#learning-communities

evaluate...

https://altc.alt.ac.uk/blog/2012/02/the-self-organised-learning-environment-sole-school-support-pack/

[ excerpts ] Small communities are often suspicious of newcomers, but in places like North Georgia’s Sautee Nacoochee, where many believe the views of mountains and peaceful valleys are owned by all, any construction is met with suspicion and even activism… 

A veterinarian with a large animal practice in Braselton, Hancock had recently married Judy Thompson, and the couple was looking for land on which to build their dream home. Hancock asked Lumsden if he knew of any river-bottom acreage for sale. The doctor owned some himself, he said, but it wasn’t for sale. Time passed, and Hancock continued to look for that perfect homesite.

When Lumsden asked him what he would do with it, Hancock told him about farming the old way, and the 1840s yellow poplar, dogtrot-style cabin that he had ready to assemble as an outbuilding. He learned of Hancock’s 1798 oak cabin, moved here from Kentucky, which would be the main room of the couple’s home. And he heard of Hancock’s vision of a special barn made of oak and pegs, promised to him more than 20 years ago by his friends in Amish country.

Lumsden went home and talked with his wife India. “I prayed about it,” he says, “and decided that this man would be a good steward of the land.” So he invited the veterinarian to go with him to walk the property, see the river and sift a fistful of dirt through his fingers. “I asked him if it would suit his needs,” says Lumsden. “He almost cried.”

Hancock grew up in the mountains and “hollers” of Kentucky, so he understood the feelings of people who love the land and don’t want to see it destroyed. The couple felt honored to be offered the land by Lumsden. “Of all the people he could have sold it to,” he says. “He trusted us with it.”Hancock’s wife Judy, who has sold rustic furniture and leather accessories at her store Sweetfield Mountain Merchandise in Sautee Junction for 10 years, knew about being an “outsider.” Both Hancocks sensed mixed feelings among the locals as the construction of their home began.

As the house began to take shape, Hancock’s thoughts turned to his barn. Upon his graduation from Auburn, he had begun a practice in Holmes County, Ohio, the largest Amish settlement in the country. He became friends with his clients, and many of his late-night calls to deliver calves or get horses back on their feet were to timber-framed barns of solid oak. On more than one occasion he expressed admiration for the strength and craftsmanship of the post-and-beam structures. One owner, Levi Hershberger, assured the young veterinarian that one day he would have his own. Since Hershberger was 72, his sons were happy to honor their father’s commitment.

So the barn was planned, and the Hershbergers began work—in Ohio. Hancock says they hauled trees out of the woods with horses, then cut and shaped them into lumber with hand tools. “They would work on a construction crew all day, come home and do chores on the farm, then have supper with the family before going out to the barn and working on the project.” When the material had been cut to fit, it was loaded onto a truck and brought to Georgia.

Five Hershberger sons and four of their wives planned to come down from Ohio, so Hancock sent them train tickets. He offered to pay for overnight accommodations for the trip, but his guests scorned such a waste of money. “They sat on bench seats with the children on their laps for the 28 hours it took for the train ride,” says Hancock.

Measuring 56 feet wide by 72 feet long, it would take more than half-dozen men to raise the barn in the few days the Ohio farmers could be in Georgia. Hancock talked with people at his church about his plans, and a story appeared in the local paper. Chester and Sandra Hewell, of Hewell’s Pottery in Gillsville, offered to roast a hog for the event. “We figured on feeding 200,” says Hewell, but privately he assured Hancock that the leftovers could be frozen. Finally, they put little roadside signs up directing people to the “Amish Barn Raising.”

That cold morning in January, Hancock says he couldn’t sleep, wondering if everything would go right and if there would be enough help to get the sides up so the roofing could begin. About 6:30 a.m. he built bonfires near the site, so no one would be deterred by the temperature. As he stacked the wood, he saw several sets of headlights on Highway 17. Near his driveway, blinkers came on. Pleasantly surprised, he thought, well, maybe we’ll get 10 or 20. But the lines of cars continued through sunup, and all day.

More than 600 people came to the farm that day to watch, gossip, take pictures and work. “We were shocked,” says Hancock, shaking his head in wonder. “We didn’t know 80 percent of them. People worked all day long and then thanked me for work that Judy and I were the beneficiaries of.”

Miraculously, there was plenty of food, with three plates left over. “It was like the story of the fishes and loaves,” says Judy, who believes that learning about the barn raising and the Hancocks’ old-fashioned ideas about living on the land put a lot of people’s minds to rest. “We don’t want to see it developed either,” she says.

Tom Lumsden was there, and his son John worked on the roof of the barn all day. When he came down, says the older Lumsden, “he told me, ‘I think your dad would be proud.’”

Feeling awed and humbled by the response of his neighbors, Hancock says, “I felt like an outsider. Now I feel like we were involved in something that brought joy and connectivity to the community.”