A Message in the Trees: We the People Means Everyone - Locals meet the Rainbow Family and witness something different

At a recent Quorum Court meeting, I heard something that caught my attention—word of a group called the Rainbow Family gathering somewhere near Forester. Like many in our county, I had questions. Who were they? What were they doing here? Was this something we should be concerned about?

Curiosity got the best of me. So my husband Alex and I headed east, taking that familiar stretch down Highway 28 E, just a few miles from where we call home. But on this day, something different was happening. A new kind of temporary home was being set up—right in our own backyard.

From 28 E, you turn right onto Forester Road and follow it down. But before you even hang a left onto County Road 776, you’re met with a small but striking scene: a handful of cars, camper vans, and a few tents tucked beneath the trees. We parked the car and stepped out, unsure of what we’d find. Almost immediately, we were greeted by a smiling face with long dreads who called out, “Welcome home, brother!” Little did he know—we already were. Scott County is home to us. We love this place, and we care deeply for its beauty and its people.

We let him know we were locals. That this was our home. He smiled and introduced himself as David—surprised, but glad we came. He welcomed us warmly and led us further into the camp to meet Novel.

Novel was thoughtful and well-spoken. He explained what this gathering was—and what it wasn’t. This wasn’t the annual Rainbow Gathering just yet. This was their Spring Council, a quieter, more focused gathering where members come together to scout and decide on the best location for their upcoming national event, which is held every year from July 1 to 7.

For those unfamiliar with the Rainbow Family, it’s a loosely organized, leaderless community that’s been gathering annually in U.S. national forests since 1972. What started as a peace-centered, countercultural response to political division and war has grown into one of the longest-running examples of peaceful assembly on public land in the country. There are no official leaders, no corporate sponsors, no formal structure—just people, working together through consensus and shared values.

Each year, the group selects a different location—always in a national forest, always remote, and always with careful planning. That’s what Spring Council is all about. They gather to walk the land, test the water, evaluate parking, study erosion risk, and determine whether the location can handle the footprint of thousands of campers—without causing damage to the ecosystem or the surrounding communities.

One of the most important factors in that decision is access to clean, drinkable water. Not just any spring will do. The water must be flowing, naturally sourced, and free of contaminants. It must be fast enough to support gravity-fed distribution, and clean enough to meet a specific micron-level clarity. Gino, another kind and incredibly knowledgeable Rainbow Family member we met, explained the process to us in great detail. He said they test turbidity levels and physically inspect the lines daily to ensure safety.

“This is serious,” Gino told us. “We’ve got children here. Babies. Pregnant women. Elders. We don’t play around with drinking water.”

Once the water source is approved, the group sets up miles of gravity-fed hose, running from mountain springs down into the camp. These lines can stretch several miles, depending on the terrain and the location of the spring. The water is directed into marked taps for drinking, handwashing, and cooking. Graywater (used for cleaning) is disposed of in carefully dug pits, far from water lines, and soap or food waste is never allowed near the drinking water system.

And the water is just one piece of the infrastructure. There are kitchens—entirely run by volunteers—that serve hot meals to hundreds daily. There’s a first-aid area known as CALM (Center for Alternative Living Medicine), where those with medical experience offer help. There are trench latrines dug in safe, sustainable locations and covered after use. There are composting areas, designated trails, and waste sorting stations. It’s a temporary village—but it runs on cooperation, not enforcement.

Every day, the group gathers in council. A feather is passed. Whoever holds the feather may speak. Everyone else listens. Some speak logistics. Others share stories, frustrations, or blessings. Novel called the long, heartfelt monologues “heart-songing”—because for many, it’s the first time they’ve felt truly heard.

There’s no rushing it. Decisions take time. But they take care. And no one is left behind.

Safety is also taken seriously. The group has a strict no-alcohol policy, enforced by the community itself. Novel acknowledged what we all know to be true: “Every group has its 10%.” There will always be a few who don’t follow the rules, even with the best intentions. But the group works hard to keep things safe, especially for the children, women, and elderly who are part of the gathering.

To my surprise, they also hadn’t even visited the actual historical Forrester sawmill site. They told us they intentionally avoided it, out of respect for its historical significance. That struck a chord. Here we had a group—often judged as outsiders—cleaning our forest, honoring our history, and praying for peace. That sure doesn’t sound so terrible after all.

While we stood speaking with Gino and others, another vehicle pulled into camp. Without hesitation, several people stepped forward to help unload it. What happened next honestly took my breath away—they pulled out bag after bag, box after box, all of it full of groceries. Easily over 20 sacks, and every single one of them was from our local Harps. And we all know the cost of just one of those little brown bags at checkout. That moment reminded me: this group isn’t just coexisting—they’re contributing. Supporting our small businesses. Investing real dollars right back into our local economy, even as they tread gently across the land.

We asked how local law enforcement had treated them. The group spoke highly of Scott County deputies, saying they’d been respectful and professional. But there was one concern: a vehicle with Wisconsin tags—believed to be linked to federal agents—had been circling camps, taking photos of license plates and interacting with campers in a way many found aggressive. It raises a fair question: Can our local sheriff ask federal agents to leave if their presence interferes with peaceful assembly? It’s a conversation worth having.

I went back two days later to check in and see if a decision had been made. This time, there were more campers and even more faces—each one just as welcoming and kind as before. I had arrived during council and was invited to sit in and witness the process firsthand. I watched as the feather passed from hand to hand, each person speaking from the heart, some offering reflections, others long-winded thoughts that could only be described as what they call “heart-songing.” It was a powerful thing to witness—raw, honest, and entirely human.

Ultimately, the group decided that this location would not be the site of the 2025 national gathering. But they didn’t leave without care. Two days after their departure, we went back to walk the land—and it was spotless. Not a piece of trash, not a fire ring, not even a tire track out of place. They had done exactly what they said they would: left no trace.

The Rainbow Family is now on their way to the annual gathering, which will take place this year in Missouri. Though our little corner of the forest wasn’t their final destination, I’m thankful they passed through. And I want to thank them—for welcoming me with open arms, for sharing their world with respect and humility, and for reminding me that peace, prayer, and community can look many different ways.

Wherever their journey takes them, I pray it is safe, healing, and full of the light they so freely gave while they were here.