Learning to Live Against the Norm
Strategies of Self-Building in US Back-to-the-Land Communes

“How about building yourself a house? No, no, you don’t need money, architect, plans, permits. Why not use what’s there? […] Man has a nest building instinct just like the other animals and it is totally frustrated by our lock-step society whose restrictive codes on home-building make it just about impossible to build a code home that doesn’t sterilize, insulate, and rigidify the inhabitants […] So it falls down with the first wind storm. The second one won’t.” (“Open Land Manifesto I,” Autumn 1972)^[1]

In the 1960s many young US-Americans moved from the big cities to rural areas, organizing themselves in so called back-to-the-land communes and seeking to live self-sufficient lives beyond the consumer-driven and normative social and political concepts of their parents’ generation. At a time when modernism had turned into a technocratic dystopia for many and the US government was boosting its military-industrial complex with an imbalanced war in Vietnam, the younger generation’s urge to protest manifested in many forms of (political) activism, ranging from anti-war campaigns to the civil rights movement to a more general liberation of the mind through psychedelic and spiritual aid. This cultural environment also gave rise to thousands of self-built, alternative settlements founded across rural America which can be read as an architectural expression of this resistance. In these back-to-the-land communes, a building culture of its own kind developed, materializing around the idea of the shelter. Rejecting any modern day comforts, standard floor plans, or contemporary norms of building aesthetics, this building culture embraced communal forms of living and took on Buckminster Fuller’s credo of “doing more with less.”^[2] By using mostly salvaged and waste material, ecological thought was introduced to building at a larger scale for the first time.

A closer look at two extant US communes, both located remotely high up on a mountain—Libre and Lama Foundation^[3]—will show that learning to live and build communally relied on a number of factors, beyond an overall enthusiasm as the primary driving force. These factors included peer-to-peer exchange, trial and error, mutual support and skill exchange, the calling in of experts, and an extensive educational network. As noted by Greg Castillo and investigated by others,^[4] one of the distinctive characteristics of counterculture was its particular networked character. Despite the often remote location of back-to-the-land communes, their residents were well informed and shared a common mindset.^[5] In this essay I want to argue that within the counterculture communes, the introduction of unorthodox architectural typologies or floor plans through self-building has been most revolutionary regarding the system of knowledge production and modes of learning. Both, Libre and Lama Foundation are located in remote mountain locations and, in both cases, learning and self education form an essential part of communal life or even act as the collectives’ primary driving force.^[6] While in both cases similar typologies are used, their spatial organization and understanding of communal social practices differ at a fundamental level.

Counterculture Architecture. The so-called back-to-the-land communes exhibited a broad spectrum of lifestyles from political-activist to queer, psychedelic, art–oriented and religious–spiritual, all bringing about new forms of cohabitation. With names such as Lama Foundation, Libre, Drop City, Morning Star Ranch, Wheeler Ranch, or New Buffalo, many of these countryside communes were located in remote areas, where people tried to survive on agricultural subsistence largely without previous experience in farming. Criticized as “escapist” and “apolitical”^[7]  on the one hand, and branded as “outlaw zones” or “outlaw areas”^[8] on the other, the communes not only promoted the liaison of technology, nature, and humans but acted as testing grounds for a new model of society guided by the the laws of transcendental consciousness and environmentalism instead of politics.^[9] Furthermore back-to-the-land often meant back to native lands. At the time, ancient building techniques that had been handed down from generation to generation by native peoples were embraced by the hippies and appropriated quite naturally, sometimes hiring members of neighboring native communities for some hands-on support. Around Taos in New Mexico, communes like New Buffalo, the Lama Foundation, and also the “Earthships” by Michael Reynolds are located in direct vicinity to Pueblo, Navajo, Ute and Zuni lands.

The manifold architectural structures which emerged within the communes were quite generally deviant from the prevalent house and building norms of the time and featured interior layouts which radically differed from those of the suburban homes in which many of the communards had likely grown up. Through a mixture of the predominant paradigms of communal living, neo-tribalism, the Open Land Movement,^[10] an anti-consumption DIY-culture, a focus on recycling, and a self-imposed poverty, the communards—mostly inexperienced with building—constructed their own dwellings and communal facilities in multiple forms, styles and sizes. This practice of self-building most often entailed a radical renunciation of functional floor plans and room layouts and a general rejection of normative building, hygiene, and fire regulations.^[11] Applied spatial programs differed from commune to commune, but in many cases functions conventionally regarded as co-dependent within a house were separated into individual structures and spread out over a piece of land. This resulted in dormitory structures for individuals, families or “heap-living,”^[12] structures for cooking and common dining, outhouses, bath-structures—often rudimentary and many of them outdoors. The degree of communal use of these spaces varied from place to place and, in addition to spaces serving the satisfaction of basic needs, constructions for communal activities, can be found in many of the communes such as gathering spaces for political, performative or spiritual events. Fluctuating numbers of residents in many of the communes lead to ever-changing flows and occupancies between and within these structures.

Dominant forms of building in the back-to-the-land communes can be categorized into groups including domes and zomes, low-technoid structures, A-frames, flexible structures, repurposed artifacts and eclectic vernaculars. Geodesic domes, today an emblematic typology for countercultural building, were popularized by Buckminster Fuller, whose vision of Planet Earth as a (whole) system and early ecological thinking resonated well with the countercultultural audience.^[13] Domes, as unconventional and at the same time easy-to-build structures, were initially embraced within these communes as the go-to typology: Simple to adapt to different sizes by laymen and cherished for their spatial qualities, with a circular layout and high ceilings, domes were deployed for communal facilities, shared and individual homes, or were combined with other building techniques (fig. 3). Another geometric construction typical of back-to-the-land communes, so-called zomes—based on polyhedra and inspired by Buckminster Fuller’s geodesic domes—was invented by Steve Baer and named by Steve Durkee, co-founder of Lama foundation.

While spanning a wide spectrum of shapes, styles and construction modes, the shelters were built by communards (mostly) uneducated in construction or design. Architectural learning thus was performed outside an academic framework. Among the communards, taking building matters into their own hands also lead to a tremendous interest in traditional and vernacular building forms, many of them of non-Western origins.^[14] The dogma of thriftiness in connection with the ideal of self-building resulted in as many individualistic shelters as there were builders, producing architectural structures which not only looked distinctively handmade, but also lacked proportional and aesthetic standards (fig. 2). A look at the “Open Land Manifesto”^[15]  reveals that this non-normative, impromptu approach to building was by no means unintentional, but rather a statement of protesting institutional (building) standards and practices. Building the shelters in this case was not so much a matter of aesthetic or functional questions or knowledge of construction, but rather one of learning and self-education. In this regard, Felicity D. Scott notes that while the shelters seemingly created a preindustrial, sometimes even nostalgic^[16] impression, their occupants regarded themselves as inhabitants of laboratories for a cybernetic future^[17]—free of gainful employment, training for survival for the time after the technological end.^[18] They were not “ghetto-dwellers,” but developers “of a lifestyle, that will save you someday.”^[19] It was not the formal style of the structures that deserves attention, but rather their mediated use. The self-built structures generated powerful imagery and were used to protest hegemonic power relations and long-established institutions. As images of them were disseminated, such buildings functioned to demonstrate an alternative and self-determined way of life.

Access To Tools – Networks Of Learning. A great part of this specific form of knowledge production—and distribution—can also be attributed to the widespread practice of self-publication, culminating in what could be described as the “core publication” of counterculture: the infamous Whole Earth Catalog. First published in 1968 by Stewart Brand, this publication not only gave an overview on issues considered crucial to a countercultural lifestyle,^[20] but moreover recommended countless books and manuals to the reader. These manuals, among other influences, strongly contributed to the flourishing of self-built structures, in different styles and sizes and with differing functions. The Whole Earth Catalog was born of Brand’s reflection upon how to make life easier for friends who had decided to live a communal life, away from cities. Inspired by mail order catalogs like the L.L. Bean catalogue for life outdoors, Brand developed a catalog that would work as a guide to a wholesome countercultural life. It quickly became one of the most successful publications of its time and by 1972 it had sold almost two million copies. The Whole Earth series comprises of six issues and ten supplements.^[21] The catalog’s name is linked to the emergence of the first image of the whole earth from space, a byproduct of the attempts to explore space and reach the moon. The Whole Earth Catalog owned its success to a rare synergy between makers and readers who through a constant feedback circle of contributions, critique and proposals took part in creating the final form of the catalog. As communication theorist Fred Turner noted, the Whole Earth Catalog was rather peculiar for a mail order catalog, since one could not really order goods directly and the majority of things in the catalog were books “and not backhoes.”^[22] Readers were not only seen as buyers, but as those applying the knowledge offered in the catalog. The makers made it clear that they didn’t owe anything to the delivery services or producers, but everything to the users. This resulted in a communication structure beyond the usual sender-receiver scheme and the editors increasingly used and processed information provided by their readers. It was a growing network. Today, the Whole Earth Catalog is called a forerunner of the internet.

The Whole Earth Catalog’s subtitle “Access to Tools” not only reflects its makers’ commitment to providing the knowledge needed to realize a wholesome countercultural life, but also shows that the catalog’s fundamental ideas are rooted in concepts of learning and self-education. While developing the idea of the catalog, Stewart Brand himself worked at Portola Institute, a non-profit educational foundation in Menlo Park. The focus on educational aspects was certainly not restricted to the Whole Earth Catalog, but was already a crucial constituent within the countercultural movement and the back-to-the-land communes.

Libre. “It was and continues to be that amazing touchstone in my life. Not just that moment in time, but that place. To be able to create a place where you could make your work, but also have a sense of what you are capable of doing. Building this dome when I was 22 has had astounding effect on what I now know I am capable of doing. So this is a 44-foot diameter geodesic dome with a 20-foot ceiling. So we had to go 20 foot up in the air to put in those panels, to put all the structure together, etc. And being able to do that was really profound.”^[23]

This account of the self-empowering effect of building a home on one’s own comes from Linda Fleming, founder of Libre—a back-to-the-land commune that notably became known through the publication of (building) knowledge in a variety of media and other forms of publicity.^[24] Here, the process of self-building and the resulting constructions became a particularly critical force in forming the identity (and image) of the place. Libre is one of the few communes which has survived until today, still serving as a good example of a general evolution of counterculture’s handmade shelters. Located in Huerfano County in Colorado, on a remote mountain site 9,000 feet (ca. 2,740 meters) above sea level, Libre was founded by two artist couples: Dean and Linda Fleming and Peter “Rabbit” and Judy “Poly Ester” Douthit, who had previously escaped the infamous and overcrowded Drop City commune and were looking for a new place where they could freely pursue their art.

Whereas Drop City’s iconic colorful zomes, built from salvaged car-tops, mark a highpoint of the Buckminster Fuller-inspired dome architecture, in Libre, a shift from dome structures to more individual dwellings can be observed.^[25] One of the first buildings on the newly acquired site was the earlier mentioned dome structure by Dean and Linda Fleming. Another distinctive structure, still based on the idea of the dome, was a threepart zome first constructed and inhabited by Peter Rabbit and Judy Douthit (fig. 4). Subsequent builders gradually dropped the dome theme and started to experiment with other forms. Later structures built at Libre^[26] combined a central dome with adobe walls or pursued a more open architectural approach, as exemplified in Roberta Price and David Perkins’ octagonal structure that used a large boulder as its supporting structure (fig. 1). “It was all trial and error, and new builders embraced learning on the job.”^[27] One member of the commune, Richard Wehrman, who was trained as a jeweler, designed a star-shaped and gem-inspired symmetrical construction set on the ridge. Among the houses, a tower and more conventional constructions evoking homesteading activities of former eras can also be found. The individual houses are spread out on a 360 acre south-facing slope, connected by dirt roads but out of sight of one another.

Whatever direction the designs of the shelters were leaning, scavaging native materials from abandoned buildings and mines and the use of native materials as logs, rock and adobe^[28] were common principles. Building their houses themselves was regarded as essential for the communards, as “you learn a lot [when] building a house.”^[29] Despite existing manuals like the Dome Cookbook, Linda Fleming describes building a dome home as a rather informal endeavor:
“I got—what they called—the chord factors, the dimensions for the dome from Drop City from an artist named Clark Richert, a really extraordinary painter. He was really always interested—and still is—in domes and fractals and tessellations. So he was the kind of wizard behind domes and I asked him to tell me how to build one. And he tore off a scrap of brown paper bag and he wrote six chord factors and he drew just a quick sketch of one of these great triangles and divided it and put the letters in, so I could see how long A to B was then in this key he gave me which was this particular decimal point and then you figure out the diameter of the dome you wanna build and you multiply that by the decimal figure and that’s the length of a strut. It is pretty brilliant.”^[30] Though the construction of a dome—with the right formula—could be precisely calculated and parts of it preassembled, in practice, leaking roofs and difficulties in subdividing its interior led to a gradual decline of interest in these structures.

The first years at Libre were characterized not only by the practice of building one’s own shelter but also by getting used to the routines of a daily life up on a high mountain in the wilderness without the comforts of modern life, such as central heating, running water, etc. Children were homeschooled in a different house each day. In her memoir, Roberta Price describes her working routine at Libre: “Work took up most daylight hours: milking the goats, building, gardening, cooking, canning, baking, cleaning, chopping wood, making runs to Walsenburg for food and supplies, sewing, weaving, painting, writing, hauling water, fixing trucks, doing outside carpentry gigs to make money, teaching in Libre’s school.”^[31] In consideration of these hardships and socially challenging tasks in such a tight and remote community, the success of Libre’s existence can be attributed to various reasons, among them serious efforts to maintain a livable degree of privacy that manifested in a number of rules: For example, in comparison to other communes, in Libre the number of members remained very low with around eight houses, each for a family. New members were carefully chosen with the requirement to be able to build their own dwelling and to sustain themselves independently. The land was commonly owned, yet to avoid any influx of unwanted visitors (like in Drop City) no central facility was planned, and to further enhance the privacy of the single members, houses were to be built out of sight of each other. Accordingly, communal life was also dispersed among the houses: Together, the houses formed the Libre school and the large dome was used as a shared workshop for woodworking, jewelry, and pottery and as a kitchen for all Libre residents.^[32] Instead of erecting communal buildings in Libre communal activities and shared social practices took place in structures which resembled the size of family homes. This method of disguising communal spaces in seemingly private houses protected the communards from outsiders interfering with their community. Despite Libre’s strict privacy rules and efforts to prevent unwanted visitors, during building phases, people passing through would be utilized as additional labor force.

Lama Foundation. A rather different concept concerning not only the relationship of visitors and residents, but also a general idea about communal life, is represented by another still existing commune in the Southwest of the US called Lama Foundation.^[33] The commune is located high up on a mountain in San Cristobal, New Mexico and was founded in 1967 as a Center for Basic Studies^[34] with a spiritual focus on meditation and a no-drug policy. “The sole purpose of the foundation,” according to an 1971 article published in AD, “is to serve as a vehicle for the awakening of conciousness [sic].”^[35] Distinguishing between permanent residents, stewards, and long-term or short-term visitors during the summer, Lama Foundation is a retreat where residential buildings do not follow individual aesthetic preferences, but instead take a back seat in favor of large communal facilities. In a self-description for AD in 1971, the authors see the commune connected to its surrounding Taos Pueblo lands, but also Nepal and Tibet, the moon, the sun, the ocean and refer to ancient times, when the mountain was still a plateau.^[36]

Similar to Libre, the built structures of Lama Foundation are scattered all over the plot; however, in contrast to Libre, communal facilities shared by permanent residents and visitors constitute the social but also spatial core of communal life. While dormitories, outhouses and sanitary spots for temporary visitors, and residences for those staying longer were spatially set apart and differed in size and construction technique, the octagonal kitchen in timber construction and a much larger central dome complex with a dome-roof and adobe walls were built along an axis that followed the slope of the mountain, with the dome majestically facing towards the valley. In 1996 a large wildfire destroyed not only almost all the forest surrounding the commune, but also most of the dormitory buildings. Of the original structures the dome complex and the kitchen survived, though a new larger kitchen building has been erected on the Southwestern end of a road perpendicular to the main axis. Designed by Steve Durkee, one of the founders of Lama Foundation, the main structure, a hybrid of adobe walls and a dome, houses the main meditation and common gathering space as well as an expansive library in one of its wings (fig. 5). Even though the shared structures by far exceed the size of a single-family-home and more closely resemble the public facilities found in small towns, they were also self-constructed. A contemporary report of the foundation describes the building process as following:
“Work begins, clearing spring, digging water system, beginning main communal building. Indians from Taos Pueblo hired to teach us how to make & use adobe, how to work. 3 original members began before land found to meet nightly & have short meditations. Over 90 people come thru & help the first year, some stay awhile. Steve Baer brings plans for the domes & helps erect the first ones with assistance from Drop City people. We publish his ‘Dome Cook-book.’ Living in tp’s & school bus. First winter sees two roads built, water line in, shell of main dome & south wing; winter drives us down to the valley. Next spring kitchen & dining room up, 6 A-frames built, plumbing, gas 5 K generator, greenhouse, garden. […] 24–25 Newclear age. Finish north wing enclosure & interior south wing, kitchen, skin domes. Erect 3 small enneacontahedron domes, designed by Baer for dwelling, one a teacher’s house.”^[37]

Joining the commune as a permanent resident required spending a “whole working season”^[38]  beforehand and, similar to Libre, being able to provide sufficient finances and expertise to build one’s own shelter. The goal of surviving independently as a commune was pursued by establishing a self-sufficient agricultural system (including a grow hole, a heated greenhouse, and farming a small number of animals), as well as publishing, a Tibetan flag manufacturing plant that still exists today, income from tuition, and boarding fees from summer visitors.

Looking Back and Forward. Despite the communards’ effort to create a world of egalitarian rule^[39]  while regarding the “mind” as the key to social change,^[40]  Fred Turner claims that the communards, mostly white and middle-class, were not able to overcome traditional conceptions concerning class, race, and gender.^[41]  Traditional gender roles were maintained, with activities such as child rearing or domestic duties left mostly to women.

And yet, until today, counterculture in the US is widely still regarded as an opposition to the cold war politics of its time. However, as Turner has argued, “among New Communalists, though, this was simply not the case: even as they set out for the rural frontier, the communards of the back-to-the-land movement often embraced collaborative social practices, celebration of technology, and the cybernetic rhetoric of mainstream military-industrial-academic research.”^[42]

The two case studies outlined here illustrate not only that different forms of social life can be practiced within identical building layouts and building styles, but also that building and living in unconventional floor plans and experimental communal constellations does not inevitably result in radical social change^[43]—as demonstrated, for example, by the proclaimed anti-consumerism that itself spawned a new kind of entrepreneurism and demand for alternative goods.^[44] At the same time, the self-imposed poverty of mostly white middle-class people in their twenties sharply contrasted with the structurally impoverished native population and their living conditions shaped by infrastructural neglect and high unemployment rates, among other factors. While today many of the communes have vanished, the living conditions of native people have remained widely unchanged. As Margaret Crawford put it: “In spite of their interest in radical change, the Whole Earth Catalog, dome and hand-built-house movements demonstrated very little allegiance with parallel movements that addressed the housing problems of the urban and rural poor. Yet during these years major social and political coalitions were forming supporting tenants’ unions, community design centers, and other types of housing reform.”^[45]

Today counterculture’s architectural legacy is reflected in its vast impact on ecological discourses in building matters, that in the meantime have manifested in a highly engineered and economized manner in building codes and regulations worldwide. However, as illustrated by the two case studies, another of the communes’ successes lies in bringing forward a building culture of its own by mostly inexperienced people from outside the architectural profession.^[46] The practices of learning performed in countercultural environments were innovative and took place outside the traditional academic framework. Such a system of learning is possibly what comes closest to what Ivan lllich called a “deschooled society”:^[47] An educational scheme without certificates or curriculums and based on skill centers, and an educational network where “choosing a life of action over a life of consumption” would lead to self-initiated learning.^[48] While the countercultural movement proves to be a very successful example of self-initiated learning, it failed on one level: by not being able to provide the social and ethnic porosity that was key to such a radical learning scheme. Starting from such an observation, the lesson to take away for architecture today lies in how we can break social boundaries not by inventing new forms and floor plans, but rather by reconsidering how different methods of knowledge production might be used in the future.

^[1] Ramón Sender Barayón, Morning Star and Wheeler’s Open Land Communes: A Brief Run-Through of Their Histories and Manifesto I and Manifesto II (San Francisco, 2016), available online at: http://www.badabamama.com/fast%20run%20through%20booklet.pdf (accessed December 6, 2019).

^[2] Buckminster Fuller quoted in Alastair Gordon, “True Green: Lessons from 1960s–70s Counterculture Architecture,” Architectural Record 196, no. 4 (2008): 78–86, esp. 80.

^[3] In 2014 the author visited Libre and Lamas Foundation in course of a study trip.

^[4] Greg Castillo, “Counterculture Terroir: California’s Hippie Enterprise Zone,” in Hippie Modernism: The Struggle for Utopia, ed. Andrew Blauvelt, Esther Choi, Greg Castillo, and Walker Art Center (Minneapolis, 2015), 87–101. See also Fred Turner, From Counterculture to Cyberculture: Stewart Brand, the Whole Earth Network, and the Rise of Digital Utopianism (Chicago, 2008).

^[5] A great part of information was acquired through the lively circulation of (self-) publications. On self-building see, for example, The Dome Cookbook, The Outlaw Building News, Shelter, etc

[6] See Richard Fairfield, The Modern Utopian: Alternative Communities of the ’60s and ’70s (Port Townsend, WA, 2010), 212f.

^[7] Mason Dixon, “Are Country Communes Escapist?,” in The Modern Utopian: Alternative Communities of the ’60s and ’70s, ed. Richard Fairfield and Timothy Miller (Port Townsend, WA, 2010), 30–31, esp. 30.

^[8] See, for example, Stewart Brand, Whole Earth. “The Outlaw Area” (1971) and Felicity Dale Scott, Outlaw Territories: Environments of Insecurity/ Architectures of Counterinsurgency (New York, 2016).

^[9] See Turner, From Counterculture to Cyberculture (see note 4), 36.

^[10] The Open Land Movement followed the idea that land should be free to access by anyone. Here, the utopia of a non-governed and non-hierarchical community should become reality.

^[11] See Scott, Outlaw Territories (see note 8), 91ff.

^[12] Co-living of individuals as well as families within one built structure.

^[13] See Joachim Krausse, “Raumschiff Erde und globales Dorf,” Arch+ 139/140 (1998): 44–49.

^[14] Browsing through Lloyd Kahn and Bob Easton’s publication Shelter reveals a particular focus on adobe building techniques, yurts and tee-pees. See Lloyd Kahn and Bob Easton, Shelter (Bolinas, 1990).

^[15] See Barayón, Morning Star (see note 1).

^[16] See Scott, Outlaw Territories (see note 8), 94.

^[17] Ibid., 95f.

^[18] See also Felicity Dale Scott, “Episodes in the Refusal of Work,” Volume 24 (2010): 34–39.

^[19] Scott, Outlaw Territories (see note 8), 101.

^[20] Understanding Whole Systems, Land Use, Shelter, Industry, Craft, Community, Nomadics, Communications and Learning.

^[21] In 1969 the first issue, in 1969 two more issues, in 1970 one issue, in 1971 “The Last Whole Earth Catalog,” in 1974 “The Last Whole Earth Catalog” reappeared as “The Last (Updated) Whole Earth Catalog” and “The Whole Earth Epilog.” See Caroline Maniaque-Benton and Meredith Gaglio, eds., Whole Earth Field Guide (Cambridge, MA, 2016), 2.

^[22] Fred Turner, “The Establishment of Counterculture,” Volume 24 (2010): 6–8.

^[23] Linda Fleming, “Building the Dome,” July 17, 2018, in Echokinesis, podcast, available online at: https://audioboom.com/posts/6936013-building-the-dome (accessed August 22, 2019).

^[24] In 1969 members of Libre went on a twenty-stop lecture tour in order to help financing their commune. See Amy Azzarito, “Libre, Colorado, and the Hand-Built Home,” in West of Center: Art and the Counterculture Experiment in America, 1965–1977, ed. Elissa Auther and Adam Lerner (Denver and Minneapolis, 2012), 98. Libre was also featured in AD Architectural Design 44 (1971): 727–736.

^[25] See Azzarito, “Libre, Colorado” (see note 24), 99.

^[26] Altogether the site consists of eight to nine buildings.

^[27] Azzarito, “Libre, Colorado” (see note 24), 101.

^[28] “Libre,” AD Architectural Design 44 (1971): 728.

^[29] Ibid., 727.

^[30] Fleming, “Building the Dome” (see note 23).

^[31] Roberta Price, Across the Great Divide: A Photo Chronicle of the Counterculture (Albuquerque, 2010). Kindle.

^[32] See “Libre,” (see note 28), 729.

^[33] The name Lama refers to “La Lama,” Portugese for “mud.” See https://www.lamafoundation.org/about-lama-foundation/history-oflama-foundation/ (accessed December 10, 2019).

^[34] The Center for Basic Studies was described by Steve Durky in an interview with Richard Fairfield: “So what we did in relation to the government is that we became a nonprofit tax-exempt foundation, founded for educational and scientific purposes, because as we see ourselves, we are a center for basic studies. And by basic studies I mean how to make an adobe brick, or learning how to plumb and how to carpenter, learning what’s basic, learning what it is that people really need and what are their desires, and what is the relationship between needs and desires.” Fairfield, The Modern Utopian (see note 6), 212.

^[35] “Lama Foundation,” AD Architectural Design 42 (1971), 743–752, esp. 743.

^[36] See ibid., 746.

^[37] “Lama Foundation” (see note 35), 749.

^[38] Fairfield, The Modern Utopian (see note 6), 211.

^[39] See Turner, From Counterculture to Cyberculture (see note 4), 37.

^[40] Ibid., 36.

^[41] Ibid., 77.

^[42] Ibid., 33.

^[43] See ibid., 36 and Scott, Outlaw Territories (see note 8), 73–114.

^[44] See Margaret Crawford, “Alternative Shelter: Counterculture Architecture in Northern California,” in Reading California: Art, Image, and Identity, 1900–2000 (Los Angeles and Berkeley, 2000), 268 and Castillo, “Counterculture Terroir” (see note 4), 87–101.

^[45] Crawford, “Alternative Shelter” (see note 44), 269.

^[46] Looking at counterculture architecture today, there are likely more visible entanglements and continuities with “mainstream” architecture institutions than their protagonists were aware of.

^[47] Illich himself recognized the countercultural movement, claiming that “more than a few reject degrees and prepare for a life in a counterculture, outside the certified society. They seem to choose the way of medieval Fraticelli and Alumbrados of the Reformation, the hippies and drop outs of their day.” Ivan Illich, Deschooling Society (Milano, 2013).

^[48] Ibid., 81.