out our tent, Jemez Mountains, New Mexico - foto by Smith

After 1,771 miles and two-and-a-quarter days hurtling through Ohio, Indiana, Missouri, Nebraska, Texas and New Mexico, we turned off to start the last nine miles to The 38th Annual Rainbow Gathering of the Tribes at Parque Venado in the Santa Fe National Forest, and instead of empty dirt road we saw tents, parked vehicles and hundreds of people milling about playing music and tending fires.

We tried to keep going but were stopped by a dreadlocked dude who said “I can’t tell you what to do but it’s a mess up there. Already 12,000 people and the parking’s full. You might want to think about parking here and shuttling in. Up to you.”

We parked, unpacked, badly repacked, shuttled in, then hiked another mile or two up hill under sun with heavy packs, set up tent. Went down to main meadow, sat in sun and watched dogs run free amidst drummers, jugglers, dancers, singers, gypsies, yogas, old hippies, new hippies, punks, alternatives, dead heads, phish heads, musicians, vegetarians, children, babies, elderly, handicapped, nudists, wiccans, artists, folkies, pagans, jewelry makers, holistic healers, high schoolers, hard partiers, old alkys, the curious and curiouser.

Lying on our blanket in the sun I think, “This is nice, I love to people watch, and there are certainly a lot of friendly, fascinating people, but is this what we do for 3 days?”

Then they called the 4:20 Family Council Circle to order. We were curious what they might have to talk about, so sat just outside the circle of a hundred or so. An elder man turns and asks if I smoke grass. When I say yes, he says “Well then you need to be in the circle” and moves a dozen people further out so Lady and I are in. Turns out it’s the cannabis culture’s “4:20″ which is the cult time to smoke grass after school or work. They pass a coffee can around asking for marijuana donations so they can roll a bunch of joints and pass them out so hundreds of Family can all smoke at the same time. I got one toke in the first round. Then a dude walked up to the Dubliner on my left, handed him a joint and said “You look like you could use this.” Joints are generally passed to the left. He looked at me and said, “If I start this, you won’t get a toke, so you start it.” I did. The previous toke didn’t do much except make me happy for the symbolism of it all, what with my purposely leaving my smoke home and reality magically getting me a taste anyway; but the second toke was sweet, strong and acrid. One toke got me buzzed - so the magic went from symbolic to actual.

There are paths everywhere in all directions off the meadow, and each path is crossed by other paths, and all paths have dozens and dozens of tents bleeding off both sides up and down the mountain. And each camp [ ie, the LGBT camp, the Yoga camp, the Jesus camp, the Anarchists camp ] had its own kitchen and latrine. Everything was handmade, the water filtered and run through gravity pipes, the latrines holes and trenches dug in the earth. Everything had to be carried in, so there was a fantastic cleverness in doing much with little, like making a swing set for the children from a couple tied-together trees.

The food from each of the 20 kitchens was free. So was the coffee, tea.

Everybody seemed open, friendly, accepting, curious, helpful. Their standard greeting was a smile and “Welcome home.”

We walked up the market lane and once I saw the hand crafted merchandise available only for barter, I understood Lady’s attraction - this was tribal, the market the same feel of those we’d wandered in the small villages in Morocco and Mexico. We were no longer in the Corporate-Rat Race.

Magda of Poland, Africa, New Mexico - foto by Smith

Part way through the bazaar, we heard a shouted “Lady” and looked down to see our friend Magda whom we’d first met in Poland in 2006 and last saw in Africa in 2007. She lead us to her husband Blue, an artist and film maker who’s also the leader of the garage avant-garde cabaret rock n roll band The Urban-Jellen Test and who had given us our first poetry gig in Krakow by having us open for several of his concerts.

Blue7 of Poland, Africa, New Mexico - foto by Smith

Then to sleep, my tired body pained bones on hard ground, Lady freezing in insufficient old sleeping bag. Much tossing and turning. Little sleep.

But a cool day.

Rainbow - foto by Smith