A Mexican curandera sings this song in the Mazatec language:

Woman who thunders am I, woman who sounds am I,
Spider woman am I, hummingbird woman am I...
Eagle woman am I, important eagle woman am I.
Whirling woman of the whirlwind am I, woman of a sacred enchanted place am I.
Woman of the shooting stars am I.

Observations of sport-town culture

Peter Pan lives in this spectacular realm of perpetual boyhood dreams. A town like Crested Butte is the perfect venue. As I observe this, I will add without judgment. It isn’t bad or good – it just IS. There is a certain amount of colorful charm to this culture. The guys usually have a wonderful dog. (There are very few P-Ps with cats as companions. In facts I saw two guys on bike try to run down a cat sitting on the edge of the street.) This town is a wonderland of handsome athletic men of all ages with handsome medium to large size dog companions – we are speaking of Golden or Labrador retrievers, shepherds and herd dogs of all origins, Australian cattle dogs. Dogs are the entree to social interaction.


It’s cute guy, cute dog – usually on bicycle or open-top jeep. The rugged outdoorsman with no dress requirements – but name brand mountaineering or mountain biking equipment. Weekenders here from the city, are in Subarus. The Range Rover and BMW crowd are marrieds and not apart of this culture.
The local radio station announcer mentioned that July would bring “the semi-annual changing of the women”. Peter Pans apparently prefer a woman for each season – ski and mountain biking. Attachment is seasonal at best and perceived as a weakness. It is the perfect lifestyle of marginal employment and not filing taxes – often working at jobs on a daily whim, not demanding a consistent schedule – because there is the sport of the season which is the raisonne d’etre.

The down side is the lure of the perpetual party in the guise of social meaning and community. It is surprising how many petty arguments arise among them – about money, buying drinks or not fulfilling promises. The guys are not anti-social, they are charming, but the brat does emerge on occasions. Maybe it is the sense of entitlement that comes with no responsibility.

I think the culture remains attractive until the ago of thirty or so, thereafter, the lifestyle become stressed by the failure of all relationships (except an adoring parent, perhaps). Then the population either converts or is changed (following the path of the true anti-social); to age as Peter Pan is looks- and- constitution- dependent. I’ll give them until 60 or when alcoholism sets in before there is an awakening.