The Rainbow Family of Living Light lives in a different reality than the rest of the world.
And that's just fine with them.
The ragtag collection of misfits, dreamers, philosophers, professionals, nature-lovers and walking wounded healing from various physical and mental traumas began trekking deep into the Allegheny National Forest and setting up camp in a valley along Queen's Creek.
They view the annual gathering as a temporary escape from the modern world, known as "Babylon." They crave a simpler time, preferring to barter for items in lieu of using money.
By Thursday morning, the temporary city made up of tents, canvas and makeshift lean-tos had grown to over 3,500 people, according to the U.S. Forest Service. The Forest Service expects up to 10,000 Rainbow members to attend the family's annual national gathering over the weekend.
Judging by the number of vehicles streaming down Forest Road 119 late Thursday afternoon, the Forest Service's calculation is right on target.
I made my way into the Rainbow camp on Thursday morning, determined to put a face on some of these people who have been shall we be blunt demonized by much of the county as losers, drop-outs from civilization, shiftless bums and thieves.
I tried to be open-minded as I made the turn onto Heart's Content Road, but found it difficult after noticing every other vehicle I passed was a State Police SUV.
What in the world are these people doing down in that valley to attract so many law enforcement officers? I wondered. Human sacrifice? Mass orgies? I pictured something between Woodstock and Col. Kurz's drug-fueled nightmare river compound in "Apocalypse Now."
I met my first Rainbow five minutes later.
He was from Colorado. He was driving a brand new shiny blue SUV.
His name was Rugu.
And he wanted directions to the Gathering . . . but not before he welcomed me home and told me he loved me.
The Rainbows call their annual Gathering "home." And they are very happy to go there.
Rugu wasn't quite what I was expecting, as far as Rainbow People go. Sure, he had long hair, but it was freshly washed. And he wore new clothes. And then there was the SUV.
"Is this your first Gathering?" he asked. I told him it was. "Oh, you're going to love it. There is so much positive energy."
It was a long drive back to the camp: five miles past Heart's Content, and then another ten or so down a pair of forestry roads, followed by a long hike down into the valley over a steep hillside. I was joined by two Forest Service employees, there to inspect the camp's kitchens, along with two health workers.
I noticed the Rainbows were friendly and courteous to me and my companions, smiling and nodding and including their traditional greeting, "Welcome home," followed by, "Loving you!"
But they were also occasionally calling out, "Seven-up!", which was echoed through the trees by unseens Rainbows. I asked one of the Forest Service employees what it meant.
"Seven-Up is their code for Forest Service personnel," she explained. "They tolerate us. They don't like the law enforcement officers being here, though. They yell 'Six-Up' for people with guns. They don't like guns."
The trail eventually led to the camp's Trade Circle, where much of the Gathering's bartering takes place. Rainbows set up shop on blankets in a large circle like something straight out of a mountain men trade rendezvous.
"I didn't bring anything to trade," said one of the Forest Service employees. "They are going to want my belt buckle and name tag."
Ten minutes later we reached the camp's main circle: a large meadow with a peace pole placed in the center.
We were greeted by a very large woman wearing a bra and shorts, who offered everyone "free hugs." I immediately skirted around her . . . and ran into The Wizard a wizened old man in a wizard's hat, standing on a stump, welcoming us home and telling us he loved us.
He was completely naked.
Well, to be fair, he had on a hat, a snowy white beard and some sort of cape.
I didn't get that good of a look, because, thankfully, two state police patrols rode into the meadow and formed a ominous-looking line facing the peace pole.
I walked over, more than willing to get involved in a police-Rainbow fray than spend quality time talking with The Wizard.
But it became quickly apparent that the police weren't looking for trouble: one of the troopers raised his hand and flashed the camp a peace sign.
What was the camp like?
Everything you could possibly imagine. And couldn't possibly imagine. The stench of human body odor was amazing. As was the smell of marijuana being smoked.
Unwashed bodies.
People mediating.
Nude yoga.
Groups of people playing music.
People stoned out of their minds.
But everywhere you went, the message was the same: "We are home, and we love everyone."
Even the law enforcement officers. Or, as they called them, "LEOS."
"The LEOs have a job to do," one of the Rainbows said. "We don't hate them. We love them, too. We just wish they wouldn't carry guns here."