The Farm Then and Now: A Model for Sustainable Living

Introduction

IN LATE 1960S SAN FRANCISCO, a former university professor turned hippie guru set in motion a chain of events that would lead to one of the most dynamic social experiments of modern time. Like so many of his contemporaries, Stephen Gaskin was a catalyst for something much larger than himself, one component in a cultural upheaval with impact on the world at large, the founder of an iconic symbol representing the belief in a higher purpose, where people come together for the greater good, to launch a new society where peace and cooperation are the status quo.

Stephen Gaskin’s Monday Night Class was a gathering of the psychedelic mind, a random collection of the best and brightest of a generation, in a quest for knowledge and understanding. From this number, a core group of true seekers set forth on an epic journey across the country in 60 school buses, a Caravan on a mission of peace and love.

Tennessee became the promised land, a place to put ideas and ideals into practice. It was here on 1,700 acres of forest and fields that babies would be born, crops grown and a town built from nothing but a collective dream and a lot of sweat.

The Farm had one purported goal: change the world…. And in many ways it did. But the world also changed The Farm, and in order to survive, it had to adapt.

The Farm Community was founded in 1971 with the purest of intentions — that all who came would be cared for, fed, clothed, healed, provided shelter — referencing the Book of Acts so that its neighbors could grasp what it was these hippie kids were trying to do.

All that believed were together, and had all things in common; And sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to all men, as every man had need. (Acts 2:44-45)

There was a delicious euphoria, an energy so alive in the birth of something new, the momentum of a thousand strong behind a shared vision. The revolution was happening, and it was a blast! A rock and roll tribe, on a quest for enlightenment and planetary consciousness, in service to the world.

But by the fall of 1983, the dream had lost its luster. Deep in debt, its members disillusioned, frustrated and no longer willing to endure a self-imposed vow of poverty, The Farm made a radical shift that will be forever known as The Changeover.

Support from the community was over. Everyone was left on their own. Literally hundreds ran as fast and far away as they could.

A core group remained on the land, saving it from foreclosure. By the early ’90s, the community was debt-free and back on its feet. The century was turning, and anything was possible. The future lies ahead.

The Farm’s survival for over 40 years is a testament to patience and perseverance, what is possible when remaining true to your ideals in the face of endless obstacles. The community is a new-age hybrid, a blend of rural and high-tech lifestyles, classic individualism and the power of collectivity. It remains a flagship, a model of how we as planetary citizens may choose to live, with lessons to be learned from its successes and its failures, its weaknesses and its strengths. The Farm is an ongoing experiment on how human beings can be together in a meaningful and personal way, connected to the natural world.

The Farm is not in an isolated bubble, a glass dome. It is tied to and part of the larger community outside its borders, both local and state, country, the greater society and planet on which it exists. It is affected by world politics, the economy, weather, modern trends and ancient traditions, a microcosm of the big picture.

The word community has become a buzzword and in the process can lose its deeper meaning. Any collection of people gathered together around an element in common, be they online, in a chat room or sharing a game, is labeled as community. These identities can fill a void that is no longer satisfied by the actual place where people live, the isolation generated by the confines of urban life, the breakdown of the family, fractured and scattered, an excessive emphasis on individualism and the shallowness present in mainstream culture. It leaves people hungry for something more.

The phrase intentional community represents small groups of people who choose to live together in one place and share more aspects of their lives in a direct and tangible way. You are there not because you liked the house or the school was near where you wanted to live. You are making a conscious decision to share your life with more people.

Living in community touches every aspect of how we as humans relate with each other: How decisions are made and followed through, the essence of government. How we care for each other from beginning to end. How we support ourselves and earn a living, the homes in which we live. How new members are brought into the community, and about learning how to get along.

Stephen Gaskin once said, The revolution is not about taking over the government, but taking over the government’s function. We seceded as far as we could without them sending in the pony soldiers.

Creating community is about creating and developing workable, functioning alternative systems that restore our sense of purpose, empower the family and bring us closer to the natural order of things. On 1,700 acres in Middle Tennessee, a small group of people have tried to do just that.

Hey Beatnik, This Is The Farm Book was published in 1974 to illustrate what was happening on this land inhabited by a bunch of hippie idealists. It described the many different parts of community, how they all fit together, how each worked and why. In a very real sense, Hey Beatnik became a blueprint for intentional community, a handbook for getting started.

The Farm Then and Now picks up the conversation some 40 years later. It reexamines the building blocks of community and their evolution through The Farm’s history, and more importantly identifies how they function in the context of the community today.

You should know that, in writing this book, I am not on the outside looking in. I have been part of The Farm for over 40 years and am proud of what it has accomplished and what the community is today. But this book is not about me being a cheerleader. Any examination of this ongoing experiment in how people live together has to include the struggles, the mistakes, the problems and lessons to be learned that arise in every community.

Most of all, I hope this book inspires you to take a look at where you are, where you’re going and where you want to be. May you be brave, and move forward, taking the next step that will get you there.

CHAPTER 1

Governance

FOR ANY ORGANIZED GROUP of people, the process of decision making is at the core of how it functions and moves forward. Some might say the challenge is even greater when one of their uniting principles is to question authority. Over the course of its history, The Farm has exemplified a range of systems, often simultaneously. The Farm’s greatest success, the one that has ensured its survival through multiple decades, was its ability to move beyond a central charismatic leader into a working system where each person has the opportunity and free will to control not only their own destiny, but also the direction of the community as it moves toward the future.

Teacher and Class

Going back to the very beginning, the original model around which people gathered was built on the familiar relationship of teacher and classroom. Stephen Gaskin left the world of formal academia but used this structure to begin a group analysis of consciousness and human relationships, when, in 1968 he began hosting discussions as part of San Francisco State’s Free University. As the after-hours class grew from a handful of people to over a thousand, gathering every Monday night, a need arose to establish ground rules. They were simple. Each person was given the opportunity to speak without interruption. Common courtesy. Wait your turn. However, it was clear that Stephen was both moderating and leading the conversation, which consisted primarily of questions to and answers from him.

During this period in San Francisco, Stephen took certain steps to blur the line of teacher and student, while using the skills and experience he had acquired as a university professor to maintain order and direction. Rather than lecture from a podium on a stage, at Monday Night Class, Stephen sat on a lower-level platform, just slightly above the audience. As the primary focus of attention for those assembled, he channeled the energy of the crowd and distilled its essence, interpreted lessons learned and articulated these back to the assembled group, identifying when this new awareness resonated with greater principles.

Stephen Gaskin, founder of The Farm Community

In Eastern philosophy, the role or definition of teacher went beyond formal academic education dealing with the material world to include the role of spiritual instructor. Spiritual knowledge attained through centuries of study and application could be learned, taught and passed down from one generation to the next in the form of principles that serve as essential guideposts to be utilized throughout the course of a lifetime.

During the last century, individuals serving as representatives from various philosophies made their way from East to West, rising to a peak in the 1960s and ’70s. Disillusioned with the hypocrisies and limitations of institutionalized Christianity, the youth of this period sought new answers and guidance, open to the solutions being put forward by these spiritual teachers and teachings emanating from India, Tibet, Japan and other Eastern countries, as well as from Native Americans and other Indigenous cultures.

And so it was that a range of self-proclaimed or officially designated spiritual teachers were working in the US and Europe. In a sense, all of them were competing to amass followings and establish themselves as teachers who could provide answers and a clear direction on the path to greater understanding of each individual’s role and relationship to the universe.

These defined roles were brought into focus at an event in Boulder, Colorado, in the summer of 1969, called the Holy Man Jam. Yogi Bhajan, a Sikh from India, was a spiritual leader and entrepreneur who introduced Kundalini Yoga to the United States. Swami Satchidananda was widely known after his appearance at the Woodstock Music Festival in 1969. Representatives of Japanese Buddhism and a number of other teachers used this platform to attract a following. In a very real way, his high-profile appearance transformed Stephen from a counterculture philosopher to spiritual teacher, a person that would formally receive students committed to accepting him as a mentor. He distinguished himself from the others by acknowledging the truths to be found in all religions and spiritual philosophies, blending these into a new universal set of teachings that would relate directly to modern life and Western culture.

Warren (last names have been omitted to preserve the anonymity of individuals), a participant in the group meetings in San Francisco, remembers:

Monday Night Class and our own inner experiences provided some answers but also generated more questions. Stephen was really in a very similar boat but older. He was really good at public speaking, crystallizing the issues of the time and channeling the energy of the group. I think both he and we misunderstood this. It looked like he had the answer, when really what he had was the energy of the group. He was a psychedelic father figure who basically said, Come be a part of this new family where you’ll be understood and accepted and you’ll be given the opportunity to grow spiritually.

Defining Roles on The Caravan

The roles of leadership and organization became more defined as Stephen and his students left San Francisco in the spring of 1970 to embark on the cross-country speaking tour that has become known as The Caravan. What had begun as a weekly meeting, connected by an extensive network of personal relationships, was taken to a new level through daily interaction and increased responsibility. It was no simple task to coordinate the movement of a couple of hundred people travelling in an array of school buses, delivery vans, cars and trucks on a daily basis. Functioning as a village on the move, the needs of humans to be fed and cared for had to be met each and every day, a very real challenge for youth only beginning to learn how to take care of themselves.

As the public face of the travelling band of new-age gypsies, Stephen took the first steps in establishing standards of behavior and structure. For example, to maintain order and a cohesive appearance, The Caravan needed to depart as a unified group. This meant that each morning it was important that everyone begin the activities together and be ready to leave for the next destination at the same time. Stephen explains:

I started going around in the morning with a steel wrench tapping on the bumper of each bus, letting folks know that it was time to get up and moving. After a few days, one of our guys came up and said, I can do that, and took over that task. And that’s how it went. People were watching me to learn what needed to be done and figure out how they could step up to the plate and take on some of the responsibility for The Caravan.

While Stephen was recognized as a central authority figure, The Caravan was kept moving through the broader effort of people working together to achieve a common goal. Over the next year, more and more individuals stepped into positions of responsibility in order to keep the mobile village alive and functioning. Work crews had to be organized to generate money for gas and food. Anyone with mechanical skills became invaluable and immediately transformed into a teacher of a unique mystical order, the mechanic. It became clear that the same focused attention and discipline that defined the spiritual path had to be applied in order to keep engines starting and buses rolling.

Living on the Land — The Straw Boss

In the spring of 1971, when The Caravan came to rest in Tennessee, the number of tasks and roles to be filled multiplied a hundredfold. Although Stephen was generally regarded as the primary person in charge, there was plenty of room for others to exert their influence and establish positions of power within the informal hierarchy that was developing.

There was an immediate need to empower decision makers and surround them with people who would follow their direction, working together to implement the tasks at hand, as well as move toward the broader vision of self-sufficiency and social change. Along the way, The Farm adopted terms to define these persons so that their positions would be clear and not constantly challenged and up for debate. Crew chiefs were called straw bosses, with each one representing a different aspect of community development or an important function. Larger groups, such as those dedicated to farming and raising food, might have several straw bosses, each one working with a crew of four or five to take on a specific role or manage a particular crop.

The various crew chiefs and straw bosses would meet together under the leadership of a central person of authority that provided the overview necessary to coordinate a unified effort. These leaders from each crew, be it farming, construction, health care, finances or other functions, would then meet weekly or as needed to discuss and plan, with Stephen in the background, serving as the voice of maturity and experience that helped guide all efforts.

For the most part, Stephen was not involved in the management of day-to-day operations. Designated leaders within the community had the freedom to make independent decisions. That said, it must also be recognized that Stephen would frequently step in and exert his authority to hire and fire, installing or removing someone in a position of power.

Michael O was in charge of the Farming Crew and a widely respected leader within the community from the beginning:

With the exception of a couple of years, I was on every governing body on The Farm until the time we left in April of ’82. The very first one was formed in the winter of 72–73 (aka wheatberry winter). It was about 12 people, all handpicked by Stephen. No one from Stephen’s family was on it. I remembered feeling really excited about having been on the list of those selected to govern the community, carefully studying who else was on it and then going up to the first meeting to find it was crashed by several people, one couple in particular I remember, who came saying that Stephen must have forgotten to mention them at the service when he announced the committee. No one, myself included, had the balls to say anything about it, and the meeting, and governing council, went forward with them on it.

Brandon lived for a short time in those early years with Stephen and his family, giving him the opportunity to observe the behind-the-scenes management of The Farm:

I can tell you how it ran during 1974. I witnessed and heard family and the usual Farm heavies come for visitations to discuss the governance of The Farm. As I recall, Stephen likened it to flying a kite. Everything was discussed, as well as everyone and what they were doing or wanted to do…all ending with what they should do. The decisions of who would do what, when and how were then managed into Farm life. Impressions of how someone was faring would be discussed with recommendations for remedial treatments. In today’s terms, one might refer to this as micromanaging. Stephen would use his family and a few others for some initial feedback on his point of view, and then, his word was God’s.

Abbot of the Monastery

While the creation of the community was regarded as a new experiment in social and economic structure, at the same time, universally recognized definitions were often utilized to explain or clarify the community’s structure and organization. For centuries humans have gathered together for the purpose of seeking a more spiritual life, familiar in Christian theology as the monastery. The Farm regarded itself as a family monastery with Stephen at its head or as the abbot in charge. Each person joining the community made a personal agreement with Stephen to accept him as their spiritual teacher. Although the teachings were unwritten, there was a basic understanding about the type of behavior that was acceptable and general agreement on key concepts such as nonviolence and essential oneness of humanity with the universe.

For the first 10 years of the community, every Sunday after an hour of meditation, Stephen Gaskin would speak at a gathering of Farm members.

As Stephen’s role as the community’s guru (a term he never used) became firmly established, the lines between teacher and cult leader began to blur. In the minds of many, he became regarded as an enlightened being, channeling life-force energy referred to as spirit. Each person had their own interpretation and way of rationalizing their relationship of teacher and student, which to greater or lesser degrees became a form of celebrity or even idol worship.

Marian came to The Farm in the early 70s:

When I asked Stephen to be a soaker (a person granted an extended visit to help them make up their mind about joining The Farm), he said that he was the ultimate authority, that what he said goes. And, around the same time, while he was holding forth to a room full of seated Farm members, looking out at all those worshipful faces looking up at him did give me pause. Stephen says was heard frequently for the first number of years. I would say that it felt like a guru-led monastery to me, especially as there was no democracy in the earlier days.

To help explain the relationship between teacher and student, Stephen pointed out that in our modern culture we often have unacknowledged teachers