What a Washing Machine Revealed About Community
The gate entrance at Boulder Gardens Sanctuary
About six weeks after I moved off the land project in Arizona, I got a text message telling us the community washer we used was broken and that we owed money for repairs. Not a conversation. Not a check-in. A bill. Here’s what it said (redacted):
“The washer you used is broken. It will be repaired and per our agreement you pay if you break it. We’ll let you know the cost.”
What struck me first was the tone. It framed the situation as a transaction, not a relationship.
A bill, not a conversation. And for the record, there was no such “agreement.”
Our last community in Ojai went through seven washers in seven years, so nothing about a machine breaking surprised me. What did surprise me was being held responsible for a community-donated washer six weeks after we’d already left. (Also—how does one even “break” a washing machine? You push the Start button and… broken?)
But it was never about the money.
It wasn’t even about the washing machine.
It was the shift—from trust to accusation, from community to contract, from relational living to transactional living. And transactional living is the quiet death of any community.
Welcome vs. Keep Out
I’ve lived in places where “Welcome” is more than a word—it’s an ethic.
Boulder Gardens is one of them.
Most private properties in this part of the desert are covered in No Trespassing, Private Property, and Keep Out signs (often justified as “liability”). But Boulder Gardens is different. Just today a friendly bicyclist rolled up and said:
“Yours is the only private land anywhere around here with positive signage. Everywhere else it’s warnings.”
He’s right. As you enter Boulder Gardens you see:
“Welcome to Boulder Gardens.”
Soft colors. Friendly lettering.
No gates. No threats. No barbed wire.
Just welcome.
Garths sign in and telephone welcome
Where people talk about trust but behave like” land-lords”, you begin to realize some places use the word “community” to describe what is essentially a work camp wrapped in spiritual vocabulary
and these are the neighbors
A Sanctuary Built on Service, Not Ownership
Garth’s Boulder Gardens is a square mile of desert that slowly became a sanctuary because people showed up with generosity instead of rules. Garth didn’t believe in rent.
There are stories from the early days when he offered food, shelter, a place to wander, and a stocked communal fridge—and what he asked in return was presence, kindness, and maybe a little help around the fire pit.
And here’s a story that says more about leadership than any spiritual discourse ever could:
Once a week Garth would make his rounds across the property, stopping at every cabin, trailer, and tent. He collected everyone’s dirty laundry—ten people scattered across a square mile of desert—and hauled it all to the laundromat in town. He paid for every load himself with a pile of quarters, waited through the cycles, dried it, and returned it to each doorstep. Pickup and delivery. No charge, no fanfare. His generosity didn’t stop at the property line.
I once watched him in a supermarket when a stranger approached and said, “Garth, do you remember me? I need a little help for food.” Garth didn’t try to recall his face or make him prove anything. He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out the first bill his fingers touched—maybe $1, maybe $20, maybe $100—and handed it over without looking. Whatever it was, it was enough. Garth died with $202 in his bank account.
That is what leadership looks like in a real sanctuary:
service, not power;
humility, not hierarchy;
open hands instead of clenched fists.
Meanwhile, Back in Arizona…
Our deeper purpose on that Arizona land had been to help create a desert Sanctuary but quickly the current shifted, and we began to feel more like unpaid helpers or free labor. Our presence was needed, but our purpose wasn’t seen. When the washer message came, it didn’t begin anything—it confirmed everything.
I responded gently and clearly with a two-page letter. I explained the washer had been donated, that we’d repaired it several times already, and that we’d been gone for over a month with no communication. I said we wouldn’t be paying for repairs now that we were no longer living there.
When Worlds Collide
Community only works when everyone involved is living by the same principles.
If one person believes “shared” means collective stewardship and another believes “shared” means “use my stuff but pay me if anything goes wrong,” then you already have two different worlds trying to occupy the same land.
Eventually the truth comes out—in a washing machine, a torn-up garden bed, a disagreement about labor, or the quiet realization that you’re trying to build a sanctuary while someone else is building a fiefdom. Sometimes the whole truth arrives in a short message about a broken machine.
Communities reveal themselves in the signs they put out—
whether those signs hang on a fence
or arrive as a text message.
intentionalcommunity #gifteconomy #relationalnottransactional #bouldergardens #sanctuary #alternativeLiving #simpleliving #communityliving #degrowth #antiwork
https://redecker.vivaldi.net/2025/12/02/welcome-signs-and-warning-signs/
#Sanctuary #AlternativeLiving #antiwork #bouldergardens #CommunityLiving #degrowth #gifteconomy #IntentionalCommunity #relationalnottransactional #SimpleLiving
