That’s right folks, National Geographic.com acquired our project and featured it on a new NG.com Travel website.  We’ve been working on handing over the content to them for the past few months, and we’re excited to finally see the AFP under the yellow border.  After more than two years of planning, traveling, and editing, we’re so excited to have our project culminate here.  We could not have thought of a better ending.  We’re also hoping the AFP will now reach a much larger audience.  Check out the galleries and newly-edited videos.  There’s even a new one about Andrew and me “on the road”.

AFP Exhibit from American Festivals Project on Vimeo.

Last weekend we were able to celebrate the end of our project by hosting an exhibit and party in our hometown of Charlottesville, VA.  Our friends over at The Bridge Progressive Arts Initiative opened up their gallery and created the place to be on First Fridays.  It was a real joy to finally see our photos in print and have our closest friends and family there.  Brother Sean made an incredible mix of Cajun and Zydeco music, while we made an open call for people to bring food and turn the evening into a potluck.  What a turnout we had!  From 6:30-10:30 the place was packed!  Many people told us later they couldn’t even see the photographs because of the dense crowd.

The AFP attended festivals and events and parties for over a year, and there was no better way to end the project by having our own “festival” in Charlottesville.  Thanks to our many friends who helped set up the exhibit the week before:  Sean, Julie, Buster, Johnny, Maria, Mandy, Kevin, and Ashley.  Ya’ll are the best.

See it HERE.

Listen here!

See the post HERE.

Andrew will be revisiting his college stomping grounds as we hit the Georgetown campus tonight for a presentation on the American Festivals Project.  It’s rainy, rainy, rainy in these parts of Virginia, but we hope people will brave the wet and cold and join us for a fun evening.  The event is sponsored by the Georgetown American Studies department.  Free admission.  Reception to follow!

Click HERE for the Facebook event page.

We hope to see you there!

This is the first time we’ve seen any of our work in print, or at least hanging on a wall.  Although it was only a small representation of our project, we were very excited to hear some positive feedback and see people looking closely at the photographs.  We are now gearing up for our big, all-encompassing show on January 7th in Charlottesville!  More info on that to come.

Elizabeth, Andrew, and Ross at the opening.  My, aren’t those beautiful flowers?

Andrew’s photo from the Dartmouth Polar Plunge was projected on the outside of the gallery with other work from DC Photo Week.  Thank to Gina Martin from NG for snapping this photo!

From our last location on the Bonneville Salt Flats, the AFP made a monumental hike across the vast state of Nevada, stopping only once to photograph a rodeo from afar.  We couldn’t stay long though.  The skies turned dark and threatened to release a mighty wall of rain and lightning.

Our long trek southward put us in Mojave, CA.  On the way, we stopped at the base of Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain in California, and spent a night camping.  We woke to a glorious morning and decided on a hike up to some alpine lakes. That was some frigid water!

In Mojave, we had quite the experience staying with a fellow Couch Surfer named Zach.  Unfortunately though, we never met Zach.  He called the day before we arrived and told us he had to go to a funeral.  But despite not being in town, he let us stay at his house anyways.  Zach rents an old adobe church in downtown Mojave, and has the entire cavernous space to himself!  It proved to be a great home base as we traveled back and forth to California City to shoot Our Lady of the Rock.

The other interesting thing about Zach, as we learned through his lady friend (who was also crashing at the adobe church), was his involvement with the Virgin Galactic spaceship.  It turns out that Zach is the lead wing engineer on the mothership.  Amazing, yes.  Oh, and our roommate at Zach’s just happened to be Sir Richard Branson’s right-hand woman and is responsible for setting up the new airport where these futuristic crafts will soon launch into space.   It’s pretty amazing that this small team of people lives in the dusty desert town of Mojave, CA and is responsible for the future space travel.  (Notice the Chuck Yeager autograph in the photo above!).

The most remarkable part of our conversation was learning how commercial space flight is setting the pace to revolutionize international flights here on earth.  Within our lifetime, commercial flights will travel sub-orbital (where revolution around the earth takes only 90mins) which means we can be in Australia in about an hour.  be able to jump on a plane, launch into the earth’s first ring of orbit, circle around the earth, and re-enter the atmosphere above the desired location.  In other words, instead of taking eighteen hours to fly to Australia, it would only take forty-five minutes.  How far away are we from seeing humans pay for commercial flights to space?  Well, the first flight is scheduled to take off in two years.  Get in line though–there’s already a waiting list with 300 people.

photos courtesy of Virgin Galactic

From Mojave, we drove north through California, stopping at Sequoia National Park where the world’s largest living organism resides…the General Sherman.

After Sequoia National Park, we continued further north to San Francisco.  Before we drove into the heart of the city, we dropped our bags with Jessy and gang at the Rainbow Mansion in Cupertino.  The R.M. is a residence for eight highly educated and technically brilliant people who split rent for the multi-million dollar mansion overlooking Silicon Valley.  Jessy works for NASA and the others are Google engineers and computer wizards.   A french guy was building his own cloud computing company.  Even after a five description of what that actually means, we were still confused.  We’re keeping an eye on these folks because they will probably soon take over the world.

Jesse, host extraordinaire and chef of green beans.

Despite the AFP’s first visit to the West Coast, our experience in San Francisco was short-lived and scenically disappointing.  We spent our only night in San Fran shooting the Drag King competition, and the day after required us to hit the road and make the long trek up to Montana.  As we were leaving town, Andrew suggested we take a small detour to actually see the Pacific Ocean and drive across the Golden Gate Bridge.  We had made it so far–why not add an hour to the trip to see the sights and smell the salty air?

Well, when we left Cupertino, we had clear, blue skies.  However, as soon as we came up the downtown of San Fran, a deep fog enveloped the city.  While crossing the G.G. bridge we could only see a few hundred feet ahead of us!  As we passed the large red towers above our head, we sensed the great Pacific swaying below, but we never actually saw the body of water.  San Fran held true to its stereotype of the foggy city!

We made another epic drive from San Francisco, putting the pedal to the metal while breezing through Nevada, Idaho, and Montana.  No matter the driving shift, we hit road construction in every state.  On one of the windiest and scariest roads that we experienced on the trip, we were stopped at 2am by a ghostly construction worker.  She probably hadn’t talked to anyone in hours, and we became the victims of her life story in the black of the night.

Why was the AFP blazing through the night on the back roads of Montana?  Well, we were headed to Missoula.  This is Andrew’s old stomping ground for two summers, and we were scheduled to meet up with friends and then spend a few days exploring Glacier National Park.

Andrew in front of Ze Fun Haus on Front St where he lived for a summer in 2003.

Homemade ice cream before the 2 hour jaunt from Missoula to West Glacier, MT

Jenna and Buster at Frita’s in West Glacier after a day on the Middle Fork of the Flathead River.

Sally Thompson, Rich Thompson, and Rossaroo at the Glacier Raft Company end-of-the-year party.  Could there be nicer people than the Thompsons?

At Triple Divide Pass in Glacier Nat’l Park.  Water drains to the Gulf, the Pacific, and the Hudson Bay in Canada from this point.

Medicine Grizzly Lake.

Walking the Red Eagle trail through a forest burned in 2006.

Tiny Andrew leaps into a waterfall.

After all that grueling hiking in MT we soaked our bodies in the Goldbug Hotsprings outside Salmon, ID.

Wyoming delivered a fantastic rainbow, which made Buster instantly rip off a herky like she was back in Mississippi cheering on the football team.

In a recent talk at National Geographic live, we commented on how America has some distinctly beautiful places, but one must drive a VERY long way through depressing, poorly-planned, or arid landscapes.  It was very refreshing ending a year-long road trip in such a beautiful place as Glacier National Park.  It redeemed our hope in America.  Let’s take care of the pockets of paradise that still exist across our great country.

What a beautiful farewell to the West and the AFP’s 13 month journey!

This will be a live Twitter event.  You can submit questions for the speakers by directing your tweet to #nglive.

The event also has a FACEBOOK page!

That’s right.  Drag kings, not drag queens.  As the AFP drove from the arid landscape of Southern California and headed towards greener pastures, we brainstormed about what kind of event to document in the infamous city of San Francisco.  The hilly city is known for all types of notable things: Alcatraz, Bay to Breakers, Techy computer parties, Chinatown, and a large LGBT community.  We decided to focus on the latter, only because our Google searching led us to a wonderful event that we just had to check out.

The San Francisco Drag King competition is in its 14th year, and claims to be the largest of its kind in the world.  The AFP showed up before the event and set up a portrait studio in the second floor balcony.   We watched from above as a number of drag kings strutted their stuff and showed off their talents in the steep competition to become the King of em’ all.  We scouted the crowd and asked people up to our photo backdrop for a little portrait action.  And action there was!  This bunch was ready to party!  Let’s just say that there were a few photos that we could not show on this site.

There wasn’t much more to the evening in terms of what we could photograph, so we’ve stuck to showing you our best portraits.  We are very grateful to the organizers of the event who allowed us to come in and take portraits.  We were warmly welcomed and appreciated the hospitality from Fog City.  Here’s to Drag King 2010!

“I think we passed the turnoff.”  As Andrew uttered these words, I realized how many times I had heard the statement during our year of driving 45,000 miles around the United States.  This time, however, Andrew and I were neither in a city nor a suburb.  We were deep in the heart of the Mojave desert, and we were, literally, lost.

We had driven 25 minutes north of Mojave, California, searching for a Catholic religious gathering in the middle of the desert.  The location we were hoping to find was called Our Lady of the Rock, where Mary is said to appear on the 13th of every month.  There is no local church connected to OLOTR, no directions online, and when we asked around town, virtually no one had heard of what we described.

After days of searching for directions, we finally struck a chord when getting the oil changed at Valvoline.  I just happened to ask an attendant if he had heard of the mysterious Catholic gathering in the middle of the desert, and by chance he had!  He and his friend had taken dirt bikes out to the site, where they discovered three crosses that stood in the middle of the desert.  All we had to do was go straight on this certain road, and then look for a water treatment plant.  What–water out in the middle of the Mojave desert!?  I was afraid we were doomed.

A beacon in the desert for lost photographers.

Turning down a dirt road that eventually became deep pits of sand, Andrew and I knew we had gone the wrong way.  The Champe Champ, our newly-acquired Ford Focus station wagon, did not have the four-wheel power action that the Dodge Lodge once delivered.  It was 10:15 AM, and we were late, hot, and frustrated by being lost in a place that threatened a slow and painful death by dehydration or mutant lizards.

After turning around and continuing on what felt like the correct road, we found a remote ranger station. A gentleman appeared from behind a trailer and pointed us in the right direction.  “Oh yeah, Our Lady of the Rock.  Those Catholic people get together every month.  Just down the road another two miles, then turn left.  You can’t miss it.”  We were relieved to have found our way.  It was 10:30 AM, and we drove the Champe Champ like a bandit out of hell.

Surprisingly, the scene at OLOTR was more subdued than what we expected.  As we watched people setting up tents and a sound system, it was clear that we had made it in plenty of time.  Looking around, and noting the barren landscape and general proximity to nothing at all, I thought that we may have already experienced a small miracle in finding the location.  Back where the men were setting up the sound system, a small wooden structure marked the center of the gathering.  Attached to a white picket fence were dozens of colorful streamers that marked the enclosure.  Inside the structure sat a statue of the Virgin Mary, surrounded by flowers.  This was clearly the altar, or center of the service, where something–but what we did not know–would take place.

Ross adroitly inserts himself front and center into the ceremony.

The origins of OLOTR date back to 1989, when Maria Paula, a mother of six children, was praying fervently for one of her daughters who had fallen ill to leukemia.  Maria Paula drove out to the desert, and was praying in a canyon.  At 5:00 one morning, Maria was suddenly enveloped by a white fog and she heard the sound of birds and smelled the sweet aroma of a garden.  A woman appeared within the cloud of white, with a rosary in her hands.

She said, “I am your Lady of the Rock, Queen of Peace of Southern California.  I come to bring you the peace and love that is so needed.  I will visit the homes, and I will form one family for the service of the Lord, Our God.  I will form an army, and we will work together.  I will bring my angel from faraway lands.  In him you will confide and tell all that I am indicating to you.  Go in the peace of God.”

Maria Paula emerges with her entourage in some seriously hip shades.

To this day, Maria Paula returns to the desert on the 13th of every month to receive a message from the Virgin Mary.  Throngs of supporters and miracle-expectant spectators drive from hours away to take part in a rosary service and receive blessings from Maria Paula.  Over the years, Maria has gathered a following, but it’s hard to determine why OLOTR has turned into such a phenomenon.  Most gatherings attract 200-300 people, but when the 13th falls on a Saturday or Sunday,  2,000-3,000 people descend upon that barren spot in the middle of the desert.  Apart from the general public, Maria’s following includes several other women who travel with her to OLOTR.  Like Maria Paula, they are dressed like nuns. However, it’s not certain that the women, or Maria, are actual Catholic nuns.  Due to the official response from the Catholic church, it’s very likely that they are not.

The Associated Press reports, “Catholic authorities have officially suggested there is no Mary at Our Lady of the Rock. After more than a year of investigating, they found it to be due to somebody’s imagination, not anyone’s bad will. The diocese in Fresno, which has immediate authority over California City, has concurred with Los Angeles officials, but has placed no restrictions on people gathering at the site.”

Most folks are there to pray but hardly anyone (including the boy on the left) can resist a snapshot of the sun when the moment calls.

Despite the position of the Catholic authorities, thousands of faithful believers return each month seeking blessings and healings from Maria Paula.  People also flock to OLOTR hoping to see their own vision of the Virgin Mary.   The format of this has taken an interesting form.  Instead of looking for the Virgin Mary with their own eyes, these religious spectators come with polaroid and digital cameras, snapping away at the sun in hopes of seeing Her appear in their photo.  It’s unclear how this phenomenon was started, but someone must have taken a picture of the sun at some point, spotted the Virgin Mary in their photo, and showed it off to everyone at the event.  Now it seems to be the norm.

Behind the main structure, under a large tailgate-style tent, we met a family who had traveled three hours to come to OLOTR. The parents had first come to OLOTR before anyone knew about it and they spoke of their first sighting of the Virgin Mary.  Two storm clouds blew in from opposite directions and when they converged, the clouds split, a bright light appeared, and the Virgin was standing within the clouds.  They said everyone there saw it.  Even little kids were pointing up in the air and saying, “Look, the Virgin Mary!”

The parents now return with their son and daughter-in-law almost every month.   The entire family comes to witness potential miracles and wait for visions of the Virgin Mary.  They were eager to talk about their experiences and the holiness of the site.

An OLOTR faithful holds up a print of a photograph where clouds resemble St. Francis and a dove at his fingertips.

But this family was not the only one claiming miracles at OLOTR.  Even the construction workers, who were building a grotto on the site, were converted believers.  They told us about the first time they visited the site with Maria Paula to spec the job.  As they were approaching the site of the grotto, Maria Paula stopped, knelt down on the ground with her other sisters, and looked up at the sky.  The two men followed her gaze, and saw streams of gold light descending upon the head of Maria Paula.  They claimed it was a miracle, and since then, other kinds of miraculous things have happened on the job site.  When the two men told us their stories, their eyes were wide with wonder, and they could hardly hold back their smiles.  Truly, these men had witnessed something miraculous.

Andrew and I heard a great number of stories that day.  From healings to prophecies to sightings of the Virgin Mary.  But our experience that day was rather un-miraculous–if that’s a word.  We witnessed the rosary service, the procession of a statue of Christ, the blessings by Maria Paula, and people taking pictures of the sun.  But the only thing out of the ordinary was one woman who broke out in loud cries during the service, and had to be taken to the back of the group.  She might have been overcome by the Holy Spirit, but she may also have been struggling with some serious issues.  Or possibly, she was overcome by the heat.  We were, remember, in the middle of the Mojave desert, at midday.

Andrew gave his best shot at finding the Virgin Mary with his Nikon. We don’t see her…do you?

The AFP certainly isn’t trying to disprove OLOTR.  But as journalists, we report what we see.  And for someone who has grown up in church, the events we witnessed that day were not foreign, or even bizarre.  Had we hoped to see more excitement, more drama, and more people?  Yes, certainly.  We wished we could have come back the following month to see the crowds and a potential sighting, but the AFP had more miles to cover.  We encourage you to make the journey out there and witness it yourself.  If you do decide to go, we can help you with the directions.

Our Lady of the Rock from American Festivals Project on Vimeo.

There are probably plenty of folks out there who would debate whether South Dakota is part of the “West.”  The Rockies don’t run through it.  It’s name doesn’t conjure up an image of cowboys. It’s basically on the same longitudinal coordinates as Nebraska.  And Nebraska is not the “West.”  Right?  But South Dakota — it feels Western.  You can sense that something is on the other side. The state is like a dinner bell, telling you to wash up for a supper of hearty mountains and quenching rivers.  And when the corn fields end at the precipice leading into the badlands it becomes all too clear that the stitching on the national hem has busted loose.  “Be prepared for the unfamiliar,” it should say, because that’s what you get a few hundred miles past the Missouri River when unrivaled kitsch meets sacred native lands.

Ross demonstrates the inverted back-flip at the Boys and Girls Club for the photo workshop students.

The world’s tallest prairie dog statue.  A giant angry smoke breathing T-Rex.  Cups of coffee for a nickel.  Wild buffalo herds.  Moon-like topography.  Expansive grasslands.  Chinese tourists.  Fleets of RVs.  Indian reservations.  All of it becomes a big jumble of gaping contrasts around the Black Hills of South Dakota. And in no place was this more evident than in Pine Ridge, in the southwest corner of South Dakota, on one of the poorest Indian reservations in the country.

Pine Ridge is a community that knows poverty unlike almost any other zip code in America, not to mention diabetes, teenage pregnanacy, gang violence, and alcoholism.  In the wealthiest nation in the history of the world, Pine Ridge stands out as a great exception.  Running water and electricity are absent from a huge number of homes.  Families are broken as frequently as windows.  And in twenty years, one woman told us nothing had changed except for the new Subway. So it was with a certain degree of trepidation that we arrived on the “res.”  Being two young white males from Virginia with big cameras around our neck, we knew we would stick out. And we did.  But it led to one of the greatest experiences of the trip.

Ben Smith at the end of our epic weekend.

As it turned out, where we entered as isolated strangers, we left invigorated by new friendships, the warmth of the people at Pine Ridge, and the intimate tour of the traditions of the Oglalla tribe.  In a single day, we participated in a sweat lodge ritual, viewed a sundance ceremony, witnessed the wildest display of horse races, and photographed the evening session of the Pow Wow.  We owe tremendous gratitude to Ben and Diane Smith who offered their front yard to two young homeless strangers and then showed us a day we will never forget.  Thanks also to James Rhodes whose idea it was for us come to Pine Ridge to join him in photographing the Pow Wow.

As you’ll see in this post, we diverged a little from our customary documentary style approach to dabble in portraiture.  It would have been too painful to leave Pine Ridge without portraits of these men and women in beautiful “regalia.”  So on a hot too-sunny-to-get-good-pictures afternoon, we pulled in participants after they finished a competition and asked them to stand for us.  We’re thrilled with the results from our makeshift studio.  And it also gave us a chance to meet and talk with lots of different people who had traveled from different states to compete.  In fact, the entire element of competition was something we hadn’t forseen.  But we weren’t surprised; prize money is a common theme among the events we attend.  Just like at the rodeo or the Lumberjack games, Pow Wows offer prize money for different categories, and so most participants are moving week to week to a new location on the circuit.  And the tug of tradition and family heritage is an equally important aspect along with the money.  But just like so many other festivals we’ve covered, it’s unclear if prize money will be enough to keep these traditions alive.  On the Pine Ridge reservation, fewer and fewer of the younger generation are speaking Lakota.  Basketball is far more popular year round than native dancing.  And traditional garb is worn far more infrequently than contemporary urban labels.  In an era of surging wealth for Indian communities who are distancing from their past and profiting from casinos and natural resource extraction, it’s unclear how Pine Ridge will evolve and transform, if ever.  For the time being, it is a community close to its history, and struggling, just as the rest of the US does, with how to hold onto the past as it moves into a new and unpredictable future.

Pine Ridge Pow Wow from American Festivals Project on Vimeo.

Friends,

We’ve been in the woods and on the road too much to post.  But that doesn’t mean we haven’t been busy!  Good stuff is on the way.  Even though we are driving back East, we still have five more big posts to share with you from the West.  On the list is a pow-wow from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the Sturgis motorcycle rally, the Bonneville salt flats Speed Week, “Our Lady of the Rock” Virgin Mary experience in the Mohave Desert, and the San Francisco Drag King competition!  Stay tuned!

Here are ten photos from our night. Five color frames from Ross, and five black and white from Andrew.

2009 World Lumberjack Competition from American Festivals Project on Vimeo.

We take so many more pictures than just at festivals and events, and we meet so many good people in our journey from place to place.  Here are some pictures of people and places from the road as early as the beginning of July!

At a campground in southern Colorado, on the way to the Rainbow Gathering.  This guy was smoking a stogie and was probably quietly reciting lines in his head to “A River Runs Through It.”

Our gang caught a few trout that proved to be good eatin’.  That night a bear came trompin’ through our campground.  My friend Mark slept on the picnic table because he didn’t have a tent.  He woke to the bear sniffing his feet at 4am.

The most beautiful clouds in northern New Mexico.  Don’t shoot and drive.

The beautiful sunset was followed by a full moon over the desert.

In Bloomfield, NM, Ross stayed with the Harris family.  They’re a big family, and two others from the gang are not even pictured!  Thanks for your wonderful hospitality!

Cadillac Ranch.  Amarillo, TX.

In Dallas, TX, Uncle Alex proved to be the host with the most.   Alex is so proud of his Texas outdoor smoker.  It probably weighs two-tons, can be towed behind a truck, and has a steel state of Texas welded onto the handles.  He smoked a delicious pork tenderloin for dinner, and concluded the evening by renting “Fitzcarraldo”, a movie about a German guy who tries to build an opera house in the Peruvian jungle.  Thanks for the great time, Alex!

Don’t be fooled by the tropical backdrop…this is rural Oklahoma.  And these nice young ladies served us up some sweet and cold snowcones while the Dodge Lodge cooled off en route to the Noodlin’ fest.  They also sell kitschy antiques in the adjoining shop and what they do for fun wasn’t real clear.  We just got a bunch of giggles when we asked.

Sooners call it like it is.

It was so hot in Oklahoma that tent sharing at 90 degrees at night was impossible.  Ross found a better alternative on top of a stone picnic table.

“How much weed you boys hauling in that truck?”  That was the question  the officer on the left kept asking repeatedly.  He was kidding.  Kind of.  We stopped to ask directions to a place to eat.  It was July 10 and Ross was wearing a Happy July 4 tiara.  We had Virginia plates.  We told them we were photographers.  Our truck ran on veggie grease.  We were in a tiny Oklahoma town that looked like it hadn’t recovered from the great depression of 1929.  When the cops looked in the back of the truck and saw the veggie oil set-up, they thought we were running a portable meth lab.

Breyerfest wasn’t the only party in Lexington, KY.  Dave Kaplan and Buddy the Beagle hosted us for 3 nights with a final celebration to break in the new house…inside out burgers, hay bails,cornhole, champagne at midnight, and Roofie Ball.

Dear President Obama: The AFP has a plan to put to use our nation’s foreclosed and vacant homes and strengthen our communities with a new active sport…Roofie Ball.  Here are the 10 rules:
1. Find a vacant house with a sloping roof
2. Grab 2 tennis racquets, a racquetball, and an opponent
3. Keep score like ping pong
4. Serve the ball onto the roof to begin the game.
5. The ball must touch the surface of the roof at least once and is not allowed to touch the ground or go off the side of the roof.
6. Points are awarded to the person who last hit the ball on the roof and a single point is deducted for hitting a bathroom vent.
7. For mult-level roofs, the second level (called “the precipice”) makes that point worth two points.
8. Hitting windows is legal, only if prior to or afterwards the ball touches the roof.
9. Protective eyewear is recommended but not required.
10. Roofie ball should be played during social gatherings inolving the potential for high levels of intoxication.

In St. Louis, Ross’s aunt and uncle, the Sprongs, took us in for a few days and really treated us to a good time. From the All-Star game, to wonderful meals, to epic table-tennis matches, the Sprongs showed us an excellent time in Kirkwood, MO. Cousin Emmy is going to kill us for posting a picture of her in a towel, but it’s the only picture we had!

At Busch Stadium in St. Louis, with the famous “gateway to the west” arch in the background, a stealth bomber flew over head to cap off an overly sentimental and patriotic opening ceremony.

President Obama threw the first pitch of the game, but it was pretty pathetic.  From behind third plate, we could just make out the ball kicking up dust as it bounced IN FRONT of home plate.  Oh well, you can’t be good at everything.

Cousin Celia provided hours of entertainment in the pool.  We’ll never forget her overwhelming excitement at sharing youtube videos of a Megladon.  What, you might ask, is a megladon?  Come on, even a seven year-old knows it’s a giant, prehistoric shark. In fact, Celia is looking kind of sharky in this photo.

Breakfast, Springfield, MO.

Friend Keith took the time out of his hurried departure out of Chicago to meet us for lunch.  It was really great to catch up with this old Charlottesville friend.  Our Korean waitress insisted on coming over to the table and offering eating suggestions to Andrew.  “More sauce, more sauce!”  “Here, this meat, eat this meat”.  We died laughing.

In only the most unusual of circumstances will you find yourself in Wisconsin Dells twice in a year.  But instead of cheerleaders we found a giant cowboy who wasn’t quick enough on the draw.

Dropping the “National Geographic” bomb helped land us a free entry into the Freshwater Fish Museum with the World’s Largest Muskee presiding over the park. We’re talkin’ major access, folks.

We find the best people through couchsurfing. In Hayward, WI, Rob Smith gave us his front yard to pitch a tent at his family’s Callahan Lake Resort while we were in town for the Lumberjack Championships.  Their family resort is the kind of mom-and-pop place you would imagine when you think of Wisconsin lakes.  Rob’s mother still tends to the bar at night, and she can tell you some good stories if you have the time to sit down.  Rob’s heading out on a road trip of his own to kick off 2010.

You have to visit Callahan Resort to see the muskee water fountain.  Or as they call them up there–bubblers.

The underwater camera gets some more use in Callahan Lake as Andrew gets airborne off the Loose Caboose.

Uncle Jay and Aunt Lisa hosted us up in Duluth–the land of COLD.  They were much more welcoming than the Hells Angels.  Jay is an excellent nature photographer and ladder climbing extraordinaire.  Their apartment looks out over Lake Superior from the terraced hills of Duluth.  We had such a nice time talking photography and art.  All our meals were eaten outside on the porch, in the cool breeze from the lake.

Aunt Lisa trains animals.  Her favorite bird, Tico, plays dead.

From Minnesota, we made an epic, all day and night drive to the Badlands.  We arrived in the park at 2am, spread out our tarp behind a hill, and fell asleep watching shooting stars.

In the morning, we were woken at 6am by some crazy tourists who thought it would be a good idea to watch the sunrise and tromp through our campsite.  Despite the lack of sleep, at least we got up in time to catch good light.

Later that day we drove into Wall, SD, and visit the infamous Wall Drug.  It was a great experience.  5 cent coffee, roaring dinosaurs, funny bumper stickers, and a most impressive historical photography and painting collection, all made Wall Drug a place to be remembered.

Driving through the open plains of South Dakota, we had to get out and run through the green fields.  Unfortunately, the grass is infested with grasshoppers and tiny flies.  We were quickly attacked.

Honey!  On route from Pine Ridge Reservation, S.D.

Listen here!

Every year at the national Rainbow Gathering of the Tribes, a wedding is performed, a baby is born, and a death occurs.  This is a perfect opening fact to summarize the complexity and scale of the Rainbow Gathering.  It helps one understand that a Gathering is more than just a formation of people in the woods.   It is a city of rainbow people–a great city where there is death, life, happiness, and sadness.

Driving into the Santa Fe National Forest, I had no idea what to expect from a Gathering.  Of course I had heard rumors of the thousands of hippies, the drug use, and the infamous confrontations with law enforcement officers (”LEOs”).  I had been to my fair share of hippy festivals and even spent a few days at a spiritual commune in the mountains of West Virginia.  I had a pretty good idea of the kind of people I would run into, but I just could not come to grips with the fact that 10,000 people show up to these national gatherings.  10,000 people–in the woods!  No electricity, no infrastructure, no leaders!   I was fascinated to discover how this temporary and transient society would function.

The rainbow gatherings date back to 1972, when a number of counterculture “tribes” from North Carolina and the Pacific Northwest gathered together for four days in Colorado.  Some people claim the first gathering was a direct outcome of Woodstock.  In 1973, another gathering took place in Wyoming, and it was soon apparent that an annual event should be declared and organized.  For the past 37 years, the national rainbow gatherings have continued to meet from July 1-7 in National Forests, attracting on average 10,000 to 30,000 people.  On a smaller scale, a rainbow family consisting of 200-300 people travel the U.S. following the tour of regional rainbow gatherings that occur throughout the year.  From what I learned, the regional gatherings evoke the true identity of the Rainbow people, whereas the national gatherings are often attended by first-timers, and tend to be less focused on the mission of the rainbow people.

And what exactly is that mission?  Well, it’s sometimes hard to define what the Rainbow Family is all about.  The values listed on the Wikipedia site are as follows: “Love, Peace, Non-Violence, Environmentalism, non-commercialism, volunteerism, respect for others, consensus process, and diversity.” The central event at the national gathering is the large “ohm”, which literally means a bunch of people holding hands in a circle and saying “oooouuuuhhmmm” in unison.  The beginning of the “ohm” at 12 noon on July 4th, marks the end of a long silence from the morning of the 4th in which people are supposed to meditate on world peace.  After the circle has been formed and the “ohm-ing” is completed, children from the “kiddie village” parade through the circle and everyone cheers and embraces and starts to celebrate world peace.

Now some of you might be reading this and wonder how gathering in the woods and “ohm-ing” with 10,000 people will contribute to world peace.  I have the same doubts as you.  But I’m not out to decide whether the rainbow family is contributing to world peace or a better society.  Certainly they stand for wonderful values–values that I think most of humans can agree upon.  I don’t want to criticize whether or not they are going about it in the best way.  Besides, at the national gathering, a large majority of the attendees are not interested in the mission of the rainbow gathering.  Most people are coming because they know they can spend a week in the woods with other like-minded people and score free drugs.  Still, others come to take part in something counterculture, to relive their hippy days, or to have a vacation and find out what the rainbow gathering thing is all about.

My rainbow journey began in Denver, CO, where I picked up four passengers who were looking for a ride on Craigslist.  It was evident upon picking them up that the gathering would be full of people from all walks of life.   From the seventeen year old kid who’s mom informed me he was taking pot with him, to the thirty-something guy looking to relive his old party days, to the couple from Seattle who were not exactly your typical hippy type, but had been to three other gatherings–the Dodge was a rainbow crew headed south towards the land of peace, love, and smelly hippies.

After a long drive and a maze of winding fire roads through the Santa Fe National Forest, we emerged upon a sea of cars that filled meadows and stretched for four miles along a wooded ridge.  There were your typical hippy buses and VW vans, but even more interesting were the many expensive cars in the lineup: Subaru Outbacks, BMW’s, Saabs, and VW Jetta’s.  The nice cars certainly outnumbered the beaters.  It was apparent that not everyone in attendance was necessarily counterculture–at least not economically.  My favorite was this guy who just couldn’t wait to get to the gathering and parked a little too quickly.

Upon unpacking and starting the descent into the valley where the main meadow was located, we were met within twenty minutes by a big sign stretched across the path.  It read, “Welcome Home!”  I certainly didn’t feel like there was anything “homey” about camping out in the woods for five days, but I imagined that for many people, this gathering truly was a place where they finally feel like they are coming back to their people and their home away from mainstream culture.  Later, I learned that rainbow types refer to the world outside of the gathering as “Babylon”.  So you wouldn’t say you were making a trip to town for food.  Instead, you would say you were driving into Babylon.  As we passed people on the trail, they offered their own greeting by saying, “Welcome home–I love you!”  I wanted to respond with, “Why thank you–but I think there might be a mistake.  You see,  you might love humanity as a whole, but certainly you don’t actually love just me.  You’re a nice person, but I don’t love you in return.”  It soon became apparent that almost everyone on the trail would say this to me, so I soon learned to just say “thank you!”  That seemed to satisfy them.

As the trail progressed, we began to see tents scattered throughout the woods.  Soon there were signs of camps, as the number of tents increased and groups of people sat around fires playing music or socializing.  Both on the left and the right of the trail were tents as far as one could see through the woods.  We were literally entering a city, with paths and signs and kitchens and bathrooms and medical stations.  Little did I know, the area we walked through was only one section of camps out of dozens and dozens spread throughout the forest.

Another half mile down the trail we emerged from the woods and looked upon the main meadow, I literally had to catch my breath.  The expansive meadow was filled with close to one thousand people sitting in a series of concentric circles, while others walked to-and-from camps, played in drum circles, practiced hula-hooping or dance, talked with friends, or taught classes.  Music and drums filled the air.  While the couple that I had driven down went looking for their group, I sat in the meadow and just watched.  It was evident by the looks of most people that this was a hippy festival, but there were people from all walks of life.  Black, white, asian, hispanic, young, old, very old, well-dressed, poorly dressed, or not dressed at all.  Interestingly, there was a large population of street punk kids.  Perhaps they are the new hippy.  The meadow was a sea of humanity collected in a bowl of nature.  It was truly a spectacle.

The people that I associated with the majority of the week did not include everyone at the gathering.  Yes, there was another group of people–the group that the rainbow family likes to refer to with a whisper as the alcoholics.  And their camp?  A Camp.  “A as in Alcohol,” I was told.  Surprisingly, alcohol is heavily discouraged at the rainbow gatherings because it is seen as a violent drug.  Statistically, they’ve been proven correct.  There is always violence at the national rainbow gathering, and more likely than not, it takes place in A camp.  This outcast of a camp is always situated on the outskirts of the gathering, usually close to the access road or where people park.  It consists of the rough and tough, the weary and traveled.  This unruly group of people is so full of alcoholics that the violent incidents seem destined from the very start.  In the years past, there have been murders.  Others have fallen from cliffs.  This year, it was a stabbing.  So maybe there is something to say for just sticking to LSD..!

My friends from the drive down found their camp thirty minutes later and we made the trek with all our gear to meet their friends.  We walked another half mile through more woods and trails surrounded by tents, camps, and kitchens.  Our camp turned out to be in a quiet, remote area, and I had just enough light to set up my tent.  Later that night I explored the the main meadow and some of the neighboring camps.  When the lights go out at a Rainbow Gathering, it feels like the place comes alive.  I wouldn’t be surprised if many people stay up all night and sleep well into the afternoon.  As the moon rose over the dense forest, the bonfires were lit and the drum circles formed.  The dancers and fire-twirlers came out.  The drugs were flowing freely.  Walking on the paths I overheard offers for acid, LSD, peyote.  You name it, and it was probably there.  That night I had the sensation that everyone at the gathering were like ants in an ant colony.  Walking the trails late at night you pass people using flash lights or head lamps.  Within open portions of the forest, you can look down into a meadow and see lights crisscrossing through the brush.  Individuals were walking from camp to camp, each with their own purpose and destination.  This was a city in the woods.

I’ve mentioned the kitchens within these camps, but I want to go into more detail about the system of food and goods.  The biggest thing that surprised me about the rainbow gathering was that there was absolutely no money.  Food is free and everything else is traded.  The kitchens are responsible for this system of free food.  In total, there were probably 30 kitchens.  Most of the food is donated by the people who run the kitchen, however a large company called Organic Valley is responsible for many of the fresh goods.  Now, not all of these kitchens are serving three meals a day–and even if it’s one meal, it might only be one course.  For example, there is one kitchen called Lovin’ Ovens, that only cooks pizza and serves it on two big nights during the week.  Then there is a kitchen that only serves pop-corn, and another that only serves tea.  What is most remarkable about these kitchens is that they are carrying in all the food to their sites.  That might mean one or two miles of wheeling carts up steep hills and muddy trails.  Additionally, there is no propane, no electricity, and no running water.  All the cooking is done over open fires, or in the ovens that people construct weeks ahead of time with mud and stones.

This free food system is really spectacular, but it can take a good amount of time and effort to fill up one’s belly throughout the day.  At 5 pm-ish (that’s how rainbow time works), there is a main dinner in the meadow.  Anyone who wants to be fed must sit in the concentric circles and wait to be served by not not just one kitchen, but by many kitchens that have come together to help with the dinner.   It’s rare that you see a thousand people being fed at once–especially a thousand people sitting in a field being fed from wagons.  I should note that most people do not just eat there at that main dinner.  It’s essential to eat at many locations throughout the day if you want to fill up.  Because each kitchen may potentially have to feed thousands of people, they keep the portions down.  I observed that many people spend their day with a bowl or plate in hand, traveling from kitchen to kitchen receiving small portions. Typically you get one scoop of rice and beans, or one slice of pizza–but that really varied.  At Lovin’ Ovens, the pizza was flowing freely and people sat and partied until their bellies were full.  Throughout the week I continued to ask people what moved these people to take the time and money to serve all these people.  I was truly perplexed, but at the same time amazed that the system worked.  I think there are people who believe in the concept of the rainbow gatherings and like to see it continue.  By feeding people, they are continuing the rainbow tradition.

Apart from food , there was a vibrant trade scene known as Trade Circle.  This consisted of a main road leading from the main meadow that was filled with people trading nick-knacks throughout the day.  The scene reminded me of ancient Rome.  The varieties of goods were colorful, interesting, and unique.  None of it seemed to have much value in so-called, “Babylon”, but here in Rainbow World it was all treasure.  Apart from people trading for real necessities though, I think the real purpose for the trading was to score doses of drugs.  Many of the people on the road had wish lists on their blankets that included hits for the night.  But what I couldn’t figure out was why this advanced system of trading existed for drugs, when at night the drugs seem to flow freely if you just politely asked someone for a hit.  I scored big time on my last day by trading two oranges, two apples, and a granola bar for a bracelet decorated with the Virgin Mary.

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The most disappointing thing about the week was that people were not very receptive to having their picture taken.  The first time I took out my camera, I was told by some guy walking buy that is was Rainbow policy to ask anyone before taking their picture.  I thought it a rather strange time to be telling me that because I was composing a picture of the meadow in which there were over 1,000 people.  How exactly he thought I could go and ask for everyone’s permission was a mystery.  Over the course of the first day, I was approached by more people informing me of the same policy.  People seemed very paranoid by cameras, but perhaps because of the heavy law enforcement presence that consistently shows up at the gathering.  There were dozens of instances where I would approach a group of people, ask them for permission, but have one person in the group object to having their picture taken.  It became frustrating by the end of the first day, and I knew it wouldn’t help make my job any easier.  However, I must note that most people who objected to having their picture taken were younger, and by that I mean people 30-40 years old.  I met several old guys from the early days of Rainbow, and they were more than happy to be photographed and sit down for an interview.  Perhaps their willingness can be related to the growing paranoia with media and the fact that you could take a picture of anyone on the street back in the 60’s.  I was disappointed because I expected people who believed in peace, love, and freedom to be more open to having their photograph taken.

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It’s hard to convey what takes place at a gathering.  As I mentioned before, there seems to be a lot involved with making and eating food.  There is a great deal of sitting around.  Sitting and talking, sitting and playing instruments, sitting and trading items.  The atmosphere is relaxed during the day, and grows increasingly alive as the night sets in.  Despite the lack of organization, there are many activities throughout the day.  One may join a class on natural birth control, holistic medicine, organic cooking, spiritual awareness, etc.  Anyone can sign up to teach a class too.  And if you’re not into organized activities, you can go hiking, go swimming, or just stroll around the woods looking at people.  At night there are various shows at different camps.  Granola Funk camp had great live music and a hippy talent show.  Another camp had mud wrestling.  There was no excuse for getting bored.

Another interesting factor of the gathering was the presence of the law enforcement officers and the National Forest park rangers.  There is a very long and rather unfriendly relationship between L.E.O’s and the rainbow gathering.  Two years ago, police officers opened fire with the semi-automatic mace guns in the Kiddie Village.  Several children were injured in cross fire and many arrests were made.  Every year the police has a strong presence, and every year the rainbow people try their best to kindly ask them not to be involved.  From an outsider’s perspective, it’s hard to know what’s best.  Clearly, there are dangerous things happening at the gatherings.  This year for example, as I was informed by a National Forest ranger, a car was stopped upon the entrance to the gathering, and a trunk-full of stolen weapons were discovered.  The men has also been driving with open containers and had a number of illegal drugs in possession.  These are not men that people want at the gathering, and yet, if it were not for the police doing random car searches, they would have never been caught.

On the other hand, the people at the gathering are sick of trying to participate in safe and legal activities (although there is illegal activity), while a police officer creeps through the woods with a semi-automatic paintball gun or a real gun.  It’s probably not so much about the presence of the L.E.O.’s as it is about how the officers interact with the people.  If they were to merely mingle through the meadows and trails saying hello to everyone without a gun on their shoulder, I’m positive that the people would be more receptive.

In fact, this was the case at this gathering.  As the National Forest information officer reported to me, this was one of the best years in the history of the gatherings in terms of the relationship between the rainbow council and National Forest.  The only incident that occurred was when a girl ran away from her father and the father asked the local police for a search warrant to locate his daughter.  This resulted in a silent raid, where two dozen officers crept through the woods taking pictures, and actually using a very cool device that scans peoples faces from a distance and matches them with a computer database of missing persons.  I think the raid scared a lot of people because it looked like they were creeping through the woods trying to bust people using drugs.

I’m not sure what the best solution is for the rainbow gatherings and the local L.E.O.’s.  However, it seems reasonable for those in attendance at the rainbow gatherings to expect officers, with weapons, to patrol the areas.  When you’re participating in illegal activities, whether you think they should be illegal or not, and there are violent felons showing up at the front door, you had better expect the police to be checking out the area.

Perhaps the most beautiful event of the week occurred on the 4th.  As I mentioned, everyone is supposed to remain in silence until the great “ohm” is formed and broken by the parade of kids.  On this 4th, the people woke to stormy rain clouds and by 11am there was a steady rain.  The “ohm” was performed in the rain, resulting in a very small number of people joining in the circle.  However, minutes after the circle was broken, the sun broke through the clouds and the masses began cheering.  People danced around the bright beams of sunlight and a drum circle formed.  What ensued for the next four or five hours was a massive dance party that continued even when the rain returned.  The dancing soon turned the soaked ground into a muddy pit.  It wasn’t long before people were covered in mud and the dancing turned into wrestling and more strange meditative “ohm-ing”  Then, around 5pm, the climax of the week occurred.  As the stormy clouds slowly drifted East, the sun began to break through the clouds.  The clouds turned bright orange and they cast a warm glow across the meadow.  The crowd sensed that a rainbow would appear.  The conditions were perfect.  Everyone started chanting, “rainbow, rainbow!”  And sure enough, the most magnificent double rainbows appeared directly over the meadow in perfect view of thousands of people.  It was a great victory for the rainbow people, and as you can imagine they believed that they had called the rainbow to appear.  People were running around going crazy–nobody could believe what was before their eyes.  It was so beautiful.  I too was running around the field trying to find the best scene to take a photograph.  The problem was that it was still raining and every time I took my camera out from under my shirt, it would get soaked.  I was running up to strangers asking if they had anything dry on them so I could dry off my lens.  It was one of those moments where I wished I wasn’t a photographer.  I was so obsessed with taking the picture, but I also knew that I had to stop and just appreciate the moment.  That double rainbow provided an electric energy throughout the next few days.

The long road stretches out before me.  Orange wispy clouds reach down from the sky like a longing friend wanting to embrace.  The landscape turns a golden color, offering a wealth of promise if only you can walk out amongst it.  The West is still wild.  The sky still rules the landscape.  I am but a lonely traveler crossing its desolate terrain.