Wednesday, June 15, 2022 — 4
According to Havasupai legend,
there are two gods. Tochopa is
the grandfather of humanity, the
bringer of good and harbinger of life.
Hokomata is the bringer of discord
and war, and Tochopa’s twin brother.
Tochopa is their creator god, and
Hokomata is their devil. In a time long
past, the brothers clashed in a fight
that would tattoo the Earth forever.
With venom in his voice and fire in his
eyes, Hokomata resolved to flood the
entire Earth in his rage. And so he did.
He drew oceans inward in a torrent of
rivulets, brooks, streams, tributaries,
rivers. It was unleashed upon the land.
The water rose, drowning mountains.
Before the flood came, Tochopa,
through his sorrow, began hollowing
out the trunk of a pinyon tree. For
Tochopa had a daughter. His greatest
hope was that Pukeheh would be the
start of the great human lineage for
which the Earth was created. All of
humanity would begin with Pukeheh,
but only if she could survive the
inevitable flood borne of Hokomata’s
wrath.
“You know, I met Hokomata once.”
Around the crackling campfire,
my five little cousins’ eyes went wide
— except for Brady, who was burning
two marshmallows. Our fire was
near a river on our grandparents’
property in the Michigan woods.
Attention has never been my favorite
place to center myself, but something
about the atmosphere of an evening
campfire pulls songs and stories out
of me. It’s compulsory, it’s instinctual.
The fulfilling of a generations-
old tradition. Before reading by
lightbulbs there was listening to
bards and orators by firelight. The
auburn glow of fire’s lackadaisical
wavelengths siphon fear from the
chest and supplant it with warmth
and ease. Maybe that’s why it’s such
a hotspot for ghost stories. Fire
can hold your hand through the
fantastical stress.
The fire appears as a flickering
orange shadow across the collection
of faces around its source.
“OK guys, get ready for a story of
beauty,
excitement,
petrification,
dangerous journeying and triumph.
It’s a little less dramatic than it
sounds, but what is a storyteller
without their ample use of —” I
whip a flashlight under my chin and
wiggle the fingers of my free hand,
“embellishments! Ooh, spooky!”
“Hey, what’s a em-belly-shment?”
I tousle my cousin’s blond hair.
“Don’t worry kiddo, it’s not important
to the story.”
“The year is 2019, just before
everyone stayed inside for a while.
Your cousin, aunt and I are about to
embark on the most eventful trip of
our lives …”
***
Looking down into the Grand
Canyon is all well and good, but seeing
the tourist view for 10 minutes is
about all I need for the rest of my life.
The bottom of the canyon, however, is
a bonafide paradise. My mom found
Havasu Falls through one of the
many “van life” Instagram accounts
she follows. Once my mom gets her
mind set on something, it would take
an act of god to get her to back down.
She passed this quality down to me,
but it’s not always a phenotype of
mine. I pick and choose my time for
stubbornness, but self-determination
is my mother’s default form. When
she decided to submit our family in
the lottery for permits to grant us
travel to the Havasupai tribe’s canyon
bottom oasis, it wasn’t a matter of if,
but when. And my senior year of high
school, our “when” landed smack dab
on the fourth Thursday of November.
So we bought some dehydrated
turkey.
The hiking trails and campsite of
Havasu Falls are located on the land
of the Havasupai Native American
tribe.
Falling snow and campfire glow:
backpacking in Havasu Falls
Falling snow and campfire glow:
backpacking in Havasu Falls
By Dani Canan, Statement Columnist
Disney Adults:
Magic Your Way
Disney Adults:
Magic Your Way
How many places in the world
can you watch a horde of adults
wearing
limited-edition
Mickey
Mouse ears push through a crowd
of children to get a better view of the
same Festival of Fantasy parade they
saw last month?
After spending two days at Disney
World with a friend, I witnessed this
notorious phenomenon in real time:
there are a lot (and I mean a lot) of
adults who really love Disney.
Urban
Dictionary,
the
best
alternative
to
a
legitimate
dictionary, defines a “Disney adult”
as “a millennial adult, with or
without kids, that can’t stop talking
about Disney, including the movies
and the parks … One of the most
terrifyingly intense people you’ll
ever encounter.”
“Disney adults” are a well-known
target
of
internet
commentary
that often teeters the line between
satirical comedy and straight-up
cyberbullying. Special attention is
often given to the most extreme-
of-the-extreme
Disney
fanatics.
Spreading a loved one’s ashes at
the
Haunted
Mansion
(which
are immediately cleaned up) and
attempting to give birth at Disney
World
in
hopes
of
obtaining
a lifetime free pass (that they
never give out) are two of the most
outrageous behaviors that continue
to infatuate the internet.
These
ridiculous,
almost
legendary stories have created a
culture in which “Disney adults”
are simultaneously hypervisible and
mythologized. They receive almost
constant attention from the digital
world, and yet we hear very little
about how these behaviors come to
be.
Realistically, the vast majority of
adult Disney-goers are not spending
their days sneakily spilling out ashes
or going into labor while riding “It’s
A Small World.” With over 58 million
visitors annually at Walt Disney
World alone, most “Disney adults”
are more along the lines of what I
witnessed: bedazzled Mickey ears,
cheesy graphic tees, magic in their
hearts and FastPasses in their Apple
wallets.
The
sheer
presence
of
this
demographic at Disney parks points
to the breadth of this puzzling
phenomenon. From a marketing
standpoint, Disney has spent decades
finding ways to quietly yet firmly
encourage adult engagement to the
point of obsession.
By Emily Blumberg, Statement Correspondent
Read more at michigandaily.com
Read more at michigandaily.com
Design by Tamara Turner