The New York Times recently ran a story about Alapine, a lesbian community in rural Alabama. Home to 20 women ranging in age from 50-75, Alapine is truly womyn’s land. Men may only visit. Moreover, straight women may not live there. The story highlighted how critical a matriarchal way of life is to these residents, and how such communities could be doomed since they appeal much less to younger lesbians.
After reading the piece I was moved to imagine a day in the life of an Alapine gal. Here’s a diary entry I rustled up:
11 p.m., Friday, Feb. 27, 2009
I woke up at 6 this morning, which is a damn sight better than 4 like I’ve been doing. Looks like Sylvia really knows her way around those homeopathic remedies. I’ll ask her if she has anything for corns.
Took a long walk through the woods with Gertrude and Alice B. (corns be damned). Gertrude would chase squirrels all day if she could. We ran into Joyce walking Cleopatra and Boadicea. It’s dogs that have it the best around here! All that room to run, and all of us old dykes to fawn over them.
On our way home Gertrude spotted one of the chickens, and that was all she wrote. She chased it up Diana Drive and down Athena Avenue. Well, did Cynthia have something to say about that! It took me a century to calm her down. Told her Gertrude had just put the “free range” in free-range chickens.
Beth came out to see what the fuss was about. Damned if she wasn’t toting a shotgun. What a mistake the army made kicking her out in the ’60s for being a lesbian. She could’ve won the Cold War by herself.
Beth took the opportunity to tell us she’d changed the gate security code again. I’d like to know how a bunch of seniors can be expected to remember a new code every week!
This afternoon I got brave. I sat down to write a poem for tomorrow’s community full moon circle. After an hour, I gave up on anything rhyming. The free verse I wrote, well, I hope it’s good. I’ve never read a poem out loud before! I’m as nervous as Cynthia’s chicken! Of course everyone will be supportive to the teeth, but still.
Sandy announced the topic for discussion at the circle will be “Menstruation — Do We Miss It?” Not sure what I think of that, but it makes a change from discussing communication styles and past lives.
I got e-mails from both Andrew and David today. They sound like they’re both hurting in this economy. I’ll say this for our no-males policy: It’s gonna keep my sons from moving back in with Mom!
Betty told me her daughters complain that she isn’t a “normal lesbian,” whatever that is. They hate saying that their mother lives in a lesbian commune. They don’t understand her attachment to nature. She doesn’t understand their attachment to money, so I guess everyone’s good and confused.
Thank the goddess that Ruthie works in town. She brought me some more Krispy Kremes today. Manna from heaven.
I tried a new recipe for this evening’s potluck. Shrimp and grits. The girls seemed to like it, those who eat shellfish. Bernie’s fig bars were out of this world. I swear, if she didn’t cheat at canasta, she and I could get involved. She can bake and build houses. What’s not to love?
It’s 11 at night. An hour ago Shirley and Charmaine next door were arguing. Now they’re making up. Gotta ask Bernie if she knows how to soundproof a double-wide.
Leslie Robinson couldn’t soundproof a birdhouse. E-mail her at [email protected].