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The author, left, and her family in the backyard of “The Big House,” once the Love Family’s main compound.
From flower child to parent What growing up in a hippie cult taught me about parenting by P O S E Y G R U E N E R / photo by J O S H U A H U S T O N
Before I became pregnant with my first child, I often said I’d like to have a home birth. “After all,” I’d say, “I was born at home.” “Born at home” was an understatement.
My mother delivered me in a house atop Seattle’s Queen Anne Hill, without medication of any kind, without promise of an ambulance if things went badly, surrounded by a circle of hippies playing guitar, singing songs, and smoking marijuana. It wasn’t a home birth, it was a happening. At the time, my parents were members of the Love Israel Family. The Family was a commune, or maybe a cult, formed around a very simple vision: We are all one. Love is
the answer. The time is now. At its height, the Love Family had more than 300 members, spread among properties in Seattle, Arlington, Yakima, northeastern Washington, and even Alaska. Members followed Love Israel, the man who had the vision, and joining his family meant abandoning your old identity and giving all your worldly possessions to the group. In return, you got a new name and a new family. Members CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE >
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