Back in 1971, when I was 24, my life was a terrifying blur of goats and window-pane acid. I had just moved to the Catskills to grow organic kohlrabi and rutabagas, and I was just becoming aware of sheetrock. Crazed hippies lived all around me and we had orgies up in the back forty. No electricity. We pumped water from the stream, had propane lights, and cooked on a wood stove. Nobody had the faintest fucking clue what I was thinking and I liked it like that.