One Alta Journal reader responded to Rachel Lehmann-Haupt’s Alta Weekly Newsletter about her family connection to the Merry Pranksters with a counterculture story of her own. Got something to say? We’d love to hear from you. Email letters@altaonline.com. Please include your name, city, state, and phone number so we can contact you. Letters may be edited for brevity and clarity.

TAKE CARE OF ONE ANOTHER

I attended my first Rainbow Gathering (near the town of Roseburg, Oregon) in 1978. As a group of us, arriving on a shuttle together from disparate places, made our way into the designated valley, one man speculated on whether lots of folks would go naked—he intended to—and another mentioned he’d brought 5,000 doses of LSD.

The philosophy was “take care of one another, and they’ll take care of you,” and it manifested in everything from putting up structures to bringing, say, a case of bananas instead of one’s own meals. The only rules were “no money, no guns.” Around a group fire in the evening, we sang Grateful Dead songs. When someone started the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil,” others said, “No, let’s keep the vibe positive.”

I helped set up a tipi someone brought—earning myself a night’s sleep in that shelter. I stashed my clothes and hiked naked and barefoot up to the basalt bench above the valley—the latent heat of volcanic stone came right through my soles. I made my way down to the welcome fire, where I cooked meals, combining whatever was on hand, serving those arriving up the hill with their gear.

Independence Day was the high point of the gathering, and that evening, folks were distributing acid tabs. I took mine, as did the others hanging out at the welcome fire, and through the night, we felt energy rising. At one point, it grew so powerful, we spontaneously stood and joined hands around our fire, the flow of energy through that circle elongating our bodies, nearly lifting us from the ground. The great telepathic mind-meld bloomed: There we all were, celebrating the cosmos together, wearing our humanness but celebrating the life around us—the heat of basalt, the deep calm of the tall conifers, the vigor of the stream coursing down the valley, stars and flowers and little animals.

In the dawn, I started a giant pot of oatmeal, left someone in charge, and walked up into the valley to the sweat lodges. I shed whatever I was wearing (nights were cool) and went into the women’s sweat. More than two dozen of us crammed into that small, low enclosure, but we all fit, avoiding the small center pit dug into the turf. Once everyone was settled, seated on sprigs of fresh sage, our leader called for the first four stones. Those nearest the entry lifted the flap, and helpers outside brought in rocks red-hot from the fire one by one on a shovel, nestling them in the pit, then closed the flap. The leader threw a handful of water onto the rocks, steam shot up, filling the lodge, then she led chants and we joined in, breathing deeply, filling our lungs. More stones, more chants, and we sweated prodigiously. When we were done, we opened the flap and crawled out, mud on our knees, legs, butts, covered with sweat, feeling clean as newborns. Blinking in early-morning brilliance, we stood as helpers doused us with bucketfuls of cold water, and shrieked and danced and embraced. I was still residually tripping, now cleansed and reborn—the whole experience felt magical, a portal to a new way of being.

I have never ceased to believe in countercultural values: Live lightly on Earth, our only home; acknowledge the lives of all beings, not just humans; waste nothing; give thanks and be kind. Take care of one another: When someone needs help, don’t just stand there spectating. Rejoice in the infinite forms of the human body—no shame and no competition. Make music, spread joy. Make dwellings in harmony with place: Energy- and water-efficient, passive solar—adobe and rammed earth are well suited to my home, Colorado.

Of those countercultural icons, you don’t mention Wavy Gravy (formerly Hugh Romney), still waving after all these years, residents of Hog Farm living cooperatively, taking care of others. I met him years ago at a Washington, D.C., screening of his documentary, Saint Misbehavin’. Spread that light!

NC Weil
Denver, Colorado•