Page 9 — 22 Aug – 4 Sept 1973
A bus load of Methodist youth from Indiana came to see and work with the people at Drop City. I had hauled them down to the river to collect rocks. The woman in charge talked to me while they were gone.
Fisher's Peak — 9000 ft. mountain due south of D.C. "My that's a beautiful mountain." I mentioned that it is owned by the Rockefellers. She said "My, he certainly provides the people here with a wonderful free view."
All these thought about gravity, free fall, bubbles, up and down. It seems now (Aug. '68) as if Drop City has crash landed — hit bottom, end of free fall.
The triple cluster complex is finished. It is filled with flies. No one has any money. They are eating wilted vegetables thrown out from the supermarket. People puttering around listlessly like an old age home. I chip in for food but meals never seem to be prepared. The hell with it! Go into town, eat at Bea's Cafe — sausages, eggs, two cups of coffee.
The hottest days in August an awful scene. Then it cools a little. It rains and I start to see a harmony. The flies die off. At dusk as we put away the hammers and shovels — there is one complex and the geodesic theater, multi-colored car tops. The buildings glow — beauty shines forth. Each evening more strongly. Peggy cooks a great meal of venison.
Loading rocks into a truck, under the sun, under the cumulus clouds, beside the river, beside the road, beside the ditch, under the cottonwood leaves, among the cottonwood trunks, above the roots. Hauling rocks in the truck up the road and into the bin. Burning gas in the truck — sunshine stored from 100,000,000 years ago. Lifting the rocks with our arms and with our backs. Hauling rocks till the sun goes down, the world cools off, the clouds collapse and we go back and eat.
Source: The Tribal Messenger, 22 Aug – 4 Sept 1973. Text from embedded PDF.
PDF: 1973-08-22-tribal-messenger.pdf