The Necklace

Many years ago, my mother returned from a trip to Korea bearing gifts for my sisters and me. We grew up getting socks, underwear, and school supplies for Christmas and our birthdays, so when my mother gave us necklaces that she had had made at a jeweler, it was completely unexpected. They were simple necklaces made out of polished stones in plain silver settings fashioned from silverware that she had melted down. I’m ashamed to say that my sisters and I regarded our necklaces with vague curiosity that quickly gave way to disinterest. The three of us stashed them away, and it pains me to admit that I’m not sure if any of us ever wore our necklaces a single time. It was only much later that I appreciated how precious they were.

My grandfather came to the U.S. as a young man in the 1950s. One of the places he visited on that trip was Cape May, New Jersey. He was far from his home: another seaside town on the other side of the globe. He had grown up on Jeju Island, where he was raised by a distant cousin. He was orphaned as a very young child, when three generations of his family were massacred in a single day in one of the multiple bloody purges of converts to Catholicism that occurred in Korea. His cousin, an innkeeper who had no children of her own, hid him during the massacre, and raised him into adulthood.

I’m not sure where or how my grandfather met my grandmother. Although they were both from Jeju Island, they came from different worlds. My grandmother came from a family of prosperous merchants, who owned a factory that produced and exported canned sea food and buttons made out of shells. Religion brought the downfall of my grandfather’s family; wealth brought disaster to my grandmother’s. Communists captured her father, beat him, and burned down the factory. The family escaped from Jeju Island and made their way to Seoul.

In Seoul, the family was able to rebuild their wealth by opening up a leather goods factory and store on Myeongdong Street. Besides the factory and store, my grandmother’s family owned an orchard on a huge swathe of land that was next to what is now the Blue House, (the Korean White House). Their own traditional hanok was right across from City Hall and Deoksugung Palace. It was unusual for women of that generation to get a higher education, but my grandmother was sent to Japan to earn her graduate degree in Psychology. She was a cultured, worldly woman who grew up in comfort. When she met my grandfather, he was a poor man with big dreams.

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Six of their children survived to adulthood. Their eldest child is my mother.

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My grandfather was in the U.S., trying to raise money for the university he was trying to build in Seoul. One day in Cape May, he looked for a suitable gift to bring back to his wife, who by that time had poured every penny of her wealth into the school. He brought her back a bag of polished beach pebbles. I imagine the smooth, colorful stones looked beautiful to him compared to the black, pitted volcanic rocks that cover the beaches of Jeju Island. My grandmother took one look at my grandfather’s humble offering and tossed the pebbles into the trash. My mother, that soulful little girl standing in the forefront in the photo above, felt sorry for her father, whose gift had been so callously discarded. She secretly rescued the rocks from the trash and kept them hidden away for decades.

It amazes me to think about how long my mother held onto that bag of rocks. I couldn’t tell you the number of times she’s moved in her lifetime. There have been multiple international moves, and perhaps as many as a dozen moves within the U.S. My parents tended to regard every move as an opportunity to purge and start all over again. My father remembers giving away a television and a car to my mother’s brother, before boarding a Greyhound bus with his wife, two little girls, and a couple of suitcases to begin his studies at yet another school, in yet another city. In another of our moves, we lost almost all of our clothes, because they had been packed in garbage bags that were mistakenly tossed out as trash. My mother is a minimalist at heart. She has always relished giving things away or throwing things out. The fact that her father’s rocks made it through every single move is almost as miraculous and unlikely as his own survival on that terrible day when the rest of his family was slain.

When we were deciding where to spend our annual family summer vacation, my sisters canvassed several possibilities. We could go to Fenwick Island, where we’d already spent two happy summer breaks. We could try another beach in Delaware, or we could go to Cape May. Without hesitation, my mother declared that she wanted to go to Cape May, where her own father had gone more than half a century ago.

“Remember?” she reminded us, “That’s where my father bought those stones that my mother threw out. The ones I saved and made into necklaces for you girls?”

In the weeks leading up to our trip to the beach, my sisters and I went on a desperate search for our necklaces. I would lie awake in the middle of the night, brooding over that lost necklace and trying to remember where I’d put it. To my husband’s dismay, I’d leap out of bed several times a night to rummage around in a new spot that I hadn’t already tried before. I kept returning to the same spots too, indulging in magical thinking that the necklace would somehow reappear where it hadn’t been the last time I’d checked. Alas, I never did find my necklace. My sisters weren’t able to find theirs either.

A couple nights before we were to leave for Cape May, I was having my usual late night self-flagellation session as I racked my brains trying to think where the necklace could have gone. A sudden thought crossed my mind. I got out of bed again and rummaged around in my sock drawer. I pulled out a small pouch that my mother had pressed into my hands some years ago. As is her wont, she had gone on a binge of paring her possessions down to the essentials. She had gathered up all her most precious jewelry in a small pouch and had told me to give them to my daughter.

My daughter and I were both horrified to see that she was giving us her wedding ring, and the jewelry that was most precious to her. It seemed to us a portent of something we did not want to face. My daughter cried and tried to hand the pouch back to her grandmother. The poor girl hadn’t lived long enough on this earth to realize that her grandmother’s will is as inexorable as the passage of time.


My mother’s most precious jewelry isn’t worth much money. The fake pearl necklace is chipping. My father was a poor graduate student when he bought her wedding ring. The watch was another modest gift from him. Their immeasurable value lies in the fact that she wore and treasured them all of her adult life.

As I suspected, the necklace she had made and kept for herself from one of my grandfather’s pebbles was in the pouch.

IMG_4684I polished the silver and wore the necklace to Cape May, where it all began.


Beloved Community

It’s August 12, 2018: one year after the events that shook our beloved community. A year ago, I desperately wanted to believe that the horrors we experienced were imported into Charlottesville by outsiders. A year later I have to face the truth – some of the hate was homegrown. Two of the organizers were graduates of the university. People we counted on to protect our community let us down in a shocking way. This year, our children witnessed an emboldened racism on their own school bus that made them so miserable, they begged to be driven to school.

Here in Charlottesville, we’ve been on tenterhooks for weeks as we’ve anticipated the anniversary of that terrible day last summer. In the last few days, police and the National Guard have poured into Charlottesville. Seven hundred policemen have been housed in dormitories on grounds. We’ve heard the drone of military helicopters above for days. We speculated that the aggressive police presence meant that there was information we weren’t privy to. It was unnerving to say the least. Last year the authorities told us to stay at home, and we listened. This year, my family was determined to stand in solidarity with our community.

My husband sang at the Morning of Reflection and Renewal at the University of Virginia. Afterward, we decided to go to the Downtown Mall, where Heather Heyer was murdered and where dozens others were injured last year. If nothing else, we would go to support the merchants whose businesses were going to take a huge hit once again. We drove through mostly empty streets with trepidation. When we arrived, the only way to access the pedestrian mall was to go through the most intense security I’ve ever experienced anywhere. My entire backpack was gone through with meticulous care. Every single zipper was opened. My wallet was taken out and opened.

IMG_6149Most of the stores on the mall were closed. In one of the few stores that were open, we chatted with the store manager about the security getting onto the mall. She told us that one of her employees didn’t come in, because her parents didn’t feel comfortable sending her to work that day. She told us that as a woman who lived alone, she always carried pepper spray in her purse. This had been confiscated. She told us that another employee had her Swell water bottle taken away. (If you don’t know, those are rather expensive water bottles)! You know what wouldn’t have been taken away at the security checkpoints? Guns. Wouldn’t want to infringe on anyone’s Second Amendment rights.


“Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

That was our plan.IMG_6157


On Sunday morning we went to a Community Gathering Against White Supremacy.

We made it through the weekend in peace. We fervently hope that it lasts. I’ll never see Charlottesville in the same way I did a year ago, but I love this town more than ever. It’s not a perfect idyll, but it is a city willing to confront its past and to strive to do better.

Our goal is to create a beloved community and this will require a qualitative change in our souls as well as a quantitative change in our lives.  Martin Luther King Jr.


Communing at Twin Oaks

The house where we spent a week at Lake Anna happens to be fairly close to Twin Oaks, one of the longest-running communes in the U.S. (Last summer the community celebrated its 50th anniversary). I’ve been intrigued by this ongoing experiment in communal living since high school, when I read founder Kat Kinkade’s book about Twin Oaks. There is a three-hour guided tour every Saturday during the warmer months of the year, and I was glad to finally have the opportunity to visit the 450-acre compound in person.IMG_6047 2


Entrance to Twin Oaks Community

Established in 1967, Twin Oaks was originally inspired by and modeled after B.F. Skinner’s Walden Two. Its behaviorist roots can still be seen in its polity and system of labor. Every effort is made to disperse power, so that no one person gains too much control. Planners and Managers are voted into office to make decisions for the collective. Three planners take staggered rotating shifts of 18 months. They make larger decisions for the community with input from members. In the main dining hall, we saw a wall of clipboards outlining various proposals. Members are encouraged to write down their thoughts and opinions on the issues they care about. Dozens of managers for different areas make the more granular day to day decisions. Over the years the community has largely moved away from its original behaviorist foundation. Initially, for example, children were raised not by their own parents, but by the community in a special house for children. Today, parents mostly raise their own children with the help of special mentors or “primaries,” who sometimes share in the task.

Now, the two basic guiding principles of the Twin Oaks “eco-village” or “intentional community” are equality and personal freedom. The labor system is a good illustration of how these abstract concepts play out in real life. All members are required to work 42 hours a week. Each week, members fill out a labor sheet with their work preferences. The labor manager reviews the sheets and makes adjustments if needed to make sure all shifts are filled. Members can mostly do whatever suits them – and rather than doing just one thing – most choose to do multiple jobs. The one thing that everyone must do is a two hour kitchen cleaning shift. Lots of things that wouldn’t typically be considered work on the outside, earn labor credits at Twin Oaks. Doing laundry or childcare for example, earns just as many credits as milking cows or working in the tofu factory. Being sick can count as work hours. The time it takes to visit a doctor or dentist can count as work hours. The elderly might fulfill their work obligation in the comfort of one of the few air-conditioned spaces at Twin Oaks, sorting seeds for one of the community’s cottage industries.

What doesn’t count as labor? From the Twin Oaks Policy manual:

Anyone may take credit for teaching anything to anyone, as long as the learner wants to learn it. Normal uses for teaching credits include teaching a language, a musical instrument, a recreational skill or academic subject. The situation becomes borderline when one person teaches cos* favorite friend to recognize forest flora, and they end up making love among the wild violets. Use your judgment and your conscience about how much of that to take credit for.

*”co” is a pronoun that replaces s/he at Twin Oaks

IMG_6039The only people who are not required to work at all are children below the age of 7, those who have applied to retire because of infirmity, or those who have aged out of the requirement. At the age of 50, the number of work hours required begins to go down by an hour for every year. (41 hours at the age of 50, 40 hours at the age of 49, etc.). Vacation credits are earned for every hour of labor, and typically add up to about 2 – 3 weeks for each member. It’s possible to earn even more vacation by working more than the 42 hours a week. Our guide told us that the typical Twin Oaks vacation lasts 2 1/2 months. Not bad!

IMG_6043In exchange for 42 hours of labor, every member is provided with all basic necessities including a room in one of the residences buildings, each of which house 10-12 people, food, clothing (from the “Commie Clothes”-I-don’t-think-I’ve-ever-seen-as-much-tie-dye-in-one-location-closet )!, and perhaps most significantly: health care. Upon joining, members are not required to bring in any assets. In fact, those who have any are strongly encouraged to give them away or park them elsewhere so that they are available for them when and if they decide to leave. (According to our guide, the typical length of stay is about ten years, though at times there have been as many as three generations of Twin Oakers in residence at once). The community shares a fleet of vehicles, including cars and racks of bicycles. For my mother’s sake, I was very relieved to discover that Twin Oaks also had a couple of golf carts. My parents must have been extremely bored in Bumpass, because they insisted on coming on the tour, despite my repeated warnings that it would involve three hours of walking:


Our lovely and gracious host gave my mom a lift while guiding us around Twin Oaks.

For things beyond the necessities, each member from the age of 10 years on, receives an allowance of $100/month. Children under 10 receive half that amount.


Washcloths outside the bathroom in the communal dining hall.

There are no TVs allowed at Twin Oaks, but there are communal computers, and members are allowed to have personal laptops. There is wifi all over the community, though – as for many of us on the outside – it’s not always 100% reliable!

According to our guide, there are “two big stories” at Twin Oaks these days. Hammocks used to account for 75% of the community’s revenue.


Testing out the hammocks…

Around seven years ago, their most important customer Pier 1 Imports called to say they would no longer be selling hammocks in their stores. The community plunged into a serious economic crisis. Twin Oaks had always had multiple small-scale cottage industries, from book indexing to making tofu, but hammocks had been keeping the commune in the green. The  community decided to concentrate their efforts (and more than a million dollars of their resources) into the tofu business. Although they still seem to be in the process of recovering their economic equilibrium, Twin Oaks tofu is now being sold at Whole Foods and other stores, and gets rave reviews.


The “state-of-the-art” Tofu Factory

The other big story is the way in which the community has been expanding. Multiple smaller sister communities have sprung up around Twin Oaks. Members of these groups socialize with each other and exchange labor and other resources. Ex-Twin Oaks members often settle in Mineral, Virginia and stay involved in the life of the community.

At Twin Oaks itself, there are 105 beds for approximately 90 adults and 15 children, and there is almost always a waiting list to become a member. For those interested in joining, there is a mandatory three-week visitor program. After taking part in the life of Twin Oaks, potential members are required to spend a month away to reflect on the decision, and to give the community a chance to decide whether to accept them. If accepted, (and most are), after an initial 6-month trial period, applicants become full-fledged members with all accorded benefits. Members are free to leave whenever they’d like. It’s possible for those who need to be away to care for aging parents, etc. to freeze their membership for the time they are away and to take a sort of sabbatical.

Our guide told us that a common reason people leave the community is because of interpersonal conflicts. A “Process Team” is sometimes called upon to help parties try to work through these issues. Members of this team are simply people who are interested in performing this role. This also holds true for people who wish to be healers. No special training is required, though some may choose to study for their roles by reading or watching videos. It is important to note, however, that members who wish to receive traditional medical or dental treatment can go to UVA Hospital or other designated outside providers and have the cost of non-elective treatment fully covered by Twin Oaks.

One of the last places we visited on our tour was the care facility, designed for the sick and the elderly. It is one of the only air-conditioned spaces at Twin Oaks and has remote controls and handrails everywhere. Like everything at Twin Oaks, it was designed thoughtfully and with a spirit of generosity. Members of the community make sure to stock the refrigerator in the kitchen with food so that residents of the care facility can feel like they are hosting the visitors who come to see them. I read that Kat Kinkade, after leaving Twin Oaks, returned to the community and was taken care of by its members until her death – even though this went against the policy she herself had helped to write. The day we visited, the one resident of the care facility was also an ex-Twin Oaks member. He was taken in by the community even though he had left years ago, because he had no family and nowhere else to turn for help. The community is taking care of him in his final days.

This act of charity, or grace reflects the ethos of radical acceptance at Twin Oaks. The community does not espouse any one religion or religion period. Neither does it make it its business to define what constitutes a family unit. Instead, what unites the members are their values of “cooperation, sharing, nonviolence, equality, and ecology.”

Visiting Twin Oaks inspired all sorts of discussions and interesting conversations within our family. Although none of us could see ourselves living at Twin Oaks, we could all see its appeal for the right type of person. It also gave us the opportunity to share our lives with one young Twin Oaks member in particular. It just so happens that our host’s son is going to start studying at UVA this fall. When our guide learned that my husband is a professor there, he asked if his son could contact him. The very next week, they got together at a coffeehouse to discuss life at UVA.


Outside the dining hall.

Communing with Nature

There’s bupkis in Bumpass, if you don’t count the North Anna Nuclear Generating Station and Lake Anna – the disturbingly warm manmade reservoir created to cool the plant. We marinated all week in the hot tub that is Lake Anna. The weather ended up being not as terrible as we expected. Even when it rained, we would paddleboard or kayak or canoe back and forth across the lake all day long.

IMG_6050IMG_5920IMG_5884IMG_5954IMG_6082IMG_6010Once I fell off my paddle board into the lake, which had recently been found to have “dangerously high levels of E.coli.” I managed to keep my eyes and mouth tightly shut until I resurfaced, with alarm bells screaming bloody murder in my head. IMG_6076

Good thing my phone was safely tucked away in my handy dandy waterproof case when it happened:


My sister was so jealous of my jaunty little case, I fashioned one for her out of a sandwich bag, a pencil case, and a lanyard we found at the local Dollar General.


She’s virtually guaranteed to up her cool factor with this bad boy slung around her neck. 

If I’ve shortened my lifespan in the radioactive, bacteria-laden waters of Lake Anna…well, at least I got to see bald eagles and herons up close and personal as they criss-crossed the lake. My daughter didn’t believe me when I said I saw an eagle. (Ummm, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I think you just saw a regular bird, Mom). I was so anxious to prove to her that I really had seen an eagle, I made my sister stalk this one to a tree. We sat in our canoe with our necks craned into position for three quarters of an hour until it finally took flight…

Sometimes we stalked birds; sometimes the birds stalked us. This is the exact moment I learned how much my sister loves me:

We could see schools of fish swimming around in the remarkably clear waters. Once, a sweet baby turtle bobbled up and down alongside us as my sister and I floated on our boards and chatted and stared up at the clouds in the cove by our house.


We did a lot of loafing that week in Bumpass…IMG_6014IMG_6049IMG_5922IMG_6077IMG_5978IMG_5979

My husband finds it harder than I do to relax. He kept rounding up the kids to do what few local activities he could find. They played miniature golf and disc golf a few times. One afternoon, he took the family to the North Anna Nuclear Information Center – a one-room exhibit about the plant. Toward the end of our trip, he realized that we were very close to Twin Oaks, a 450 acre commune, and that they gave tours on Saturdays. More on that next time!