My name is Rebecca Hogue—though my neighbours call me Becky. I’m a writer, a podcaster, a puppy mom, and one half of Scott-and-Becky. Until fairly recently, I never imagined myself living in cohousing. That wasn’t because I disliked the idea of community—it was because I didn’t really understand what cohousing was.
Once I learned that we would have our own condo, complete with a private kitchen and personal space, everything changed. What suddenly made sense was the balance: independence when you want it, connection when you need it. That combination is what ultimately led us to Treehouse Village.
Cali, our cavapoo, and I love hiking and beach walks, and one of the unexpected joys of living at Treehouse is how rarely I need to do those things alone. There’s almost always a neighbour available for a walk, a hike, or a quick outing. One neighbour has become my accountability buddy—the person who helps drag me out the door on days when I know I’ll feel better if I go, but motivation is in short supply.
That kind of casual, low-pressure connection is what cohousing does best. There’s no obligation and no forced participation—just people nearby, living their lives, open to joining in.
One of the ways I enjoy giving back to the community is by organizing common meals. With the help of a couple of wonderful sous-chefs, we prepare food for 30 to 40 people at a time. These meals are always optional, but they offer a chance to sit down together and share conversation as well as food.
As someone with celiac disease, I was initially concerned that common meals might be difficult. Instead, they’ve been surprisingly easy. I know what’s being served, I know who’s cooking, and I can always check ingredients. Some nights I bring my own food and join for the company; many nights, I’m happy to enjoy my neighbours’ cooking. Having that choice makes all the difference.
Because of a bad back, I can’t shovel snow—but I still wanted to help with winter maintenance. Fortunately, a neighbour was happy to teach me how to drive the tractor. I didn’t expect to be very good at it, but it turns out I’m not half bad. On snow days, I genuinely enjoy spending a few hours clearing laneways and helping keep the community running.
That’s something I’ve learned about living at Treehouse: there’s room for everyone to contribute in ways that match their abilities, rather in ways that wear them down.
Before moving here, Scott and I lived in Ottawa for 20 years, followed by seven years in California’s Bay Area. I was surprised by how much I enjoy living in a small town like Bridgewater. Most of our day-to-day errands—groceries, shopping, doctor appointments—are a five-minute drive away. We joke about downtown “traffic jams” when we have to wait more than five minutes at a light.
Despite the small-town pace, there’s no shortage of culture. Scott and I love folk music, and we’ve discovered the Folk Harbour Folk Festival in nearby Lunenburg. Every August, for five days straight, you’ll find us making the 25-minute drive to spend our days soaking up local and international talent. Year-round, we enjoy folk concerts in Liverpool, Lunenburg, and Chester—remarkable quality live music, just a short drive from home.
One of the most important things I’ve learned since moving to Treehouse Village is that cohousing isn’t static. It’s a living organism that changes with the seasons. Different people step forward at different times, each bringing their own passions, skills, and ideas. That leads to new ways of learning together, new traditions, and new ways of having fun.
It also means there’s always room for new people to help shape what the community becomes. I don’t agree with everything my neighbours do—but that, too, is part of living in community. For me, the benefits of connection, support, and shared life far outweigh the challenges.
Treehouse Village isn’t about giving up independence. It’s about choosing how—and with whom—you want to live your life.
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