Some of the mythic figures of my youth are the hippies who dwelled in the Green Mountains of Vermont. I can picture them still coming down to the waterhole on a hot summer day, where my brothers and sisters and I splashed and swam, daring each other to jump off the bridge into the cold river water. Across the river, the hippies, men and women both, were unshaven with long hair. To our amazement, the swimmers disrobed completely, while the women with infants who stayed in the shade on the river banks opened their blouses and granny dresses to breastfeed. They lived on a commune outside of town, my auntie explained, and kept to themselves for the most part, farming and living self-sufficiently, as far as they were able. Sometimes they came into the village; occasionally we saw them at an auction or fair. What I remember most was the quietness, the unhurried movement, the peacefulness of these so-called hippies.  And that’s what got me thinking ever since about the desire to “drop out” – to get out of the rat-race, not to participate in the money chase, and to go your own way while the world spins another way. Both the good and the bad.

For a time, I was intrigued with the idea of communes and hippie-dom.  Already living in a large household, the idea of sharing space and property wasn’t a big deal. I liked the idea of being close to nature, if that is what it entailed. And I felt a kind of peace could be achieved from turning our backs on materialism, and not worrying about individual success.  It seemed a noble ideal to me, the idea that some would give up excess luxury so that others would avoid extreme poverty and distress – everyone would be taken care of.  In school, I did a research project on communal living in the past – in our area, the Shakers had taken hold for a considerable time, surviving and expanding in spite of the rules of celibacy, until finally, they didn’t.  My friend Emily and I, probably the only proto-feminists of our school, looked into joining a kibbutz in Israel, until our parents curtailed the idea while there was still so much fighting going on.Then college came along, and first jobs — and the era of hippies, communes and  alternative lifestyles seemed to drift away.

I never achieved hippie bliss, although I was a pretty dedicated flower child for a while.  Stopped shaving, no make-up, didn’t own a bra for a quite a few years, no health insurance, belonged to a food co-op, lived in "sin", didn’t own a car, kept my last name after marriage. Nothing too radical, I guess.  It’s an effort to go against society’s rules, and sometimes more bother than it’s worth.  I know that the hippie commune in Vermont didn’t last: the middle-class kids got restless or wanted more comfort; the peacefulness may have been drugs or alcohol that bring on their own problems; someone needed to bring in money, at least for taxes and emergencies.  The Shakers were worker bees; the kibbutzim were trying to rebuild a promised land. They both had religious ideals that carried them a long ways. Not so the hippies.  Just a rebelling against something, that they eventually became part of.

Still, I remember them, the mystery, the mystique, the freedom to choose not to follow all the rules, but attempting to live a life that was meaningful.  And, on that afternoon by the river, an image of peace and contentment that I will never forget.