The Rainbow Family is built on stores of previous Gatherings. There are tales of epic journeys across the USA, of forest fires being put out by bucket brigade of 20,000 dirty hippies, of constant battles with the police and the National Park police who have spend countless millions over the years trying to stop the Gathering. (there are times when the economic boom derived from the Gathering is really from all of the police who rent out virtually every motel/hotel room in the area), of Gatherings where 1,000s got sick and of Gatherings where babies have been born.
And many of the stories appear to be true. But as the stories are told over and over again, every year a new dimension seems to be added to them. But the Family needs these stories. They are told to remind people that we are a special group of people who at least for a brief while make a commitment to live by consensus and to live by loving and serving each other. And for the most part it works. Perhaps people exaggerate their importance in their stories, perhaps the fire was not quite as big, the police not quite as harassing or the journey in some multi-coloured school bus was not quite as exciting as is remembered, but it doesn't matter. It is in the telling of the tale, and it is in the listening of the tale that the identity of the Family gets shaped. The accuracy of the content is not as important as the fact that people need to tell the stories and that others want to listen.
This year a new tale had been added to the lexicon of Rainbow mythology. When the initial group of people got to the the site they found that the snow had not melted along the roadway into the area. While there is some discussion as to how high the snow was and how long the road was, I saw sections where clearly the snow was at least 2.5 feet high and it stretched for well over two miles. The road needed to get cleared so people could get to the parking areas. Young travellers from around the country, street kids from Seattle and the city of Vancouver Washington, people who had no where else to go but who had been told that if they came to the Gathering, they would find a people who would love and accept them, came and with hand shovels, shoveled the road clear of snow. Some of them came with no winter clothing, and with sandals on their feet and still they shoveled that road clear. The park people who had refused to plow the road were in awe and eventually sent in the plows. But by the time the plows arrived, the roadway was clear.
It may be that next year the snow in the stories will be a bit higher or the shovels a bit smaller. But when ever they hear the story, those who shoveled that road will smile and know that at least for a brief time they belonged to an elite group of beings who for no reason other than it needed to be done, did something that others thought was impossible.
Pretty amazing.
P.S. There was snow on the ground when I arrived and for most of the 10 days I was there, my tent was within five feet of a three foot high pile of snow just inside the forest that surrounded the meadow I camped in and where Instant Soup was located.
And many of the stories appear to be true. But as the stories are told over and over again, every year a new dimension seems to be added to them. But the Family needs these stories. They are told to remind people that we are a special group of people who at least for a brief while make a commitment to live by consensus and to live by loving and serving each other. And for the most part it works. Perhaps people exaggerate their importance in their stories, perhaps the fire was not quite as big, the police not quite as harassing or the journey in some multi-coloured school bus was not quite as exciting as is remembered, but it doesn't matter. It is in the telling of the tale, and it is in the listening of the tale that the identity of the Family gets shaped. The accuracy of the content is not as important as the fact that people need to tell the stories and that others want to listen.
This year a new tale had been added to the lexicon of Rainbow mythology. When the initial group of people got to the the site they found that the snow had not melted along the roadway into the area. While there is some discussion as to how high the snow was and how long the road was, I saw sections where clearly the snow was at least 2.5 feet high and it stretched for well over two miles. The road needed to get cleared so people could get to the parking areas. Young travellers from around the country, street kids from Seattle and the city of Vancouver Washington, people who had no where else to go but who had been told that if they came to the Gathering, they would find a people who would love and accept them, came and with hand shovels, shoveled the road clear of snow. Some of them came with no winter clothing, and with sandals on their feet and still they shoveled that road clear. The park people who had refused to plow the road were in awe and eventually sent in the plows. But by the time the plows arrived, the roadway was clear.
It may be that next year the snow in the stories will be a bit higher or the shovels a bit smaller. But when ever they hear the story, those who shoveled that road will smile and know that at least for a brief time they belonged to an elite group of beings who for no reason other than it needed to be done, did something that others thought was impossible.
Pretty amazing.
P.S. There was snow on the ground when I arrived and for most of the 10 days I was there, my tent was within five feet of a three foot high pile of snow just inside the forest that surrounded the meadow I camped in and where Instant Soup was located.
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