Faith Christensen

"The week I arrived at Kimberton Hills, the trees grew faces.

As you may have guessed, this was not quite as mysterious as it first sounds. The faces appearing on the trees on the forest path were the result of a special week-long art workshop, where participants practiced drawing faces and capturing expressions, gathered clay from our land, and finally, spent a day affixing faces to specially selected trees. I knew I had arrived somewhere very special when I was invited to take part in this face-building workshop. Practicing molding noses is a great way to meet people.

Since that first week, so much has happened that I can hardly believe that workshop was held only six months ago. The faces aren’t even there anymore—our methods were semi-permanent at best, and none of them made it past the first couple of rains. The workshop, however, managed to capture forever some of what is best about Kimberton Hills. There was a sense of fun, of creativity, and perhaps most importantly, of celebrating each other that has gone on to impact my experience here.

Some of my favorite moments are the opportunities I have to collaborate with the individuals that I’ve gotten to know over the last 6 months. Whether it is deciding on colors for a warp in the weavery, frosting a cake for the café, or helping someone to make a birthday card, I always enjoy working with people and getting a little peek at how they see the world. And I hope that somehow, through this sharing, we begin to meet one another, bit by bit. Because although they may not seem especially dramatic or important, these interactions keep me hopeful in the face of an overwhelmingly out-of-balance world."


Singing to the Cows… Faith Christensen

"Once a year, on a cold clear night, the cows at Kimberton Hills are serenaded. The whole village, coworkers and villagers alike, stand along the stalls in the barn. Carrying candles, everyone sings Christmas carols in beautiful harmony to the dairy cows that provide the Camphill and surrounding community with precious milk. I was fortunate enough to pause in my holiday pandemonium and walk the hill towards the farm, say hello to familiar faces in the dark, and then enter a barn filled with a glow and the shining dark eyes of the cows. Many of these gentle heads swayed to see themselves surrounded by people. Light and sound and an occasional “moo” added to the special and blissful atmosphere. This unique tradition happens in Camphill Village Kimberton Hills every year, and my participation this year encapsulated my connection with the community experience of Camphill. In a world today where individualism takes precedence over kinship and materialism exceeds transcendental ideals; Camphill empowers each of its residents to grow in their own abilities and experiences. The openness of the land around Kimberton Hills echoes the openness of the special needs people who live there, and who offer a parallel of life without cynicism to the volunteers who work there. Camphill offers me a chance to extend sincerity to other and myself in performing community service, and a chance to send out this positive energy that I find here to the world at large."


The Common Meal… Christine Guertler

“I actually don’t recall when we first started the Common meal. The main idea of the common meal was that the whole village would get together at least once a month so that they would have the opportunity to talk to people they didn’t see so often. Even though the village isn’t that big, it very easily can happen that you don’t get to see a lot of people who live and work here. A group including villagers and coworkers would get together to plan and prepare the meal for the village. We sometimes ate out on the green, weather permitting or in the village coffee shop. It always was a lot of work, but it also created fun and good sense of community spirit, connecting with each other.”


A Day on the Farm… Thomas Trzcinski

“I believe I was milking. Even during this relaxed part of the day things can get exciting. Larry, a villager, comes charging into the room blurting out something indecipherable as he usually does. After working with Larry for the time that I have, I’ve learned to distinguish between his regular compassionate joshing around, and something of dire importance. I am able to see the difference in his eyes and his face. After one look at his face, I know to stop what I am doing and ask Larry to repeat what he said. “The cows are out. The cows are out!” he shouts. I run in the direction he shows. Charlene sees us running and comes to investigate. It turns out that all three of us are needed to get the cows back into the shed. Problem solved! Together we, a small group of folks with differing abilities were able to fix the problem and we continued on with our day.”


Americorps… Phil Stewart

“It is essential the work we do here, just as most work is essential to society (I’m not convinced telemarketing is necessary however!). Without the volunteers here, putting in not just a commitment of hours but a commitment to a lifestyle and attitude change, Camphill couldn’t make it. The rewards for this work are clear as well. You enhance and touch people’s lives, while enhancing your own, and allowing yourself to be touched. Also, an education award also assists tuition or loan repayments and helps to make this possible. Most rewarding is the knowledge that this experience will follow you and bring positivity throughout your life.”


Dear New Coworker,
After I arrived in CVKH in September of 96, I realized that the community was not what I had expected. In some ways, it was more amazing than I could have hoped, and in others, I was disappointed. If it were possible, I’d ask you to let go of all expectations. But, being human, you probably have already daydreamed of what it may be like, of what you hope to learn, and how long you plan to stay. So, I hope that my description of a typical day helps give you a sense of what Camphill can be like. But please realize, this is a PARTIAL description of a day that would have been particular to me. For example, some of my peers’ work schedules demanded more of them, and my house demanded more of me. Each of you is different and each house is different as is each workplace. That said…

I wake up at 6:30 am and stumble out of my room to wake up three Villagers I live with. Jean is often up and sweetly says thank you. Ed, who is 67, and who uses words infrequently, sticks up his two arms, inviting me for a good morning hug. Gaby, who is hearing impaired, is often startled when being woken up, and as usual, screams at me in anger, even if she is not angry at me and more shocked at being brought back into the world. I give Gaby her medicine and also give her some space.

After making oatmeal, slicing fresh bread, and brewing tea, I set the table and call the house to breakfast at 7:30 am. Maybe Jean or Michael, one of the long-term coworkers who live in the house, reads the weekly passage from the New Testament. (On Saturday night, we will probably have a special dinner as part of Bible evening where everyone will have a change to share about their week and then discuss that Bible passage. Not a particularly religious guy myself; I still appreciated the time to slow down and reflect. It was also an opportunity to observe others who felt closer to religion and the spiritual world. I never felt pressured to believe something I didn’t and always felt invited to share my experience and ask any questions.)

After clearing the table (and brushing my teeth), I check to see if Ed is on his way and tell him I hope he has fun (Knowing that Jean is independent, I simply say have a nice day). Gaby, who has difficulty making transitions, does not want to go to work. I ask her why, we talk, she gets upset. I escort her out of the house, slightly against her wishes, and walk with her part of the way until her anger dissipates and she begins to walk to the bakery on her own.

I arrive at the garden, greet the crew, and Deb, the head gardener, helps us divvy us tasks for the day. All of us spend time transporting compost to some beds that will have lettuce, wheel barrowing, shoveling, raking, and straightening and then we split up and perform other tasks: sifting leaf mold, transplanting onion seedlings, or cleaning out the greenhouse.

At around 12:00, Ross rings the bell and we clean up and head home for lunch. On this day, I am a guest at a neighboring house. I wash up and offer to help set the table. We talk about what folks did, how the cows are, who’s going folk dancing on Sunday, and how to better split up some community-wide responsibilities. We disagree on how best to get more things done with the same amount of people and end the discussion before coming to resolution. (Though I am glad that there is a chance to discuss explicitly the structure of the community and the administration of its business and its services.) Then it’s rest hour—a time I often used napping or writing letters or reading. It was also a time where I knew I could be alone and get some psychological space.

In the afternoon, I work with three Villagers in my own house. In addition to some set tasks, like washing and drying the dishes, folding laundry, and sweeping, we often work on other challenging projects. We might work together on a recipe to bake a cake or tackle a weeding project in the yard. With little training, I found it difficult to orchestrate these activities, make the chores meaningful and appropriate for the adults with their different strengths and handicaps, and to get dinner cooking as well. Still, with practice, I got better and learned many practical managing and culinary skills. And I learned how to keep a sense of humor after using salt when I thought it was sugar when making dessert.

Before dinner, we sing a song of appreciation for the food. During the meal someone gets upset, yells, and bangs her fist down. After a moment, she has a chance to explain, asks to be excused, and things calm down, though there still is a little tension. Although some nights I house-sit, and others I go with some Villagers to the local gym, tonight I have off and hang out with other young coworkers. We go to the movies and then hang out and play darts in a converted garage.

Arriving home, I write in my journal, reflecting on how I find it so challenging to live with people who can be emotionally volatile one minute and serene the next. I promise myself to work on not becoming too emotionally involved in someone’s outburst, but wonder how to do that without losing a sense of kindness and caring. I also reflect how I love the open space of the community, the natural beauty, and the opportunity to learn so much. And then I lament how tired I am, shut off the light, and fall asleep with my journal in my bed, unfinished, and realize that I am not perfect, and others are not perfect, and this is all OK.

I hope that this description has given you another picture of life in Camphill. After 11 months, I learned more than I had expected to—and improved my ability to handle outbursts, my ability to lead a team, and my ability to not burn a meal. For every moment I thought I would quit and leave, I had a moment where I knew I wanted to stay, and learn, and grow. My experience at CVKH was nothing less than my most amazing experience yet. Good luck.

Good luck,
Andrew Brosnan, Camphill Fan


JOSEPH NAPOLITAN, father and grandfather of Kimberton Hills’ residents.
When my daughter Martha and her four-year-old son Francis moved to Camphill Kimberton 10 years ago, I was concerned about Francis growing up in a community of handicapped and retarded adults. Martha had worked at Camphill before; I already was impressed with the entire scope of the Camphill movement and filled with respect for people like Martha who devoted important years of their lives helping those less fortunate.

My main worry was that Francis (my grandson) would find the villagers 'different' and difficult to relate to.

I am happy to say my concerns were unfounded. After Martha met and married Ben Cowen, another Kimberton coworker, and they became the parents of Clara, now six, and Diggory, now four, I have come to believe that my grandchildren's experience growing up in a Camphill Village will be a treasured interlude in their lives.

Most coworkers are themselves very special people. Martha has a degree in international studies, Ben one in environmental engineering. They could find useful and financially rewarding work virtually anywhere. They are at Camphill because of a mutual and deep-seated conviction that they can achieve inner satisfaction and demonstrably enrich the lives of Camphill villagers by their volunteer efforts. Theirs, and that of all Camphill coworkers, is a noble calling.

So far as my three Camphill grandchildren are concerned, I can't imagine a better environment for them. Francis now is a gangly 14, almost six feet tall, and a grandfather's dream: polite, courteous, a good student, active and interested, respectful and helpful to the villagers with whom he shares a home. The little guys are as happy as any children I've ever seen. They get plenty of fresh air, sunshine and good food; they accept friendship and extend it to others. Perhaps most important of all, they are growing up in a true community, where each person (including little kids) have their own responsibilities and chores. They have learned, without having to be taught, that human beings come in all shapes, sizes, and forms, and that neither physical beauty nor intellectual prowess is necessary for people to live together happily as a community.

The dedication of Camphill coworkers never ceases to amaze me, and I am delighted five members of my family are helping make the world a better place by being there.