The 1960s and 1970s in the Unit­ed States were marked by a spir­it of rebel­lion, exper­i­men­ta­tion, and a desire for soci­etal change. Utopi­an com­mu­ni­ties, often rur­al and self-sus­tain­ing, sought to reject main­stream society’s norms — espe­cial­ly its focus on con­sumerism, indi­vid­u­al­ism, and hier­ar­chi­cal pow­er struc­tures. These com­munes var­ied in their spe­cif­ic goals and struc­tures, but they shared a com­mon belief in cre­at­ing a new, ide­al­ized way of liv­ing. New ways of liv­ing required new ways of con­cep­tu­al­iz­ing, con­struct­ing, and using liv­ing spaces.

The Farm, estab­lished in 1971 near Sum­mer­town, Ten­nessee, by Stephen Gaskin and a group of fol­low­ers, is one of the most well-known and endur­ing com­munes. The group orig­i­nat­ed as a car­a­van of coun­ter­cul­ture adher­ents who trav­eled across the U.S. in school bus­es before set­tling down on 1,750 acres of land. The Farm was heav­i­ly influ­enced by Gaskin’s teach­ings, which blend­ed ele­ments of East­ern phi­los­o­phy, eco­log­i­cal aware­ness, and paci­fism. As an ear­ly advo­cate for sus­tain­able liv­ing, The Farm’s meth­ods influ­enced both the alter­na­tive health move­ment and envi­ron­men­tal activism. In 1983, the Farm became a coop­er­a­tive, rather than a col­lec­tive, but the con­tem­po­rary Farm Com­mu­ni­ty still holds many of the same ideals.

Much of The Farm’s archi­tec­ture, both then and now, is guid­ed by ​“Nat­ur­al Build­ing,” a build­ing phi­los­o­phy that empha­sizes the impor­tance of using sus­tain­able build­ing tech­niques and mate­ri­als that were not only nat­ur­al and renew­able, but also hyper-local. Builders at the Farm uti­lized effec­tive and ener­gy-effi­cient build­ing meth­ods like solar gain and superin­su­la­tion. They wise­ly uti­lized their mate­ri­als for great­est effect and low­est envi­ron­men­tal impact. One exam­ple is the fre­quent con­struc­tion of ​“cord wood walls” from nat­ur­al plas­ter and logs that are cut as short as a ​“cord” of fire­wood. The cords are then stacked and adhered with the plas­ter for the cre­ation of stur­dy walls that uti­lize wood that might oth­er­wise be wast­ed; these struc­tures also make use of pock­ets of air with­in logs for insu­la­tion. Dwellings are built of local­ly har­vest­ed tim­ber, wild clay, and straw from area farms, and many uti­lize liv­ing roofs for bet­ter rain and tem­per­a­ture man­age­ment. These struc­tures stand as tes­ta­ment to the pow­er of sus­tain­able construction.

Har­bin­ger Com­mune, found­ed in the 1960s at Harbin Hot Springs, became a sanc­tu­ary for those seek­ing spir­i­tu­al explo­ration, holis­tic heal­ing, and a deep­er con­nec­tion with nature. The hot springs served as both phys­i­cal and spir­i­tu­al heal­ing resources, draw­ing vis­i­tors seek­ing trans­for­ma­tion. It played a cru­cial role in the New Age move­ment, offer­ing work­shops on alter­na­tive med­i­cine, meta­phys­i­cal teach­ings, and com­mu­nal liv­ing. Harbin’s blend of long-term res­i­dents and short-term guests cre­at­ed a vibrant, inclu­sive atmos­phere that main­tained the coun­ter­cul­tur­al ethos of the 1960s and 70s.

Orig­i­nal­ly a 19^th cen­tu­ry hot springs resort, Har­bin­ger was a short lived but use­ful case study in adap­tive reuse. The orig­i­nal facil­i­ties, which includ­ed a hotel build­ing, mul­ti­ple pools, and a large build­ing with a gym­na­si­um and ball­room, were repur­posed by com­mu­ni­ty mem­bers as per­ma­nent liv­ing spaces, libraries, class­rooms, con­struc­tion work­shops, barns, and green­hous­es. Harbin oper­at­ed coop­er­a­tive­ly, with res­i­dents shar­ing respon­si­bil­i­ties in main­tain­ing the facil­i­ties and nur­tur­ing the community’s well-being. In a 1968 let­ter to his par­ents, one res­i­dent cheer­ful­ly reports that along­side teach­ing he is busy ​“car­pen­ter­ing,” and says he ​“built a con­sole, cut out [and] hung an ellip­ti­cal door, repaired a stair­case, tore out walls, [and] paint­ed.” Though the com­mune was short-lived, it demon­strat­ed the pow­er and pos­si­bil­i­ty of adap­tive reuse.

Drop City, found­ed in 1965 near Trinidad, Col­orado, was one of the ear­li­est and most famous com­munes asso­ci­at­ed with the coun­ter­cul­tur­al move­ment. Found­ed by artists from the avant-garde Drop Art move­ment, its mem­bers cre­at­ed a com­mu­ni­ty that pri­or­i­tized art and reject­ed con­ven­tion­al liv­ing arrange­ments. Drop City was more of an artis­tic endeav­or than a pure­ly prac­ti­cal com­mune. The group orga­nized fes­ti­vals and hap­pen­ings, and their work helped bridge the gap between coun­ter­cul­ture and avant-garde art move­ments of the time.

Drop City was per­haps best known for its icon­ic archi­tec­ture. The Drop Art move­ment was inspired in part by the work of Buck­min­ster Fuller, who pop­u­lar­ized the Geo­des­ic Dome — a poly­he­dral struc­ture built on a frame­work of tri­an­gles. Because of the stur­di­ness of the tri­an­gle in archi­tec­ture, these domes can sup­port their own heavy weight. They quick­ly became the defin­ing fea­ture of Drop City. Geo­des­ic domes con­struct­ed by res­i­dents served as dwellings, gath­er­ing spaces, food stor­age and prepa­ra­tion facil­i­ties, art spaces, and agri­cul­tur­al infra­struc­ture. Drop City mem­bers con­struct­ed these bright­ly col­ored build­ings using sal­vaged mate­ri­als, such as car roofs, out of a com­bi­na­tion of neces­si­ty and a desire to drop out of con­sumerist cul­ture. The domes quick­ly became a sym­bol of the com­mune and a tourist attrac­tion. Though Drop City was aban­doned by the late 1970s, the last of the domes stood strong until the 1990s.