I think I'm going to like this subforum.

[crazylegs]

http://www.thepeacecompany.com/store/images/cards_warisnothealthy_detail.jpg

[Hippie Staff]

Love that. That poster will always be relevant.


kinda like..

"Those who do not learn from history, are destined to repeat it."

[LIBRA]

I like that tooo! I stole it, thanks :)

So crazy, tell us some stories. I was born in 79, I missed everything. My mother always called me her lil flower child from the time I was 6 to the time I graduated highschool, she said I must have lived then.....

[crazylegs]

I like that tooo! I stole it, thanks :)

So crazy, tell us some stories. I was born in 79, I missed everything. My mother always called me her lil flower child from the time I was 6 to the time I graduated highschool, she said I must have lived then.....That's sweet. I'll seach the old memory banks and hopefully come up with something juicy.

[CowboyHippy]

i thought the saying was those whoe remember the 60's didnt live the 60's

[crazylegs]

I actually remember stuff I did on drugs better than a lot of stuff I did straight.

Since you asked for a story Libra dear, here's something I wrote about my experiences with Stephen Gaskin and the Farm.

In the fall of 1970, my sophomore year at college, something awesome happened. We were all minding our business when a huge caravan of wild-looking hippies descended on the campus. They parked their fantastic, multi-colored school buses, scenicruisers and mail trucks, homemade campers, microbuses and delivery vans on a big empty lot next to Lake Michigan. Word got around quick. They were having an evening meeting in one of the lecture halls. I had to go.

The old off-white building had a dome and columns and stone steps and looked like a Greek temple. Inside seating was arranged like an ampitheater and the seats were all full, about half being the hippies from the caravan and half hippies and wannabes from the college community. The energy in the room was just about bubbling over. At about the appointed time a very tall and very skinny dude with long stringy hair and a wispy beard, dressed in purple corduroy bells and a yellow turtleneck climbed up on the empty stage. He pulled out a ram’s horn and put it to his lips and blew. Suddenly the room and my head filled with the most magnificent and intense four-part plus harmony “Ohm”. I could never have imagined that anything would sound so beautiful. It blasted away thoughts and took over my whole body with a deep and perfect pleasure unlike anything I had ever experienced. It wasn’t a unison thing. People dropped out for a breath and started up again whenever they felt like it. Some voices stuck to one note of the chord and some wandered through it at will. It was an organized free-for-all of spiritual splendor.

It lasted for what seemed like a long time, a few minutes, and them seemed to end when it needed to end. In the deep, liquid silence that followed it somebody piped up “Now I feel like I know everybody here.” Then the guy on stage started talking. He talked about what the caravan was, where they were from, what they had been through, what they were doing. I gobbled every word of this great man like it was manna from heaven. I was hooked on a lifetime of fascination for the exploits of Stephen Gaskin and his Caravan, later to be known as “The Farm”.

The Caravan hung around for a couple days, long enough to birth their first baby. I went over with some buddies to check them out. It was an amazing cross between a gypsy camp and a religious pilgrimage. Their bizarre collection of vehicles all had the same eye-popping mandala painted on them like a logo. The freaks were beautiful and polite and had a cosmic philosophy that seemed to relate to every little mundane thing. It was the coolest human thing I had ever seen.

When we got back to our frat house, me and the guys discussed the experience. Rumor was that some people had left school and joined the Caravan. There was something in me that wanted to do it too but I couldn’t actually handle anything that radical. After all, I was a student in college. I had my career and life ahead of me to think about. It was a little too scary.

That didn’t stop me from keeping tabs on the Farm. That summer in my hometown in Kentucky I happened to catch a program on Nashville TV (hosted by a young reporter named Al Gore) about how the Caravan had found some land in the state and was building a community. Again a part of me thought about going down there but it still seemed too outlandish. I dutifully took my summer job and in the fall went back to college.

College wasn’t too bad. I got high a lot, tripped a few times, got drunk occasionally. I went to movies, hung out with the frat bros, ate orgasmic pizzas, chased women, read Alan Watts and Aldous Huxley. Oh yeah, I had to go to some classes and do a little homework but it was actually easier than high school. I didn’t know what the heck I was doing there but it beat workin. As soon as a book from Gaskin or the Farm came out I grabbed it and read and reread it til I almost memorized it. I was looking for answers and they seemed to have them. First there was Monday Night Class from the San Francisco days, The Caravan from on the road. Then Hey Beatnik told all about life on the Farm.

In a couple years Stephen and the Farm Band stopped by my college again as part of a national tour. His talk was super and the band was great. Dancing along with music had never felt so good. By this time I was pretty ensconced in my little life situation, a steady girlfriend, living at her mom’s, a full time job and full time school, haircuts and stylish shoes. I had put the hippie thing behind me or so I thought. Yeah. I had a career track, a car, even a few bills. I was getting into the adult world or rat race as it is also known.

Then my girlfriend broke up with me and everything changed. I moved out of Chicago and started smoking pot again, playing guitar more, getting some gigs. I got a dog and became a vegetarian and worked at a food co-op. I thought about the Farm again and planned a visit with my new something-of-a-hippie girlfriend. Then just before we were going to leave, my dog got distemper. I had to stay home and take care of her and make sure she got her medicine. The Farm would have to wait. The girlfriend got pretty mad at me. She always was the off again on again type. I had some other flings too. Finally one stuck. R came into my life at the right time and place. We planned a cross country trip with a side visit to the Farm. I almost made it that time too.

After coming back from CA, R and I set up housekeeping in the country. I guess it was our own version of the Farm. I kept trying to get R to move to the real Farm but she didn’t like the idea much. Something about having a bunch of people sticking their nose into her business. Some friends, a hippie couple, moved onto our land with us and we sort of had our own little commune for a while. Then an actual certified branch of the Farm opened up in the next county. We visited there and made some friends and shared vibes and the peace pipe. They all came to our hippie wedding in June 1978.

Then the couple living with us decided they wanted more commune and left, moving first to the local Farm and then the big one in Tennessee. They lived there for quite a few years, had some kids, split up, left the Farm eventually.

I guess you can tell I never made it to the Farm. I’m still a hippie, but the roots have a way of digging in. I did finally meet Stephen face to face. It was at a festival at the now defunct Michigan Rainbow Farm in 1999. He gave a talk about legalizing pot and voting for the Green Party. I went up and introduced myself afterwards. I found him kind of hard to talk to and stand-offish. Guess he’s probably had enough of old hippies glomming on to him.

I don't think of moving to the Farm much any more. I visit the website and I read Voices From the Farm, a great book of stories by people who lived there over the years. I never realized how stressful life had been in the early years with food shortages, sanitation and water problems, crowded living conditions, hard work. I probably wouldn’t have liked it all those years I wanted to be there. I guess it’s a good thing my destiny never took me that way. Who knows?

[Buffalo Head '75]

ye fate and fortune appear t' be tied t' a subsconscious that allowed yer dreams to stay just dreams. Tis a dream that sometimes let's us t' continue sailing.

Ye admire that ye gave up ye rat race. Ye did t' same not 10 years ago. Never again found booty o'er gold but did find piece o' mind. Well sorta, until that damn anxiety disorder kicked in. 'Though I kinda enjoy the anxiety when tis not freakin' ye out.

Then I care not for the scallywags and simply try t' batten down the hatches and ride out ye storm.

[crazylegs]

ye fate and fortune appear t' be tied t' a subsconscious that allowed yer dreams to stay just dreams. Tis a dream that sometimes let's us t' continue sailing.Super excellent point....matey.

Ye admire that ye gave up ye rat race. Ye did t' same not 10 years ago. Never again found booty o'er gold but did find piece o' mind. Well sorta, until that damn anxiety disorder kicked in. 'Though I kinda enjoy the anxiety when tis not freakin' ye out.

Then I care not for the scallywags and simply try t' batten down the hatches and ride out ye storm.Reminds me of that Joni Mitchel song I Think I Understand:

Daylight falls upon the path, the forest falls behind
Today I am not prey to dark uncertainty
The shadow trembles in it’s wrath, I’ve robbed it’s blackness blind
And tasted sunlight as my fear came clear to me

I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones or sinking sand

Now the way leads to the hills, above the steeple’s chime
Below me sleepy rooftops round the harbor
It’s there I’ll take my thirsty fill of friendship over wine
Forgetting fear but never disregarding her

Oh, I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones and sinking sand

Sometimes voices in the night will call me back again
Back along the pathway of a troubled mind
When forests rise to block the light that keeps a traveler sane
I’ll challenge them with flashes from a brighter time

Oh, I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones or sinking sand

[Buffalo Head '75]

Super excellent point....matey.

Reminds me of that Joni Mitchel song I Think I Understand:

Daylight falls upon the path, the forest falls behind
Today I am not prey to dark uncertainty
The shadow trembles in it’s wrath, I’ve robbed it’s blackness blind
And tasted sunlight as my fear came clear to me

I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones or sinking sand

Now the way leads to the hills, above the steeple’s chime
Below me sleepy rooftops round the harbor
It’s there I’ll take my thirsty fill of friendship over wine
Forgetting fear but never disregarding her

Oh, I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones and sinking sand

Sometimes voices in the night will call me back again
Back along the pathway of a troubled mind
When forests rise to block the light that keeps a traveler sane
I’ll challenge them with flashes from a brighter time

Oh, I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones or sinking sand

Arrr.. very appropriate 'tis tho' werds of ms. mitchell. fear looms in t' past but ye lurks everywhere. But t' know ones fear is t' conquer it even if it haunts ye. Just be not o'er confident as 'tis fear can always hurt ye.

not sure about ye forest element, fer I will just stear clear o' that area when in me ship.