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The impacts of “growth” don’t just come in the form of more good things (Norton’s Notions) or more bad things (Bill Oliver’s letters). It comes with both. And I have heard the argument that even based on increasing sales tax dollars, this place really isn’t “growing” when you take into account things like inflation. Add to the fact that everyone thinks the place is about perfect when they get here and want it to stay like that moment, and you have the growth discussion.
My concern is that sometimes growth or decline in a community comes so sneakily that the nebulous “quality of life” values of a particular place get swept out, sometimes without people even realizing it.
For example, in order to make the increasing rents or higher mortgage payments that have come to the valley in the last 25 years, parents have to work more. So there’s less time to coach Little League or help with dance. Just the increased housing costs force working families away from town. There’s less opportunity to sit on a bench on Elk Avenue with an acquaintance to just catch up and exchange ideas.
It’s not just the slower small town pace but the small town attitude that can be jeopardized by change that comes with progress or decline in a town. For example, it used to be that anyone here this time of year felt a unique camaraderie for suffering together through mud season. And it was mud season. There was a lot less pavement around 30 years ago and the spring weather made everything muddy. A snowstorm in May and June would ultimately weed out those who easily went insane when the going got tough.
In the 80s and 90s, everyone (and I mean everyone from the ranchers to the old-timers to the hippies and the Realtors) would wave at each other as they passed in their vehicles. You would say hi on the sidewalk to literally everyone and get a response. Not everyone does that anymore. Certainly most people still do but others look at you when you wave or say hi like you’re a stalker on a dark city street.
Coming around a corner by the skate park a week ago, I got the one-finger wave from a speedy driver who apparently thought I cut it too short. Wow. I just heard the story of a person on a four-wheeler essentially patrolling and accosting people walking their dogs without leashes on the rec path. People get yelled at for walking on the roads in Trapper’s Crossing. The concerns of these people might be legitimate but the delivery is less small town neighbors and more inner city agro. There sometimes appears to be less tolerance for people outside of your belief system and comfort zone.

Now don’t think it was all roses back then. People fought but they did it with respect. They might throw each other through the plate glass window of the Grubstake or Kochevar’s at night but they would wave at each other in passing the next day.
 I was recently sent a reminder of the collaboration between HCCA and the Gunnison Stockgrowers Association over public land use and range reform 20 years ago. What became known as the Gunnison Working Group brought together people of this valley who might normally be on opposite sides of most fences. Such compromise and collaboration was unusual in the rest of the country (maybe more so now) but it was understood here in 1993 that working together was how things were accomplished. The then–U.S. Secretary of the Interior Bruce Babbitt tried to take that template of enviros and ranchers working through compromise to the rest of the country. It didn’t really work. Once again, this place didn’t fit into the mainstream but it was centered on intelligence, respect and a lack of fear to be different.
Someone this past weekend described to me the vibe in town as having more of an “outlaw” feeling 20 years ago. Not in a bad way but in a fun, irreverent way. People here could be a bit crazy and do things not considered normal in other places but be unconditionally accepted in Crested Butte. There were people like Rippe and Frog and Crazy Kenny. Really smart, thoughtful, a bit odd and obviously not missing mainstream America, these characters gave depth to the place not usually seen in more typical communities. To the person making the observation, this place has gotten more conservative. His thought was that while people including families might ride the “moon bus” in 1994, these days, many new families would cover their eyes at such a sight.
And a perceived nick in the “quality of life” is not just because of more people and things. Frankly, I miss the busyness of the winters. Après’ ski was a real happening most days in the early 1990s. There were a half-dozen more places for live music on the mountain 25 years ago than there are today. But as the condos went up, the fun was torn down to make way for those lodges. And then people didn’t come to fill the new rooms perhaps because it wasn’t as much fun.
There used to be a happy holiday buzz on the slopes and in the mountain businesses for the three weeks around Christmas. Spring break was packed for a month and the streets were filled shoulder to shoulder with people speaking different languages sharing warm ski days and clear, fun evenings. There was an abundance of positive resort ski town vibes. Some of that seemed to be coming back last season but there’s just not the amount of places on the hill to create a fun party buzz as there were in the past.
    
So the “growth” debate is legitimate. All of us have to deal with the consequences—good and bad because things will change. Is there a way to find balance between growth, decline and “quality of life?” I think so. It comes by realistically addressing impacts and finding ways to mitigate those impacts so we continue to enjoy the place. If we keep making decisions based on what’s good for the people living here, Crested Butte will continue to be that somewhat funky place high in the mountains that is filled with soul.

“They were a tough and courageous people who soon became synonymous with the rugged environment in which they lived. The hours they worked were long, the work dangerous, and the reward minimal. But the people had an enthusiasm for life. The rousing foot-stomping polkas, the early day skiing, the outdoor barbecues, and the quaffing of prodigious amounts of cold beer testified to that.”
—A description of the people who first came to Crested Butte to live and work in the mines. From Crested Butte: A Town Named Desire by Dr. Duane Vandenbusche

This past weekend was one where if you put a trip to a beach on your credit card, it was a wise investment. Cold, blowy and snowy, it chased a lot of those people still in town to the desert. Like so many days during a Crested Butte spring, it was not an easy weekend.
Given that I am writing a little story on an historical Elk Avenue building for the upcoming issue of The Peak Magazine, the weather chased me to the Old Rock Library and then inside my house, where I went through some of the books detailing the history of this town and this valley. It was fascinating refresher course.
Walking around a sunny but chilly Crested Butte on Monday, it could have been a century ago in the quiet, sometimes struggling coal mining community. The air was certainly cleaner but the old storefronts and houses with their close-knit families came alive for me after reading the words of Vandenbusche, Sibley and Smith.

We are fortunate that history still plays a prominent and respected role here in Crested Butte. The town staff takes the history of the place seriously and that is a good thing. In many ways, historical Crested Butte has similarities to the present. We are lucky that working people and contributing families still live in this resort town and the nearby subdivisions. Not every Colorado resort can claim that. Those making a home here a century ago bonded with one another in the harsh environs of a high mountain village like many of those living here now. It is still the spirit of the people that makes the place what it is.
It’s never been an easy place to live. The Jokerville mine explosion in 1894 claimed the lives of 60 of the local miners. Even this week, word came that a couple of our modern sisters passed away too young in their lives: Dawne Freeman of natural causes, and Ellie Pryor in an avalanche. That is unfortunately not uncommon for people living here. Friends live on an edge with a zest for life and that comes with consequences. The weather, the economy, the free spirit, the end-of-the-road all attract a certain type of person. It isn’t for everyone.
Similar to today, not everyone got along here back in the day. Neighbors fought but in times of need, they would close ranks and help one another to the ends of the earth. Back in 1910, a major debate among people in town was the safety of the sidewalks and what to do about it. Sound familiar?

A noted female author of the late 1800s visited the valley and pointed out the turbulence of the mining economy in the valley. While one local drainage was named “Oh Be Joyful,” she noted, the next was tapped as “Poverty Gulch” for valid reasons. Helen Hunt Jackson also pointed out in the December 1883 issue of The Atlantic the beauty of the town’s natural surroundings. Over the years she postulated that fields of wildflowers might eventually bring in more money to the local economy than the veins of silver that men were searching for—and rarely found. Prophetic.
Crested Butte eventually found its economic footing as a coal-mining town. Grimier and less flashy than the gold and silver towns like Aspen and Telluride, Crested Butte today reflects that gritty humbleness. I like that. Our historical buildings don’t include opulent opera houses. Our buildings were constructed of wood instead of brick. That unfortunately led to the disaster of several major fires in Crested Butte’s history. In Sibley’s book, one of the volunteer firemen in Crested Butte’s past stated in humor and insight that might be found from today’s residents, “We never saved a building, but we always save the lot…”

While few if any families living here 100 years ago could leave for the spring to find the warmth of a beach or the desert, they would if they could and they would have a good time doing it. Then and now, the people living here welcomed the green of spring with smiles. In the 1900s they would celebrate spring by eating, drinking and dancing together—sort of like the gathering I saw over on Sopris at the end of the week.
Also from the Vandenbusche book: ”Working hard was one thing; playing hard was another. And no one could work or play harder than these rugged people from Crested Butte.”

Here’s to hoping everyone is enjoying the downtime of the off-season. We live in a good place (despite the sometimes annoying weather) and we are surrounded by good people, both in our past and in our present.

Taxing weed also an option

The Crested Butte Town Council wants to learn more about the pros and cons of asking voters this November to increase the town sales tax rate to fund Parks and Recreation maintenance.

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Fully funding parks helps all the town departments

In a continuing effort to find a consistent revenue source for the Crested Butte Parks and Recreation Department, the Town Council discussed several options at their meeting Monday, March 3. At the end of the session, it appeared the council was leaning toward a combination of ideas, with a potential sales tax increase being the foundation. Read More »

The world of Anthony Perez revolves around being able to stay afloat amidst change—change in plans, change in direction, change in the weather, change in the wind. He’s sort of a self-made hybrid of a concierge and Mary Poppins.
Anthony grew up among the tall pines and thick woods of the Itasca State Park, where the Mississippi River comes off Lake Itasca in northern Minnesota. “The headwaters of the Mississippi is just a tiny creek there,” Anthony says and he pulls out a photo of a few young kids walking knee-deep through a tranquil, small creek, maybe six feet wide with cattails along its banks, that many hundreds of miles downstream becomes the wide and mighty Mississippi. “I like to pull out that photo for people from Louisiana or Mississippi, especially New Orleans,” he laughs, “just to show them what the river looks like from up here.” Read More »

A diligent (and sometimes critical) reader sent me an email Monday evening just as I literally finished writing this piece. “So I thought you would like to read this before you have an editorial about how great the snow is…and how dangerous it is out there…” she wrote and she included an interesting piece on how Obamacare is tied to job loss. While her powers of clairvoyance (or maybe my predictability) are impressive, there are times to live in the moment. And the moment calls for a shout out to one of the things that makes living here worthwhile. Obamacare is important and flawed and worthy of discussion but this time I have to write about an epic snowstorm—We are a ski town, after all, and when it snows like it has, our mountain is one of the best.

First, some appreciation. Everyone in the High Lift or North Face lift line jokes about the lack of work being done in the valley as they spy the faces around them—but there’s a key crew who give it up for everyone else.
Thanks to those who work to make this place safe and livable when it is Duuuuumping like it has the past two weeks. I’m thinking specifically of the ski patrol and lift ops. The plow drivers, snow shovellers and cops. The Crested Butte avalanche forecasters and bus drivers. Without you men and women, we’d just be stuck in a storm with a silly name. As it is, we get Open Snow meteorologist Joel Gratz forecasting for Crested Butte bliss and we are able to navigate nirvana in a ski town. So thanks to all of you!

Now, let’s talk about the good…or the goods in this case. More than 16 feet of fresh is gracing the mountain this season—so far. It is one of those winters. The winters we live for. The winters that bring joy and smiles and adrenaline to those who don’t mind skiing a storm. Let’s also note that this type of winter should also bring top-notch wildflowers and boating and fishing to us in the summer. It might also add a few inches to Blue Mesa.
Resort skiing has been off the charts the last 14 days. It is a real high mountain winter and that’s when that piece of rock, with its industrial tourism infrastructure and chairlifts, shines. Every run is skiing well. The rocks are there but there are a lot fewer of them now than there were a month ago. The CBMR website is reporting that 43 inches of snow has fallen the last seven days. And this storm cycle has lasted more than ten. More than 200 inches have painted the hill this winter.
And for those who ride the snow, it has been fantastical. Social media is full of photos and videos of people enjoying the powder. There are photos of stop signs sunk below drifts. The fences are getting shorter and disappearing. The excitement is palpable on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. People are enjoying the ride. The hoots and hollers are constant as skiers of all abilities cut the fresh snow. These days (compared to, say, 1990) it sure takes less time to cut it all up but when it snows like this, there is always tomorrow. Snow means fun in a ski town. It has been a lot of fun in Crested Butte.

The bad…
Now that fun comes at a price. Snow maintenance is necessary. It’s hard work shoveling and snowblowing. But the snowbanks that are being created will be the ones that are seen 50 years from now hanging as photos in the museum. The tunnels leading into the front doors of local houses, the people throwing snow up over their decks because there is nowhere else to put it are the memories of a legendary ski season. Backs are stiff, shoulders are sore and chiropractors must be busy.
There’s also the affliction known as Cabin Fever (see Steve Church article in the February 7 issue of the Crested Butte News). Cabin Fever can get real ugly. As someone mentioned to me after day 6 or 7 of the storm, for those who don’t ski or board, the forecast is one of pain. The foot of overnight snow isn’t about hitting High Life or Staircase; it’s about staying sane. It’s about moving snow out of the driveway or dealing with the snowbanks from the plows. It’s about not seeing the sun for days. That is testing. It’s about living in a harsh environment where the fun isn’t front and center. I feel bad for those who don’t play in the snow.
And to those who play a little extra during the ski day…be aware when you smoke weed on the hill. The hill is located on U.S. Forest Service property and so it is illegal to smoke pot there. It’s a stupid waste of time, money and resources for the feds to seek out pot smokers in the Glades but they apparently are…so be aware.

The ugly…
Unfortunately there are times when extreme weather can bring harsh consequences in a place like this. It happens more often here than at more “normal” locales. This week was no different. Some people out to enjoy the winter mountains were caught in an avalanche. One of them was killed. That is weirdly not abnormal here. We send our thoughts and condolences to those who are family and friends of the people impacted. There are times to be out there and times to stay away. This was a stay-away time. Hopefully others will learn a lesson from the tragedy of one more avalanche death in our neighborhood. These mountains provide so much pleasure but they must be respected.
And in times like these, it’s not just in the backcountry. When it warms up, the roofs shed and I’ve seen cars get smashed from sliding snow. Pets and people need to be on guard as well. It’s not easy to see around corners when snowbanks are literally 12 feet high so be wary driving or walking through intersections. And remember 2,000-pound machines don’t stop on a dime in this weather.

So be careful and aware and respectful out there. Yeah, the snow is great and we are lucky enough to have a group of professionals who run a ski area that provides safe riding during these wonderfully over-the-top but dangerous conditions. Enjoy it all. Push the boundaries but understand there are boundaries and responsibilities that come in such times.

Funkateer

Tyler Lucas sits on the couch, cradling a guitar as though it were an old friend, a favorite child and a wondrous mystery that has kept its allure all these years. He plucks and strums out snippets, a bit of classical, blues, jazz and a Grateful Dead riff, easily transitioning from one to the other to demonstrate how music functions, how different scales fit the different chord progressions. 

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Roxana Alvarez sits at a table at the Ginger Café with her son, Cash, who is fingering morsels of appetizers while spouting hilariously clever snippets worthy of a precocious ten-year old.
Between bites and banter, Roxana’s story unravels like a frayed but colorful skein of yarn, beginning in post-missile crisis Havana, Cuba, where she was born.
Most school kids in the United States at the time were learning how to “duck and cover” under their desks. In Cuba, Roxana’s parents were studying at university. Her mother was going to be an architect, her father an accountant, but both were forced by law to quit when they refused to pledge themselves to Castro’s Communist Party.
Like many women at that time, Roxana’s mom dropped out of university and was living with her mother. “And that’s where I was born,” in the house built by her grandfather, says the woman with the almond eyes. Read More »