“The threads that connect us are the fabric of our community.”
On a late summer evening, I met with some of my neighbors on David and Susie’s porch. We drank lemonade, ate a few too many cookies, and learned the details of a proposed development of an apartment/hotel complex at the end of the street. We were unanimously opposed. This wasn’t a NIMBY issue. It was a project out of scale, out of code, out of compliance with the historical preservation requirements, and just plain ugly, somewhere between a UMass dorm and a Holiday Inn. There was no planning for parking, power, water, or sewer, and no consideration for the project’s impact on the neighbors and the neighborhood. This was not a “Love thy neighbor as thyself action. The Moody Center, an evangelical group, had been given a piece of the Northfield Mt. Herman Campus and had big ideas about becoming a religious mecca, much as it was in the late 1890s when D.L. Moody convened large summer conferences that drew pastors, missionaries, revival leaders, and laypeople from around the world.
Our discussion rambled on as facts and fears intertwined. “What would it be like to have all those cars going up and down Highland Ave.?” “There are wealthy people behind this. They’ll buy influence with the Select Board and Planning committee.” “Why is the town allowing this to happen?” “What can we do?” “Are there any more of those cookies? They are incredible.”
I had moved in a few months earlier and hadn’t met my neighbors. There wasn’t a “welcome, new neighbor” get-together when I moved in. People kept to themselves but greeted me with a smile as I walked down Highland Avenue. However, a few months after moving in, news of this development broke. Would you like me to attend a meeting to discuss the project? I would indeed.
I made more connections that night than in all the months I had lived in Northfield. I imagine that was true for many of the people who had lived here for years. Over the months, we lobbied the town Planning Board, wrote letters to the editor, reached out to more neighbors, and created a larger support group.
We had disagreements on how assertive we should be in our language and in our actions. We listened to each other’s views and, despite these differences, moved forward to oppose the development. Our meetings grew more focused. Over time, our actions were consistently strategic, and our messaging clearer. The Moody Group pulled back. It was clearly a community victory.
Now, years later, the issue of the Moody apartment/hotel complex has evaporated. What remains are the connections we forged through collaborating to oppose the project. Our hellos are followed by conversations when we meet on the street. How are the kids, grandkids? How do we feel about the proposed regionalization of our public schools? What can we do to address the outrageous increase in power costs? Such interactions create social threads, connections that bring us together as a support community.
We need social threads, lots and lots of them. Through them, we get to experience what we have in common. Every conversation can create a thread; every act of kindness links them together, and thus we weave the fabric of community.
Threads are the building blocks for social connection, where people come together for mutual support. We are learning new ways to build community based on care, participation, self-organization, and interdependence. We are building collaborations to address energy, housing, and rural infrastructure issues. Many towns in the region have their own internet service. Several communities are looking at local power production. The housing shortage is drawing community-wide interest and involvement.
But it starts with simple threads: volunteering for the annual Green River cleanup, providing a service to the community, reconnecting with friends at a No Kings Day Rally, singing carols at a nursing home, even holding the door for someone and smiling.
It all matters. Connecting with others is a form of political action that demonstrates we will not be divided. But more than that, connecting creates a community of warmth, support, and a sense of home. Now more than ever, that’s where I long to be.
Christopher “Kiffer” Sikes lives in Northfield and was the founder of Common Capital, a local nonprofit financial institution.