Emma

Emma, joined us as a Short Term Coworker in 2021, and left in spring 2024. While here, she helped in the Herb Garden and the Café and other areas of the community.

Eva Cerolini, Long Term Coworker and Camphill Café Manager shared, “Emma’s joy and love for life at Kimberton have warmed many hearts, including mine. We have worked together at the café where I have appreciated her skills and awareness, but above all, her ability to bring genuine feelings and attention to every single person in the room. I love Emma. We have become good friends and I will treasure memories of the rich moments we have shared in the community forever.”

Emma and kids picking dandelions.

Even now Emma is still involved in the community as a Day Volunteer as her schedule allows. “Emma is such a cheerful presence in the herb garden! We have a play group on Mondays and the kids flock to her like she is a mother hen.” Martha Napolitan Cownap - Herb Garden Workshop Leader

Emma continues to search for the beautiful cracks and corners of life, outside of Camphill, in vegetable farming. She lives local in Chester Springs and works at the nearby Kneehigh Farm and Red Dog Market.  

Upon her departure she left us with this beautiful and thoughtful writing about her time here.

The Daily Mundane - by Emma Kowatch

Sticky oatmeal stuck to the sides of a pot

Left in a sink to soak.

A candle lit, with hardly any wick,

Once again before the blessing.

A mudroom with more mud than room;

Tumbled coats,

Tossed shoes tucked in corners.

But whose is whose?

Time is taped to kitchen walls and refrigerator doors,

Boxed into neatly color coded

Lines of where, who does what, when,

With the “how” always ever illusive…

Questions are exchanged like breath:

“Can you do the veggie pick up?”

“Where is the toilet paper?”

“Did he wear his coat?”

Tired and cramped behaviors are dumped

On the table like social lost and founds.

Medicine cups line window sills,

Drying till the next meal.

And the tin on the counter clinks

Every time

Someone scrapes leftovers off a plate

Sprinkles in onion skins,

Or shakes out coffee grounds.

Emma and Andy

Oh, how I will hold the late mornings in the herb garden when the sun has warmed the earth and the calendula is basking in her glory as she generously gives yellow blossoms to heal our broken, fragile skins.  Or the careful pilgrimage of a sunset warp to a patiently awaiting loom, as four diligent arms inhale and exhale tangles.  Of when the House vacations together, moving as a family with irritable long car rides, but far more laughs and surprises like splashing in the mountain creek.  Or even the many festivals that turn our seasons and give us cause to dress up, dress silly, share sweets, and dance.

I will also hold the meltdowns where nothing right can be said, the seizures that render us helpless, even the death that comes slowly and ready, or suddenly and unplanned.  The life sharing miscommunications, irritations, and passive aggressions amidst coworkers.  The deep loneliness that can come from leaving behind a community of friends and family in Indiana to work here in Pennsylvania.  An ache for more relational time in a farming/gardening/social therapy schedule that is already so full and so busy.

But amidst all the great joys and pains are the cracks and corners of this life.  This is what comes up when I reflect on my time as a short term coworker.  The dusty, dingy, mundane magic that happens every day.  This very day.

 “Cracks and Corners”

Goodness, do I know a thing or two

About the cracks and corners of this village.

From left to right, Gwen, Nathaniel, Emma, and Lara harvesting flowers for tea.

The dust behind the upstairs toilet,

The fallen petals around the altar in Rosehall,

The plastic basket of old

Mismatched work gloves in the Orchard shed,

Missing teddy bears in Larkspur,

Even a missing metal lid

Somewhere in the café

Where some leftover lasagna would’ve sat.

But I also know,

The fingernail on Claudia’s left hand,

The missing lens of Noah’s glasses,

The name of each of Rebecca’s animal paintings,

The fork laid down just right, just so by Wes’ hand,

Caroline’s reading of Calvin and Hobbes out loud followed by great guffaws,

Bill’s red and green markers running dry again,

Ezra’s, “Cowww.”

I know that Mike sees exactly where the armchair should go,

That every calendar in the village is turned to the correct page thanks to Justin,

That Sue W will always inquire about my sister,

Maria is always ready for a hug,

Sonja will always guess the musical song correctly,

And that if you don’t know where Alan is, just follow the work vehicles…

Rebecca and Emma

When you revisit the rhythm of another human being over and over, and choose for a moment to be present and observe – there is newness and wonder.  Far greater than any newly traveled destination or the latest, fastest technological device.

This rhythm is a rhythm of noticing

The unglamorous bits of daily waking, working, resting.

Far more than noticing, it is an art of caring.

Of opening one’s heart to the possibility that even this –

This overlooked small space, small thing, small act

Is part of a whole

And wholly worth loving.

I could offer my eyes, hands and heart each day, each moment if I was willing.  In return, I was given so much it’s hard to put into words.  It’s something like the cracks and corners of me were filled with love, acceptance, and an honest presence which is so often lost in the Busy Busyness of life. 

Here we choose to hold each other’s eternity in our sweaty, tired palms.  I could help hold someone’s concern about what the next meal would be, or what the weather is tomorrow, or even imagine what God looks like.  Meanwhile, my friends and roommates helped me hold my patience, challenge my curiosity, and question my prideful competence.

I’ve laughed at the absurdity of the same joke

told every morning and night,

I’ve answered the same questions so often

I’ve begun to doubt what I know,

As if Life is challenging me:

Allow yourself a new story, a new laugh, a new answer.

May it not define or distract you

To the unresolved past or the unsure future.

Just be here,

With the morning stomp of stirring feet,

Cows in the distance calling,

A mourning dove cooing at rest hour,

And the grounding, unison of “Thank-you for the meal.”

Let their song lift you into

Now. 

Find the forgotten crack,

The neglected corner.

The one right

In front of you.

Dust it out,

Shine some light,

Sigh some love.

Who knows, maybe it could be called

Gardening,

Called Sharing,

But really it is all just

Living.

From top left, Marie, Emma, Eva and Beth enjoying some down time in the Café.

How thankful I am for the cracks and corners of Camphill Village Kimberton Hills.