Co-Ops and Parties

My parents, at some point, got involved in a co-op with a bunch of fellow back-to-the-land hippies nestled out there in Penns Valley. I must have been around 3 or 4 when they started getting that together. From what I remember, there was a lot of bulk wheat germ involved, and we met at the old church in Coburn because I remember it smelled kind of musty in there, and there was a very out-of-tune upright piano. I believe at one point we were there for a Christmas party, because I remember playing that piano and in my head thinking it sounded like a real song. To this day, I still am proud of accompanying "Jingle Bells."
When I was little, we ended up in lots of hippie houses for either co-op stuff, or I believe Tupperware parties, or maybe just to hang out, and I have fuzzy memories of playing with other kids' toys who were a lot older than me. I remember the toys distinctly because my own toys were pretty sparse. Someone in the Yanak house had a Fisher-Price school bus. We were at a party at the Buttorfs' once and I remember riding a tricycle around...because at some point I had ridden it onto the back deck, beeped the horn, and, coincidentally about 10 people fell to the yard at that exact moment because the railing collapsed. (I thought I had caused it.) I bit Abby Gaffron at some point, which her father gleefully told my 11th grade English class. I think we were at Dixie's place once and I almost fell off a porch, which I remember because I got yelled at. I remember Tupperware toys, especially that crazy shapes ball. I remember Karen's crazy old Volkswagen van with the stove in it, too.
It seems to me that the co-op came out of a group desire for everyone to find good, healthy organic food during a time when it was hard to find, and not trendy like it is today. My parents got Organic Gardening magazines and kept a huge garden; the word "organic" probably entered my vocabulary around the time "mom" and "dad" did, and we frequented the first organic store in the country, Walnut Acres. Those who remember Walnut Acres will remember the bags and bags of granola, and peanut butter that came in a tin and was simply mashed up peanuts and salt. They'll probably also remember the plates of sesame crackers on the counter that you could spread with that peanut butter...and honey. God, I miss that stuff.
It's funny how none of my parents' obsession with gardening really rubbed off on me, though I can explain the logistics of diatomaceous earth pretty well. I, on the other hand, can barely keep air ferns alive. (I've been trying to baby this cilantro plant, but it's not working out very well between us.) My parents, meanwhile, are in their mid-50s and still keep what can only be described as half a truck garden. During the summer, my sister and I are bombarded with tons of zucchinis, tomatoes, potatoes, and canned jams, and it's glorious.