From its snug Route 213 storefront, the High Falls Food Co-op has spent 50 years building community around food, growing from a 1970s buying club into a member-owned grocery with nearly 1,200 owners.

In 1976, organic food was not a supermarket category, tofu was still exotic to much of America, and “local” had yet to become a marketing strategy. For a group associated with SUNY New Paltz, getting wholesome food required some organizing. They formed a buying club, pooling their orders and labor to make healthy staples easier to obtain.

Fifty years later, that venture has become the High Falls Food Co-op, a member-owned grocery store on the corner of Lucas Avenue and Route 213 with nearly 1,200 owners and a building packed with produce, bulk goods, prepared foods, and products from Hudson Valley farms. The co-op will mark the anniversary September 19 in downtown High Falls.

The institution’s earliest history remains hazy, says general manager Lucy Georgeff, who arrived in November 2020 after working for a Vermont food co-op for a decade. Much of what is known has been passed down by longtime members. A recent social media post brought a message from someone who remembered members of a Woodstock group splitting off to start a co-op near New Paltz—a piece of the story Georgeff had never heard. “There are little pieces that are still incomplete,” she says.

What Georgeff does know is that the co-op was incorporated in 1976 as a buying club organized by people connected to SUNY New Paltz. Founder Ellen Messer once told her that its original purpose was to make nutritious food more readily available. But the founders soon discovered that something else was taking shape. “They quickly realized that really their mission was to build community around food,” Georgeff says. “That’s what they ended up doing, and they thought that was really powerful.”

The High Falls Food Co-op’s tightly packed aisles reflect both its buying-club roots and its current challenge: finding room to grow while preserving the intimate scale members value.

The buying club eventually opened a store at Mohonk Road and Route 213, then moved across the street from its current location. The co-op purchased its present building—formerly the home of an eight-person family—in the early ’90s. Georgeff still encounters people whose memories connect the grocery store to the house it replaced, including one of the family’s daughters, who occasionally shops there.

For many years, the co-op was vegetarian, reflecting its back-to-the-land origins and a period when natural-food adherents embraced soy and homemade tofu. Its inventory evolved with the region and ideas about agriculture. Today it carries sustainably raised meat from small farms, emphasizing rotational grazing and practices that improve the soil.

The co-op has also had to adapt to its own success. Natural and organic foods once required buying clubs and specialty stores; now they can be found at Walmart. “We like to say that co-ops did such a good job of bringing natural foods to the marketplace that now they’re everywhere,” Georgeff says.

That change required food co-ops to become sharper retailers, adding marketing, specialized point-of-sale systems, and sophisticated margin management. The distinction, Georgeff argues, is who controls the store. Members elect a board, set policy, and help determine its direction. The store remains independent of outside corporate interests.

An early incarnation of the High Falls Food Co-op, where handwritten prices, crates of produce, wheels of cheese, and bunches of bananas evoke its back-to-the-land beginnings.

“Anybody can sell organic food, but we are doing it as a cooperative,” she says. “We’re really proud of the fact that we are a democracy, and I think that concept is still pretty radical today.”

The pandemic demonstrated another advantage. By buying through multiple sources, the co-op avoided some of the empty shelves seen at conventional supermarkets, reinforcing the value of community-scale food systems.

Membership has risen every year during Georgeff’s tenure. In 2022, the co-op replaced annual dues with an equity-share system: Owners purchase a share that remains on the co-op’s books as capital instead of renewing each year. As of July 31, it had 1,192 members.

A young participant displays his member-ownership artwork during the High Falls Food Co-op’s 2025 Co-op Explorers Day, part of the store’s efforts to cultivate its next generation of community members.

Success has created a physical problem. The current store’s narrow aisles and limited storage leave little room to expand its offerings. Under a vision developed by the board and staff for 2034—built around sustainable futures, strong local food networks, and vibrant community—the co-op is researching whether it should enlarge the store or move elsewhere. The challenge will be growing without losing its defining character: a place where shoppers hug in the aisles and linger over lunch outside.

The September 19 celebration, held from noon to 3pm on Second Street, will extend that spirit across downtown High Falls. Plans include live jazz, free food, children’s activities, and screenings of a short film about the co-op. Founding and sustaining members will be honored, while neighboring businesses join in with anniversary specials. “We’re part of High Falls, and High Falls is part of us,” Georgeff says. After half a century, the buying club’s original discovery—that food can be the organizing principle for a community—still holds.

Brian is the editorial director for the Chronogram Media family of publications. He lives in Kingston with his partner Lee Anne and the rapscallion mutt Clancy.

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