Rainbow Summer - 1998

I figured I would post some of my other writings onto my blog page. This is an attempt I made at amateur journalism back in 1998...

Springerville. A sleepy town nestled on the foothills of eastern Arizona’s White Mountains. Summer settles lazily on Round Valley as the locals prepare for another busy season. Since environmental concerns ended the logging industry, the community has relied more on tourists coming for the campgrounds, trails, game and fish provided by nearby Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest, the largest stand of ponderosa pines in the world. However, no one is prepared for this summer’s largest group of summer visitors - the Rainbow Family.

On June 16, 1998, I was filling up at the local gas station when the first fleet of VW buses arrives, spilling out the motley cargo of hippies adorned with dread locks, hemp strands and patches. Their skin is dark with grime, and that smell - a pungent mixture of sandalwood incense, marijuana, and body odor - soon fills the whole town as dozens of flowered school buses dominate the traffic. The gas attendant stares in disbelief or horror as the bare-footed bunch enter the convenience store.

This is not a summer the residents of Springerville are likely to forget as the Rainbow Family, a loose conglomeration of hippies from all walks of life, converges on a pre-selected site in the forest high in the mountains, west of town. This is the beginning of their national gathering, culminating on the 4th of July, and annual event since it’s inception in Colorado in 1972; the Family seeks out a different location each year where they can gather in the woods for meditation, prayer, and festivities. Essentially, it’s the largest pot party in the continental Unites States, and many Springerville residents remember the last time the Family chose the White Mountains back in 1979. Let’s just say that this is not what you would call a happy reunion. Many residents are in a state of alarm as the crowds arrive, and I found myself wedged between a group of people that I found harmless, if not inviting, and the community that I serve.

Remembering the 1979 gathering, Donna, a 30 year-old native states, “There was this guy in a hammock set up in the back of a pickup, and he was riding around town, totally naked.”

These are the types of memories the townsfolk have of the Rainbows. The major difference between the two events, however, is that in ‘79 only 3,000 showed up. This year, the number is expected to exceed 25, 000, nearly triple the populations of Springerville and it’s sister-city Eagar combined.

The White Mountains host a small hub of predominately Mormon communities and have remained bastions of the untamed West - pines, rolling mountains, lakes, rivers. The area typically draws week-enders coming up from Phoenix to escape the blistering, desert heat. In more recent years, the area is acquiring a light spiritual flavor, accented perhaps by the reverence the Apaches hold for these gentle, verdant peaks. Or maybe it can be attributed to the attention brought by Snowflake resident Travis Walton’s book “Fire in the Sky” that recounts his UFO abduction, and the film bearing the same title. Or perhaps it is because Sedona, Arizona’s New Age haven has become too much like Santa Fe, too commercialized. No one is certain why. Whatever the case, many people from all over the States - Christian fundamentalists and New Agers alike - have felt impelled to move here with little or no reason.

I was one of those people, always fancying myself as the bohemian type. At an idealistic 19, in tie-dyed splendor, I had trekked to Sedona, imagining that the summer of ‘89 was the summer of ‘69. Then, in 1995, married with children, I left city life behind - the crime, the pollution and chaos to settle a 40-acre homestead on the western slopes of the White Mountains, an area about which I knew next to nothing. All I knew is that I wanted a place where my children could grow up free from fear in clean air and with clean water.

My idealism was nearly shattered that first night when a strong wind came sweeping over the Mogollon Rim, and I tired to sleep in vain as our small single-wide rocked in rhythm to my mantra, “What the hell am I doing here?”

Legend has it that the Mormon pioneers had no intention of inhabiting this harsh wilderness but decided to rest until the wind abated.

We certainly felt like pioneers as we accustomed ourselves to our surroundings. So far off the grid, it would take a small fortune to bring electricity to our home, so we use candles for more than just ambiance. Cold winters, mud, hot summers, hurricane-speed winds. Anyone would call us crazy.

But these mountains bring a change over a person. Electricity became a luxury, not a necessity. Hobbies and gardening fill the vacuum left by television. You even start looking like a Rainbow.

I eventually began to work as a social worker for a local welfare agency.

We first heard news of the gathering late in April as my wife and I sat down to dine in a restaurant in nearby Show Low. Our waitress, a bright-eyed, 19 year-old named Erin asked our names.

“Cool hippie names, “ she squealed.

This struck us as funny, because our names, especially mine, are so obviously Mormon. Maybe it was the beard or my wife’s long hair.

“Are you going to the Rainbow Gathering this year in Springerville?” she asked.

Within three weeks, scouts for the Rainbow Family were hiking all over the area looking for a suitable location - secluded yet accessible, with enough space and water to accommodate thousands.

Instantly, the community flew into a hysteria. Town councils and community meetings were called to see what measures could be taken to prevent the Family from coming. Joint efforts were made between city government, local Forest Service representatives, Apache County Sheriff Department, Highway Patrol and local businesses to decide on how to handle the problem. The consensus was that the community could not handle that many people. Especially with such an undesirable element bringing such activity as drug-abuse, “spanging”, shop-lifting, loitering, indecent exposure and a whole host of other problems.

In short, the community made it very clear - the Rainbows are not welcome here!

Not everyone was so negative. One local paper quoted County Sheriff Art Lee remembering the 1979 gathering where he states that the Family left not so much as a cigarette butt upon vacating the site.

Nevertheless, hysteria augmented when on June 14, the Rainbow Family’s website posted the official location of this year’s event - a meadow south of Carnero Lake by Green’s Peak, elevation 9000 feet. The festivities would commence on June 28 and last until July 10.

Within hours, a special Forest Service task force pulled into town and presented themselves to the other organizations monitoring the gathering. They estimated that there would be an ecological strain on the forest created by the sheer numbers. They issued an official warning to the shanti sena - or Family elders - to vacate the area. The elders responded that they would not leave. There was even a question about the main water source near Carnero Lake - a privately owned spring that was being used by the kitchens in camp. Of course, the idea of the ownership of water is foreign to the Family. Local officials warned that if necessary, the National Guard would be called in, but ultimately everyone was forced to admit - the Rainbows are coming.

Within hours, flocks of hippies poured into the area from holding camps in Tuscon and Flagstaff where they had been awaiting confirmation of the gathering site.

Soon every conversation in town was filled with murmured stories as the locals came into contact with the Rainbow people. These stories seemed to take on mythic proportions. In other words, it was the same story told over and over again with only minor variations. I heard the stories a million times told by sober-faced residents recounting the evils committed by the foul hippies.

A hippie took a shit on the floor in the McDonald’s bathroom. Or was it Arby’s? A woman urinated all over the produce in Safeway so they’d have to throw it away, and she proceeded to the dumpster to claim it. Or was it the eggs at Circle K? A Rainbow was cited for bathing naked in someone’s flower garden. Or was it the lawn of the LDS church?

I later shared these stories with Rainbow friends who howled with laughter.

“Like I would eat food with piss on it,” says Steve from California.

As the sole welfare worker in Springerville, my office was soon flooded with people applying for public assistance. Many people were enraged that these homeless people could come in and apply for benefits and be eligible, but I always argued that food stamps were better than shoplifting. Besides, a five-gallon pot of lentil soup can only feed so many, and that is all that the Rainbow kitchens served. I did find myself torn, however, between state regulations and an element within the government that endeavored to prevent me from administering federal aid programs to the Rainbows. Professionally, I tried not to treat them any different than any other clientele, but I definitely received some pressure from some higher-ups to discriminate against them and use means in my power to deny them services. Fortunately, I had a good supervisor with an open mind. State officials had contacted social service agencies in Oregon, the state that hosted the Family last year, to obtain advice on how to handle the problem. We were told, “Make it as hard on them as you can. If you make it easy, you’ll only encourage them.”

In a sense, they were right. My caseload doubled, then tripled until I was overwhelmed. In desperation, I had to call in back-up social workers from near-by St. Johns, and we all created a public assistance assembly line with longhaired hippies passing through. At one point, with a dozen applicants in the lobby, one tall girl, with thick blond hair matted to her skull, grinned, “Are you the cool guy who’s giving away food stamps?”

I snapped, “Is that what you all are saying up there? If you’re going to spread anything, why don’t you tell people to go to Show Low? They’re fully staffed and better equipped to handle this many people. Here it’s just me!”

Little did I know that the Rainbows have a communication network that rivals that of the military. The very next day, my caseload dropped down to manageable levels. One man even stopped into my office to say, “There was a busload coming in to see you, but I sent them to Show Low.”

In my dealings, I found them to be kind, polite and friendly, and I became very skeptical of the stories that the locals had been spreading about them. In fact, some had used our bathroom to clean themselves, and afterwards a Rainbow named Shawn mopped our bathroom, leaving it much cleaner than it had been before they had used it, much to the surprise of my supervisor. She remarked, “That young man doesn’t know how much he tickled me.”

As the 4th of July approached, many locals like myself received much unwanted attention from those around us who mistakened us as Rainbows. Tony, my brother from Utah, walked into a parts store wearing loose clothing and huarachis and drew harsh looks.

My office became a microcosm of the gathering as Rainbows crowded around the front of my office to apply for services. One afternoon, a highway patrolman pulled up and got out to question many of the hippies standing around the doorway. Since I represent the state of Arizona in my office, I decided that it would be good PR to go forward and introduce myself. I approached the officer. He stood like an icon of masculinity with his cropped, gold hair and mirrored sunglasses. I extended my hand and introduced myself, along with my job title.

He crossed his thick arms and stared at my hand in disgust. “I don’t shake hands with you people.” He put his hand on his pistol butt and said, “That’s my gun hand. And I only use it if I’m going to shoot someone.”

I went weak in the knees. Here I’m in charge, and he thinks I’m a damn Rainbow. With shaking hands, I produced my ID badge to which he offered no apology. He just turned and strode to his cruiser, and the dust kicked up as he drove off. I turned to a nearby Rainbow.

“Did you see that?” I stammered. “Is this the way you all get treated?”

“Yeah, brother,” he grinned. “All the time. I don’t know why they’ve brought so many cops into this town. We’re no threat to anyone. The most we’d do is throw flowers at them.”

Feeling like I had been threatened, I called my supervisor. She laughed it off, “I think that you should think about this one, Moroni.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Maybe you should wear your beads only on the weekends,” she said in reference to a strand that I frequently wear.

As I drove home that night, I looked thoughtfully at the dirt road that wound up to Green’s Peak. It seemed that the drums were calling me. There were police cruisers parked at every intersection. Police from other parts of the state were put on special detail here in Springerville, much to the annoyance of many locals. Having a near perfect record, I got 4 tickets in two months. One local complained to one of the many news crews in town, “The Rainbows haven’t given us any problems. It’s all the damn cops!”

One morning, Raven, a tall, willowy limbed beauty with pierced lips and tongue, came into my office. She told me that they had been listening in on the police ban that morning. They had nearly called in the riot police because of an incident where a mounted officer had accosted a Rainbow. The hippie slapped the horse’s behind, and the horse reared, throwing the officer to the ground. When the policeman tried to take the fellow into custody, he found himself surrounded by thousands of angry hippies.

I, myself, crossed the line from observer to participant on Saturday, June 20. On weekends, my wife Martha and I usually dress down a little more than usual. We stopped at the local supermarket to pick up diapers, and I pulled out my checkbook. The cashier remarked coldly, “Is that a local check?”

I was angry, “Yes. I live here. I work here.”

She sniffed. “Well, I don’t know you.”

In the car, I turned to my wife and spat out an expletive, “She thought we were Rainbows!”

Then, after a moment, “Do you want to go to the Gathering?”

Soon, we were speeding up a thin, dirt road, gaining altitude into the pines and aspens. The road opened up into a meadow, and there it was.

Now, I’ve been in foreign countries and have experienced culture shock. But nothing prepared me for that mountain. It was a different world.

We passed the first car, and the occupants flashed us a peace sign. There was almost an animal quality about them. Mud caked their faces, and they seemed inhuman. Different from the rest of us. I had always considered myself the bohemian type, but I now realize that I never had been. This was the genuine article - the real thing. There were several buses parked in the woods, and this man with a beer in his hand stepped out in front of the car.

“Park over there,” his breathed reeked of booze. “Be careful not to run over the flowers.”

This is the infamous A Camp - “A” as in alcohol. The actual gathering is actually divided up into several sub-camps. No alcohol is allowed past A Camp, and it is notorious for it’s wilder denizens and drunken brawls. According to tradition, A Camp serves as a smoke screen for the spiritual interior of the gathering.

“Oh well,” he concedes after we barter for a better parking space with him. “Go on to Bus Village.

Bus Village is a lively camp with tents set up around the vehicles. People spread their blankets under shady trees and smoke pot or trade goods. In Bus Village, I ran into Sparrow, one of my clients, who insists on showing me his tent full of food.

“I just want to thank you what you did for me, man,” he hugged me as I prepared to leave.

I began wondering if maybe this was a conflict of interest for me to be up here. I nodded, “Thank the state of Arizona.”

He took me to a pot of a boiling green substance.

“You may not know this, but in Babylon I was a chef,” he stirred vigorously. “Cream of cilantro soup! Want some?”

We declined politely, and continued up the trail to Rainbow Village.

On the other side of the meadow is Welcome Home, which served as the information center for the whole group. There, one man with more dreads than actual body shook his head, “Bus Village is for old school. You should go to Granola Funk Express. We’re more theatrically minded. We’re even building a stage.”

After walking almost a mile down a rocky trail, we came to Main Circle, a large flower-freckled, grassy meadow. It’s still only Seed Camp, so only about 2,000 have gathered thus far. Most people are lounging on the grass smoking grass, but some are seriously working. Two teen-age girls are five feet underground, digging latrines, many others are setting up ramadas using stray timber, still others are laying PVC pipe from the spring to provide water for the kitchens. One man, who assisted in building the bridges across the creek, fiercely protects it from those who would wade through the cool waters.

“Pwotect the water!” he shouts in a voice that sounds like Elmer Fudd. “You’ll wuin the moss! Use the bwidges!”

Some are carefully removing patches of sod to make fire pits. The Forest Service has issued a fire alert, banning campfires except in the kitchen areas and restricting smoking to designated areas. People gather around the kitchens with bowls of hot soup; the kitchens usually serve a lot of soup. The Hare Krishna camp down the meadow is popular, because every night they serve a four course meal of vegetarian fare. After everyone eats, some return to work, others strike up an infectious rhythm on the drums.

There are many other camps. Kiddy Village offers activities and story telling for the children. A tall rainbow-colored flag marks Lost Tribe. Kenny Mac is bare-footed and wears a smile of genuine affection when he sees me.

“I was a medic in the Army for two years. Now I travel around with C.A.L.M. Camp and learn about herbs and medicine.”

C.A.L.M. is the first aid center, and they have mainly had complaints about people suffering from the altitude. One young man fell off a cliff and broke his leg. The healers at C.A.L.M. set his leg and put a cast on it. A bearded man runs into camp waving his walkie-talkie.

“Gigi just gave birth to a boy!” he shouts happily.

Down one path, my wife and I stumble across a co-ed shower strung up through the branches of a tree. Several happy, nude people bathed beneath the spray of water, gasping at the cold. It should have been arousing to see so much naked flesh pressed together, but there is a curious lack of sexuality about it. I noticed that, in the melee of sleek limbs, long hair and white buttocks, it was difficult to tell the difference between male and female.

I left Seed Camp with a couple of impressions. There was a lack of social distinction with the Rainbows. Most of the homeless had hitchhiked to Carnero Lake. Some drove in battered buses. Some arrived in Mercedes, but everyone looked equal on the meadow. I was also distraught by the lack of work ethic. Only a few were working, and most were lost in indolent bliss. But I guess this is a party. A big marijuana party. I saw less spirituality than I had expected and more partying. But maybe there is some Dionysian spirituality afoot here.

On the night of July 3, many take a vow of silence and agree not to speak for half a day. The morning of July 4, approximately 30,000 people gathered in the meadow for a period of silence, meditation and prayer to the unknown god, Mother Earth, Jesus, Buddha, whatever deity suits you. At noon, the silence was broke by a thousand voices humming, “OOOOHHHHHMMMMMM!” Then the drums began a steady throb in synchronicity with the heartbeat of the world. There was a procession and dancing. The dance continued until the evening when the sky rumbled and the first rain in two months poured down on the gathering. In joy, people raised their hands to the sky as the waves of rain poured down on them.

“We have been praying for rain!” shouts one woman.

At sunset, the colored arch of a rainbow hung in the sky. Later, the nearly full moon peered at the crowd through the dissipating clouds. To the Family, the 4th of July is a high point in the cycle of the earth, coinciding with the solstice. It is the best time to conceive, which often sparks lurid tales among the locals, who imagine a sexual free-for-all up on the mountain, the wild abandon of an orgy. (Which it is not.)

Raven offers a coy smile, “This is our covenant time.”

Within three days, people start to clear the area as quickly as they arrived. Orbit and Freedom, both girls wearing smiles of satisfaction on their faces, reflect on the gathering as they hitchhike to Utah. They are anticipating the smaller regional gatherings that will occur throughout the year.

“There’s even a talk of an all-sister gathering,” Freedom’s eyes sparkle behind her tortoise-shell glasses. “Can you imagine the energy there?”

Turtle hitches to Oklahoma. He is bitter about this year’s gathering.

“The cops sucked, the locals were rude, and there are nothing but ‘drainbows’ up on the mountain,” he fumes. “The Family is packing up and leaving the drainbows to do whatever the fuck they want.”

One girl from the Warriors of Light whines, “I don’t know why the locals don’t like us. We brought them this rain!”

I had to resist from telling her that the Arizona monsoon season starts on the 4th of July. You can almost set your calendar by it.

On July 11, I take my wife and kids back up to the gathering. My 4 year-old girl is excited to see them make rainbows. I’m about to correct her and tell her that the Rainbows really don’t make rainbows, but then I refrain myself. Already the camp is nearly empty. Only a few people are left for what is called ‘clean-up’. When we look at the meadow, I am shocked. The grass is trampled and looks bare, but already they are working at re-seeding the meadow. One man siphons water from a puddle back into the creek. Many others are collecting garbage and putting them in neat piles, the recyclable materials separate from the other garbage. No one is idle; everyone is working.

Enjoying the cool rush of air through the pine trees, my family and I stroll down the trail. An elder meets us on the trail; a man referred to as Grandfather. He looks like Gandalf the wizard, with a flowing, white beard and carrying a staff. Rather than directing his attention at my wife or me, he greets my children.

“Good morning, children,” his voice is soft. He presses his hands together and bows very low to them. Then he continues down the path.

This taught me more about the Rainbow Family than anything else did. He demonstrated a respect for all life and for the innocence of youth. Perhaps there is a marked lack of dogma among the Family, but they all desire a better world for us to live in. Certainly, that is a desire common to all mankind.

Lake, a man in his fifties, says, “I left a three bedroom, two bath home in California. I just walked away from it, and I live with no stress. You had better be careful or you might find yourself on the road with us soon.”

Others are just seeking experience. Raven tells me, “I’m not going to be a Rainbow all of my life. I want to go to school someday. This is something that I want to do with my life for now.”

As soon as they came, they are gone. The streets are empty, the townsfolk settle back into their circadian rhythms. Two days later, DEA performed the biggest drug bust in the history of Apache County - on local residents. So it was ourselves we had to fear - not the Rainbow people. It was as if the government was telling us, We couldn’t stop the Rainbows from using drugs, but we certainly won’t tolerate it from you.

On the last day, I sat in my cubicle, going through my paperwork, when, in the lobby, a dozen voices shouted in unison, “THANK YOU!!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!!!”

I ran out into the lobby only to see a VW bus pulling out of the lot and turn out of town, fading into the distance.

There are already speculations about next year’s gathering. Some say Montana. Some say Wisconsin. As I drove home that evening, I wondered if, next June, I would hit the road.

Keeping Sour

So no sooner did I get a chance to look at the transcript on NPR's website, that I noticed that there were already comments on it. Especially from one person going under the name "Keeping Sweet".

"How is Mr. Jessop supporting his 11 children, given that he has been out of work for quite some time according to his own blog ? Do they require government assistance ? Should the taxpayers be paying for children he cannot afford ? A reporter mentioned that Mr.Jessop's wives who were featured in a television special lived in squalor in trailers, and his daughter does not want "the lifestyle" she was raised in - that speaks volumes... Show us a polygamous arrangement wherein the first wife is delighted and she has been in the lifestyle for over 10 yrs., the family is self supporting, and the female children want the lifestyle too. I am thinking that there are not too many polygamous families like that."

*sigh* Here we go, yet again.

1) Where have I ever said on my blog that I have been out of work for some time? It is true that I have fallen on tough times, with some health issues. But I work here and there, whenever I can.

2) I am a taxpayer. I have been all of my life.

3) The reporter mentioned that we were in ONE trailer. My family now lives in two. I am constantly trying to improve our living conditions to make our lives more comfortable. I think I have done a pretty, damn good job.

4) My kids are happy and well-adjusted. They eat well. They are clothed well. They are clean. They are getting a public education. Any one who has watched any TV segment can see that clearly. They are well-loved and well-cared for.

5) My daughter is NOT having my beliefs forced down her throat. THAT speaks volumes.

6) Martha has been the first wife in a plural marriage for over twelve years. Ask her if she is happy! I am willing to bet that she will say yes. In fact, she has had several times to defend her choice in front of the public many, many times. I know many wives who are pleased with their situation. I know many other plural families that are happy in their situation.

And finally... This person with the name "Keeping Sweet" (an FLDS catchphrase) knows all about my blog and posts about it within hours of the radio broadcast? That is a little creepy... THAT is what speaks volumes!

Can anyone say "anti"????

First of all, the name "Keeping Sweet" shows that they have affiliation of some sort with the FLDS. I am not associated with the FLDS. The Warren Jeffs trail/ travesty is as alien to me as it is to the rest of the public.

To me, this seems like some very misdirected, meth-addled rage and vitriol.

I have been telling people on some of my forums that hate groups against polygamists are very real. I call them "hate groups", because that is what they are founded upon - hate. Race hate groups use racial slurs and stereotypes. Hate groups against lifestyle groups like homosexuals use unscientific rhetoric and false assumptions to bash gays. No one listens to them or gives them credibility. So tell me - why is it that so many in the media gives credence and audience to the anti-polygamist hate groups? These hate groups make unsubstantiated claims like "polygamy is inherently abusive", and "all polygamist men are control freaks", or "all polygamist women are unhappy", or "all polygamists are on welfare", etc. These are NEGATIVE STEREOTYPES. You might as well say something like, "All Mexicans are lazy." (I am Mexican, btw.)

And yet they go onto the news networks and spout this discriminatory, inflammatory garbage, and people listen to them.

Why? Because Mormon polygamists are one of the last minority groups that is okay to HATE.

And like every hate group, they have their insidious modus operandi. They sling mud and shit and try to discredit polygamists through lies, exaggeration and slander. They create fake personas on social media networks, pretending to be "friends", but really try to gather information. If they are discovered, they make false accusations.

It would be one thing if they were AGAINST polygamy, but wanted to bring their grievances to the table and have dialogue with the polygamists. But they don't. Safety Net has invited the anti-polygamists to their meetings between polygamists and government agencies to try to resolve problems. The antis NEVER accept. Why? Because the government wants to have dialogue with the polygamists. And that is unacceptable to them.

The antis never want to admit that there are normal, good and honest people that live polygamy. They never want to admit that there are some who don't fit their stereotype. They want to paint us all the same. And they want nothing more than to see us all destroyed, our children taken away from us, and polygamy wiped off the face of the earth.

They want nothing short of ethnic cleansing...

Fascism is alive and well today. And it is "keeping sweet".

The Link to My NPR Interview...

So yesterday, my segment on "Faith Matters" aired on NPR. You can read the transcript or listen to the broadcast here. I am pleased with how it turned out.

NPR: Tell Me More

I have not been blogging lately. Mainly because issues have come up in my life that have made me question how I do my blog, why I do my blog, if I should do my blog, etc. I will be talking about some of these matters later.

I will start my story here:

Last week, I was in Missoula, Montana. Even though every year, I have health issues, I had tried - FOR MYSELF - to see if I could do the fair circuit again. I took every precaution and preparation that I could to prevent health issues from cropping up. After a few weeks in Montana, the sore opened up on the bottom of my foot.

One evening, after taking my shoe off, and finding my sock soaked in my own blood, and seeing the tiny hole that was tunneling into my foot, I threw in the towel. I have to admit that I am now limited in what I can do. I decided to fly home in order to heal.

The next morning, I got an email from Sarah at NPR in Washington DC. They were doing a segment on their program "Tell Me More". The segment is called "Faith Matters". The whole purpose of the show is to address minority groups that are commonly misrepresented in society. "Faith Matters" takes it a step further and addresses religious groups. My segment would - of course - deal with polygamy in America.

I set up a pre-interview on the phone with Sarah, and, early one morning from our campground, we spoke. I found her to be very respectful and polite.

I posted Facebook about it that day. I got a positive response. Some people joked that I am not boring enough to be on NPR. I beg to differ.

Sarah also called and spoke briefly to my wives about it. But I basically decided to do it. I was booking my flight home due to health reasons anyway.

When they called to confirm the interview, they said that it would be me and a plural wife that would also be interviewed.

"This isn't going to be like a point-counterpoint interview is it?" I asked. "Kind of like Nancy Grace?"

She assured me that it was not. They wanted to give polygamists a chance to speak for themselves, especially in light of "Sister Wives" and the notorious Warren Jeffs trial.

"Well, who is the wife being interviewed?" I asked. "It really is a small community, so I might actually know who it is."

"For confidentiality issues, I really can't say," Sarah told me.

That night, I got an email from Julie, from Wisconsin.

"I am the other person being interviewed!" she said.

I was relieved. At least it was someone I know. Well, (I know her online, at least. She is on many of the forums that I belong to, including being one of my Facebook friends.

So yesterday, she booked me into a local radio station in Show Low, AZ (KQAZ). I walked into the radio station at the appointed time. All the employees at the station looked up at me as the "NPR guest" walked in. Andrew, the engineer, got me set up in one of the booths. He is a recent transplant, just having moved from Kansas City. I have no clue if he knew who or what I am. But he sure got an earful very soon.

They linked us up through the interview - me in Show Low, Arizona. Julie in Milwaukee. And the host, Tony Cox, in Washington, DC. After walking us through some technical issues. (For my part, all I had to do was say, "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers" twice while they adjusted my mic volume.)

Then without much preamble, Tony Cox launched into our interview. It was a little daunting. I think I prefer having a camera in my face. Wearing the headphones, you can hear every little nuance and flaw of your voice, repeated right back in your ear. I didn't like it. Listening to yourself swallow nervously for millions of people.

Julie did beautifully. She truly did represent. She was eloquent, pleasant and confident. I think I came across as nervous and stupid.

I was only asked three questions:

1) Are there any negative aspects to plural marriages?

2) How many children do you have?

3) Do you want your children to follow in your foot steps?

Listen tomorrow to "Tell Me More" on NPR to find out how I answered! As soon as I have the online link, I will post it.

I think all in all, the NPR staff were very friendly, professional and respectful. They treated us and the topic with dignity.

After it was all over, Tony Cox was concerned. "Did we treat this topic in a way your were comfortable with?" he asked me.

It is nice to have people actually concerned with how they treat you...

The Blues Polygamist: Feedback about "Enquete Exclusive: Polygamie"

So it has been interesting reading the feedback from last week's "Enquete Exclusive".

Before I had a chance to see the show, I looked at some of the forums about the program. They were heated discussions about the Muslim problem in France. They scarcely even talked about the Mormon issue. In fact, any mention of Mormons was cursory. It got to the point where I thought that perhaps my family didn't have any significant part in the program.

Then I found all the tweets...

I just have to say - what do people do in this world? I live off grid, so I really don't know. Do people sit in front of the TV with laptops and talk about what they are watching? It sounds like many people need to get out of the house more.

The discussion forums - whereas they were argumentative - at least had some substance. The tweets were much baser. Not intelligent. Off the cuff remarks. And very mean-spirited. Which shows me that the French are not that much different from Americans. The comments were the same.

Every now and then, I get a perverse desire to punish myself by going to my YouTube clip. People still comment on it often all these years later. After tens of thousands of views and several hundred comments, I can still count on one hand the positive comments. There is the inevitable Christian who pontificates on how wrong polygamy is and that God hates it, even though the Bible is replete with God's prophets who were polygamous. But mostly it is the people who say how fat, ugly and creepy I am. And how did I ever get two women to marry me? Poor women! They must be brainwashed to marry such a fat, ugly person...

LOL! Well, guess what? I have to look in the mirror every day. I see how fat I am. I'm no Brad Pitt. And I have NO CLUE why my wives would want to be with me, much less stay with me. It mystifies me. And it frustrates me that - whatever message that I am trying to get across - is drowned by the fat. No one can hear what I am saying, because all they see is blubber.

It reminds me of that scene from "The Producers": "FAAAAT!!!!! FAAAAAT!!!! FAT, FAT, FATTY!" lol!

Anyway, the French comments were not much different. I won't even talk about the vulgar comments. But they seemed to clue in on everything. Many people commented on Martha's glasses, they made fun of the cooking - they even wondered if the cat that they showed was polygamous, too!

There were several comments about how I live with no electricity, and yet how is it that I have a Blackberry? Come on! I'm not Amish! There were people that criticized me for wanting to read before I go to bed. Okay, I get that one. I thought that was a stupid thing for me to talk about.

The funniest comment was, "How is it that this man has two wives when George Clooney doesn't even have one?"

Then several people started calling me "The Blues Polygamist". I didn't really understand that. Maybe it was the soul patch. But I like it. Maybe I should keep that moniker. "Moroni Jessop the Blues Polygamist."

A French scholar named Chrystal Vanel blogged a very interesting review of the show. He mentioned my family a bit. Keep in mind that it is translated from French:

"Besides the fundamentalist Mormon members of theU.S. fundamentalist church, the report mentions the "Mormons independent." No doubt the journalists, who already at the beginning of the story could not tell the full name of the U.S. Mormon church majority did they speak of "fundamentalist Mormons independents" who live their religion out of any group, any institution.

"Journalists we have therefore Moroni, who lives with his two wives and his children in Arizona, and we say it is the "first time an independent fundamentalist opens the door of his house." Well no, this is not the first time that Moroni opens its doors to television cameras, as evidenced by his blog:Moroni & Family's TV Experience ( http://moroni-family.blogspot.com/ ). In addition, the television channel France 2 we had already shown an independent fundamentalist Mormon family (with whom I spent a month in Utah / Arizona) during a report of Special Envoy in the late 1990s. And the M6 itself had presented an independent fundamentalist Mormon family in the exclusive investigative report on the Mormons (November 28, 2010).

"Moroni's second wife testified that polygamy is for her lifestyle choice freely without any constraint, since it is not from a polygamous family."

There was an excellent blog written by a French Mormon that I suggest you read here.

All in all, I am pleased with the results of the program. If I can reach one or two - and change their opinion about Mormon polygamy - then they can talk about how fat I am all they want! I hope you will all keep reading!

Enquête Exclusive : Polygamie – Au coeur de l’interdit - MY REVIEW!!

So the TV program that featured our family - "Enquete Exclusive" - aired on M6 in France last Sunday, on May 29th.

I didn't think that I would have a chance to watch it. I found it on M6's website, but there were permission issues. You can't watch it unless you are actually in France. But the other night, I actually found a couple of websites that actually aired the entire program. My heart started beating when I clinked on the link and saw the view from the top of our hill. Then I saw myself on TV, speaking (in English) to my kids with a French voice overdubbing me.

The show starts out with a man in Quebec, and his two wives. It showed them posing in bed, wearing cutesy pajamas. There wasn't much substance to their segment beyond, "Hey, look at us! We are polygamists, wearing matching pajamas, in the same bed! Woo hoo!"

Then they showed traveled back to France (with a small segment in Morocco) to discuss the polygamy problem among the Muslim population. It wasn't very positive, overshadowed with ominous music that sounded like something out of Dexter. They discussed Muslim men taking wives without telling the other wife, Muslim men abandoning other wives, Muslim men having wives in two different countries, Muslims taking advantage of welfare and public housing, etc. It was very negative. They showed many crying Muslim wives with their faces blurred out, telling of the difficulties of living polygamy. They had a couple of angry relatives, talking about how wrong polygamy is.

While I'm watching this, I understand that these women are suffering. I think that abuse is likely to be present in any culture where women become chattel, become property, where they have little to no say in their domestic lives. However, it was evident that the tone of this TV show was negative. I was wondering how they were going to tie in our family to this tragedy.

The show then moved over to Colorado City, Arizona. (So they DID visit another location!) They talked about the FLDS, about the raid of the YFZ Ranch in Texas, about Warren Jeffs and his imprisonment, about arranged marriages, etc. They showed Ted driving through the town, filming cars filled with local goon squad members following them through the streets (like they would do to any car with a camera in it.) Their visit included visiting a disaffected, former member by the name of Holmes who took them on a bus tour through the city. They stopped and talked to some random people and asked them if they loved their prophet, or some such question, to which they answered that they did. An old man in his garage was accosted, and he threatened to call the police.

I admit. I am not a huge fan of the FLDS. But this segment was a little sensationalized, and obviously it did not promote plural marriage in an encouraging light, either. I was starting to worry about whether this was going to be a hatchet job.

Then I saw some different scenery shots that I recognized as close to my house. Fortunately, the music changed, sounding less like "Twin Peaks" and more like "7th Heaven". Then the camera shows me walking between houses. My first thought was, "OMG, am I really that fat?" Ha ha. The second thought, they showed trailers and a big barn that I recognize, but that are NOT part of our religious community. They needed some good stock footage, I guess.

They introduced me as an independent Mormon fundamentalist (true) who doesn't recognize Warren Jeffs as his prophet (very true), and doesn't believe in arranged and/ or underage marriages (very, VERY true). They mention that I have studied in Europe, and then they have me introduce both of my wives, and their respective children (minus Sophie) - in very basic French.

The narrator says that we live the way we do as fugitives, as pariahs, and that is why we live the way we do without electricity. I guess maybe we do, but I never really considered myself a fugitive.

It is mentioned that this is the first time that an independent Mormon fundamentalist has opened his doors to the media. LOL! Well, that is not exactly true. I am certainly not the first polygamist who has had cameras in his home. This is not even the first time that I have had the media in my home. BUT... It is the first time that I have had the French media in my home, so that is what they must have meant!

They talk a little bit about how hard it is to find jobs in such a desert region, but that Temple - an "assistante maternelle" - provides the salary that sustains the family. Temple is interviewed and talks about how no one forced her into this relationship, that she consented to it. She comes from a family that does not practice polygamy, and that she is happy.

Martha talked a little bit about the theology of plural marriage, but it was kind of hard to focus on anything but her glasses. At that time, her glasses had broken, and we hadn't had the chance to do anything about it yet. Her glasses were dangling from her face. Poor Martha...

Oh, and they did feature Christian chopping wood - just as I hoped he would!

I have to say, I was really proud of my kids. They did an interview with them as they walked between houses. They were exuberant and happy, all of them trying to answer Ted's questions about growing up in such a large family at once. They were truly the centerpiece of this segment. They even showed me having a staged class with the kids about plural marriage. They all answered beautifully. Sara talked about a wife having more than one husband as cheating. I laughed at that. Aidan gave a beautiful answer about the purpose of plural marriage. I can't say enough how proud I was.

After the "class", they show the kids running out to play on the swings. The next part made me laugh so hard. My six year-old son Alex can't read yet. He just graduated from kindergarten. He found a copy of a tiny New Testament. He carried this book around with him everywhere. They filmed him on the playset, reading from this book while on the swing. And the narrator says something like, "And even while they play, Moroni's kids find time to study from the Book of Mormon."

Alex probably was doing it this as an affectation, trying to show the cameras that he can read, when in fact he cannot. But it was so funny that this is the way that they interpreted it. I loved it.

While I am pushing my kids on the swing, I talk - very tongue-in-cheek - about Mormons taking over the world, not by the sword, but by procreation, thus making the whole world Mormon. Even though I was joking, I am sure that some took this very seriously.

The next scene shows Martha and Temple making dinner while I sit at the table, looking at my Blackberry. They something about me supervising. Not true. I know nothing about cooking, so how could I supervise? But I am wearing this impatient look on my face. Probably because I am hungry! After Aidan offers a prayer, we have dinner, and they conduct interviews with the three of us.

After dinner, they film me walking between houses, talking about the challenges of living plural marriage. I don't like this part, mainly because I think I sound stupid while I talk.

The next day they interviewed us while we were standing by our car. I talk a little bit about the differences in each relationship. Martha talks about the need to sacrifice in order to make it work. Then the program ends.

I'm not sure how my segment was congruous when juxtaposed with the Muslim problem. I don't see how they are similar, except that we have polygamy in common. I don't even see how we can be compared to the FLDS. But I must say that - in spite of it being a negative show about polygamy - our segment was very positive. I am very pleased how it turned out. Ted Anspach and M6 treated us with dignity and respect, and I want to thank them for their honest portrayal of our family..

Our Show in France!!!

Watch it while you can here!

Forgot to Mention...

I forgot to mention, when I posted about the conversation with my daughter Sophie, the reason she was upset - they had aired our program on TLC again in January. Apparently, for the second year running, TLC plays it on New Year's Day.

Also, it had been aired in Australia a couple of times last year...

Cougar Town

Over fifteen years ago, I first laid my eyes on our property, I fell in love. Grassy rangeland surrounded by mountain peaks. Immense, blue skies crisscrossed with contrails. Being on top of a plateau, it felt like I was in the center of a perfect circle. The feeling of safety was overwhelming. I knew that this is where I wanted to live.

Every now and then, we get reminders that we don't live in the big city. We live in the wilderness. The occasional rattlesnake under the porch. Plenty of prairie dogs. Bald eagles in the trees by the lake. Herds of pronghorn. I even once saw a badger. And coyotes. Lots and lots of coyotes. Not only do they serenade us at night, but our cat population suffers because of it. Cats have a lifespan of about one and a half years at my place.

Once, a few years ago, the kids were playing outside, and a black bear ran down the hill not more than fifty feet away from them. They ran into the house, screaming. Martha got into the van and chased that black bear for about a mile. Poor bear.

In an earlier post, I mentioned that - back in December, 2009 - we had a mountain lion sighting only yards away from my house. No one was home, but all the dogs were barking, including my indoor dog Cookie. My sister stepped outside to investigate just in time to see a mountain lion run up the hill, clearing a juniper tree in a single bound.

After this, I became a bit obsessed with this. It was a reminder that WE are the intruders. We are in the wilderness, in their terrain. I forbade my kids to play outside alone and at dusk. If kids had to go out early in the morning to do chores, they always went out in pairs. I read every documented cougar attack in the last twenty years. They are vicious animals and opportunists. And they are creatures of habit, returning back to the same locations frequently.

I was very worried about my children. At nights, sometimes Cookie would awaken us with her barks. When there is a stranger coming to our house, she has a certain bark. Late at night, this bark was different. It was a little... frightened. At nights, when I would go out to the faucet to fill water containers, I could swear that I could feel something watching me. It was probably paranoia.

It took us several months to kind of relax.

My six year-old son Alex is kind of a loner. He loves to play alone. His favorite game is to put on a backpack, grab his toy rifle and run up the hill. He will run around up there all day playing Army guy. He is determined that, when he grows up, he is enlisting in the Army. Temple, his mother, is very worried about this behavior.

"I don't want him to join the military!" she says. "We need to discourage him!"

I laughed about this. "EVERY six year-old guy dreams about being an Army guy. I did! There's nothing wrong about that."

So I took aside Alex and asked him why he wanted to join the Army.

"To serve my country," he told me. Can't argue with that.

"Who are you going to fight?" I asked.

"The Japanese," he answered.

Whoops. I guess I've been watching too many war movies.

But I would love to be sitting on the couch, looking out the window and seeing Alex - his little, plastic rifle cradled in his arms - running up the hill with determination. He would stay up there all day, if we let him.

At the end of March, Alex started to have nightmares every night about animals attacking him. Bears, wolves, etc. He would wake up terrified, asking to get into bed with his mother. Then one night, in his dream, he was attacked by wolf, and suddenly the wolf turned

into a mountain lion. Then the next night, the dream was about a mountain lion, and the night after that.

I was out of town, but Temple was at home with company staying over. One quiet afternoon, our guest was looking out the front room window - just in time to see the unmistakable body and tail of a mountain lion slip over the rocks of the hill - just thirty yards from our swing set. The swing set where our kids had been playing just about an hour earlier.

That was our second mountain lion sighting in the last year. That's enough. I decided to call Arizona Game & Fish. First of all, they wouldn't take my testimony. So I had to get my guest - who was here from California - to call Game & Fish to give a first-person account.

I thought that my report would get lost in a sea of paperwork. But surprisingly, Game & Fish called me that afternoon. They would be sending a local hunter to scout our property. The reason that they took my report seriously - our sighting was during the day. Most mountain lions keep out of sight during the day, only venturing out at night.

The next day, a pickup pulled up, and the hunter showed up. He sent his teenage son up the hill to scout things out. They found some tracks, but it was windy. They couldn't tell for sure if those tracks were made by a mountain lion.

He told us that the cats usually range about fifty miles and always come back to the same places at the most once a month. There was a particularly troublesome, old female that they had problems with occasionally. He instructed me to call him if it snowed at all, no matter how late. The snow would give them the advantage in tracking it.

After he left, he spoke to my brother. He expressed doubt that any mountain lion would be in the area.

"There's no water source," the hunter told my brother. "Mountain lions only go to where there is water."

"But there is a regular water source!" I said. "Our well."

Our water tank has no shut-off valve, so the excess water always go out of the overflow, making a constant pool of water next to the tank. There is always standing water about one hundred yards from our house. We always have problems with cattle stopping by to drink. Perfect for a mountain lion.

My brother called the hunter, and he came back and posted motion sensor cameras around the well.

That night, we got a skiff of snow. I immediately called the hunter. He said that they would start the hunt at 2AM that night. There had been a mountain lion sighting at a ranch several miles south of us.

His dogs got a scent of the mountain lion and gave chase for quite a while. They treed a female and two cubs. The cubs were already quite large, big enough to run from the dogs. Once up the tree, the female fell out, and the dogs roughed her up a bit. They collared the female and let her go. From all appearances, she seemed like a good mother, and the hunter didn't think that she posed any threats to humans.

But he said there were two problems - 1) The pronghorn were fawning, which brings the cats down from the peaks. 2) There were several males in the area, trying to kill her cubs to bring her into estrus. The threat came from them. He advised us to resume being cautious.

The tree where they caught the lioness and her cubs was only three miles from my house, near a cinder quarry owned by my in-laws. I am posting a photo. The dark spot at the base of the mountain is the quarry where she was caught.

I've lived here fifteen years. And I don't think the cats are new to the area. I think that they've been here all along. We just weren't aware of them.

In the weeks since this happened, we haven't heard from the hunter. One night, I noticed headlights up on the hill. I was recovering from surgery, so I couldn't go run up the hill. So I called the hunter. It was him, retrieving his game cam. The photos turned up several cows and some crows, but no lions. He reset the cameras to see if anything shows up.

It has now been about a month since the sighting. All in all, I think my kids are safer here than in the city. But still... Every night, when I step outside to turn off the generator/ inverter, there are only yards of black night separating me from the spot where the cougar was sighted. I can't keep but wondering - how often do these cats come back to my place? And how quickly could it cross the darkness before I am even aware it is there?