Call Natalie Smith a crone and she'll thank you. To Smith, "crone" isn't a nasty barb but a title bestowed upon her 20 years ago by a group of younger women wishing to honor her wisdom and experience.

Now at 88, Smith is among the elders at the Concord Unitarian Universalist Church. With horned staff in hand, she leads the closing blessing at the annual winter solstice service and, as a retired federal budget officer, critiques the church's books. In between, she serves as a role model for younger women in a world that often values their beauty over their other skills.

"Society puts a burden on women that you're all supposed to look 16, and I think a lot of women are still trying," Smith said last week. "And I think a lot of them give up. They figure that they don't count. I think society really does a job on older women."

To combat this sort of ageism, a growing number of women are embracing the title of crone, participating in ceremonial rites and founding groups of like-minded peers. Once a pagan ritual tied to matriarchal faiths, croning is becoming the yoga of post-middle age women's empowerment, rooted in ancient spirituality but practiced in modern and often secular ways.

"Those of us that are the baby boomer generation, we were the ones that got in women's circles of consciousness raising," said the Rev. Pat Hoertdoerfer, who travels among Unitarian churches in Vermont and New Hampshire, promoting the value of elders in a community. "Now we need to define ourselves as we enter another stage of life."

Croning is a trend that ignores the wrinkle creams, the Botox injections, the gray-no-more hair rinses. It dismisses the post-adolescent fashion models, and it poo-poos the idea that women past a certain age are past their prime. Crones do not pine for youth. Nor do they embrace a mellow, lackluster old age. Smith, for instance, celebrated her crone-hood by purchasing a red sports car with the license plate WZWOMN.

The concept of crones is based in pagan, polytheistic traditions that see the divine as both god and goddess. The goddess has three life stages: maiden, mother and crone. Each phase is usually accompanied by a ceremonial rite. A women may become a crone after menopause, but many wait until retirement or after all their children leave home.

Croning rituals are as diverse as the women who adopt the title, but they usually involve stories of the woman's accomplishments, chanting, and at the end, cake and punch. Many women are further honored with a jewel or charm necklace that signifies their new role in the community.

"Far from being a withered, old, useless lady, she's extra powerful," said Lorraine Ellis, one of the founders of the Concord church's earth-centered spirituality group. "She has all this wisdom, experience and strength to draw on. . . . This society needs to move towards honoring its elders, understanding what they have to offer."

In Smith's case, the ritual celebrated her many decades of quiet feminism. She studied accounting and continued working after her two daughters were born. She was often the only woman in an office of 20 men, and she was the first female budget officer in the Soil Conservation Service. Now, she encourages women to remain financially independent and vigilant about their rights and responsibilities.

"Really, truly, you learn," she said. "Aging is a learning process and you're learning every day."

Many New Hampshire crones are involved in the Unitarian church, which welcomes worshipers of many faiths, including earth-centered religions. Some hold occasional rituals for women ready to become crones. Others, like the Laconia parish, host clubs for meetings of crones.

"I looked around at what fabulous women I knew, and I thought this would be a great thing to do for the winter," said Anne Walsten, who started Laconia's crone group.

Walsten and a few dozen other women read a book, Crones Don't Whine, and discussed how it related to their lives. Then they raised money for women's charities in developing countries. At last count, they had purchased medical services for two Ethiopians and paid to install three water wells in Malawi. They have fun together, too.

"It's created a bond," said Walsten, 55. "Now we have crone movie nights and crone go-to-restaurant nights. Just whatever."

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