For several years in the ’70s the folks at Cold Comfort hosted what they called a Harvest Festival. There was plenty of food (leafy green veggies, oysters, clams, mussels, creamed everything, applesauce, apple crisp, a roasted goat . . .) and lots of music (Linda Waterfall and her band Entropy Service), etc.

One of the highlights of each of these gatherings was firing up the sauna. It was one of the first building projects completed by the first wave of commune members. It was a small cedar-shingled building redolent of the tree from which it was built. It was heated by an old tin woodstove surrounded with a heap of round river rocks. There was a woodpile within easy reach and, as the harvest celebration approached, it was filled with nicely dried wood and a small stack of fresh-cut cedar boughs. Inside the sauna were benches that could comfortably accommodate four or five steaming bodies. When it was well-heated and the people well-medicated and well-lubricated, and feeling very communal, who’s to say how many bodies it could accommodate. There were certainly many occasions when it was standing room only.

There was one particularly memorable night that tested the holding capacity of the sauna. There was a steady stream of naked bodies going in and out the creaky door. Occasionally someone would splash a tin cup of water on the hot rocks, which would send several people out for a breath of fresh cool air. Outside there was a handful of folks standing in a semicircle around a kind of altar with a dozen candles and several incense burning devices. There were also several devices for burning various cannabis-based substances and mycological preparations. These were extremely local—genuine harvests grown and gathered specifically for the festival. Inside the sauna was another set of candles and incense, a bucket of water, and a supply of cedar boughs which would be employed for dipping in the water and slapping ourselves and each other.

One of the people who was there that night described the scene like this: “Someone lifted the lid of the woodstove to put in more wood, sending a cloud of sparks up the chimney. Someone else splashed a dipper of water on the hot rocks, sending a cloud of steam into every corner of the sauna. Someone else tossed a bouquet of cedar boughs on top of the freshly added firewood. Someone else began laughing hilariously. Someone else began singing, ‘Come on baby, light my fire’.”

The witness continued, “I was standing in the shadows, observing the scene as the cloud of smoke and steam began to dissipate and the circle of joyous celebrants around the altar began to reassemble. I saw the most amazing sight. One of the glorious bodies stepped into the candle-lit circle and stood for a moment lit by the sparks from the holy fire. It was Celeste—she was extremely pregnant and cradling her perfect belly. It was Celeste the Beautiful, but also Celeste the Mystical Woman, the Cosmic Earth Mother glistening in the firelight.” She would give birth within a week—the first of several babies born and nurtured in that fruitful season. 

“Celeste smiled,” the witness went on. “The whole night seemed to hold its breath for a moment. And then someone yelled, ‘FIRE!’ Looking up to the roof of the sauna we all saw immediately what was happening. The sparks from the stovepipe had ignited the shingles and the blaze was being fueled from the cedar boughs.” 

The laughter and song stopped, replaced by panic. Someone grabbed the water bucket, but it was nearly empty and only made a pitiful dent in the blaze. The fire continued to spread. Someone shouted, “Get the hose!” Someone else shouted, “Get the volunteer fire department!” Someone shouted, “I’ll go for the fire truck!” Some people were running away. Others were tossing towels on the fire, but that only spread the flames around.

Very soon, though, the hose was unrolled and a strong stream of water was aimed at the roof and into the woodstove, producing another cloud of smoke and steam, and then it was done. By that time, according to the witness, the fire in the stove was out, and the roof was thoroughly doused. People were beginning to put their clothes on. There was a small circle of women around Celeste, making sure she was okay. Slowly the laughter began to return—at first a nervous giggle, later a celebration of a potentially tragic event overcome together. About 20 minutes later the fire truck arrived.

Soon the wine was being passed around again, pipes were being lit. The candles were still burning on the altar and someone started singing the Beatles, “I get by with a little help from my friends.” People began wandering back to their tents and vans, but the singing went on for another hour or so.

The next morning, there was a slow procession of people going out to survey the damage to the sauna. It was actually not as bad as it could have been. There was a hole in the roof about six feet square and one of the rafters was partially burned through, but the consensus among the experienced builders—all men—was that “you could just sister that two-by-four and slap new shingles on and she’ll be good as new. They’ve even got a couple of bundles of shingles up in the woodshed by the dome.”

Two of the builder guys had actually been working together on a roofing crew the previous summer and they stepped forward and took the project in hand. They gathered up all the materials and tools to do the job and settled on a plan. We all wondered, “Wouldn’t it be cool if these two could get on the same wavelength and do the whole job without talking?” They might have been feeling a residual buzz from the previous night’s mushrooms, but it seemed like a perfectly reasonable challenge to make the job more interesting. In fact, someone suggested they should take a little booster of that “silly-cybin tea.” 

Fully inoculated, they got the ladder solidly planted, loaded up their carpenter aprons, and set to work. They worked smoothly and silently—an exercise in man-to-man collaboration. They both had the sweetest smiles as they handed each other shingles and nails at the exact moment they were needed. A small circle gathered around them, watching their progress,  and commenting on the care and precision with which they worked, measuring and cutting each shingle while making sure the ladder was secure. They worked slowly, but oh so precisely. Only a few thumbs were bruised in the process. 

As promised, they did finish the job by dinnertime, driving the last nail as the mac and cheese and home-grown salad were about to be served. The only obstacle that significantly slowed the job was the fact that they needed to stop a couple of times for uncontrollable bouts of giggling.

NOTE: Incidents and characters in this story may be composites.