So as it turns out, I'm pretty much crap at this whole blogging thing.  Its been months with not a single post.  In an attempt to make up for my prolonged absence I've decided to share some pictures from the past six months of my life.  So prepare yourself for an onslaught of photos. Starting with the day to day of my second term at L'abri.

Life at the Manor House...     

Here is a reminder of where I called home.  After watching leaves fall and flowers die throughout the winter, it was beautiful to see everything come to life in the spring.  

The Helpers...

These are the helpers.  Students my first term at L'abri, these five made the transition into being pillars of the community.  Planning meals, doing laundry, maintenance, chopping wood, building fires and being in charge of the work crews each day.  They are incredible and I love them each dearly.  Here they are wearing their Team Zissou hats.  Each individually knitted by our friend and former helper Anna of Portland. 

umm...other stuff...

Helen, Elizabeth and I.  The three of us are long-timers, each staying for two terms as students.

A discussion lunch in Marta's flat.  This was my favorite meal and one of our last formal lunches.  Notice the flowers and candles?  Although we eat together everyday the helpers and workers never failed to make it a beautiful event.  Really, it's these small things that are so meaningful.

Dinner in the dining room.

This is my friend Kari.  I love her and I love this picture.  Sunny days got everyone excited and playing outside.  

And this is Marta.  Remember her?  My tutor.  I am positive I would not have made it through this time in my life if Marta would not have been there to carry me.  I miss her terribly.

And this is a Valentine I received from my dear friend Kristin.  It arrived at the manor exactly on Valentines Day, and I was overjoyed.  So thoughtful that Little Bird.

Tea Time...

These tea times are a big part of the day, as they break up the blocks of time designated for work and study.  There is a lot of laughter and a lot of volleyball.  And when the weather is poor, and we are forced indoors, speed scramble is the game of choice.

It Snowed!!!

In January we were treated with the most snow fall Hampshire had seen in fifteen years!  Everything was blanketed in white and breathtaking.  Many snowball fights ensued.

High Tea...

Here are some of the talents displayed at my favorite time of the week.

Fiona of Ireland taught everyone an Irish jig, which Alasdair and Helen followed with some lessons in Scottish Highland dancing.  We all tried to pick up the steps, but I must say we kind of ended up just moving our feet around  quickly and laughing a lot.

The Swedes singing a folk song and doing a traditional Swedish folk dance to celebrate the coming of summer, or spring, or something like that.  Stefan struggled with the words, and the dance moves, and it was hilarious.  

The Hawkley...

The Hawkley is generally everyone's favorite pub.  It is small, full of interesting local people,great local brews, and often live music.  Many Saturday nights were spent here.  Half of the appeal is the journey to get there.  It is at least an hour walk one way.  Groups of people trekking along footpaths through fields and fields that are lit by the moon and millions of stars.  Great times.

Ali's Kebab...

I am convinced L'abri must keep Ali in business.  Ali is the man who runs this kebab stand along the side of the road, literally in the middle of nowhere.  Nothing on either side of him, his truck is there nightly, and is frequented by L'abri students.  It is a definite pit stop on the way home from the Hawkley.

Work Day...

Last term it was picking and peeling apples, this term it was manning the burn pile.  A smokey, smelly and fun job.  And this is Wesley in his flip shades.  Included purely for a giggle.

And Some Little Outings...

These are some day or weekend trips I took throughout the term.  Either on our day off, or for a mid-term break.

Selbourne...

We walked to a quaint village nearby.  When I say "nearby" I mean it took us about 4-5 hours to walk there, thankfully it was a beautiful day of perfect weather.

So this picture just makes me laugh.  The donkey looks fake, which it wasn't, and with his video camera and map around his neck Steven looks like a dad on vacation, which he isn't.

This is where we stopped for a picnic lunch of sandwiches and cheap wine.  It wasin a stunning little valley full of flowers and fallen trees.

And this is in Selbourne.  This creek is behind an old church and graveyard (which we toured) and down a steep hill (which some rolled down).  I attempted to jump this creek (a misguided bout of bravery) and fell on my face pulling Alasdair, who tried to catch me, down with me.  It was really funny, and painful.

London...

Some family friends of Helen have a flat in London and were kind enough to offer it to her for a weekend that they were away.  We readily took advantage and had a wonderful time.  A perfect break from the intensity of L'abri.  We gave our brains and emotions a break and explored London.  Here we are at Camden Market.

Lovely Kari cooked us dinner one night.

Isle of Wight...

Five of us decided to spend one of our last Thursdays at the Isle of Wight.  Alasdair had a car and was kind enough to drive.  So we took the ferry over and spent the day exploring.

It was absolutely beautiful.  The perfect day.  Definitely one of the days I treasure most from my time in England.  We drove around the island, adventured by foot, played on the beach, picnicked on a cliff, ate ice cream, made daisy chains, and as can be seen above, Kari danced.

Scotland...

40 minute walk to the train station, 1.5 hours on the train to London, ten hours on a megabus - and we were in Scotland!  Helen, Wesley and I took a weekend trip to Glasgow.

  

Lunch with friends.  They were attempting to pick Rachey up...but as can be seen, they failed.  But don't worry, she's not dropping the pose.

We got to attend Helen's dads 50th birthday party.  A dance party where Wesley proceeded to dance for approximately 3 hours straight with a collection of middle aged women.  They loved him!  I loved the whole hilarious scene.  And Helen simply kept repeating, "This is so weird.  What is happening?"

Wesley and I traveled to Edinburgh for the day.  We met up with Alasdair (who lives there) who was kind enough to give us a grand tour.  Here are the boys posing on a would-be rival to the colosseum, if the capital of scotland had ever finished the monument.

Alright.  So.  I've been back in the states for about 3 weeks now.  And head back to L'abri in approximately 10 days.    I would like to say that this time at home has been spent processing my time in England, really working through what I have learned and gleaned from the experience.  But, alas, this is not what I have been doing. My brain has been on a bit of a vacation.  A sabbatical if you will.  A well deserved break.  I've been spending my time relaxing with my family and visiting with friends.  The only writing I've done has been in emails.  And although I have read and loved around 2,000 pages of books, they have all been detailing the heartbreaking romance and dangerous adventure of vampires and werewolves (The Twilight Series...Anyone?)  So... it is simply impossible for me to sum up the last three months.  As I am not even sure all that they hold and represent in my life.  I will not try to articulate anything of real substance.  But, now that I have a computer at my disposal I will share with you some pictures.  Some bits and pieces of my life at L'abri.

  

As an introduction.  

This is me.  Enjoying one of my favorite pastimes and the greatest of small pleasures.  Coffee.

Life at the Manor House...


This has been my home for the last three months, and will continue to be for the next three. Pretty nice huh?  Look at all those chimney's.  The set of windows on the far right, in the middle surrounded by greenery, see 'em?  Well that's my room.  I'm pretty much in love with this house.  It's huge, drafty, full of secret doors and stairwells.

The Manor is three stories, here is the landing between the second and third.  Lovely.  I live on the middle floor in a room nicknamed the "Princess Room."  Fitting name.

This is the above mentioned room.  A wee bit messy I know.  I wish I could say that it doesn't always look like this, but... it basically does.  With 10 females and limited space, it's bound to be a bit chaotic.

Here's me in one of my favorite study spots.  Top floor window sill.  There's a great view and very limited foot traffic.  Pretty ideal.

And here is the study room, aka: The Bake House.  This is always the coziest room on the property, you can always count on a fire burning and some peace&quiet.  (Except when people like me are doing something annoying like taking pictures.)

Sigh.  This picture just makes me smile.  This is the table in the Drawing Room on any given Sunday afternoon.  You have some tea, some art supplies, some stationary, a few letters, a practice keyboard and some recording equipment.  It really is some sort of magical land for the creative fairy types.  

This is the little chapel behind the Manor House.  Its walls are lined with hay bails for sitting, there's a stove for heating and some candles for light.  It is the perfect little escape.  It became my secret hideout.  A place to run to when I needed some solo time, some peace or simply a safe spot to have a breakdown.  My own little safe haven.

This reminds me of the Secret Garden.  It leads from the back of the Manor property out to the street.

A view from the top floor.  This is the backyard, including a bench for viewing and contemplating.

At the back of the property  are the remains of a little crumbling church.  And a small graveyard.  I love to wander through this  area on gloomy rainy days.

A nearby lane.  Perfect for walks and leisurely strolls.

Volleyball is a mainstay at L'abri.  Everyone plays it and there are all of these theories about how it represents the community life at L'abri.  Volleyball is an analogy used in many lectures.  It's quite funny.

Pick.  Peel.  Dip.  Slice.  Core.  Soak.  Bag.  This is the process our assembly line followed for a day of apple picking.  We needed to get all of the apples off of the trees and into the freezer before they fell to the ground and began to rot.  The sun was shining and we worked all together for a full 8 hours.  One of my favorite days at L'abri.

A week in France...

Tory, Steven and I took a week break from L'abri in November and traveled around the South of France.  We left the Manor with a general idea of where we wanted to go and what we wanted to see...  But no idea of where we were going to stay, or how we would get there.  So, of course there were many moments of chaos and loads of adventure.

Tory and Steven take their first dip into the Mediterrean Sea.  So beautiful!

I watched and giggled from the beach.  Perfectly content in the sun and on the sand.

Just soaking it all in.

In each city we wandered through, we made it a habit to visit the local markets.  We meandered through the stalls taking in the colors, smells and local people.  I loved it.  Fresh apples often accompanied us along the way. 

Coffee by the seaside became a regular routine...

As did eating gelato.

Dancing on the seashore in Antibes...

We left a note on the beach for future fellow travelers.  You know, like a message in a bottle, but on a rock.

Um...probably one of my favorite moments  in France.  Sitting on a hilltop in Eze Village enjoying our typical lunch of apples, peanut butter, cheese and a baguette.  We had a full circular view of the village and the sea.  Perfectly content.

Waiting for our hostel in Aix en Provence to open for the evening.  Band photo??

Neapolitan movie theatre in France?  Yes please.

American Thanksgiving...

Starting the day with a gourmet Swedish breakfast the House then went on a two hour walk through surroundings fields.  Walking, skipping, talking and laughing together we followed footpaths through fields of sheep, horses, cows and greenery.  The people regularly in residence (maybe 40 of us?) were joined by many extra guests who came for the weekend. The Manor was jam packed, the weather was perfect and I was happy.

Look how peacefully the sheep are grazing...this was before one of the many dogs on our walk decided to go into herding mode.  Poor little sheep.

Aaron reveals his talents as a horse whisperer.

The dining room was decorated extra special for the occasion.  Look how pretty that mantle looks?!  And we used the nice dishes and everything.  It was quite an event.

Here's Helen, Steven and I at the end of dinner.  I am stuffed.  And Steven is happy.  I promise.

Guy Fawkes Day...

Remember Remember the Fifth of November...

So how do the Brits remember the day that Guy Fawkes attempted to blow up Parliament?  By placing him atop a pile of rubbish and setting it on fire.  We created our own  Guy Fawkes from old cushions, sticks, t-shirts and a pumpkin as a face.  We then set the bonfire to flame.  The whole festivities were accompanied by a fireworks display and pots of hot chocolate.  

Marta, my lovely Hungarian friend and tutor.  Here she sits protecting her favorite chair from the fire.  If it went in, she was going with it.  It now sits in the middle of her small flat.  And she is happy.

That's my yellow hat.  And that's rain and probably ash falling from the sky.

Cambridge...

This is my friend Wesley, who was at L'abri for about a month, is from Long Beach and happens to know Eric Appel.  Small world!  So we took a weekend trip to visit Nicki and Eric in Cambridge.

Wesley punting on the river through Cambridge.  Look at that building behind him!

Eric's turn.  Nicki and I sat, giving great moral support to the boys as they punted.

Soo....Steven and I accidently dressed as twins one sunny day.  Everyone was gathered outside to marvel at the blue sky, and decided to marvel at our coordination instead.

Sunday night High Tea.  The highlight of my week.  I can always count on High Tea to bring me some cheer.  Here's a group doing a sing a long.  I think to "Take a Load off Fanny."  The Band.

Tea Time!  Tea is served after each meal and then there are two tea breaks throughout the day.  This specific Tea Time was special as it was my 24th birthday.  See those little scrabble letters?  Those spell out "Happy Birthday Leah."  I felt quite special.

Wellies.  A real necessity for living in the English countryside.  My wellies are green and make me feel indestructible.  I can walk anywhere and through anything.

The End.

I call you Love.

I hesitantly whisper of beauty as the possibility of you.
A beauty that softens. melts.
The wind that tickles the trees and makes them shiver.
The leaves slowly dripping, catching in my hair and scarf.
The far off hills that hold me still. motionless.
The tender human touch that renders me silent.

I call you Grace.

Yet.
This is an abstraction.
A theoretical concept.
A series of ideas to be discussed and debated.
You are an abstraction.

When I am honest.

This is not my reality.
This is not personal.
Not my own.

If I am honest.

I will call you
Distant.

I would call you
Harsh Judgement.

I will call you
Silent.

I call you
Absent.

Eyes burning from heavy lids.
Kicking Television is the soundtrack.
Green and Brown window scenes.
Orange, Yellow, Red falling from trees.
Young boy practicing karate on his father.
Two men speaking to me in words I do not understand.
New wellies under my chair.
Tunnel: Black. Ears popping. Loud.
I pop out to a split world:
It's all yellows and golds on bottom as cornfields lay out a blanket on the earth.
Solid clear blue is draped on top - filling the rest of the canvas.
This is my ride from Cambridge.

Jeff Tweedy and I are trying to process.
Digest and sort all the input of the last few weeks.
Books, films, lectures, conversations...the density is making me heavy.
But there is something I am holding onto. A flashlight to see through the brush.

I am a product of my environment. "A child of my era; ironically an almost obedient child visibly following the mores of the cultural milieu in which it was nurtured." Shaped by Romanticism and the Enlightenment I am simply walking on the path laid out for me.
In this increasingly "Post-Christian" world I am not brave. My thoughts are not 'counter-culture.' I am not 'thinking outside of the box.' I am simply following suit. I am simply falling in line.

This thought. Partially and poorly represented here, was voiced to me in a book I read with love. A book I just finished written by a non-Christian man on his journey through several intentional communities.

It has thrown me off balance.
Add to my brokenness this perfectly chilling perspective and I am left flat on my back. Crying in my sleep.
It has stopped the wind from stroking my arrogant sails and yet given me some sort of irrational hope.

Train. Underground. Switch lines. Second train. Bus.
I am almost home. Almost able to begin my 40 minute walk home.
"Unlock my body and move myself to dance."
The soundtrack plays my favorite line.

I am trying. I am trying.

In an attempt to adapt to my now limited internet access, I will form this post into the shape that comes most naturally to me: a list. A skill I inherited from my mother and then perfected in emails to Chris Meagher...I am a professional and avid list maker. So, here is some insight into my life here at L'Abri in list format.

1. I live in a manor. For reals, a genuine real life manor. It's huge and open and drafty and old and beautiful. The grounds are lush and green and stretch on endlessly. They are covered with winding and narrow footpaths that wander throughout the village of Greatham. They cross through clover fields and pastures filled with cows and horses and gardens.

2. My days are delightfully structured:
8am breakfast
930am work or study
11am tea break
1pm lunch
3pm work or study
430pm tea break
630pm dinner
8pm lecture/film and discussion

3. I have consumed more tea these past couple of weeks than the sum of all of my prior tea drinking experiences combined. As a result, I am peeing more than ever.

4. I am currently in a room with 7 other girls. The majority of whom have just graduated from high school. Imagine high school Christian Camp. Now imagine, if you will, how much I would enjoy living in such circumstances. (Answer: I would not. At all).

5. I have about 3 hours of study a day. Free to study whatever I wish. With a library at my disposal. And no papers to write or grades to receive. Simply for the purpose of learning. There is a whole room designated for study. It is filled with desks and chairs, couches and blankets, and there is always a fire burning. It is pretty much bliss.

6. I have 3 hours of work a day. This consists of either cooking, cleaning, gardening (my favorite), painting, etc. This, I also love.

7. The weather here is nice. Not too cold yet. Quite pretty actually.

8. I have a tutor named Marta. She is from Hungary. She used to be a hotshot lawyer. I most definitely like her.

9. There's a boy here who asked me what music I listen to. Turns out we have similiar taste. We have taken to confessing our guilty pleasure bands. Yesterday I told him Teagan and Sarah. He looked at me blankly and said that was embarrassing. But then I reminded him that he had said One Republic, and I surely think that is worse. He reminds me of Adam Souza. We're friends.

10. Sunday nights are reserved for "High Tea." We gather in the drawing room and participate in a form of creativity together. Reading through a story or play together each acting out the different parts, spontaneously creating music with various instruments and voices, etc...From there the floor is opened to anyone who has something they would like to share -- a song, a poem, a story or whatever. I sit, observe, laugh heartidly and basically love, absolutely adore, Sunday nights.

11. This is real living in community. About 35 people of all ages, families included, living together, sharing together and constantly running into eachother. The dynamic is always changing as many people come and go, staying for a few days or a few weeks at a time. Eating, sleeping, studying, working and playing together can birth certain challenges. Some of which I'm finding to be difficult. But I think I am learning a lot about people, isolation, community, honesty, boundaries, vulnerabiltiy and independence.

12. I am currently reading: The Little Prince. The Art of Loving. Utopian Dreams. and Being Human.

If you're reading this. Three words.

I miss you.

Geez. I seriously miss you.

Just pluck me from my natural habitat and it takes, hmmm, I would say a whole of 5 seconds for me to realize just how great my friends and family are. Just how lucky I am to have you. And how rare it is to truly be known. I always seem to forget just how great you are.

So the internet situation is pretty much impossible here. I'll be lucky to have a half hour time slot once a week. Sad. This (obviously) is not a sufficient amount of time for me to write all the emails I so desperately want to write. So I will turn to letter writing. Which is not so disappointing. It's more personal, you know? And it will be fun to create little bits for you all. This is actually a much better idea than emails, I can tell already. So please, right this very moment send me an email (leahmicheleberry@gmail.com) with your home address. Do it. I like you and would like to be pen pals.

I was thinking. It's probably, no, most definitely a good thing that I didn't have the internet available to me until this moment. Any earlier and you would have had to endure a wallowy self-pitying unhappy Leah. Not pretty. Thankfully it is only the pages of my journal that have had to endure such abuse these past few days. This abuse comes in many forms. Most commonly in bitter self-absorbed teenage angst: "Oh no one understands me." or "I don't relate to anyone here." My pencil has also written in the dramatic emotional state reminiscent, of say, everyone's favorite emo band - Dashboard Confessional: "Woe to me." and "I'm so disappointed." Weep weep weep. What I feel the worst about, oh my poor poor journal, are the long angry unwarranted rants. Me on my high horse articulating exactly how I feel about this house, these people and my dumb choice to come here. I am so glad I had no choice but to spare you of all this nonsense.

And now, at 730am on Saturday when I finally have some computer time, I can tell you I am doing alright. Thanks to Thursday really. I am doing alright. Thursdays are our day off. I forced myself to be social (a new personal mandate after several days of self-inflicted pouty isolation) and went with a few girls into town. And what do you know? It ended up being a great day - filled with all of the things I love most. Here's a rundown of the day that managed to pull me out of my brooding:

Throughout the day we walked and walked and walked. For miles and miles and miles. A favorite past time of mine. We went through green countryside and down muddy paths that were enclosed by trees. We passed quaint English cottages and beautiful old houses. We picked fresh blackberries all along the way.

In town we sat and chatted over coffee in a tiny and charming cafe.

We wandered through a narrow alleyway where a small signless window filled with guitars and album covers caught our eye. We opened the small door and were immediately greeted by tons of old records and used cd's. We dug through this small gem of a store and made friends with the man behind the counter. The same man who was passionately lecturing an old English gentleman about how he can't believe that he doesn't own such and such a record as it is one of the greatest rock records ever produced and how it is essential to any collection. Eavesdropping on this conversation all I kept thinking was, "high fidelity anyone? anyone?"

Then. As if that wasn't enough. We stumbled across the gold-mine. A Huge used bookstore. This baby had books, pictures, old prints, postcards and maps stacked from floor to ceiling. It was set up like some sort of labrynth with narrow halls and secret doors that led to more and more rooms. It was overwhelming. And I was in heaven.

It is amazing, silly really, how much of an affect these small pleasures have had on my outlook. I simply feel as if I now know I will survive here. I will always have that bookstore and record shop to flee to when I need an escape or cheering.

My time is up. Email me your address. Do it.

I sit here in my single bed.

Imitating Kristin I stare at the ceiling panels.

My head falls lazily to the right.

An empty single bed falls into view.  My neighbor.

Hello neighbor.

Clothes, bag, books, bits scattered across it.

I picture fear sitting there among the pieces.

Yes.  Fear lays sprawled out on that white bedspread next to mine.

Fear embodied by my black pants.

Yes.  That's it.  My black pants are now named Fear.

A leg hangs slack over the headboard.

Another drips leisurely down towards the floor.

The waistband is all folds, crumples and gathers.  It sits up straight.

This Fear is rich and black.  

Charcoal spread across white wall bed sheets.

The single silver button eye stares at me intently.  Unblinking.

The bronze zipper makes a crooked, mocking smile.

These Fear jeans and I, we are making unwavering eye contact.

I begin to think back.  To trace our shared history.

These black jeans, they are my favorite.

They fit me perfectly.

I slip them on easily.

I wear them regularly.

I take them everywhere.

As is with these nameless fears of mine.  This sorted band of anxieties.

They fit me perfectly.

I slip them on easily.

I wear them regularly.

I take them everywhere.

Here I sit.  In this single bed of mine.

Staring into the bends, curves, crevices of this black Fear.

Memorizing shape and form.

The silver eye bores into me.

The jagged zipper mouth laughs.

I feel a tear begin its slow descent.

Blink.

I shake my head at this foolishness.

I laugh at the absurdity.

Sigh.

I realize I may have just decided to burn my favorite pants.

Lately I've been avoiding this blog.  My writing has not completely ceased (for it helps me through the day) but now I hold it hostage in my journal.  Words stay on private pages.  Pages where I feel free.  Pages where I am safe.  On these white pages vulnerability is commonplace.  Tears are welcomed.  Fears are faced.  Joy is embraced.  Anger is accepted.  And words are not judged.  Journals are my safe place.  And although I recognize that the role of this blog is not to be a private journal, I do want it to be a place where I feel safe.  I don't want it to be surrounded by feelings of obligation and fear, but rather honesty and expression.  I know it may seem that blogging is more difficult for me than most, and that's because, well I think it is.  In this life I regularly allow fear to guide my steps and dictate my path.  This blog represents an attempted rebellion against fear.  Therefore these little chats where I remind myself  simply to be honest and write will likely continue to occur.  So bear with me.

In an attempt to put my new resolve into action (before it dissolves) here is a journal excerpt:  

Friday.  September 12, 2008.

Fashion Collages.

Creating fashion collages.

Ripping the pages of magazines.  Tearing out my favorite outfits, items, accessories and excerpts. 

Placing them on the pages of my journal in a visually pleasing way.  Taping them into place.

Meaningless.

I leave tomorrow on a new journey.  A journey whose designated purpose is to search.  To search the meaningful depths of life, humanity and this small world.  To ask all of the crucial yet annoyingly cliche sounding questions that accompany this purpose.  My hope was for this to be a time released from the bondages of routine every day life.  Free from materialism, consumerism, technology and pop culture.

So how do I prepare?

Fashion Collages.

This new past time seems to have been inspired by a current obsession with packing.

I am convinced that I need new things to prepare for this journey.  I cannot, must not, simply transfer a portion of  my overflowing closet into a suitcase.  I must purchase, collect, acquire and stockpile new clothing.

Meaningless.

So why have I become absorbed with the task of packing and drowning myself in meaningless fashion collages?  Well. Two reasons.  A)  This is simply what I do.  Packing has always been and will likely continue to be quite an ordeal for me.  More interestingly, there is B)  Packing is all I can control at this moment.  It is all I can plan for.  It is all I have.

I am walking in the dark here.  I have no idea what I am stepping into.  As I reassure others with shallow words, "I'm excited." and "It will be good." and "I'm looking forward to it."  My real thoughts flutter in a different fashion, "What am I doing?"  and "What if I hate it." and "Oh geez.  Mistake."  I don't know what to expect, and therefore in many ways I am at a loss as to how to prepare.  So I busy myself with what I can command:  the contents of my suitcase.  I most certainly can plan, prepare and manipulate my attire for the next 3 months.  This I can shape.  And so I have.  With an intensity that should surely be reserved for things of greater significance. 

Fashion Collages. 

As I prepare for a time of internal reflection and meditation, I become fixated on the external.

Oh so Meaningless.