GROUNDHOG DAY-THE SEQUEL

Nate Hajdu (Unit 217)
Camphill village
Copake, New York

  When I first came to Camphill Village, I was a young lad unwise to the
ways of the world, and now I feel exactly the same way. We take baby 
steps here, kind of like Bill Murray in "What About Bob?" Forget the 
phrase "the more things change, the more they stay the same." Here it is
"the more things stay the same, the more they come to a grinding halt." 
Forget 1996. It might as well be 1956. Camphill Village has its own sense
of time.

  My handicapped brothers and sisters are fueled by routine. Ask Ricky 
when he first started ringing the Fountain Hall bell, and he will blurt 
out with the urgency of a young army private, "April 4, 1966!" People 
here do and say the same things day after day after day. When I go to the
barn every morning to milk my cow, Robert greets me and says, "How did 
you like that breakfast yesterday Natholomew? Terrible? No good? Yes, Sir?
Terrible!" Every morning! Have you ever seen the movie GROUNDHOG DAY? 

  They call me Nathaniel here (not sure why), and it gets butchered in 
various ways: Natholomew, Athaniel, Thaniel, and other pronunciations 
that I can not form into letters and words. David is another good example 
of the constancy of routine. He is probably the most disabled of the five
"villagers" in my house, Russet House. David has a limited vocabulary and
I learned that right away. Starting at the beginning of September, David 
asked me at least ten times a day, "You gonna be here Thanksgiving? You, 
you gonna be here? Me? No, I go home four months. My mum, my sister, 
turkey, wowee!" I tried to ignore him, but he always looked me right in 
the face until I said something, and it was always four months no matter 
how much time passed. By October, this was annoying and by November, it 
was approaching the unbearable stage.

  David and the other villagers here at Camphill remind me of my own 
insignificance. They have been doing the same things for years before 
I arrived and will continue to do so long after I am gone. Young 
co-workers like myself come and go, but they remain. The villagers are 
the foundation of this place. Without them, it would not exist.

  When I first got here, I had no experience working with the mentally 
disabled. My knowledge of the handicapped has barely scratched the 
surface. This is partly due to how Camphill treats the handicapped 
individual. the co-workers are not the staff and the villagers are not 
the patients. We just all live together in a community where the 
idiosyncracies of every person are accepted. 
 
  The way of life here at Camphill is different than anything I have 
ever known, and also different from how most of the U.S. operates. All 
of the co-workers and house parents here are volunteers. The village is 
funded by the villagers' Supplemental Security Income (SSI) and 
donations. All money is used and shared in different areas. The permanent
house parents have no savings of their own. If they leave the village, 
they have no funds to take with them. There is no pension plan, but the 
older co-workers who stay in the village are looked after and respected. 
The village tries to be self-sufficient in some ways. We grow lots of our 
own food in our gardens, and use all our own milk. We also bake our own 
bread in the bakery, and we sell items from our craft shops for a little 
bit of profit.

  Yes, we milk our cows by hand. One of the reasons for this is that 
milking is something that all but one of the nine villagers on the farm 
can do well. If it were not for them, the cows would never get milked. 
The thing I admire the most about the "crew" on the farm is their love 
of their work. They love being on the farm and being around the animals 
which causes them to never complain about coming to the barn. There was 
a two week period around Christmas when there was no regular work except 
for the farmers, but nary a dissenting word was heard from the crew.

  I have also found love on the farm. Her name is Mirra, and when I 
look into her big soft eyes, I know she is the one. Unfortunately, I no 
longer milk Mirra in the morning. I have been milking Eta and she is a 
real pain in the backside. If she would only stand still! I enjoy being 
on the farm and I try hard, but that does not make me a farmer. When they 
ask me to tighten up a fence around a pasture, I get a glazed look in my 
eye, but then Elias, the most skilled member of the crew, shows me what 
to do and everything is okay.

  Camphill village is very consistent. While the rest of the world kills,
gouges, and gorges; and while millions of people suffer tremendously, 
deprived of basic needs, Camphill Villages exists in its own self-imposed
time warp where its inhabitants quietly work and live together. After 
dinner, I lay on my bed trying to think of something to do or of 
somewhere to go, but nothing comes to mind. I pet and play with our 
three house cats, and I do not even like cats. I look towards the floor 
where David is perched in front of my radio, listening to one of my 
tapes. Resting on his knees, he rocks back and forth to the music. Our 
usually noisy house is at last quiet.