Where's my village?

I remember a few years ago, after Bill was out of the White House, but before all this presidential hoopla, I took an interest in Hillary Clinton. I can't really remember why, but I read part of her autobiography Living History. This was the first time I remember hearing the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child" (Hillary also wrote a book titled It Takes a Village). I'm sure she didn't coin the phrase, but I associate it with her nonetheless. And I often contemplate the truth of those words.

I think because my husband has been out of town so much for work, I've been thinking about my "village" a lot lately. And I'm finding it lacking. My entire immediate family (mom, dad, sister, brother) are in California, so although I talk to them on the phone frequently (usually more than once a day with my sister), I see them rather infrequently. I never thought when I moved to Alaska that I would stay for so long and miss my family so much. And I didn't really feel so strongly about it until I had children. I often feel very isolated when Rich is gone and I am by myself with the kids.

When this happens to me I wonder why I moved away from my village. And I think about how true village life might have so many advantages. I imagine the women coming together to prepare meals while the kids entertain and, to some extent, care for one another. I don't know if the men would be hunters or maybe herders...herders, I think; it sounds so much more serene than hunting (although my man is a hunter already). And even though it would be a life filled with hard work, it would be ameliorated by the camaraderie of the villagers and the sharing of a way of life.

For a time I had a little bit of that village. We had these really great neighbors and I developed a wonderful friendship with the woman in the household. She has two kids, and even though they are considerably older than mine, we understood the challenges and rewards of being working moms and could support one another in that role. If one of us didn't want to cook, or wanted to share a meal we had created, we did exactly that and neither of us felt guilty for it. We played cards many Friday nights, we went to the gym or ran together as many mornings as possible, and we listened to one another's problems. Even our men-folk loved to get together and drink vino all night and act like morons. They moved to Idaho the summer before I got pregnant with Aidan, and I still miss them terribly. For a small time, I had a glimpse into what that village life would be like and I loved it. I hope I can find it again.

The young inhabitants of my village snuggling in the laundry: