The Bath House

There was a certain amount of urgency in our installing a water system. We’d just gotten the system delivering water on the Martin farm when it was time to move to the Swan. There were two water towers on the abandoned boy’s camp property where we’d appropriated the original tower, and we now had a use for both of them. One would go on the high point of the new property, near The House, where the deep well was located. The other would go in the lower residential neighborhood, drawing its supply from a robust spring down in the hollow between Second Road and an as yet unnamed ridge.

We’d sent a crew to the camp to fetch the taller of the two towers, with our one degreed mechanical engineer designing a system for lowering the tower into the bed of the Big Pickup – our converted International Harvester school bus. The tower was hinged at the bottom of two of its legs and the plan was to use a tripod of telephone poles to support the tower as it leaned over and gradually lowered into the truck bed.

There was apparently some miscalculation in the stresses and forces of the tripod, for one of its legs snapped and the tower dropped from a considerable height into the truck bed, doing damage to both the Big Pickup and the tower itself. Repairs were made and the tower was successfully brought home. At the Farm, we decided to rent a crane to raise the tower into its place on the hill. Then came some prolonged ditch digging. I got pretty good at swinging a pick axe and busting the hard chert soil. Slowly, we fed the black plastic tubing into the trench on its long run to the Sorghum Mill and the habitats beyond.

Work had begun, meanwhile, on a communal bath house at the lower end of Second Road, near the meditation field. We couldn’t wait until the water line from the well supply reached that far end of the settlement. The tower from the Martin farm was replaced to a location along Second Road and our idea for pumping water up from the spring was to use a gas-powered engine to drive the pump. Paul and I were still working together and Jose – our chief mechanic and welder at the motor pool – presented us with the motor he’d removed from a VW bug to use as our power source.

“Here. But you gotta rebuild it.” He smiled. Nice gesture. “I got a book you can use.” He handed me a grease-stained copy of How to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive: A Manual of Step-by-step Procedures for the Compleat Idiot.

“There’s some wrenches over there. Lemme know if you need any help.”

I looked at Paul. “Well, I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

It took me two weeks to tear the engine down, get the new parts and put the motor back together. It took another week, working with Jose, to get it running. After an additional week, we had a frame welded together with a belt drive to turn the impeller pump. Supposedly, that pump – driven at the rpm we calculated – would push the water up the 150 feet we needed to reach the top of the tower reservoir. A fresh tank of gas would have to be delivered down the treacherous gully every few days, given our estimates of water usage in the bath house.

Of course, we also had to excavate the spring and build a cement block enclosure with a wooden spring house above it. That took another two weeks. Then we installed the pumping gear with a fuel tank located some 50 feet up the hollow for safety sake.

Amazingly enough, after some fiddling around with the contraption, it worked. The little air-cooled engine could pretty much idle and fill the 5,000 gallon tank over the course of about 8 hours. We could never quite relax, though, knowing that a motor was running down in the hollow without anyone keeping an eye on it. So I spent a lot of time sitting alone in the hollow watching the motor run. If it had been quiet, it would have been a nice meditation. But it wasn’t.

Once the bath house was finished and the water line run down the road, our days of skinny dipping in the creek or pouring buckets of water over one another in the woods seemed to be over. Now we had a place to soak in a tub or shower under propane-heated water. Yippee! Sure, it was a long walk from most places, but it seemed like an efficient idea. Locating it at a low spot meant that we’d have plenty of water pressure.

The bath house had a dressing (and undressing) area and a bank of shower heads, much like my old high school gym’s. The only difference being that it was co-ed. At first that didn’t seem like much of a hassle, but it soon became a big problem. Actually there were several problems.

Problem One. Some of the ladies began to notice that some men would park themselves in the dressing area for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time. Couldn’t they just dress and move on?

Problem Two. The Farm had – after a period of time when we didn’t invite visitors to stay – re-opened the Gate to allow visitors to stay for varying amounts of time. This involved working with us, getting dirty, needing a shower, and making use of the co-ed bath house. Was seeing us naked part of the deal?

Problem Three. We’d already had some bad experiences with spreading infections. Unless we had a fulltime bath house cleaning service, the risk of spreading even more infections seemed to have increased.

This all got brought up at Sunday services – which was quite a bringdown after getting high at meditation. Just the thought of men gawking at women under the showers was a bit nauseating. Was there no decency? Was that the best we could do as spiritual students?

Almost immediately the bath house underwent renovation to divide the men’s and ladies’ halves of the building. That seemed to eliminate the first two concerns, but when the hot weather returned in the summer, we knew the sanitary risks would rise.

At least, though, we now had water spigots located along the roads into the residential areas. We no longer needed to rely on the draft horses to deliver our water. We could begin piping water into our buses, our tents and our few houses. We’d risen above the standard of living of most people in the world.

<PREVIOUSNEXT>

Advertisements

9 Comments

  1. Roan Carratu said,

    December 18, 2008 at 9:21 pm

    We’re waiting for your next installment with bated breath, my friend. So far, it’s pretty much what I remember everyone talking about when I arrived in 75.

  2. Judith said,

    December 29, 2008 at 9:51 pm

    yes, i keep checking in to see where we are going next in this trip down memory’s rutted dirt road…

    has anyone heard from Martin H lately? I spoke to him on the phone a few weeks ago. here’s what happened: i picked up soe ;letters and other personal effects of my late aunt, Elizabeth, who some of you know from the Caravan and early Farm days, from a library where they have been sitting since 2001. well, there is correspondence between some folks on the Farm from the early to mid 1970s,, including Martin, and Elizabeth. I called Martin to make contact and to ask if he;d like a copy of his letters. he is very interested, and working on his own memoirs, but some recent health problems had left him with what he hopes are temporary vision problems so martin isn’t writing, reading, or e-mailing much until his eyesight improves, or at least this was true as of the second week in December. some other Farm folks who go back to the pre-caravan California daze come up in the correspondence as well…the late Dawn, who became an MD after many eyars on the farm caring for horses and other critters,, and her husband Rowland, among others, Richard and Nina. some of the names were familiar to me either through Spiritual midwifery and other Farm iterature or through Elizabeth or both…anyway, folks, check in when you can.

  3. Don James said,

    January 12, 2009 at 4:23 pm

    Judith, I knew your late aunt Elizabeth somewhat. I met her in 1978, she was part of a broad circle of friends in Santa Cruz, my long-time home from ’73-92. I didn’t know her well then, had only said hello a few times. I got to know her better after I moved to NC and emailed her regularly for a while. She sent me a copy of her Haight Ashbury book. I used to listen to her radio station every week as I commuted into Menlo Park from SC. She got mad at me once for calling her ‘dude’ saying she wasn’t a ‘dude’ at nearly 80. I suppose she was having a bad day as we all do. I never saw her on The Farm when I was there in ’76. I think she left before I came. She always played great tunes on her radio station and had some interesting guest interviews.

  4. Judith said,

    January 14, 2009 at 12:47 am

    Elizabeth left the Farm after the first 8 months.she came back out to California in December ’71when some other Farm folks were going to glean the fields and was really undecided abuot whether to return; still very much in :Stephen says” mentality bu also very ground down from the poverty and illnesses and some authority battles with Stephen, Ina May, and Margaret. (some time I;d love to ehar from some of you early birds there abut just how much spiritual.practical authority Michael carried while he was with them.)

    Elizabeth stayed in touch by mail with some of her old friends who she’d known from communal days in California before the Caravan. I had;t realized that this went on for several eyars until I picked up the boxes pof her papers in December. some of her old cronies from those days were RIchard and Nina, Martin and Bonnie, and Dawn and Rowland. there are probably some other folks.

    if there’;s anything taht ahs to do with you that I find in the files, I’m happy to copy it and pass it along.

    ELizabeth had a lot of strengths; very few people woul put patience at the top of the list. like Mary Poppins, she “Spoke her Mind” in capitals.

    at “nearly eighty” Elizabeth was nearing the end of her life…she died in May 2001, a few weeks after her 79th birthday. feel free to write or call me if you;d like to correspond in a more one-on-one medium. I’m the only Gips north of Santa barbara since ELizabeth died…well, my daughter, but she lives with me,. I’m in the Berkeley Oakland phone directory.

  5. Don James said,

    January 15, 2009 at 1:08 pm

    Judith, one thing that I found both touching and telling was how her life partner died within a few months of Elizabeth’s death. I always find that kind of devotion very moving. Like that was part of their mission, to come together and leave together. Or also they were both at that age when people die 🙂 You can write me at donjames150(atsymbol)yahoo.com. I may be able to dig up some of my emails from her. I tend to save everything but am not always able to find everything 🙂

  6. Judith said,

    February 1, 2009 at 3:51 pm

    hi all. I’ve started posting a bit about Elizabeth and her progeny, and some of what I’ve inherited about that, on a blog through tribe.net. here is a link to the firs blog entry that has to do with Elizabeth (who I call “Eliiza” on Tribe) “http://people.tribe.net/539b8e57-9b3d-491f-b729-b1bf7c412f70/blog/14a621f7-176e-4861-80af-f1c526843342 –

    I also called her son Joel “Joe” in a subsequent one about his death, and life. you’ll find it on the same blog.

    I don’t want to distract too much from this farm story Cliff is unfolding but I;d love to converse with any of you there. we do have a lot of common history that helps me se how we are all connected.

  7. March 23, 2009 at 3:18 am

    […] *  NEXT> Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)The last hamburgerHardcore Dharma: Beginning all […]

  8. March 23, 2009 at 3:23 am

    […] <PREVIOUS *  NEXT> Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)Settling the SwanDC Sale Extended! and part 2….ugh.Where does the time go? […]

  9. cissod said,

    May 4, 2014 at 11:51 am

    The bathhouse was unisex until at least early 1975 when we left. I don’t even remember it being discussed…although we would not have been in on those discussions anyway.
    I remember sitting in the waiting area naked – not to say I gawked, but I certainly cast some glances around. After all, one can’t be totally anti-social in such situations!
    I think there were two big old tubs in one of the shower rooms or a little area next to them. I got to soak in one once…as I remember.
    That felt really really good.
    I also remember that there was no outhouse or toilet facility right there – as, strangely enough, I remember having the call of nature while in the shower or bath and I walked outside naked and peed 100 feet away or so in the woods. Ah, youth….. 🙂


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: