I was cleaning out the office one day, organizing a mess of jumbled paraphernalia someone had left behind in the wake of their rampage.  Jokingly, I turned to the person beside me:  “Wouldn’t it just completely floor us if people responsibly cared for their own items?  What would we do with our time!”

Smiling sympathetically (and a little sagely) at me, she replied, “Well, you’ll never have to find out.  Such a utopian world doesn’t exist!”

It was a light-hearted remark, just some friendly office bantering.  But I kept thinking about it.  Utopia.  The memories washed over me.  Why couldn’t utopia exist?

I remembered a little community, nestled in a valley between two mountain ranges.  Largely agrarian, the people grew their own food and raised their own cattle.  Gardens were replete with kale, spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, zucchini, squash, onions, and many more nutritious vegetables.  Cows contendedly chewed their cud, necks extended over the fences, watching the ladies at work among the vegetables.  The sound of pigs rooting for food was carried on the wind; the scent of freshly-cut hay lingered in the air. Greenhouses burgeoned with many varieties of beautiful flowers, juicy red tomatoes, fragrant herbs, bell-shaped peppers, and jungles of cucumbers. 

I asked, “Are you all family?  Are you related?”

The man smiled indulgently at me.  “No, we’re not necessarily related.  Some of my grown, married children live here, but mostly, we’re just friends.”  The breeze touseled his wispy hair.

“And yet you live here and work together?  Harmoniously?”

“Yes.  Of course there are times we have disagreements.  But then we realize what’s most important, and instead of driving us apart, our differences bring us closer together.”

I blinked.  “And you survive solely on what you grow?”

“We do grow most of our food, yes.  But we also have a mill that sells wood products.  That brings in revenue as well.”

“And you share equally in the responsibilities?”  This amazed me so much I had to ask it again.

“We do everything together.  We work together, eat together, play together….live together.  We share in everything.”

A woman walked by carrying a stack of trays, a child holding to a fistful of her skirt.  The man went to her aid.  I followed.  We entered a greenhouse full of lively chatter and laughter.  A group of people sat on rough-hewn benches and an odd assortment of chairs, munching popcorn.  The aroma of coffee filled the air.  Seeing me enter, the conversation stilled.  And then it struck me.  I was the stranger here.  This was another world tucked away in what I knew as the world–but this one operated on different principles.  I had thought they were the strangers, but I was the foreigner.

“Would you like some coffee?”  a dark-eyed beauty offered courteously.

“Thank you, please,” I managed to say. 

Slowly, the conversations around me resumed.  I turned to a young girl beside me. 

“How long have you lived here?”

“Most of my life,” she said.

“Do you like it?”  I questioned.

“Oh yes!”  her eyes sparkled.

“But why do you live this way?”  Somehow, it was easier to ask this of the young teen than of the elderly man who had accompanied me earlier.

She pondered for a moment, eyebrows scrunched.  “I think everyone would have a different answer to this question.  There are many different reasons.  For me, it’s about finding a purpose in life.  This is reality.  Why would I want to live anywhere else?”

Why, indeed?

Rousing from my reminiscing, I turned back to my co-worker.  “But utopia just might exist!  It could be that it is the true reality!”

Maybe it’s time for a return visit.