Thank you beloveds!