Showing posts with label Mountain Girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mountain Girl. Show all posts

Carolyn Adams Garcia Autobiography - Mountain Girl Surveys the Psychedelic Renaissance... a Magazine Article in LUCID NEWS...

While we may never see the book... here is a Long Insightful Interview...
BY ANNELISE KELLY  MAY 7, 2021
In the summer of 1963, Carolyn Adams was just 17 and recently kicked out of high school when she caught a ride with her brother as he headed to Stanford University from their family home in Poughkeepsie, New York. She arrived in Palo Alto, California where her destiny became intricately entwined with multiple threads of nascent psychedelic awareness. She had no idea she was heading to ground zero of an emerging culture that would have so much impact years later.

In the Stanford labs scientists were studying mind-altering substances at the behest of the U.S. government. This secret CIA-sponsored research project, known as MKUltra, was driven by the idea that the military could weaponize LSD and other substances to impose conformity and develop techniques for mind control. The research revealed instead that people under the influence of LSD were actually inspired to question authority and very difficult to control and predict. These studies let the genie out of the bottle and ultimately introduced LSD to a wider audience.

Carolyn Adams

Among the paid test subjects at an MKUltra-sponsored research project at the Veterans Administration Hospital in nearby Menlo Park was Ken Kesey, author of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” and a creative writing student at Stanford. Kesey and his compatriots were curious about the transformative potential of psychedelics, and acquired some still-legal LSD for their “Acid Tests” – large experimental gatherings that wove together psychedelic music, light shows, art, and theater created and hosted by Kesey and his crew, the Merry Pranksters.

The Pranksters teamed up with a local Palo Alto band of young ragtag musicians whose freeform musical explorations complemented the Acid Test energy. Briefly called The Warlocks, they renamed themselves The Grateful Dead in 1965 and embarked on a musical journey which remains synonymous with psychedelic culture.

Adams got her first job in a Stanford organic chemistry lab which was studying the psychedelic plant ibogaine that researchers were just then beginning to examine. She is still surprised that the scientists would have entrusted a 17-year-old to run the gas chromatograph machine to analyze the ibogaine sample. They hired her because “I’m from a scientific family” says Adams looking back. “Right!? What were they thinking?”.

She met Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters right after their return from their cross-continent bus trip to the 1964 World’s Fair which was immortalized in Tom Wolfe’s book “The Electric Koolaid Acid Test.” The Merry Pranksters nicknamed her Mountain Girl, and she had a daughter with Kesey in 1966.

Adams later moved with Grateful Dead guitarist Jerry Garcia into the band headquarters in the Haight Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco and had two daughters with him. In 1977, she published “Primo Plant,” a seminal book on outdoor marijuana cultivation. Adams also co-founded the Women’s Visionary Council in 2007, the first women’s nonprofit psychedelic organization. Today she helms Mountain Girl’s Botanica, a line of CBD products derived from Oregon grown hemp.

Few people have had such a front-row seat to so many elements of psychedelic culture. Today, Carolyn Adams Garcia, AKA Mountain Girl lives in Oregon, where psilocybin therapy was recently legalized by ballot measure. We asked her about the present psychedelic renaissance. Her warm, intelligent, curious and openhearted nature came through as she shared her thoughts by phone on a cold Oregon evening. Here are some highlights of the conversation, edited for clarity.

How do you think people benefit from psychedelics?

Some people benefit from psychedelics more than others. I think that if you are a person who does a lot of thinking and loves to explore various new ideas, psychedelics are easier than for folks who have had a heavy religious upbringing and are going to have a little bit more trouble freeing their mind. However, that’s always a good search to be on, to free your mind.

I was brought up in a solid Unitarian free thinking family. It made it fairly easy for me to grasp psychedelics as a useful partner. But it really hasn’t made me any different from anybody else. I think there’s a great deal of normalcy lodged in psychedelics, where you realize that your personal foundation in life is something that you have to maintain and manage and that it’s actually a relief to get back to it after you’ve been flying high for a while.

So it makes you honor your home and your family in new ways, and think all of that kind of work of self-relativity – relationships between yourself, and both your milieu and the general world. That work is fundamental. And we all need to attend to it at some time or another to solidify who we are as a person.

I feel like everybody differs on psychedelics. It all depends on the type of person you are. If you’re a solid citizen, not easily flapped, you’re going to love psychedelics. If you’re a very nervous, lightly-held-down person who thinks about their dreams too much, it might be too much for you.

So we [the Merry Pranksters] seemed to be a pretty solid collective of enjoyers of all these things. And we kind of clubbed together, but all around us were people who were fragile and, you know, there was always somebody that you kind of had to look out for. And so as responsible elevated personalities, we had helped ourselves to all this lovely elevation. We sort of tried to help our buddies who really never got it. Some people just never get it and it’s kind of sad that they miss out on a lot of the fun.

And so, it’s really a matter of your personality traits and your ability to deal with peculiarity in the middle of mayhem. Some of us enjoy that. I think the psychedelic renaissance is great, but we’ve got a whole new set of young people coming up here with little fresh brains. And I just want them all to be cautious. More is not better. It really isn’t. That’s my biggest message.

Certainly no one’s going to stop people from experimenting, but the egotistical lunge toward mega doses is not a good idea and you will not have fun. It just doesn’t work that way. The quieter you can keep your mind and the calmer you can keep your body, the more fun you’re going to have.

People need to be aware of the trickster also, in psychedelics. People with strong minds do well.

Do you feel like psychedelics have benefitted you?

I would say the benefit has been a deeper understanding and compassion for others. I think my vision has improved as far as my way of viewing how people react and are. And it also gives me tremendous appreciation for creativity.

And it was also the fun of discovery. There’s nothing like discovery to make you feel good. I felt we were all discovering each other and that we could be safe and joyous, you know, in this psychic development of having a little bit of psychedelics. And nobody was really maxi dosing in those days. First of all, there was never enough to go all the way around.

Any cautionary advice?

I do want to always err on the side of caution and treat it for what it is. It’s something that can – that’ll change your mind. I’m very certain that my early adoption of LSD set me free in a way that alarmed people for a while, and took me a while to settle back into acceptable behavior. And so, you know, the psychedelics can release you from the norms in a pretty appalling way….

Your behavioral envelope needs to be maintained. Otherwise you get in a lot of trouble, you could wind up in the back of a police car and you’re not gonna like it. It’s wise to be sensitive and perceptive and just not hang yourself out there too far. We really do have to respect our neighbors and our system of government and our parents and all of these things. But these are behavioral issues, which I explored and caused trouble. It caused trouble for me and others, and my mom and dad never quite got over it, although they were very smart and forgiving people. They always looked at me kind of warily after, you know, what’s she going to do next.

So you could hurt yourself socially with overly changed behavior. Who we are as persons, as people in a social group – we want to maintain that, you don’t want to blow that off. It’s too important. So I also think that psychedelics are tremendously helpful in helping you become more adult and more sensitive as a person. Certainly I’d say sensitivity is one of its biggest attributes.

How have you engaged in psychedelic culture over the years?

I’ve been part of MAPS (Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies) conferences and spoken at them and so on, which is a huge privilege. There’s been panel discussions, there’s been Q and A.

I actually had to give the opening speech at this big psychedelic conference in Basel like 10 years ago (2008 World Psychedelic Forum presented by Gaia Media Foundation) where I actually met Albert Hoffman a few days before he passed away, which was a colossal and amazing thing. That’s one of the great honors of my life. I’m very happy I got to meet him. What a lovely gentleman. There he is at hundred plus or something when I saw him. And he’s chatting away in Italian, German, and Swiss dialect, and English. And he’s translating for everybody in the room. Okay, can we all be this smart please?

Here in Oregon is a different story from everywhere else. And the Center for Ethnobotanical Services or edelic.org is this nonprofit that I’ve been partnering with for a couple of years here in Eugene. They are specialized in psychedelics, they have a daily newsletter, and they are doing a lot of outreach as well, with tremendous online resources. And I support it as much as I can.

Getting good information out to the people is so important. Because like what we’ve just seen with the attack on poor Congress and all. There’s a lot of disinformation out there and it must be called out, especially when it affects something like our whole scene, because bad information there can really hurt people. I feel like there’s a concerted effort to screw things up coming from people that we don’t know. We have to be careful where we get our information from and who to believe.

Tell me about creating the Women’s Visionary Council.

Well, the Women’s Visionary Council was an idea that I had with two other ladies, Mariavittoria Mangini and Annie Oak. So it just seemed like the thing to do at the time. We had been going to Burning Man and realizing that there was a kind of organizing that really needed to happen around some women’s issues that weren’t being addressed in the greater psychedeliverse that really were pertinent and important, you know. And they had to do with personal safety and our differences in biology, biological expectations of each other. Just to try to bring the conversation around to something a bit more earthy, and on the ground.

What do you think about using psychedelics therapeutically in clinical settings?

I think this is terrific and this is what has needed to happen now for a long time. I met these early therapists, Jim Fadiman and John Lilly,and actually realized what they were up to, that Lilly was really wanting this to be the perfect drug to use for psychotherapy. That’s kind of what he was looking for, but meanwhile, he got sidetracked onto ketamine, which was not really good for him. And so even these great minds have a little difficulty navigating some of the riptides here.

But I feel good that psilocybin especially has come around. It’s such a friendly drug. It’s so nice. And it really does help you find the lovelier parts of yourself and then the good parts of life. So I think that that’s going to be a real winner for everybody.

I think that some of these new therapies that are showing up, it means a great deal. I think it’s going to be especially helpful in therapeutic situations where folks really need help. We’re pretty excited about the ability to have psychedelic therapy here in Oregon, which is obviously coming.

You know, we had a lot of war vets who had been so hurt by their experiences in the armed services overseas. And they used a lot of psychedelics to sort of bring themselves back to something that would be acceptable for American culture, because they felt so altered by their experiences. They were just lost. And I think that folks who feel lost can really do well with some psychedelic therapy because it warms you back up and stimulates the spirit in a good way, handled properly.

I have a lot of excitement about the future here. The rollout is coming. We don’t exactly know how it’s going to shape up, but I know a lot of therapists are pretty keen on giving this a try. So I think we’re going to see a difference, a different psychological adventure coming here pretty soon.

Bill Wilson, LSD and the Secret Psychedelic History of Alcoholics Anonymous

Taking one mind-altering drug to free oneself from addiction to another mind-altering drug may sound counter-intuitive. But, like with all things psychedelic, this therapeutic approach is all about set and setting, intention and integration, what kind of drugs are consumed, how often and at what dose.

Those who preach that the only way to achieve lasting sobriety is through total abstinence from alcohol and all other drugs may be surprised to learn that the supposed patron saint of abstinence, Bill Wilson, the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, was a firm believer in the ability of LSD to free some hardcore alcoholics from their addiction.

Bill Wilson’s enthusiasm for LSD as a tool in twelve-step work is best expressed in his correspondence in 1961 with the famous Swiss psychologist Carl Jung.

Jung was discussing how he agreed with Wilson that some diehard alcoholics must have a spiritual awakening to overcome their addiction. He pointed out that the Latin word for alcohol is spiritus. “You use the same word for the highest religious experience,” Jung wrote, “as for the most depraving poison.”

That letter of January 30, 1961 — in response to a long letter Wilson wrote to Jung — is fairly famous in AA circles. But in researching my book Distilled Spirits — Getting High, then Sober, with a Famous Writer, a Forgotten Philosopher and a Hopeless Drunk, I discovered a second Wilson letter to Jung. In that letter of March 29, 1961, Wilson writes at length about his experiments using LSD to help members of Alcoholics Anonymous have the spiritual awakening that is central to the twelve-step program of recovery.

“Some of my AA friends and I have taken the material (LSD) frequently and with much benefit,” Wilson told Jung, adding that the powerful psychedelic drug sparks “a great broadening and deepening and heightening of consciousness.”

Wilson told Jung that his first LSD trip in 1956 reminded him of a mystical revelation he had after hitting bottom in the 1930s and winding up in a New York City hospital ward for hardcore alcoholics. “My original spontaneous spiritual experience of twenty-five years before was enacted with wonderful splendor and conviction,” he wrote.

LSD was still legal in 1956, and in Wilson’s case initially taken under the medical supervision of UCLA researcher Sidney Cohen, and with the spiritual guidance of his Wilson’s friend, Gerald Heard, an Anglo-Irish mystic and early proponent of psychedelic spirituality. Wilson would go on to quietly form a bi-coastal psychedelic salon with various leading lights of that decade, including the writer Aldous Huxley.

Wilson’s earlier spiritual experience occurred in December of 1934, before LSD was even invented. It happened during Wilson’s fourth and final stay at a private New York City hospital that employed something called the Towns-Lambert Cure to treat their alcoholic clients. Many of these patients, including Wilson, were once-successful businessmen whose drinking had spun out of control during the Great Depression.

“Suddenly,” Bill would later recall, “my room blazed with an indescribably white light. I was seized with an ecstasy beyond description.”

That room was in a rehab center where doctors employed a potion which included two drugs derived from plants known to cause delirium and hallucinations. One of them is belladonna and the other henbane, was long associated with witchcraft and potions said to summon the spirits of the dead. (Warning to psychonaunts: both of these plants can be poisonous at high doses.)

So there’s a good chance that psychoactive plants played a role in what came to be known as the founding vision of Alcoholics Anonymous, even though the effects of the herbs used at Towns Hospital differ from other psychedelic plants and from the LSD Wilson would begin experimenting with two decades later.

Here’s how Bill W. would later describe his Towns Hospital vision:

“In the mind’s eye, there was a mountain. I stood upon its summit where a great wind blew. A wind, not of air, but of spirit. In great, clean strength it blew right through me. Then came the blazing thought, ‘You are a free man.’ ”

In my view, it doesn’t really matter if Bill’s vision was caused by psychoactive plants, divine revelation, or the hallucinations hardcore drunks sometimes experience when they hit bottom and stop drinking.

What matters is that the vision transformed his life and inspired a crusade to free other alcoholics from addiction.

One of the foundations of the twelve-step recovery program Wilson and company devised in the 1930s is the proposition that alcoholics and other addicts must undergo a “spiritual awakening” inspiring them to “turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understand Him.”

Those are the only words in the twelve steps that were printed in italics, indicating an openness in the early AA circles to finding God in the Judeo-Christian tradition, Eastern spirituality or, twenty years later, in a tab of acid. In fact, long before he discovered psychedelics, Wilson was a serious student of paranormal psychology and various forms of spiritualism, holding seances and other gatherings with some of the leading psychics of his time.

In his second letter to Jung, Bill Wilson told Jung that many members of AA “have returned to the churches, almost always with fine results. But some of us have taken less orthodox paths. Along with a number of friends, I find myself among the later.”

Wilson cited the Canadian research of Humphry Osmond, the man who turned Huxley onto mescaline in 1953. Osmond reported that 150 hardcore alcoholics were “preconditioned by LSD and then placed in the surrounding AA groups.”

Over a three-year period, they achieved “startling results” when compared to similar drunks who were not treated with psychedelics, but only got AA.

“My friends believe that LSD temporarily triggers a change in blood chemistry that inhibits or reduces ego thereby enabling more reality to be felt and seen,” Wilson told Jung.

Jung became seriously ill around the time he received Wilson’s second letter. He never answered that missive and he may not have even gotten a chance to read it before he died.

Jung died on June 6, 1961.

Bill Wilson died ten years later from diseases caused by the other addiction he could never shake — cigarettes.

In the end, not much came of Bill Wilson’s idea to introduce LSD into Alcoholics Anonymous. More cautious and conservative elements in the AA fellowship pushed back, questioning their founder’s unbridled enthusiasm for the drug.

In one letter, Wilson asserted that the powerful psychoactive compound was “about as harmless as aspirin.” But in another piece of correspondence, he acknowledged that LSD does not have “any miraculous property of transforming spiritually and emotionally sick people into healthy ones overnight.” Wilson also wrote that those opposing his LSD enthusiasm in AA were joking that “Bill takes one pill to see God and another to quiet his nerves.”

Meanwhile, by the mid-1960s, the notorious LSD evangelism of such counter-cultural icons as Harvard Professor Timothy Leary and Merry Prankster Ken Kesey had begun turning mainstream America against the idea of psychedelic therapy.

In recent decades, psychologists and neuroscientists have resurrected substance abuse research that began in the 1950s and was shut down during the “war on drugs” in the 1970s and 1980s. Clinical trials have, once again, shown the effectiveness of using psychedelic drugs, along with psychotherapy, to treat addiction to alcohol, cocaine and tobacco.

At the same time, there has been an explosion of interest in the ritualized use of ayahuasca, ibogaine and other plant medicines to help those addicted to various drugs of abuse.

In my book Changing Our Minds – Psychedelic Sacraments and the New Psychotherapy, I interviewed addicts, alcoholics, therapists, shamans and scientists doing this work.

Carroll Carlson, an alcoholic treated in a clinical trial at the University of New Mexico, said a vision she had of Jesus during psilocybin-assisted therapy enabled her to “forgive myself for the choices I had made.”

Gordon McGlothlin, a lifelong smoker approaching retirement, kicked his tobacco habit following a psychedelic clinical trial at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. Asked how his trip did the trick, he said, “You suddenly understand how your body and the universe are connected…I might want to have a cigarette, but now I know I don’t need it.”

Carson, a heroin addict I interviewed at a treatment center in Mexico and asked that his last name not be used, was treated with two psychedelic medicines — ibogaine and 5-MeO-DMT. Carson, a 31-year-old evangelical Christian from Dallas, said he felt “reborn” after the experience. “Since the ibogaine,” he told me, “the basic craving that I’ve had for opiates is gone for the first time in ten years.”

If this all sounds too good to be true, that’s because it sometimes is. Another heroin addict I interviewed for my book went to this same clinic and quickly relapsed after his miracle cure. He soon realized that he needed an ongoing support group and other lifestyle changes if he was to stay free from addictive thoughts and behaviors.

That’s exactly the point behind an emerging network of alcoholics and other addicts who have slightly rewritten Bill Wilson’s twelve steps and hold Zoom meetings under the banner “Psychedelics in Recovery.

As a recovering alcoholic and cocaine addict, I played a minor role in the formation of that online fellowship. I got sober in 2006, and did so without psychedelics. I tell that story in Distilled Spirits. In 2014, after eight years of taking nothing stronger than a double espresso, I started researching and reporting Changing Our Minds. Over the next few years, as part of that project and to satisfy my own curiously, I cautiously revived my own psychedelic experimentation. As a participant/observer, I explored the therapeutic and spiritual use of magic mushrooms, MDMA, ketamine, ayahuasca and 5-Meo-DMT.

So far, I have not touched alcohol and cocaine — nor have I fallen into the abuse of psychedelics. I still drink too much espresso.

Others have not been so lucky. My work with Psychedelics in Recovery showed me how easy it is for addicts like me to fool ourselves and fall back into addictive, abusive and harmful use of drugs that, in a therapeutic or spiritual setting, might help us at least temporarily dissolve the ego and examine our own self-centeredness.

“Defining our own sobriety” may work for some, but certainly not for all addicts and alcoholics. Honesty, openness and truly knowing ourselves, with the help of a supportive community, seems to be the best route to recovery — with or without a psychedelic assist.

Mountain Girl's Autobiography - Carolyn Garcia - Wife of Jerry Garcia and Partner of Ken Kesey - Book is Coming Soon! Still Not Out... 5/15/2023... I'll buy it if it ever gets published!

Here's a Book of Hers that HAS Been Published... 

Primo Plant : The Bhagavad Gita for Daily Living, Volume III
by Carolyn Garcia and Mountain Girl https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Primo-Plant/Carolyn-Garcia/9780932551276
or
https://www.amazon.com/Primo-Plant-Growing-Marijuana-Outdoors/dp/0932551270

Jerry Garcia’s Widow Mountain Girl Opens Up About Life With The Dead In New Memoir... 

Mountain Girl and Jerry Garcia

A new feature article published by Insider offers an exclusive first preview of Carolyn “Mountain Girl” Garcia‘s new memoir, in which the widow of Grateful Dead guitarist Jerry Garcia explores her life with the Dead and the dark side of the ’60s counterculture in candid detail.
Born Carolyn Adams in 1946, Mountain Girl fled her hometown of Poughkeepsie, NY for San Francisco, where at just 19 years old she became the “‘it girl’ of the nascent psychedelic underground” and “matriarch for the counterculture’s most celebrated influencers, the Merry Pranksters,” from whom she received her nickname. She took guitar lessons at Dana Morgan’s Music Store in Stanford, CA, where met Jerry Garcia in 1964 after hearing his voice coming from the next room. “I could hear his voice and somebody else’s voice,” she said. “They were talking about chord progressions and all this interesting stuff.” She was 19 and he was 21.
The two did not immediately couple, and Mountain Girl went on to have a daughter with author and Merry Pranksters leader Ken Kesey, who was married at the time. She reconnected with Garcia a couple years later after leaving Kesey in Mexico, where he was hiding out to avoid U.S. drug charges, and returning to San Francisco with her daughter Sunshine.
“I’m so glad to see you!” the young guitarist exclaimed when she got off the bus in October 1966.
Although they had always been just friends, Mountain Girl said that changed in a flash when they hugged that day.  “I was like, ‘Whoa, that was a really electric moment!'” she recalled. “That was just a zap! What the hell just happened? He put the mojo on me. I got a huge jolt, and I had a very vivid image of us being together.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” she asked him.
“You could come stay with me,” he replied, and so they did.
After moving into 710 Ashbury Street in San Francisco, Mountain Girl became the “den mother” of the Grateful Dead, as she put it, handling the bulk of the cooking and cleaning and rustling the band out the door on time. The Dead was starting to make a buzz in the Haight at the time but hadn’t yet recorded an album. In her unpublished memoir, she writes:
"Jerry and I were head over heels in love, and radiant with happiness. Our room at the top of the stairs was small, a comforting retreat, with a huge flag covering one wall, and a window looking out over the weedy garden. His pedal steel and a chair the only furniture. The tiny kitchen downstairs was the crossroads, we jammed in there for morning cornflakes and conversation. I jumped in to make a few dinners and keep the pantry stocked. We cleaned our grass in an old aluminum colander, and stored the kilo of Acapulco gold in a kitchen cupboard. The tiny sink was a hazard zone. We tried to keep the mess to a minimum."
As the magic of the ’60s started to peter out at the end of the decade, Mountain Girl and Garcia sought to revitalize California’s hippie counterculture with the Altamont Festival, a free festival billed as “Woodstock West” that hosted performances by the Dead, SantanaJefferson Airplane, and the Rolling Stones. The event famously ended in tragedy when a member of the Hells Angels, who were hired to provide security, stabbed 18-year-old Meredith Hunter to death in front of the stage. “It was awful,” Mountain Girl reflected. “Everybody was really depressed. It was all over the newspapers, and it was a huge story, and we felt guilty at having called for this.”
The couple retreated to Stinson Beach, CA to raise their daughters, and the Dead began to put out records. As Garcia started spending most of his time on the road, he fell into cocaine and heroin addiction, which Mountain Girl speculated may have stemmed from the trauma of seeing his father, Joe, drown on a fishing trip when he was six. “That left a giant hole in his personality he was constantly trying to fill,” she said. “He’d fill it with music, drugs, girlfriends, whatever. The loss of his father was absolutely devastating for him as a little boy.”
Garcia and Mountain Girl were finally married by a Buddhist Monk backstage at the Grateful Dead’s 1980 New Year’s Eve concert. After Garcia’s addiction worsened, though, Mountain Girl took their daughters and moved to a farm in Oregon where some of the other Pranksters were living. They divorced in 1993, two years before Garcia died of a heart attack at a drug treatment facility at the age of 53.
“I was totally devastated,” said Carolyn, now 76. “I went down for a long time,” she added with tears in her eyes. “I haven’t had another relationship really since then. Nobody can measure up.”
Mountain Girl and her Children

Carolyn Adams Garcia was affectionately monikered Mountain Girl by the Intrepid Traveler and His Band of Merry Pranksters.

At the age of 17, I got a job at the Organic Chemistry lab at Stanford University in Palo Alto, California.  It was 1963, and this was my first job far away from home.

The magic happened, and I was swept into the mystical path of opening and becoming, a blend of music, exploration and science emerging in California.

Joining Ken Kesey’s Merry Band of Pranksters,  I rode endlessly on the Great Bus Further, and helped start the infamous Acid Tests. There I met Jerry Garcia,  and we lived together  at the incomparable Grateful Dead house at 710 Ashbury St. in San Francisco.  It was the most fun we’ve ever had.

When we found a home of our own, I embraced the ethics of Organic gardening, and eventually wrote Primo Plant, a book on Marijuana cultivation, with help from my friends.  My family had always had a big garden, and I found that my garden was highly responsive to my basic preparations  and organic practices.  Knowing some chemistry has helped me understand the cycle of nutrients and specific herbal  supplements for myself as well as what I used in the garden.

We truly are what we consume.

In creating these products, we have emphasized certified Organically grown  ingredients. This is especially important  as we live in a more crowded world. Organic practices improve our bodies as we nourish our soil.

As I get a little older, my body tells me to pay close attention how to energize and strengthen my whole system, my heart and my brain.

I  want to share what I have learned about enhancement of my attention span, my  mental readiness and my overall health, by making our products  healthy, effective and safe.

May we all grow in strength and wisdom, and seek good health in practice.

Mountain Girl

https://mountaingirlsbotanica.com/

Mountain Girl in a Field of Weed

SHE NEVER GOT OFF THE BUS

By Cynthia Robins May 25th, 1997

PLEASANT HILL, Oregon - "Come on and see The Bus," ordered Mountain Girl over her shoulder as she rushed hell-for-leather down the back steps of Ken Kesey's red barn home. With steely determination, she continued her way across a wide expanse of unmown grass with Kesey's black spaniel Happy yapping at her heels. A buxom, big-boned woman wearing green velvet pull-on pants, a shapeless black wool sweater and a voluminously floppy, long black coat, Mountain Girl is a force of nature - difficult to ignore when she's under sail. The Bus had been abandoned in a muddy, mossy swale behind the Kesey compound for three years. Thirty years ago, in the dawning of psychedelia, Kesey and the Merry Pranksters, that tatterdemalion pre-hippie/post-Beat caravansary of performers, musicians, poets, magicians, gypsies, tramps and fools crammed into their gaily-painted 1939 International-Harvester, and drove their way into the American consciousness on the rollicking prose of Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. And now, The Bus was retired. Left to moulder in the weeds. And Mountain Girl wasn't sure how she felt about it.

Happy the dog, her head splotched with a huge drop of blue paint, flushed a covey of peacocks which rose above the trees and the parked bus, scattering rainbow feathers and squawking bloody murder. The wind blew the cottony clouds around in a brisk Oregon morning and Mountain Girl, oh-so-daintily for her bulk, padded across a slippery board laid to traverse a narrow creek.

And there it was. The Bus, with "Furthur" written like a title across the top. The hood was open. The engine had been cannibalized for parts for Furthur II, the "new bus" that Kesey was taking on what fellow Prankster Kenneth Babbs was calling the Grand Furthur Tour to the Rock and Roll Museum in Cleveland, Ohio. The riotous paint job was murky and peeling, as if the bus had leprosy.

Mountain Girl walked around it, peering in the windows. She tried to get in the door but a tree had grown up and blocked her passage. She uttered a huge sigh. "I always get emotional about the old bus. It was such a special thing," she says. "I felt bad when it was taken down into the woods and abandoned. It hadn't been running for a very long time. There were daisies growing up through the floor boards. Ken (Kesey) could have made yard art out of it. Instead, he decided to hide it. It's sad to see it crumble away. It's a piece of my childhood. We had so much fun on that bus. Getting on it was a liberating feeling."

"The bus is the real talisman," said Kesey a few weeks later. "It's the thing that runs through all of this history. It's not a thing anybody owns or controls. No matter how peeved you get with people, the bus always makes your heart jump. Everybody was attached to it."

The first time Mountain Girl climbed onto the mythic bus, she was 18. Today, Carolyn Adams Walker Garcia is 51 years old. Her legend leaps off the pages of books, in the annals of the Grateful Dead in her role as Jerry Garcia's consort and then wife for nearly 30 years and in the transcripts of a high profile trial last winter which pitted her against Garcia's widow, Deborah Koons Garcia, in a Marin County courtroom.

But who is this woman who attracted Ken Kesey and Jerry Garcia, two of the most powerful influences on the popular culture in the past three decades?

"She's a person possessed of spirit and weight, will and energy," says Jon McIntire, the Dead's manager from 1968 to 1990. "She had the ability to meld her energy with the energy of others to do more than what one person could do by themselves. ... She had intelligence, joie de vivre and a directness that is really remarkable. And her beauty. She was amazingly beautiful."

"She is an authentic personality," says Dennis McNally, former public relations manager for the Grateful Dead and now publicist for Grateful Dead Productions. "She is the real deal."

Even as a teenager dedicated to "experimentation," as Carolyn now puts it, she was a fairly daunting personality.

"I suppose I would have been pretty good pickings for a cult," she laughs. "I was definitely a seeker ... I would question every single thing. That was sort of my style, to ask the really tough questions right away."

Even back in those pre-women's liberation days, Carolyn Adams was an in-your-face challenge for any male.

"She's imposing all right," says David Gans, the proto-Deadhead historian who hosts "Dead to the World" on KPFA-FM radio. "You have to be a pretty big person to hold your own with Kesey and Garcia and their milieu. Those two are the biggest people in every way - big souls, big hearts, big egos, big personalities. They were monumental. It takes a monumental person to be with them."

Today, vestiges of the slender, heart-stoppingly beautiful girl-woman who caught Kesey's eye in 1964 remain - the fierce intelligence, the take-control bossy stick, the intellectual acuity, the ability to cut through a morass of pretense to the heart of the matter, the boisterousness, the guilelessness, the curiosity, the laughter.

It is to Pleasant Hill that Carolyn Garcia retreated many years ago, during her nearly three decade liaison and marriage to Jerry Garcia - the totemic Captain Trips, guitar-genius/linchpin of the Grateful Dead - when the druggy Deadhead scene got too weird and dangerous. She opted out of the Grateful Dead scene for the sake of her three little girls, Sunshine Kesey, her daughter with Ken Kesey, and Annabelle and Theresa Garcia, her children with Jerry Garcia. And it is in Pleasant Hill, in the bucolic greenness of the Willamette Valley, that she now lives on 16 acres with her new love, Bill Burwell, 49, a huge, shambling, robust ex-logger with a split between his teeth, ruddy cheeks and a long, salt-and-pepper gray pony tail. Their agrarian entourage includes a quartet of donkeys, a dozen sheep, two dogs (Chiquita, an ancient, deaf Border Collie mix and Penny, an apricot standard poodle) and two cats. She has a garden, a greenhouse with a new outdoor shower, a painting/writing studio guest house, a hot tub, an aging BMW convertible and a split-log conservatory Burwell built where she grows redwood trees.

For an arduous month in December 1996 and part of January 1997, Carolyn Garcia was living on the Bolinas Lagoon at Stinson Beach with her old friend Caroline "Goldie" Rush and commuting to the Marin County Court House in San Rafael. She was the plaintiff in a court case seeking the balance of the $5 million settlement arrived at in a contract that she and Garcia had drafted as their divorce agreement in 1993. But Jerry had up and died. He left a third of his estate to his wife of three months, Deborah Koons Garcia, but had a herd of creditors in his wake (including Mountain Girl) and the value of his estate in dispute. Before Garcia died of a heart attack in a dry-out facility in Forest Knolls on Aug. 9, 1995, he'd already paid Mountain Girl their agreed-upon $20,883 per month for a period of 18 months. After his death, Koons Garcia stopped the checks.

Mountain Girl sued to get the money owned her. The court case turned into a high-profile free-for-all, with Koons Garcia's side claiming that Jerry had stopped loving Carolyn years before, that their marriage on New Year's Eve, 1981, was a sham and had been for tax purposes only and that in circumventing the legal system, their agreement was basically not worth the paper it was written on.

"Yes," admits Carolyn Garcia. "We were trying to do an end run on the legal system and get the ball around to the other side of the court without having to engage a whole lot of people in the process. It was something we did amongst ourselves. It was the honorable thing to do and it should be honored. Which is why I went and took it to court. Because Jerry and I honorably tried to do a deal that covered everything, that made me happy."

Garcia knew that as Jerry's wife and mother of two of his children, she was entitled to half of his estate under California law. Both felt the $5 million figure was fair, she said. In exchange for the cash, she gave up claim to the fruits of his talent, his real estate holdings and any future earnings. "I knew he could pay it and that he would get total control of his own business and that I wouldn't ever have to know anything about anything. One thing that he did not want was any disclosure. He did not want to share that information or even have to dig into all that information."

The trial was "an unexpected development," she says, as she sits in her rural kitchen. "We thought we had everything settled and that I was going to go up to Oregon and raise dahlias ... have some goldfish or something that would keep me happy. And then this sort of unusual set of circumstances occurred whereby Jerry ..." Her conversation tails off into an uncomfortable silence. She realigns her shoulders and runs her large hands through a luxuriant mop of silver and black hair. "You know, we lost him out of our family. He's dead. He's not going to come back. It's so sad."

After a trial noted for the animosity between the two warring sides and full disclosure of the Garcias' private life and Jerry Garcia's assets - the very things he wished to avoid - the judge decided in Carolyn Garcia's favor. On April 3, Marin County Superior Court Judge Michael Dufficy handed down a 10-page decision stating that the one-paragraph agreement drafted by Garcia and Mountain Girl is a valid contract and legally binds the estate. Meanwhile, Koons Garcia's attorney, Paul Camera, has indicated that he will advise his client to appeal. Carolyn Garcia's monthly payments, at this point, are still suspended.

Deborah Koons Garcia declined to be interviewed for this story, but in a written statement, she said "we did not want this case to go to trial, but we have a duty to protect the Estate," adding that the "alleged agreement was for an amount which exceeded Jerry's net worth at the time, which was clearly unfair."

The battle between Mountain Girl and the woman some people secretly call "Dark Deborah" or the "Black Widow" has a long and difficult history going back more than 20 years. In 1975, when Theresa Garcia was not even a year old, Jerry disappeared. Mountain Girl's girlfriends had an idea where he was - living with Deborah Koons, a filmmaker he'd met at a concert in New York in 1973 with whom he'd stayed in contact. But they were reluctant to tell Mountain Girl, lest they hurt her. (There is an apocryphal tale of Mountain Girl throwing Deborah Koons through a sliding glass door at Bob Weir's recording studio, which both women hotly deny both to the press and in private. A few of her friends acknowledge the incident as rumor but refuse to verify it as fact).

What really happened, Garcia says, is that she marched into a film studio in San Rafael and handed Deborah Koons a one-way ticket back to New York which, Koons Garcia told the press, "Jerry and I cashed it in."

The Mountain Girl-Jerry Garcia relationship was fraught with enough drama and see-sawing emotion to resemble a hippie soap opera. Joy and excitement; uncertainty and pain. It began in 1966 and extended nearly 28 years until the couple divorced in 1993. At Jerry's funeral, Annabelle, his older daughter with Mountain Girl, said,

"He was a great musician and a shitty father." Says Rock Scully, the Dead's road manager for many years, "Jerry Garcia was married to his guitar and the muse and his human relationships suffered for it. None of the various women and children in his life could dispute that. It's the price the individual pays for the overall benefit of the planet. We're lucky to have geniuses around giving us art." But, says Gordon "Dass" Adams, Carolyn Garcia's oldest brother, "Jerry was a lousy husband."

Somehow, however, Garcia and Mountain Girl established a life, albeit one that was quite unconventional by Leave It To Beaver standards. They produced two daughters. The family moved from house to house (Annabelle Garcia says that she went to no less than 13 schools, "just like an Army brat" ). Occasionally, Mountain Girl would ferry the kids away to Oregon and once, during one long separation, took them all the way back East to be near her parents. It was a complicated situation but there's one thing that anyone close to the couple agrees upon: It was a very big love.

By the time Jerry Garcia met Carolyn Adams she was the iconic Mountain Girl - the outrageous, free-spirited teenaged Merry Prankster who captivated Tom Wolfe's imagination in The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. As Wolfe first described her, she was: "A tall girl, big and beautiful with dark brown hair falling down to her shoulders except that the lower two-thirds of her falling hair looks like a paint brush dipped in cadmium yellow from where she dyed it blond in Mexico."

The first time any of Kesey's literary mob ever saw Carolyn Adams, late of Hyde Park, N.Y., she was seated in a Palo Alto cafe, reading a book when Prankster and Beat icon Neal Cassady and a handsome young blond guy with a Beatle haircut named Bradley picked her up and invited her for a ride.

She was living near Stanford, hired by then-department head Carl Djerassi to work the night shift at the mass spectrometer in the university's organic chemistry lab. Many of the compounds she was analyzing came from the psych department, where novelist Kesey was a volunteer guinea pig, tripping his brains out on the still-legal precursors to lysergic acid diethylamide, aka LSD. She was fired for dipping into the experimental psychedelic chemicals she was analyzing.

"I had a little "spill,' " she laughs, "and got really high. I kind of nodded out. It was definitely a mild psychedelic experience with a lot of long, complex dreams, mostly about ancient ruined cities - Mayan - and jaguars. When I came to, my boss was shaking me by the shoulder. The machine was down. I had f - - - - d up the sample and taken the thing out of commission for a day."

Cassady's car actually belonged to Kesey, who was living with his Prankster band up at La Honda in the Santa Cruz Mountains. "Cassady was on a speed run, looking for bennies," Garcia remembers. "He seemed to be a dangerous kind of guy, sort of angular, like a trucker. But I went because I thought Bradley was cute and here is this older guy with him who was kinda weird. Then all of a sudden, the older guy's pulling these clippings out of his wallet and he's a Kerouac character. Well, I loved Kerouac."

They wound up at Kesey's spread at 5 in the morning. For Carolyn Adams, encountering Kesey and the Pranksters was like coming home, as if she'd been looking for people like them all of her life.

Kesey describes that first meeting with a literary allusion: "Vonnegut's phrase a "karass' comes to mind. We often thought of ourselves as a karass. We weren't exactly a coven, we weren't a cult ... but we did seem to be involved with each other before we even met each other." In Carolyn Adams, the Pranksters instantly recognized one of their own.

"I was on the hunt for compatible people," says Garcia now. "It's one of those things you do in your early adulthood. When I met Kesey and the Pranksters, I had that understanding immediately - that these guys were going to be my friends for a very long time. There was no uncertainty about that."

Cassady had told Kesey that he met this girl who was a little wild, "like she was kind of a mountain girl," says Kesey. The name stuck.

Retired Prankster Lee Quanstrom, a Santa Cruz-based journalist, has vivid memories of Mountain Girl. "The first time I saw her, she was riding a 175 Honda motorcycle, driving east on La Honda Road. She was turning a corner so fast, she was leaning down, close to parallel with the pavement on this windy, twisty mountain road, her long, black hair flying out behind her, lookin' good. A beautiful woman. ... She was very bright, very fast. Had a quick mind - quick on the pickup with puns, jokes and comments. Attractive in every possible way. I think everybody had a crush on her."

At the time, Kesey, the Pranksters and The Bus had just come back from their cross-country hegira; Wolfe had written the pieces for New York magazine that eventually became his bestselling book; Kesey was orchestrating the Acid Test concert/psychedelic experiences and the house band was the budding Grateful Dead (formerly the Warlocks) featuring a half Irish, half Spanish banjo/guitar whiz named Jerry Garcia.

The intellectual climate at Kesey's was free of academic constraints," remembers Carolyn Garcia. "He was very connected in the world of literature and we were constantly being visited by graduate students or writers or people doing interviews. It kept him very up. He had a very bright, engaging repartee going all the time, which I just loved."

She and Kesey were "mutually attracted." But at the same time, he had a family and was "very married, with the cutest three little kids you ever saw in your whole life. And there were dogs and Pranksters, the bus and a whole huge scene all around them. And Faye, his wife, was struggling with the whole thing. ... I don't know if she was threatened by me. I'd really kind of like to stay out of that discussion because we're good friends and she's a very private person."

But at La Honda and in other communities around the country, a new movement was taking place. The seeds of hippiedom - question authority, love the one you're with, share and share alike - were fueled by marijuana and psychedelics and accompanied by the twang of guitars and banjos. "I think there was a realistic amount of sexual activity up there," Garcia says, "but it was certainly not out of bounds or weird or anything like that. I mean, there were no "scenes.' "

Kesey was, she says, "attractive and very engaging. He loved to engage all sorts of people in all sorts of conversation and brief relationships. My relationship with him had to do more with intellectual companionship rather than a physical relationship, which was really brief. It was a minor note, although I suppose it wasn't minor for me at the time because I was young and attractive. What was happening is that we were working on stuff together and collaborating on things and I was supporting him in a lot of the writing and the fiddling around and the taping and the filming ... you know. I was just on board to do whatever."

Or, as Kesey told Tom Wolfe: "Either you are on the bus or off the bus." Either you were with Kesey or not with Kesey.

Mountain Girl was definitely on the bus.

For MG, which is how her intimates shorten her name, the Pranksters were her college, the University of Fun. That she was 18, unmarried and pregnant with Kesey's child didn't really register until the birth was upon her. Says Kesey: "There was never a question that she would not have the baby, gosh, no. That would have been a sin. I'm not a great anti-abortionist, but it never came up."

Carolyn Adams is very proud of her family history. Her maternal grandfather was a missionary in Allahabad, India, where her mother grew up. One of her father's progenitors was Dr. Samuel Adams, a physician in General Burgoyne's army during the Revolutionary War. Her parents, Ruth and Alfred, prized knowledge over material possessions and she grew up the tomboy little sister of two older brothers whose excellence in academics and athletics challenged and frustrated her.

"Girls didn't have as much personal freedom as boys did," she remembers. "I was jealous of the freedom the boys seemed to have and I was always angling for another little slice of freedom. Independence. That was my big goal as a child. Complete independence."

Her mother, a botanist and a school teacher, "abhorred gender classification," says Garcia. "The intellectual challenges of being a part of my family were certainly evenly shared by everybody, regardless of sex. But at the same time, there was a slightly Victorian tinge to the whole thing."

Carolyn was born on May 6, 1946. Her entomologist father was 40. "My father was not a person who was ambitious in a materialistic way," says Carolyn's brother, Gordon Adams, 57, who runs a computer help line for architects and designers in Seattle. "He wanted to do his work and be off in his head. There was a gentleness and a simplicity about him. Jerry, I think, fits the Alfred picture as a kind of verbally interesting person, rather than the swashbuckler Kesey was. Carolyn is such a big, energetic person and you could see, even at 17, the frustration with the mildness in her family situation (along) with the kind of isolation she had and lack of involvement in rough and tumble life."

"School," writes Garcia in the beginnings of what may become her memoirs, "was an inner battleground. Daydreaming took me out the windows and into fresh, limitless landscapes and away from that tension of never quite fitting in, of the feeling of being odd and too smart."

She was, she recalls, "a beatnik." It was like opting to be an alien. She eschewed the fashion pursuits of the time. She refused to rat her hair or wear makeup. She affected black turtlenecked sweaters and carried books of poetry. Eventually, rejection by her peers got easier to handle.

From her parents, young Carolyn inherited an adoration of nature. She spent every minute she could out of doors, exploring the local terrain and, she writes, "imagining myself running long distance over the old Mohawk trail or hunting deer or making the clothes and foods of the Indians." Both of her parents encouraged her interest in the natural world. Their house was a living lab, a repository of bugs and plants.

While life at home was an intellectual paradise, school was quite another matter. A natural athlete, Carolyn tried out for girls basketball but ran into trouble with her gym teacher who, she says, "was not my admirer. She never taught me any rules and benched me forever." Carolyn "went to war with her" and eventually, the gym teacher saw to it that she was expelled only six weeks before graduation. She received her diploma by mail. Over the summer, she took a waitressing job and put college on hold. When her youngest brother, Don, offered her a ride to California, she took it. It was the summer of 1963. She had $600 in her pocket and she was 17 years old.

Ken Kesey was in a lot of trouble in 1965 with the authorities in San Mateo for a marijuana bust. He faked a suicide and split for Mexico, basically leaving a pregnant 18-year-old - Mountain Girl - behind him. Eventually, the rest of the Pranksters loaded themselves onto Furthur and trekked down to Manzanillo, where they lived in a small rancho with a red and white checkerboard roof. Carolyn's daughter Sunshine was born in a Manzanillo hospital where the water was turned off 12 hours a day. To ensure that the baby, named Solano in Spanish (which, laughs Garcia, means "sun porch" ) would have legal U.S. citizenship, Mountain Girl married a pretty blond Prankster named George Walker.

Eventually, Kesey and his rag-tag band returned to the States, Mountain Girl and the baby in tow, to produce the final of the Acid Tests, the combination concert-performance-mass LSD trip (often courtesy of Owsley Stanley, who provided the psychedelics and was the money behind the house band, the Grateful Dead).

In 1966, Kesey was still officially a fugitive. For the Acid Test at San Francisco State, the Pranksters set up in the gym while Kesey sat in the broadcast booth of the college radio station and taunted the authorities.

Rock Scully's girlfriend of the time, Valerie Ann Steinbrecher, who still is called "Tangerine," remembers watching Carolyn Adams and an unbearded Jerry Garcia literally fall in love on the spot: "The first time I saw Mountain Girl was at this gig at S.F. State. She had short hair she'd dyed blonde. Sunshine was about two or three months old and she was in this little basket. I watched MG and Jerry connect. As far as I know, it went boom! He played to her all night. You could feel it."

It was not difficult to get Mountain Girl away from Kesey, says McIntire. "I didn't witness it," he says carefully, "but I heard from (one of her best friends) that Garcia pursued her with a focus that could not be broken."

"I'm not sure he "got her away' from Kesey," says Sue Swanson, who calls herself "the Grateful Dead's first official fan" and who runs the Dead's merchandising office in Novato. "She was fascinated with Jerry and the Dead's trip. And perhaps the Prankster thing had gotten a little stale for her at that point."

But from then on, Mountain Girl and Captain Trips were a pair.

Soon after they coupled up, Mountain Girl moved with the baby into 710 Ashbury, the Dead's commune in the Haight, coincidentally on the day that Tangerine moved out. "She didn't move into another woman's house," says Tangerine. "She was Jerry's girlfriend. They spent all the time in Jerry's room being in love. They were a team."

"I never met a woman with quite as much machismo as this girl had," marvels Scully. "She spoke her mind and was quite tolerant except for anything that approached ignorance. If you were stupid, she'd tell you so. If you were behaving badly, she'd tell you that, too. She wasn't a judgmental kind of person, she was just brutally frank. She was judge and jury in those days."

But, laughs Scully, "Nobody ever saw her and Jerry because they never came out of their room. And they had the smallest room in the house at that point. They just fell in love. Jerry had that fortune ... or misfortune, that when he falls, he falls hard." For the two of them, says Scully, "it was a great big love."

For Carolyn Adams, it was her second brush with genius. And her first with a chauvinistic rock 'n' roll culture that relegated the band's "old ladies" to caretaker status.

At 710, Mountain Girl imposed order like a drill sergeant. Meals got planned; bathrooms were cleaned. Finances were cleared up. But basically, she was assigned to the traditional women's stuff of keeping a home, albeit a very large and unruly one.

"Well," she says, "I wasn't a musician. I did try to run their sound board for a while, but I wasn't good at it. Once you've had a little kid, it's very difficult to focus on being a P.A. mixer. My attention would get distracted and I would miss a cue and Pigpen (McKernan, the Dead's late organist) would be up there pointing to his microphone and be really mad at me. So I faded out of that position."

But she "wasn't happy about the (female stuff). Not at all. It was sort of the unfortunate consequences of my actions, my procreative act. It was this concentration on the domestic side which certainly was not intentional on my part. But God, if somebody didn't cook, do you know what they would eat? I mean, yuck! Chips and Twinkies. Ratburgers."

By the time she walked into the Dead's kitchen, Mountain Girl had attained iconic status, although it was not her way to pay any attention to it. Tom Wolfe's New York magazine pieces may have put her on the map, but she says,

"I really didn't have an attachment to a personal image. I was not seeking the spotlight. I was very much in love with Jerry's music and supported it, but our personal relationship was sort of outside that. ... We were very, very happy with each other. Initially."

"Jerry and MG were absolutely a blessing to hang out around," says McIntire. "When you're in a car driving across the plains of Kansas from one gig to the next and you're lucky enough to be in the same car with Jerry and MG, the details they would notice about everything, the joy they would take in life, would sweep you along. It was a tremendously exhilarating, positive experience about relating to everything around you. Both of them could be among the most open people I've ever run across."

It was more than just hormones and the passion of new love that kept Mountain Girl and Jerry Garcia together.

"Later MG told me that when she met Jerry," remembers McIntire, "she recognized in him that his music was the stuff of greatness. And she wanted to help that greatness."

"Jerry loved his work," says Garcia in retrospect.

"His whole thing was to drive to San Francisco, play a gig, go home, go to sleep, get up, have breakfast, drive to San Francisco, play a gig. ... that was it for him. That was the world. That was his happiest space. He was a pro. He loved to work. It would have been like a ballplayer missing a game. How could you do that? And that level of his dedication really fired everybody."

And so Mountain Girl became a handmaiden to genius, a term she calls "horrible, but true." Her function? "I was maintaining our home. Jerry didn't really do a lot of maintenance. He certainly had me buffaloed on the dishwashing thing. "It'll ruin my calluses if I do the dishes,' he told me. And I was like: What a bunch of baloney. But I went for it. I think I went for a lot of stuff."

At the same time, she says, "it was joyous."

The joy started to end around 1974, when the Grateful Dead decided to take a break.

"Things changed," she says. "Jerry decided to spend more time away from the house and in his studio. They would go and do these long, drawn-out scenes at the studio that would go on for weeks, where nobody slept and they'd stay up. It was completely nuts. I could go in there, but I didn't like it. It was a toxic environment. I would go home and make some orange juice and he'd show back up again, sleep for a couple of days and recharge. That's what a home is for."

All along Garcia understood that she had elected to keep the home fires burning and give her genius husband plenty of "space."

"If you're involved with somebody with a talent like Jerry's, the richness of his gift to everybody was so powerful, you have to give them a lot of latitude to express that gift," she says in retrospect. "The price is very high and the price is personal relationships and time away from the family."

Mountain Girl gave Garcia enough latitude for him to play music, get involved with other women, and eventually, fall into the trap of what she calls "the white drugs" - cocaine and heroin. She was caught napping each time.

"You might say I was in denial," she says. "I never did any therapy about it, but I've read all the books."

"The co-dependence book was real big in our house," laughs Annabelle Garcia, who inherited her father's fey sense of humor.

"Jerry and I had our arguments, but it never led to anything good. Neither of us knew the language of sorting out your personal relationships," Carolyn says. "We didn't have the education that modern America has now to help us talk about our roles. And frankly, I'm glad we didn't, because I think if we'd fought it out too much, we would have lost each other. As it was, he always knew he could come home and there would always be a place for him, no matter how weird it got out there. I am quite certain that it was a comfort to him as well as to me. I just ran my life that way and it mostly worked out."

But, she emphasizes, the gestalt of the Dead, that the whole was so much greater than the parts, kept her a believer. "It wasn't (about) any one person," she says.

"There was something that needed to be done and when you got all these people together, it was suddenly possible to do it. What needed to be done was to drive back the black and white and the separations between people and make a place where people could come together and have some joy and harmony without doctrine."

The joy and harmony in the Garcia family was challenged further in 1975, shortly after the birth of the Garcias' second daughter, Theresa, nicknamed "Trixie" by Kit Candaleria, one of the Dead's roadies. Like any other rock and roller, Jerry Garcia was under tremendous pressure to fool around. "There were always girls coming out of the woodwork," says Mountain Girl. "Of course, I was totally in denial about this."

Jerry never said a word, said Mountain Girl. "He just disappeared. I had no idea what he was doing. I know he had asked for space, as he put it earlier in the year, and I said, "Sure, whatever you need.' And that was the end of the conversation. And then one day, he just kind of up and left. I was flabbergasted. I didn't know what to do. I decided not to do much. I had a new baby. Annabelle was in pre-school and Sunshine was in school. I was locked in. There wasn't a whole lot I could do to go chasing around worrying to see what had happened to Jerry. I made a few phone calls and everybody said the same thing: "I don't know. Gee ... I don't know.' "

"I never spoke with her about any of it until after the fact," said Sue Swanson. "After he had left and moved in with Deborah. I had heard rumors and didn't want to say anything because I knew that it would hurt her very deeply."

Garcia had indeed gone to live with a slender, intense and dark New York City film student named Deborah Koons whom he had met at a show in 1973 and who had hitched a ride back to New York City on the Dead's bus. She moved to Europe with a boyfriend for a year but wrote to Garcia. When she returned, they got together.

Meanwhile, Mountain Girl took her three girls to Oregon.

"I had a personal myth about independence that was getting shattered," she says. "I stayed up in Oregon much longer than I thought I should. We were there for 18 months.

"The moment we came back, Jerry was at my door to visit and within a month he was asking to move back in," says Mountain Girl. "We were delighted. God, I was so thrilled. That played itself out for a while. He came and went for the next year." By then, things at their Stinson Beach aerie, Sans Souci, on a ridge high above the beach, had gotten pretty weird.

It was before the age of security gates, and all sorts of bizarre hangers-on started planting themselves in the Garcia parking area. One of their cats was killed. Annabelle remembers encountering a junkie shooting up on their doorstep. And then there was a former Philadelphia assistant district attorney who drove West, determined to "move in with Jerry."

He had dumped all of his belongings in the Garcia driveway, including a box with a cat in it. The police advised Mountain Girl that there was not much she could do about him because he had established some sort of homestead on her property.

"He was crazy and he'd been to too many Dead shows," she says. "His glasses were broken and he had a couple of (bruises) where people might have punched him. He was one of these people where the first time you see him, he's kind of personable, and then the next time, he's starting to disintegrate."

Before the lawyer finally disappeared, Mountain Girl shooed him off her front porch with a small child's broom, smacking him over the head. He stole her white Alfa Romeo and drove it into a ditch; he papered the town of Stinson Beach with bad checks and told people that she would pay his bills and he let the air out of the tires of her VW van.

It was episodes like these, coupled with Jerry's inconstancy with other women, that precipitated her escape to Oregon, the place where Kesey, Faye, their children, Ken Babbs and a bunch of her Prankster family had settled. The Oregon connection centered her and gave her the strength to go on. Often, it was very difficult. Meanwhile, Jerry would wander in and out of her life. They traveled as a couple, for instance, when the Dead went off to Egypt to play at the Pyramids in 1978. When they returned, Jerry's heroin use was getting so extreme even Mountain Girl was noticing it.

"I was devastated," she says. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to ask for help. All there was was Synanon, and I wasn't going to call them!" Again, it was time to extricate herself and rescue her children. She took them East. "I ran home to mother for the first time in my life," she says.

By the time she returned, her confidence was at an all-time high.She had had an opportunity to develop her own talents, including a gift for writing, in a brief sojourn at an eastern college. As the '80s approached, the whole Dead zeitgeist was getting way out of control. Caravans of Deadheads turned Jerry and Mountain Girl into godheads. But Carolyn Garcia says, "nobody seemed to notice me for a second." She also says that she started putting on weight "out of self-defense. I just didn't want to compete anymore."

"Don't kid yourself," says Jon McIntire. "The weight thing wasn't that simple. Jerry was very jealous."

"Jerry was extremely jealous," says Goldie Rush, who met the Garcias, as she puts it, "in a child care situation," and has continued to be a business manager and accountant for a number of people associated with the Dead's extended family. "It's an old story. You know. In that the guy gets this beautiful woman and wants to keep her all to himself and he doesn't care if she changes, and one day looks around and wonders why she changed."

"I didn't want to compete for attention," admits Mountain Girl. "There was a star they could look at who had to hide out. I think that two people hiding out in the same family would have been even more difficult. ... I wanted to sidestep that rock star wife thing as much as possible. I think I did a pretty good job. But I was a little envious of the glamour queens, you know. They didn't have kids and it looked like they were having some fun. But I was anti-cocaine," she says pausing. And these were Cocaine Katies? "There were a lot of them around," she says.

For a long time, Mountain Girl clung to her anonymity. "I began to realize the dangers of celebrity that had to do with the Grateful Dead attracting a lot of people to themselves who were unconventional. When you feel people reaching out to you with those psychic rubber bands, they want to grab you and hold you and get you. And boy, do I run from that stuff. Any sign of a trap and I'm moving."

"MG put up with a lot of shit for a lot of years," says Goldie Rush. "She never defined it as shit. She just gave Jerry a lot of slack. He never did respond well to pressure of any kind. I know they had a big love with one another. Part of that was the elasticity of the relationship and how it could adapt to stuff. I fear she did most of the adapting."

All Carolyn Garcia ever wanted was a family with her children and Jerry Garcia. It was not to be. Not even when she and Jerry, after two children and 15 years together, got married on New Year's Eve 1981, between sets at the Dead's traditional New Year's show. She had finally gotten a divorce from George Walker who, she said, "was living on a sailboat in Samoa." Jerry and Carolyn were married by a Jewish friend who was also a Tibetan monk in a ceremony missed by most of the band members. Jerry promised that they would get a house together. It never happened.

Once again, Carolyn took her children away to Oregon, to a newly purchased patch of verdant acreage in the Willamette Valley. Until, in 1986, a phone call came telling her that Jerry was in Marin General Hospital in a diabetic coma and that he was not expected to live.

"She came and stayed with me," says Goldie Rush, who was living in Greenbrae at the time, right behind the hospital. Mountain Girl would ride Rush's bike over a rutted short cut to the hospital and sit by Jerry's bed, willing him to live. When it appeared that he would survive, she and the girls moved in with him in San Rafael and for six months, she had the family life she had always wanted.

"Everybody loved it that those guys were back together again," says Rush. "They were a couple. Jerry was never with another woman who matched him as elegantly as she did, with her kind of energy and intelligence."

"Jerry had told me what he wanted me to do," says Jon McIntire. "He came out of a near death (experience) with this true resurrection feeling. The resurgence of life. The cleanliness of life ... which people around him discouraged pretty quickly. But part of it was MG and the family and wanting to embrace that. He was clean out of necessity. He had been in a coma. You can't do drugs when you're in a coma."

Six months later, Garcia had some dental work and got involved with pain relievers. It was a short hop back to addiction.

In 1993, Jerry Garcia asked Mountain Girl for a divorce. They had not lived together for years, although once in a while they got together with the children during a holiday or when the Dead were in town playing a concert. They wrote their one-paragraph separation agreement and went separate ways. Garcia to Deborah Koons and Mountain Girl back to Oregon and the big, rugged logger she had met, Bill Burwell.

Her friends approve.

"Now she's with this guy who is a perfect match," says Tangerine. "They're great together. We call them the "bears.' "

"Bill is a wonderful man," says Sunshine Kesey, who, with her halo of white-blond curls resembles her father, Ken Kesey. "Bill serves her. He is her "handmaiden.' They're like a couple of grumpy bears who just woke up in the spring. Bill is finally the right person for my mom. Jerry was a right person, too, but unfortunately, he was stuck and trapped in a circumstance he didn't want to be in. Mom escaped. It was really hard and frightening for her. But she's come out ahead of the game. She got a lot more happiness than anyone else in Grateful Dead Land."

Mountain Girl and Jerry Garcia were the stuff of hippie fairy tales, who dressed alike and thought alike and spoke as one person. The fairy tale soured. The legend crumbled. Jerry is dead. The fight over his intellectual and real property continues. Mountain Girl's bitterness, if she ever had any (and she denies that she ever did), probably dried up long ago. She has no regrets. None.

"Mountain Girl taught me this years ago," says Rock Scully. "That hating is a quick step away from death - that going through your life being resentful and hateful and nasty about others is going to destroy your life. We are on this planet to live, not to die."

"Jerry and I had a fortunate relationship. It was difficult, but it was worth it," says Carolyn Garcia.

"There are things that can happen to people. With the best of intentions and the best of relationships, things can go terribly wrong. In my case, with a powerful talent like Jerry and this tremendous culture-changing thing he'd found to do, it was a tough place to try to carry on a relationship. We did the best we could. I don't feel bad about it at all. I think I did the best I could with a tough situation. It was all so incredible.

"The band got to be very big and very much the nexus and focus of hundreds and thousands of people. The personal relationships within the band and their own personal relationships shattered under tremendous pressure. But there was a part of Jerry's and my relationship that was unshatterable by any means that's persisted until today. And that was a faith in the rightness of our relationship. It was not a mistake. It was never a mistake."

Examiner staff writer Cynthia Robins' last feature for the Magazine was on philanthropist/activist Jim Hormel.< 


Carolyn Garcia Wrote the Introduction to Rosie McGee's Book Dancing with the Dead.
Photographer and Grateful Dead insider Rosie McGee tells dozens of previously-untold stories of living, traveling and working with the Dead during their first decade as a band. The book is illustrated with 200 of her rare and candid photographs, many never before seen in print. Not just for Deadheads or baby boomers-this book is for anyone seeking a woman's intimate account of the San Francisco rock music community in the Sixties, rare in a field of such books most often written by men. Included are firsthand stories of Autumn Records; The Matrix nightclub; the Acid Tests; Olompali; life in the Haight-Ashbury; the Human Be-In; the Grateful Dead (and the author's) bust at 710 Ashbury; New York, Toronto and Montreal with the Dead and Jefferson Airplane; Monterey Pop; Altamont; the Dead's Europe '72 tour; and encounters with individuals as diverse as Tom Donahue, Phil Spector, Lenny Bruce, Janis Joplin, Owsley Stanley, Timothy Leary, Jesse Colin Young, Julie Christie and many others.

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