Having a co-Wwoofer is really nice, perhaps even essential sometimes. While working there can be much time spent in companionable silence, but then there are laughter sessions, and ‘um…what are we supposed to be doing again?’ moments, semi-ridiculous conversations, semi-serious conversations, and copious amounts of teasing.
The essential times are, for instance, when you’ve spent three hours doing acrobatic parsley [trans]planting and you still have several (seemingly hundred) boxes left. Your back is ready to declare mutiny on you, your feet can no longer remember what alignment feels like, and your mind only recognizes parsley and slugs. And then there is your co-Wwoofer. Chastising you for being in the way when it is clearly they, not you, that are in ‘the way’, discussing favorites and phobias, kindly reminding you how many more hours of quality time with the parsley you have left, or explaining a bit of their life back home. This is just my most recent example – there are plenty of other times when co-Wwoofers are necessary.
See, in Wwoofing, you are handling a person’s livelihood, and as such there is a seriousness to your work. What you do may not really affect your life, but it completely affects your host’s life. That said, Wwoofing – as with everything – requires a bit of merriment in conjunction with your sense of gravity. And there again, is where co-Wwoofers come in.
Mutually living in a strange environment creates a special sort of bond. Whether or not you are the same age, sex, nationality, or what have you – you are sharing a similar life experience. That makes for an unparalleled relationship.
And that only covers the basics! After hours is a whole other story. Thousands of cups of tea paired (hopefully) with biscuits (preferably chocolate covered or ginger creams), playing Scrabble with various languaged people, writing to important government officials, exploring cities (even if it only takes fifteen minutes and you spend the rest of the hour(s) standing by the harbour, and yes, drinking tea), exploring nature, exchanging music, making sometimes wonderful, sometimes questionable meals, attending parties, banquets, shows, or parades, not celebrating your birthday, first time hitchhiking, geocaching successes and failures, sharing an almost unhealthy appreciation for pizza (psh, pizza obsession is not unhealthy!) playing excellent or painfully awful (I’ll claim the latter) music and singing together (even if you don’t know the same songs), co-discovering the local culture, eating unhealthy (yes, unhealthy) amounts of peanut butter, walking far too many times up hills that try to kill you by causing your lungs to fail (and your co-Wwoofer assists in the attempted murder by continually forcing you to laugh), failing to wake up in time to see the sunrise together for a month straight, and good old just hanging out and doing nothing in each others company. Those and a hundred other moments of near-perfect experiences with essentially near-strangers. Yes, co-Wwoofers are officially wonderful, marvelous beings.