BIG SANDY - They pray, enjoy and discipline their kids, walk their dogs, eat together, do art, fall in and out of love, work day jobs, volunteer, disagree, agree to disagree, play, grow older and usually wiser, behave imperfectly, love the land, and believe America's vision as a home of the free and land of the brave.

Sort of like your family.

"Welcome home" to the Rainbow Family of Living Light, which is conducting its annual international Gathering of the Tribes this year at this site southeast of Pinedale in the Bridger-Teton National Forest.

"Welcome home," "we love you," "hello, brother," "hello, sister," are among the frequent greetings heard at the unofficial front gate, along the trails, at the camps and associated kitchens.

Some activities aren't like your family. Some Rainbows indulge in certain drugs and eschew others. Some also say people and their bodies aren't shameful, so clothing is optional.

The annual gathering runs for the first seven days of the seventh month. The main event happens in the middle of that period, or noon on July 4, when thousands assemble at the main circle for silent meditation before chanting "Om," a sacred sound of the Hindu, Buddhist and Jain religions.

Most practice a spirituality that merges, meshes and perhaps mushes a variety of religions into a quasi-New Age movement espousing love, peace, justice and meditation.

"I love the commonality," said Geoffrey Gant of Salt Lake City. "I love the experiences that are so out of the mainstream."

He's an architectural draftsman, and his wife, Reta, is a home birth midwife.

They are camped at Kid Village with their two children, Eyrie, 2, and Finnegan, 3. Reta, who was sleeping in the tent, just learned she is pregnant with their third.

It's not a vacation for the Gants, he said. "It's more of a pilgrimage. It's not easy to come here."

Not easy, indeed.

A "seed camp," which arrives two to three weeks before the formal event beginning July 1 to mark trails, lays 1-inch, above-ground water lines, digs latrines, builds kitchens and other infrastructure.

All camping gear, food and water must be hauled to the gathering by foot, or maybe by a one- or two-wheeled cart.

No vehicles are allowed on the site, which is anywhere from two to five miles from the parking areas.

Acoustical instruments are welcome, but don't even think of bringing a stereo.

Alcohol is forbidden at the main gathering, but a camp near the main entrance is set up for those users.

Many Rainbows use marijuana and psychedelics, but they will escort users of harder substances such as meth or heroin back to the gate and tell them they're not welcome.

The kitchens, latrines, trails and fire pits must conform to strict guides about respecting the land, according to the manual found at www.rainbowguide.info.

That doesn't create paradise, but it gives a place for people to become better, Gant said.

'I'm not alone'

The son of divorced parents who both hold Ph.D.s, Gant described himself as "an angry, middle-class white kid" who dropped out of music school and headed into a downward spiral of drug abuse.

When he attended his first gathering in the Uinta Mountains in 2003, he didn't know anything and didn't eat for three days.

But he found food, fellowship and another way of living, Gant said. "Now I'm not alone, and I never really was."

With a beard and long, blonde dreadlocks, Gant recognizes the stigma attached to Rainbow gatherings by the outside world, referred to as "Babylon."

He doesn't attend the gatherings with any preconceived notions about what he will learn at the end of his pilgrimage, but he anticipates a few lifestyle changes, he said.

"When I come back from the Rainbow (gathering), I drink water and eat healthy. … I take better care of myself and my family and my relationships," he said. "By the time the next one rolls around, I'm drinking Coke and eating Big Macs."

They're camped just outside the Kid Village, which becomes home for between 100 and 120 Rainbows.

While other camps have children, the Gants said the village offers a safe place for their children, and everyone watches over everyone else's kids, he said. "Without the kid village, I would not bring my children," he said.

A diverse group

The Rainbow Family is composed of a lot of individual Rainbow families.

Over at the Warriors of the Light camp, Sister Peace gushes about how she met her husband at a gathering 12 years ago and they got married in a Rainbow wedding that week.

They now have two girls, Clarabel, 8, and Sophia Rainbow, 5.

The family reveres its young, and serves them first at mealtime, said Sister Peace, a midwife from California. "Children are really respected at Rainbow gatherings."

The gatherings attract doctors, lawyers and other professionals, misfits and occasional criminals, entrepreneurs, young, old, able-bodied and disabled.

The Rainbows often take in people who have no family of their own.

Vanilla, as he's come to be known, works with the crews that hike the miles of trails to haul in the donated food - Rainbows are expected to contribute either with food or cash - for the kitchens, haul out the trash, and guide newcomers to the camps.

Vanilla's dad died when he was young, his mother is an alcoholic, and he began living on the streets at 14, he said.

He takes odd jobs where he can because he doesn't want to steal.

The Rainbow Family has given him a sense of belonging and a network of friends throughout the nation, he added.

It also gave a skinny kid like him the pride to stand up for what's right.

The path to the northern side of the gathering initially looks like a two-track road, but turns into a so-called "trail" of rocks and mud.

A couple of mid-30s guys driving an SUV came upon Vanilla, who was hauling gear for a couple of elderly women.

The group yelled at the driver to turn around, telling him the U.S. Forest Service law enforcement officers - "Leos" in Rainbow parlance - would arrest him if he stayed on the trail.

The driver didn't want to pay attention.

So Vanilla set down the dolly, stood in the middle of the trail, raised his arms and said, "If you're going to drive on this trail, you're going to have to drive through me."

Reach Tom Morton at (307) 266-0616, or at Tom.Morton@trib.com.