William George Paul

"The Skyward Village Aquaponics Center"
A Resilient Communities Network Story

Skyward Village sits on a gentle rise above Western Oregon, a place where the morning fog nuzzles the evergreens and the sun finds its way through the cedar canopy like a patient rumor. By summer of 2026, a three-acre heartbeat will pulse at the edge of town—the Aquaponics Center, born from the Resilient Communities Network, a project that looks as much toward tomorrow as it does to the soil beneath our feet.

Jacki Smith stands at the center of a glass-walled room, watching the first glimpse of life in the recirculating world below. The tanks gleam like tranquil seas, housing tilapia that move with a quiet, patient purpose. Above them, the grow beds rise in gradients of green, leafy and eager as if they, too, are listening for the town’s heartbeat. The air smells faintly of citrus and fresh earth—the delicate scent of a promise being watered into reality. Outside, a crane’s cage of movement swims in the background, as if the center itself is drawing its future into form.

The project has two seasons in one: growth and giving. The 180,000 pounds of nutrient-rich produce will travel from Skyward Village’s aquaponic rows to the village market, then beyond, a green ribbon stitching together kitchens, schools, and homes. The nursery starts—150,000 of them each year—will sprout not only into backyard gardens but into the dreams of individuals who once carried heavier weights. Six-month paid training programs will welcome formerly incarcerated and system-impacted community members, teaching them to tend the living architecture of water, fish, and plants. It is a kind of second chance that begins with responsibility—the patient art of balancing a delicate ecosystem and a human story in one breath.

The center’s philosophy threads through every decision like a river’s current. Sustainability is not a buzzword here; it’s the method. Ninety percent less water than traditional farming means that every droplet matters, that the community’s wells are not infinite but patient. It is resilience in practice: a facility designed with the knowledge that the weather can be fickle, the market can sway, and people can stumble, yet still there will be a harvest to stand on.

In the video the team shoots, the camera follows a hand guiding a young leafy green into bloom, then moves to a fish tank where the tilapia drift in a silvery calm. Jacki speaks softly, explaining how the system's bacteria keep the balance, how the pump keeps the rhythm, how the water stays clean enough to drink for a finned and forgotten moment—though not quite for drinking, because the roots of the vegetables drink more than water here; they drink possibility.

As the sun climbs higher, the village comes into view through the center’s wide windows: a community garden on the edge of the urban core, a place where underutilized land finds a second life as a co-created, worker-owned future. The pathways are mapped in red clay and composted soil; the air carries the murmurs of people planning for their own farms of tomorrow, inspired by Skyward Village’s example, encouraged by the Resilient Communities Network.

Permaculture philosophy threads through the story the video hopes to tell: observe, reflect, design with nature rather than against it. The aquaponics center is not isolated from Western Oregon’s ecosystems; it lives within them, feeding and being fed by the rain, the sun, the soil’s memory, and the neighborhood’s longing for a more stable future. It’s a living classroom where the lessons are practical and the outcomes are shared—fish become fertilizer, plants become nourishment, and people become the stewards of both.

When the film crew packs up for the day, the lights dim over the grow beds, and Jacki remains for a moment longer, listening to the soft, ceaseless churn of water. She thinks about the six-month cycles—training cohorts, apprentices, mentors, and the future that will follow them into on-site farms built on reclaimed urban land. She sees not just crops and fish but a pipeline of opportunity: a small library of skills that can travel with a person wherever they land, a map of pathways to ownership that begins where land is underutilized and ends with a community grown strong enough to take ownership of its own sustainability.

The sun sets over Western Oregon, painting the center in a warm, amber glow. Skyward Village stands ready—an ember in a breezy valley, a promise that resilience is not merely endurance but the active cultivation of life in harmony with nature. The video will tell this story, but the truth will linger in the air: that sustainable systems, properly tended, can feed communities, heal past wounds, and open doors to futures only imagined a season ago.

Resilient Communities Network
https://resilientcommunities.network/

Hi Tess. I am helping design RCN. Some of my experiences with this project can be found here: https://willipaulstudio.com/. See "Research."

"permaculture collaborators"
A Resilient Communities Network Story

Under the warm morning sun, a small group of learners gathered beneath a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the village. The smell of earth lingered in the air, freshly turned from yesterday’s composting workshop. This was the beginning of their journey through the Resilient Communities Network’s Village Permaculture Design Course - a living classroom dedicated to reimagining how humans coexist with nature.

The days unfolded in rhythm with the land. Mornings were filled with lessons on regenerative design principles, where students observed patterns in wind, water, and soil. They learned how to restore health to tired landscapes through careful water harvesting, contour design, and composting practices that turned waste into vitality. Afternoons brought hands-on projects: building soil terraces to slow erosion, planting diverse food forests, and experimenting with natural building materials to erect small shelters that breathed with the earth.

Evenings were times of reflection and community. Around the campfire, participants shared meals made from the land and stories of transformation. Guest instructors brought wisdom from decades of experience - farmers, architects, and community organizers all weaving a vision of resilience through practical skill sharing. Topics ranged from disaster preparedness to financial permaculture, grounding high ideals in actionable tools for real-world regeneration.

By the final week, the village had become more than a teaching site - it was a living ecosystem of ideas, people, and plants working in harmony. Participants not only redesigned landscapes but began to reimagine their roles as caretakers and collaborators with nature. As they rolled up tents and packed away notes, many felt that the real course was just beginning. They carried home seeds - both literal and symbolic - to plant in their own communities.

Resilient Communities Network
https://resilientcommunities.network/

"The Well at Sky Village"
New Myth from RCN

Long ago, Sky Village in the land of the Dust Plains, had forgotten the song of rain. Families carried jars across miles of cracked earth, and their hopes were thin as the air. One moonless night, a circle of neighbors gathered around a single candle and vowed to dig a well - not for one house, but for all.

The first shovel struck stone, and despair whispered that the earth itself refused them. But they remembered their promise: care for the earth, care for the people, share the surplus. So they worked together - elders and children, builders and dreamers - lifting rocks, singing work songs, and mapping the flow of ancient water.

After many days, the ground trembled. A cool breath rose from below, and water burst forth like the memory of the first rains. The Sky Village people danced, drenched in joy. When others from dry valleys came seeking water, they were taught to read the land, to plant trees where roots might guide the flow, and to dig their own wells with many hands. In this way, the Dust Plains became a living network of green - a resilient community woven by care.

And they still say: water is life, but cooperation is how life endures.

Resilient Communities Network
https://resilientcommunities.network/

"The Song of Daisy Valley Village"
A RCN New Myth

When the cities began to crumble and rivers ran gray, Rusty and Susan left behind the noise of failing systems. They carried only seeds, stories, and faith that life could begin again.

They built a yurt on the valley’s edge, where daisies pushed through the ashes. Guided by the whisper of the land, they began anew—observing patterns, storing rain, and tending the soil. Their days unfolded as a dance with nature: observe and interact, catch and store energy, produce no waste.

At first, the winds mocked them. Their first crops withered, and old fears returned. But one night, as a storm swept the mountains, the yurt glowed from within. The villagers gathered, drawn by light and laughter. Inside, Rusty spoke of cycles, Susan of soil life. Together, they and the villagers replanted with shared hands and shared hearts. The valley responded—greens unfurled, bees returned, and community blossomed.

The people of Daisy Valley learned to think in circles, not lines; to value diversity, not control; and to see that the smallest act of care ripples across generations. Rusty and Susan were no longer the heroes—they were part of a living system of heroes, each rooted in purpose, each resilient by design.

When travelers asked how they survived while others collapsed, the villagers simply smiled and said, “We didn’t survive—we remembered.”

Resilient Communities Network
https://resilientcommunities.network/

"A food forest dream"

In the wide, golden light of Sonoma County, a row of old cornfield stubble met the soft shadows of oak and ash. That’s where Sally stood one Saturday morning, a clipboard in hand and dirt already on her boots. Around her, twenty-five neighbors gathered - students, families, and retirees - all curious, ready to dig, sketch, and dream together as Resilient Communities Networkers.

Daily Acts had called it a community permaculture action day, but everyone knew it was more than that. This was the beginning of something much bigger - a food forest that would grow with them for generations.

Working from Sally’s hand-drawn layout, they measured contour lines at the field’s edge and marked where the first guilds would go: persimmon and comfrey, apple and clover, walnut with flowering currant. Someone laughed when the first earthworms appeared under a spade - always a good omen, Sally said.

By afternoon, the sound of shovels and laughter mixed with birdsong. Mulch spread like a blanket underfoot, thick and fragrant. Water lines twined between saplings, catching the last glimmer of autumn sun. It wasn’t polished or perfect, but it felt alive - a collective act of regeneration.

When they finished planting for the day, Sally turned to the group. “This isn’t the end - it’s the start of something that will outlive all of us.” Everyone looked down the newly planted edge, imagining roots weaving together under the soil, stretching toward a future shaded by abundance and care.

The old cornfield would never look the same again.

Resilient Communities Network
https://resilientcommunities.network/

"Journal Entry - January 6, 2026"
Vision by William Paul

Sacrifice: the act of selecting an alternate experience for a deeper one with one’s peers.

I feel that truth resonates stronger each day here in Zenith Village. John and the others say we all see the writing on the wall - the breakdown of society isn’t coming, it’s already here. Yet somehow, within the desert silence, that collapse feels less like an ending and more like a reckoning.

The Resilient Communities Network has become our quiet form of salvation. We don’t gather in temples, but in gardens and greenhouses that swell on the horizon like bubble houses on Mars. Each seed sewn into this cracked Nevada soil is a prayer - not to escape the dying planet, but to serve it. Resilience, we remind each other, is a course in service to community.

Fifteen families now call this place Village. The children chase each other through rows of raised beds, where the air feels softer, warmer - a tiny defiance against the desert wind. We call it our microclimate, a miracle of design and intention. In this small pocket of rich geography, permaculture principles aren’t theory; they’re daily practice, lived faith.

If the old world fades, perhaps that’s the sacrifice required - to choose the deeper experience of community, rooted together in hope, in soil, in service.

Vision by William Paul
https://resilientcommunities.network/

“The Myth of the Living Village” - from Resilient Communities Network

Long ago, before walls and wires divided the land, the Village was not a place but a heartbeat. It
lived wherever people gathered to share water, wisdom, or warmth around a common fire. But
as great storms came and seasons grew uncertain, the people drifted apart. Each tended their
own small light, and the heartbeat faded.

Then one day, a child named Auri heard a faint rhythm under the soil - a pulse calling the people
home. She followed it, planting seeds in the cracks of old roads. One by one, others joined her:
the mason who shaped rain tanks from broken clay, the gardener who coaxed life from dust, the
storyteller who remembered songs no one had sung in generations.

Together, they listened, worked, and "learned the rhythm" again. The Village awoke - not as
walls rebuilt, but as trust renewed. Streams ran clearer. Gardens fed both body and spirit. The
storms still came, but the people stood together, rooted, and radiant.

So, the myth says: whenever the world grows uncertain, and the heartbeat seems to fade, a
new Village rises - because the Village is us. When one plants, all eat. When one suffers, all
gather. And when we take heart and act together, the Earth itself remembers how to breathe.

Build with us.

Resilient Communities Network
https://resilientcommunities.network/

Using AI tools in design and operations

AI planning tools can help optimize the site plan by testing different arrangements of tiny homes, gardens, animal areas, and solar arrays on candidate parcels to minimize erosion risk, flood exposure, and wildfire spread. They can also support crop planning, water-use modeling, and energy load forecasting tailored to western Oregon’s seasonal patterns, improving the chances that 5–10 acres is used efficiently enough to support core needs of the 20–25-person village. At the community level, AI-assisted coordination platforms can help schedule shared labor for gardens, maintenance, and media production for the Village Television Show, strengthening the Resilient Communities Network as more villages come online.

Village scale and land needs

For a small “village” of 20–25 people, many intentional communities and ecovillages treat 2–5 acres as a practical minimum for housing, gardens, circulation, and shared spaces, especially when using tiny homes and clustered design. Western Oregon permaculture education sites show that 10–20 acres supports not only housing and gardens but also forest buffers, firebreaks, and small-scale agroforestry, which become important for climate resilience. A reasonable target for a resilient pilot village is roughly 5–10 acres, expanding toward 15–20 acres if the goal is high food and energy self-reliance plus habitat restoration.

Breaking down the land use

Within that 5–10 acre range, land can be divided into functional zones that match your description of gardens, water well, solar collectors, tiny homes, fire pit, kitchen, and domestic animals. A typical layout might allocate about 1–2 acres for clustered tiny homes and shared indoor spaces, 1–3 acres for intensive gardens and orchards, 1–3 acres for small livestock or silvopasture, and the rest as forest edge, riparian buffers, paths, and fire-safe open space. Zoning and best-practice guidelines for sustainable neighborhoods recommend also reserving at least 10% of total acreage as permanent open space with minimal paving to protect ecological functions and flood resilience.

Food, water, and energy assumptions

In the Willamette Valley climate, intensive, climate-adapted gardening and small-scale agroforestry can provide a large share of vegetables, fruits, and some animal products for 20–25 people on 1–3 well-managed acres, especially with season extension, seed saving, and soil-building practices. A reliable water well with storage, rainwater harvesting on roofs, and drought-conscious planting helps keep that food system resilient under increasing summer drought and heat stress. Solar collectors sized for shared loads (kitchen, water pumping, lighting, communications) can fit on building roofs and small ground arrays within a fraction of an acre, with batteries prioritized for critical services during outages.

Summary land estimate

Putting these pieces together, a concise working estimate for a resilient village of 20–25 people in western Oregon is:

+ Minimum viable pilot: about 5 acres if the village accepts partial dependence on outside food and energy, uses clustered tiny homes, and intensively manages gardens and water.

+ Strongly resilient model: about 10–15 acres to allow more food production, animal systems, fire-safe spacing, habitat, and long-term soil and water protection.

+ Further refinement should come from site-specific analysis of soils, water availability, slope, and local regulations, ideally combining permaculture design expertise with AI-based land-use modeling.

Resilient Communities Network
https://resilientcommunities.network/