On the Longest Day, We Chose Peace
Celebrating the solstice at Strangers & Guests
At the precise moment the United States bombed Iran, I was eating chocolate chip cookies under a shade tree in Maloy, Iowa. Maloy is a town in Ringgold County, so small its entire population could fit in a single school bus. But on Saturday, its population more than doubled.
It felt like the right company to be in as this sort of news came across my phone. I was attending the 31st annual summer solstice celebration at Strangers and Guests Catholic Worker Farm, hosted by Brian Terrell and Betsy Keenan, longtime peace activists and practitioners of radical hospitality.
The Catholic Worker movement, if you’ve never heard of it, is a kind of anarchist gospel. Founded by Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin in the 1930s, it’s less about being Catholic and more about being decent. You know, doing things like feeding and housing people, resisting war, and doing it all with a kind of stubborn gentleness that makes the average church look like a hedge fund. These are people who walk the walk. No slogans. No branding guide. Just a deep, marrow-level belief that community and human life matter, and war is the fruit of systems that value power over people, profit over life.
The gathering began in the city park across from the farmhouse, which is accessible by a quick, walkable path. Guests brought everything from peach pie to vegetarian lasagna. Brian laid out his homemade crackers alongside a bowl of goat cheese mixed with herbs snipped straight from the garden. Betsy and house guests added a tray of baklava to the table. There were pitchers of rhubarb juice, and mint lemon balm tea, also clipped from the garden. I saw the tea steeping in the sun as I arrived.
What I love most about attending events at Brian and Betsy’s house are the people. I met a woman in her eighties who, when in her seventies, had walked across the United States for climate justice. I felt inspired and slightly ashamed. I had a fun convo with another woman, who works at the Library of Congress. She has a big job cataloging, and I assured her that people like me appreciate what the library offers. A woman from Wisconsin, who chose to celebrate her birthday at the solstice party, told me about coming out decades earlier, back when it wasn’t just difficult, but dangerous. And a parent shared the joy raising their trans daughter, and fear and hope she has for her in these terrifying times.
Then there was the veteran. Quiet. Kind. We were sitting in a meadow reflecting on the recent news that the U.S. had bombed Iran, and our thoughts on the genocide happening in Palestine. He told me about finding a boat of starving people during his time in Vietnam. They looked like skeletons, he said. But they were alive. Because of his discovery and quick action, he was able to save them, which earned him a humanitarian medal. He didn’t mention it like a brag, more like a haunting. “War,” he said, “is no place for anyone. Not even your enemies.”
As the news continued to break, the air shifted. There were no speeches. Just a short prayer and silence that settled among us like a thin layer of ash. The news felt so heavy, but I was thankful for shade and safety, sobered by the reminder that others were not granted such luxuries.
As we continued our festivities at the house, I worked on some dishes while Sophie stood in the front yard calling out steps to folk dances. Everyone laughed and smiled as they twirled. As the sun began to set, we migrated toward the bonfire Brian built.
Brian said this solstice gathering is also a tribute to John the Baptist, who lived with conviction in the wilderness. It made sense. So many in this crowd are wilderness people. Peace walkers. Protest sign painters. Seed planters. Bonfire keepers. People lighting the way.
As the sun started to set, and bombs lit up a sky far away, we lit our own fire. It was smaller than any explosion on the news, but somehow felt bigger. Because it wasn’t about destruction, it was about tradition. Resilience. Light. Love.
About Sarah and All Things IWC
I felt the peace. And Brian looks a lot like Jerry Garcia. ☺️
Thank you for this, Sarah. It felt like a balm after having read too much about the bombing in the past few days.