The author, left, with Sunflower, Tom and Rainbeau, about 1983. The house is just a few doors down from Brigitte’s original landing spot at 18th and Canyon.

By Brigitte Mars

The price of free love was proving expensive. I was a 23-year-old single mother to Sunflower Sparkle, age 5, and Rainbeau Harmony, a 6-month-old nursing infant. I lived on a commune in Missouri, where I had given birth to Rainbeau in a tepee and Sunflower’s dad had found a new ladylove.

I thought I had a boyfriend in Boulder—Michael, who worked at Celestial Seasonings and was a roadie for Boulder’s hottest band, Navarro. Michael and I had met at a natural-foods convention in Miami when I was alone and 5 months pregnant. When the baby was 3 months old, she and I came to Boulder to check out Boulder College of Massage, which back then was known as the Rocky Mountain Healing Arts Institute. I went on tour with Navarro and experienced the splendor of Colorado, visiting many hot springs and a wonderful music festival in Telluride, where we communed with musical mountains. I also heard that some people in Boulder, including many that worked at Celestial Seasonings, were readers of my favorite book, The Urantia Book, a work that claimed to have been compiled by celestial beings.

Back at the commune, I made a plan. By attending Boulder College of Massage, I could study nutrition, anatomy, physiology, shiatsu and massage to round out my herbal knowledge, and that would enable me to support my daughters. The three of us arrived at Stapleton Airport on a snowy, freezing January day, with all our possessions packed into a trunk. Michael picked us up. Once we were secure in his truck and headed toward Boulder on the turnpike, which was mostly pastureland between Denver and Boulder, he said, “I’ve decided I can’t really handle living with a woman with two kids. I’ve moved up to Nederland and I’m dropping you and the kids off at a home on 18th and Canyon. You can live with a nice family that own a health food store called Boulder People’s Food. They have two boys close in age to your kids. Linda, the mom, will watch your kids while you go to school if you will cook for their family.” At least he had helped make those arrangements. My share of the rent was $75 a month.

I was being dropped off in a new town, in freezing weather, with limited funds and two small children. Going forward was the only choice. I wasn’t going back to live in the tepee with two kids, washing clothes in an icy-cold creek.

Groovy Days ... and Nights

And Boulder was a groove. Pearl Street Mall was being built, though the store El Loro was already there—the place for all your jewelry, clogs and smoking needs. The spicy smell of cinnamon filled The Good Earth, at Pearl and 18th, and I know of many romances and friendships that began at their community table. , where Cafe Gondolier now stands. A few doors down, at White Wave, Steve Demos was perfecting the art of making tofu. You could buy No Moo vegan ice cream and organic produce at Down to Earth, which had a free box outside, resplendent with clothes in all sizes. People would line up down the block outside Hannah Kroeger’s store, New Age Foods, for the free health consultations she facilitated with her pendulum. Boulder felt safe, bright and awakened, and I thought it would be a good place to raise my children. I could hitchhike everywhere—to take Sunflower to Misty Mountain preschool, to the massage school, home at lunchtime to nurse Rainbeau.

I missed Michael, even though he had broken up with me. Every time the phone rang, I wished it was him. Every car that pulled into the driveway ignited my hope. (Many cars did pull up, as some of residents of the house had their own little herb business on the side.)

A month after my arrival in Boulder, Navarro was going to play a weekend at the Hungry Farmer, a restaurant and club at 55th and Arapahoe. My housemate Linda agreed to watch all four kids on Saturday if I kept watch on Friday, so that she and her husband could attend the concert. I planned to do a ritual the day after the Navarro concert to get over my lost love. Influenced by the Broadway musical South Pacific, and in particular the song “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair,” I decided the way to get over Michael was to fast, eat some special mushrooms, feng shui my space, and do an enema and sauna bath. I believed all of those super cleansings would enable me to let go of old patterns.

Enter Tom

That same Saturday, a man named Tom, who had recently arrived in Boulder from Pensacola, Fla., had lunch at the Corn Mother vegetarian restaurant on Broadway. When he asked the pretty waitress, Consuela, if she would like to go out with him, she told him she was in a committed relationship, but if he wanted to meet an archetypal earth mama, he should go to that night’s Navarro concert.

Navarro’s music rang harmoniously through the hall, and sandalwood and patchouli perfumed the air. Wearing a long purple-velvet Victorian dress, I danced psychedelic yoga ballet with my friends. Dan Fogelberg and Carole King were in the audience. Tom—tall, with blond hair to his shoulders and wire-rimmed glasses—stood by the dance floor watching the dancers move to the music. When he politely asked if I’d like to go outside to smoke some sinsemilla, I responded sincerely, “No, thank you. I’m doing mushrooms tomorrow and I need my body to be pure.” I guess he found that interesting.

After a bit more dancing, I tuned in to the needs of my children and the swelling of milk in my breasts. I started looking among the many familiar faces for a ride home. I saw Michael and told him I was leaving. Without saying anything, he turned and walked away. As I stood by the door, Tom inquired in his soft Southern drawl, “Do you need a ride?”

“I guess I do.”

As he walked me to his jeep, I recognized a Sri Yantra sticker on the window. That very symbol was printed on the inside cover of the Moody Blues album In Search of the Lost Chord. While tripping on weekends at Miss Hall’s School for young ladies, which I had once attended, I had meditated on that symbol to connect with the inner and outer universes. I took Tom’s sticker as a good omen. I invited him into the house on Canyon for some herbal tea and asked if he was vegetarian. He said he was trying to be, because of his guru Maharaji’s teachings. “Hmmmm. Spiritual potential,” I thought to myself.

Tom and I retired to the living room, sipping spice tea. I was telling him a bit of my story—new to Boulder, a single mother, my planned ritual for Sunday—when we heard the front door open. Michael stomped into the kitchen calling to me, “Where did you go? Whose car is in the driveway?”

“You walked away,” I explained to him back in the kitchen, beyond Tom’s hearing.

“I went to get my jacket to give you a ride. Who’s that in the living room?” he asked, spying a pair of long blue-jeaned legs stretched out.

“Just some nice Navarro fan that gave me a ride. He’s leaving soon. Look, Michael, I’m tripping tomorrow and would love for you to be with me.”

“Can’t. Gotta move equipment. Gotta fix the truck.” I asked again and he repeated the same answer, then left stormily.

Superhippie’s Story

Tom told me his gig was being foreman on remodeling the Joslin’s department store in Westminster. At work he was often referred to as Superhippie for getting the job done, as in “This is a job for Superhippie.” He informed me that in two weeks he would be transferred to Missoula, Mont., for another remodel.

I went into the bedroom to get baby Rainbeau, who was stirring for her nightly feeding. Tom saw my motherly assets. When my babe had fallen peacefully back to sleep, satisfied, I laid her back in her crib and returned to the living room. It was lonely being on the road, Tom said. He had hoped in Boulder he might find a ladylove who would travel with him. Smelling sweetly like orris root, he kissed me and said, “I guess you know I’d like to stay.”

I decided to interview for the position of traveling earth mama. I went into my room and gently lifted sleepy Sun- flower out of the bed we shared. I showed her tousled blond head to Tom and placed her upstairs in the bed with her two best friends, Jimmy and Joshua.

Tom and I spent a wonderful loving night. In the morning I made us all fruit salad and told Tom I needed to be by myself to complete my commitment to the ritual. I didn’t even know his last name or phone number, but I hoped he would return.

After taking the mushrooms, as the children napped, I cleaned, arranged, chanted and prayed. At one point colored rainbows filled the room and my entire being merged with the harmonious, fragrant universe in cosmic bliss. (“For those that know, no explanation is necessary. For those that don’t, no expla-nation is possible.”) After dark, when I had gotten the babes to bed and was doing the therapeutic soul-cleansing enema in the privacy of the bathroom, I heard Tom’s voice in the kitchen. My housemates kept him busy talking about local bands.

Tom then transported the still slightly woozy me to a somewhat classy massage parlor called The Pleasure Chest. We enjoyed a eucalyptus-scented steam bath and sauna while chatting casually with some yuppies from IBM. The next night he took me to dinner at Rudi’s Restaurant, which was then located at Pearl and 18th streets. After three days, I already wanted to marry him, and Sunflower liked the idea; she said, “Yup, Mom. You should do it.” But I played it cool. Having grown up reading my mother’s Cosmopolitan magazines, I knew you could scare off a man by letting him know too quickly how much you needed him. I would refrain from saying “I love you” until he said it first. Ancient psychological wisdom is certainly worth considering in matters of the heart.

‘Are These Your Children?’

Tom’s departure was near. One morning he was lying with the sheets drawn up to his waist when baby Rainbeau crawled over to him and threw up milk on his bare chest. Mortified that the realities of baby life were more than anyone but a biological parent could handle, I ran to the bathroom to get a washcloth to clean him up. When I returned he grabbed my wrist, looked me in the eyes and said, “I love you.” Later that morning he took us to breakfast at the Carnival Café. The waitress asked Tom, ‘Are these your children?’ He replied wistfully, “I guess they are.”

Same porch, growing family, 2006: Brigitte Mars with Rainbeau’s daughter, Jade Mars; Sunflower Mars with her son, Solwyn Forest, and husband, Mitch Stegall; Tom Pfeiffer; Rainbeau Mars. Photos courtesy Brigitte Mars

That day he asked me to go with him on the road. It was one of the happiest and most relieved moments of my life. After I graduated from massage school, we did go on the road to Missoula, Olympia and Kansas City, but Boulder felt like home to all of us. It was certainly easier for Sunflower and Rainbeau, with their flower-child names and their lunchboxes packed with nori rolls, to feel like they fit in Boulder. When we returned to Boulder, I worked at Cabin Country Natural Foods on 28th Street, Pearl Street Market, Alfalfa’s and now Pharmaca.

Tom and I eventually bought a town home right in downtown Boulder, a few blocks from where I first landed and close to the Co-op. I have never learned how to drive and Tom says that is because I am driven—to get out my message of raw foods, herbs and planetary love. Walking relaxes me and tunes me in to the constant evolution of nature. I am grateful to have an Eco Pass when I need to take the bus. I love that Boulder is a pedestrian-friendly town where a 54-year-old grandmother can make a living as an herbalist, dress like an eternal flower child, and celebrate in this health-conscious, spiritually and environmentally awake community. Though it has grown, it still is a special place, easy to score a carrot juice on almost any corner. Tom works as a Human Design analyst, and he and I still read The Urantia Book. Sunflower lives here with her husband, Mitch, whom she has loved since eighth grade. Rainbeau went to CU for a while, but after getting a part in a movie, she left for Santa Monica, where she is a mom, actress, model and yoga-video star. Tom will forever be my hippie hero. Thank God and the Goddess for the blessings and beauty of Boulder!

Brigitte Mars is the author of Rawsome!, Sex, Love and Health, Addiction Free Naturally, and Beauty by Nature. She teaches herbal medicine at Naropa University, Boulder College of Massage Therapy and Pharmaca.