New Vrindaban

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From the top of the main ridge on Madhuban, Kirtanananda pointed out a clean sweep of land extending six or eight miles. "Eventually we'll get all this," he said. "This isn't just a community we're planning . . . it's a village. Later we might incorporate into a township, like the original Vrindaban in India. And that farmhouse, two A-frames and group of cottages you see on that opposite ridge is our Vrindaban. After lunch Paramananda, the manager of our farming program, will take you over there."

As my new guide and I—in a red Ford pickup—started up the two-mile dirt road to the community's original farm, we passed a stack of old lumber. "A couple of years ago we tore down a house in town for the free boards and timber," Paramananda explained, "but it wasn't worth it. Too much trouble . . and we soon found that the lumber currently sold by commercial yards is inferior and expensive."

"So what's your alternative?"

"If you're careful, you really don't have to pay much for building materials," Paramananda said. "We have an arrangement with a house wrecker who sells us good, used timber cheap. Sometimes he gives it away just to get it off his hands. He phones to let us know when there's a building with especially good floors or beams worth salvaging and we pick them up. This way we get the best with minimum effort and cost. They put good hardwood into houses 40 and more years ago and—if it hasn't gotten wet—it's just as good now as it was then. You can't buy lumber like that anymore. We salvage the wood and as many bricks as we want."

"I should think you'd build cabins from some of the trees around here."

"Well, these really aren't the best trees for that . . . they're not straight enough. Then too, cutting trees and hauling them out takes too long. We can have three cottages up in the time it takes to build one cabin. And besides that, we rarely cut a living tree unless it's for a good purpose. Our Guru says we shouldn't kill trees unnecessarily because they're living entities with souls . . . so we use only dead wood for fuel. Actually we have a tree and game preserve here that, eventually, should be a couple of miles square or about the size of a small State Park. We're trying to retain the natural beauty of the place."

I held on tightly as the truck banged into a series of deep ruts. Mud and water splashed through the windows. "Hare Krishna! We've got to get more gravel in there," Paramananda smiled . . . but I suspected that he was really inwardly wincing and estimating the damage.

"How long have you been working on this road?" I asked.

"About two years. We buy the slag and fill the holes—starting with the worst ones—by hand. Believe it or not, this trail is 100% improved. In the beginning we couldn't get up here at all except with horse and cart. Now we're driving back and forth every day."

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