It's been downhill ever since.
Yasgur died, the farm was sold and free-loading pilgrims came annually by the microbus-load.
While the Woodstock concert took on mystical status, area residents regarded the rolling hay field where it was staged with ambivalence. Only a door- sized plaque mounted on concrete in a low corner marks the event.
Now, 28 years after the concert, local officials are trying to finally exploit the star-crossed site. Sullivan County is attempting to obtain the land 80 miles northwest of New York City and authorities are optimistic, toying with ideas of a museum or a park.
For most people, it's not very meaningful: a 40-acre field and that ridiculous monument," said Ira Cohen, a Woodstock veteran who is now county attorney. "It's not what it could be."
But any ode to peace, love and music must first overcome some pretty bad vibes. Lawyers are tussling over ownership of the land even as the county seeks its purchase -- or condemnation. Some locals are wary, and a band of aging hippies is taking on its establishment.
"It reminds me of that song--"They paved paradise and put up a parking lot," said Abigail Storm of the Woodstock Nation Foundation. "They say they're going to make a '60's shrine out of it. The fact of the matter is that it already is.
After the Woodstock concert, the little farming community of Bethel was left with little more than a muddy field. It was Woodstock, N.Y. -- a town more than an hour north that had turned away concert promoters in 1969 -- that got to keep the name, and the lucrative marketing cache.
Today, Woodstock thrives with little shops selling tie-dye shirts, peace posters and other counter-culture memorabilia. Bethel is an answer to a trivia question, a blink-and-miss-it town without so much as a directional sign for Yasgur's old farm.
The farm was subdivided after Yasgur died in 1973. The dip of land that formed a natural amphitheater for Woodstock performers is owned by June Gelish of New York City.
She has endured a trickle of visitors throughout the years and deluges each August for the festival's anniversary.
For many it's a journey to sacred ground. The site has even taken on a cycle-of-life quality: at least two babies were born here during 25th anniversary celebration in 1994, graffiti on the marker boasts of romantic encounters and one man had his ashes scattered over the field.
Locals report no problems with people passing through, it's the crowds who camp out for a few days each August who get under their skin.
"You're getting a different class of people now than the people in '69. They were into peace and love," said Art Vassmer, owner of a general store. "Now you get -- how do you put it nicely? They're stragglers, they go from concert to concert.
That antipathy has inspired novel methods of crowd control -- snow plows one year, manure spreading on the site another.
The crowds came anyway.
"It is true that we dumped chicken manure there," said Jonathan Drapkin, the new county manager. "It is true that we dug a ditch around the site. It is true that the state police were there preventing people from going there. All of this does not help sell the image of the county in general as a nice place to visit."
That "go away" sentiment reached full bloom in 1994 as the 25th anniversary of Woodstock approached. The original Woodstock promoters wanted to stage their anniversary concert in Bethel, but were rebuffed by county officials. One local supervisor said Woodstock '94 wasn't needed because the area was already hosting a festival honoring "The Red Badge of Courage" author Stephen Crane.
The Woodstock promoters went north to Saugerties, N.Y., where state police estimate between 350,000 and 400,000 showed up for the silver anniversary festival.
Bethel hosted a more modest concert that devolved into a free show.
The Crane festival was cancelled.
Drapkin sees the Woodstock venture as a chance to polish the area's image, which has faded in Sullivan County since the heyday of the Borscht Belt. He envisions a museum run by a non-profit foundation with memorabilia, taped testimoials and music from the Who, Jimi Hendrix and other performers at the original Woodstock festival.
A Long Island developer has even offered to help finance the project.
But the first hurdle is finding a spot.
Cohen has reached out to Gelish's lawyer and cousin, Stephen Davis. But a sale is not a sure thing.
Davis predicted things would turn out well for the county. But he also was not amused by the idea of condemning the land under powers of eminent domain if talks fall through. Drapkin and Cohen have mentioned it as a "last resort" option for the public good. Davis likens it to Stalin-esque socialism.
There's also the question of whether Gelish actually owns the land.
Yasgur's estate sold it in 1981 to Gelish's mate, Louis Necketopoulos, who died in 1989. But Necketopoulos' wife, whom he never divorced, claims that at least a portion of the land is hers. That case is to be heard this year in a probate court in Brooklyn.
And don't forget aging Aquarians like Storm, who believes she is on a "mission from God" to keep the site pristine.
"It's a place of love and peace and people get a booster shot before going back into a cold, hard, violent world," she said, beginning to weep.
Little wonder that Drapkin is keeping the option open of placing a museum near the site, instead of directly on the plot.
Cohen, who findly remembers watching Richie Havens passing him at Woodstock as the performer walked on to open the show, dismisses talk of the farm as sacred.
He sees a chance to finally honor Woodstock and help the area.
"People say, 'You're wrong to make this a moneymaker.' And my response is 'Let's be realistic.'"
