You know how there are times or experiences in life that you look back on and think to yourself that you felt literally the happiest that you've ever felt? I feel like we all have these. Summer Camp was one of those for me. Another one was Ski House.
When I think about Ski House now, it is with a deep sense of nostalgia, even though these experiences only happened a few years ago. Yet, there was something about this period of about 5 years, each winter, that fulfilled every concept that I understand as true happiness. Reminiscing about Ski House now makes me feel quite sad, because it's one of those situations that simply cannot be repeated - like anything great and worth remembering.
I would like to share it with you.
Let's talk about the 3 hour ride up to ski house with Greg and Danielle Stamm in the XTerra.
The ride would always begin with a text message indicating at what hour I could expect the Stamms to show up outside my door in Brighton. I'd rush home from work, excitedly take inventory of my ski gear and place the bags at the bottom of the stairs, knowing that when the Stamms showed up, Greg (the dad), would start loading things into the way back. (Everyone who grew up skiing knows that it is the dad's duty to load the car.) After Greg loaded the car, we'd hoist my skis onto the roof rack, fingers cold, breath visible, and car warm. Then, we'd make our way through darkening Brighton and into the straggling rush hour traffic along route 1 north until we hit 95, with a stop at Panera for a sandwich dinner. After about 1.5 hours on 95, we'd hit the split that took us north up NH 16-N, a very dark, very long, windy, and mostly 1 lane road in both directions. I learned to identify the landmarks that let us know we were approaching our destination, like the Hess station with the good bathrooms, the sign for Kokopelli jewelers, and the Toyota snow mobile dealer.
Those 3 hours in the car were spent talking about lots of things, no matter how tired we were after the work week. I always sat in the back, and most of my part of the discussion revolved around current or failing romances (of which I had quite a few during ski house days). Sweet and stoic Danielle would always need a little time to vent about stuff going on at work, and Greg would relish in the fact that he even had time off on a weekend. Always, we would pass the iphone around to access the most suitable playlist for the journey, which often included songs from Glee. Poor, tolerant Greg must have been subjected at least 10 hours of constant Glee in that car with Danielle and me singing along. Most other times, it was either 90s pop or 90s throwbacks, but we'd almost always switch the channel to "Frank FM" 107.5 when we entered the Fryeburg area. ("Frank" was the radio station of choice, and always played on the boom box in the kitchen at the ski house - a never-ending awesome mix of classic rock and commercials for snow mobiles.)
But wait! I haven't even finished the drive! The final leg of the journey was spent for about 7 miles on the on worst road I have ever had the pleasure of driving. I have lost a total of 3 (three) hubcaps on that road due to the frost heaves. That road is the reason that I do not bother with hubcaps on my snow tires any more. (Poor Jim and his brand new Audi!!) The best part about the frost heaves is the sign that says, "Warning - Frost Heaves" about halfway down the road, as though someone really hadn't noticed the 2 feet deep crevices in the road. One time, my friend Casey was driving us back from the mountain in her little Mazda 3 and we drove over a frost heave so deep that we all screamed bloody murder and had to stop the car to make sure we hadn't blown out a tire.
For those of you who do not know what a frost heave is, you should google it.
The point is, the drive could be a bouncy one, but once you got used to it, and if you had a nimble vehicle with good suspension (like I did - yay honda civic!), I almost enjoyed the game of driving as fast as possible (without being dangerous of course) while avoiding the heaves.
But I digress.
After a long journey, slowed by the heaves and blasting Frank FM, we would arrive at the ski house, lit up, toasty and welcoming with the other ski house residents. Some of these residents (myself NOT included) would have the stamina to stay up and chat and drink wine or scotch. But I would always go up to my little "single-lady" room, put on my jammies, brush my teeth with water that tasted like blood (well water infused with iron), slip beneath flannel sheets with rainbow dots and a crinkly down comforter, and fall fast asleep.
The ski house is owned by Sada, originally a friend of Greg's, and now a friend of all, who has generous allowed us to pay minimal seasonal rent. Sada decorated her house with lots and lots of moose, and different items were contributed over time to give the house its character - like the giant foam fist designed told hold (and keep cool) a beer can. Or, the mug from Miami in the shape of a tanned woman's breasts (a personal favorite of mine). Or, the big stuffed moose on the couch that Lauren named "Shmoose". I could go on - the cozy throw with buttons on it for the sofa...the rainbow magnetic letters on the fridge that often spelled out unmentionable phrases...
As you can expect, days were spent skiing. We divided our time mostly between Attitash and Wildcat, favoring Attitash most of the time.
When I was a girl, I'd often watch jealously as big groups of friends stood in line for the chairlift. The only friends I had who skied were the Allas, and we didn't go with them often enough. I always really wanted a ski group. So perhaps that's another reason why this experience was so special to me. For 5 years, I had my group, and it was amazing.
I'm not going to attempt to describe skiing to those of you who do not ski. It deserves its own blog entry. For now, let's just focus on the social aspect of skiing, which is fully 75% of the experience itself.
Skiing with a group is all about keeping up. We definitely had different levels of skiers in our group, but we could all keep up. Most of my memories are not of the actual skiing part, but of the moments in between, when we would all come to a stop and look breathlessly at the view or laugh at someone's antics or discuss how amazing the day was, or briefly point out where we were going, or coordinate some sort of stunt:
On a good day, the level of joy that one can feel while skiing with friends is basically off the charts. I'm talking pure, unadulterated joy.
Meanwhile, when not skiing, you're on a lift. Let's discuss the time that Danielle and I were on a lift and a jerk guy sitting next to us explained that in a few years, we wouldn't be friends any more. "I didn't like any of my wife's friends," he explained. "So now, she's not friends with any of them any more. People change. You probably won't be friends like this in a couple years." This of course, hit at the very core of what I consider to be important in life. Danielle, in her peacekeeping way, attempted to keep the conversation light. I forget what I said to that jerk, but I have never forgotten how I felt, and how on our next ride up, Danielle and I vowed that this would never happen to us.
Over the years, the conversations on the ski lift morphed into those regarding wedding plans or even baby plans. Life moved forward, but the ski season was always the same. We always sat on those same lifts and skied those same trails.
Apres ski, as it is called, was also its own thing. We would rarely ski until 4PM (when the lifts closed,) unless it was an absolutely epic day. Sunny days in spring were the best - and those days, there would be at least some time spent drinking beers and sitting in chairs outside the Attitash base lodge. At right is a picture of some of the crew engaging in apres ski behavior.
But this was not the end of the day! Saturday night dinners were excitedly planned on trips up the lift, and everyone was in charge of one part of dinner. When we had the expert chefs around (Ann and Lauren especially), the dinners were exceptional. Every trip home from the mountain included a stop at Market Basket, shuffling around in our snow pants, selecting our contributions to the dinner. And before dinner was made, there was of course the quick hot shower (we had to share hot water), and all of the highlighted blondes in the house had to rinse their hair with gallons of cold, bottled water for fear of the rust turning our blonde to light orange.
I'll never forget the night that Lauren taught me how to make a roux when we were making mac & cheese over about 4 glasses of wine. Our cheeks were pink from the burn of the sun on the slopes and the warmth of the stove. Frank was playing in the background. It was special. The mac & cheese was epic.
I'll also never forgot how Sada planned and executed the most wonderful birthday dinners for Greg - surf and turf with filets and lobsters all around. We'd set up tables the length of the entire living room and feast, and then stand around the bonfire outside in our ski jackets, drinking beers and getting smoke in our eyes.
I'm sure the guys have memories and comments to make about their epic games of Settlers of Catan and Risk, but I only participated once and punked out after Casey punked out.
Here is the thing though...ski house has ended for me. It's ended for a bunch of us who have married and are having kids. There are going to be a few years before we can return to our regular ski seasons - but even if we return, it's not going to be like it's been. This house, with these people is not going to come back together, and there is something about this knowledge that fills me with intense longing. When you're younger, you really believe that you can recreate times like this. But as you get older, you realize that the reason why these moments were great is the exact reason why they cannot be recreated.
I know that I'll make more memories in the future that will be just as wonderful as this one. But for a moment, I want to stop and commemorate this part of my life. I want to thank Sada and all my ski house friends, Ann, Tim, Carrie, Mike, Casey, T, Danielle, Greg, Jim and Lauren for making these winter seasons truly the best of my entire life.
When I think about Ski House now, it is with a deep sense of nostalgia, even though these experiences only happened a few years ago. Yet, there was something about this period of about 5 years, each winter, that fulfilled every concept that I understand as true happiness. Reminiscing about Ski House now makes me feel quite sad, because it's one of those situations that simply cannot be repeated - like anything great and worth remembering.
I would like to share it with you.
Let's talk about the 3 hour ride up to ski house with Greg and Danielle Stamm in the XTerra.
The ride would always begin with a text message indicating at what hour I could expect the Stamms to show up outside my door in Brighton. I'd rush home from work, excitedly take inventory of my ski gear and place the bags at the bottom of the stairs, knowing that when the Stamms showed up, Greg (the dad), would start loading things into the way back. (Everyone who grew up skiing knows that it is the dad's duty to load the car.) After Greg loaded the car, we'd hoist my skis onto the roof rack, fingers cold, breath visible, and car warm. Then, we'd make our way through darkening Brighton and into the straggling rush hour traffic along route 1 north until we hit 95, with a stop at Panera for a sandwich dinner. After about 1.5 hours on 95, we'd hit the split that took us north up NH 16-N, a very dark, very long, windy, and mostly 1 lane road in both directions. I learned to identify the landmarks that let us know we were approaching our destination, like the Hess station with the good bathrooms, the sign for Kokopelli jewelers, and the Toyota snow mobile dealer.Those 3 hours in the car were spent talking about lots of things, no matter how tired we were after the work week. I always sat in the back, and most of my part of the discussion revolved around current or failing romances (of which I had quite a few during ski house days). Sweet and stoic Danielle would always need a little time to vent about stuff going on at work, and Greg would relish in the fact that he even had time off on a weekend. Always, we would pass the iphone around to access the most suitable playlist for the journey, which often included songs from Glee. Poor, tolerant Greg must have been subjected at least 10 hours of constant Glee in that car with Danielle and me singing along. Most other times, it was either 90s pop or 90s throwbacks, but we'd almost always switch the channel to "Frank FM" 107.5 when we entered the Fryeburg area. ("Frank" was the radio station of choice, and always played on the boom box in the kitchen at the ski house - a never-ending awesome mix of classic rock and commercials for snow mobiles.)
But wait! I haven't even finished the drive! The final leg of the journey was spent for about 7 miles on the on worst road I have ever had the pleasure of driving. I have lost a total of 3 (three) hubcaps on that road due to the frost heaves. That road is the reason that I do not bother with hubcaps on my snow tires any more. (Poor Jim and his brand new Audi!!) The best part about the frost heaves is the sign that says, "Warning - Frost Heaves" about halfway down the road, as though someone really hadn't noticed the 2 feet deep crevices in the road. One time, my friend Casey was driving us back from the mountain in her little Mazda 3 and we drove over a frost heave so deep that we all screamed bloody murder and had to stop the car to make sure we hadn't blown out a tire.
For those of you who do not know what a frost heave is, you should google it.
The point is, the drive could be a bouncy one, but once you got used to it, and if you had a nimble vehicle with good suspension (like I did - yay honda civic!), I almost enjoyed the game of driving as fast as possible (without being dangerous of course) while avoiding the heaves.
But I digress.
After a long journey, slowed by the heaves and blasting Frank FM, we would arrive at the ski house, lit up, toasty and welcoming with the other ski house residents. Some of these residents (myself NOT included) would have the stamina to stay up and chat and drink wine or scotch. But I would always go up to my little "single-lady" room, put on my jammies, brush my teeth with water that tasted like blood (well water infused with iron), slip beneath flannel sheets with rainbow dots and a crinkly down comforter, and fall fast asleep.
The ski house is owned by Sada, originally a friend of Greg's, and now a friend of all, who has generous allowed us to pay minimal seasonal rent. Sada decorated her house with lots and lots of moose, and different items were contributed over time to give the house its character - like the giant foam fist designed told hold (and keep cool) a beer can. Or, the mug from Miami in the shape of a tanned woman's breasts (a personal favorite of mine). Or, the big stuffed moose on the couch that Lauren named "Shmoose". I could go on - the cozy throw with buttons on it for the sofa...the rainbow magnetic letters on the fridge that often spelled out unmentionable phrases...
As you can expect, days were spent skiing. We divided our time mostly between Attitash and Wildcat, favoring Attitash most of the time.
When I was a girl, I'd often watch jealously as big groups of friends stood in line for the chairlift. The only friends I had who skied were the Allas, and we didn't go with them often enough. I always really wanted a ski group. So perhaps that's another reason why this experience was so special to me. For 5 years, I had my group, and it was amazing.
I'm not going to attempt to describe skiing to those of you who do not ski. It deserves its own blog entry. For now, let's just focus on the social aspect of skiing, which is fully 75% of the experience itself.
Skiing with a group is all about keeping up. We definitely had different levels of skiers in our group, but we could all keep up. Most of my memories are not of the actual skiing part, but of the moments in between, when we would all come to a stop and look breathlessly at the view or laugh at someone's antics or discuss how amazing the day was, or briefly point out where we were going, or coordinate some sort of stunt:
On a good day, the level of joy that one can feel while skiing with friends is basically off the charts. I'm talking pure, unadulterated joy.
Meanwhile, when not skiing, you're on a lift. Let's discuss the time that Danielle and I were on a lift and a jerk guy sitting next to us explained that in a few years, we wouldn't be friends any more. "I didn't like any of my wife's friends," he explained. "So now, she's not friends with any of them any more. People change. You probably won't be friends like this in a couple years." This of course, hit at the very core of what I consider to be important in life. Danielle, in her peacekeeping way, attempted to keep the conversation light. I forget what I said to that jerk, but I have never forgotten how I felt, and how on our next ride up, Danielle and I vowed that this would never happen to us.
Over the years, the conversations on the ski lift morphed into those regarding wedding plans or even baby plans. Life moved forward, but the ski season was always the same. We always sat on those same lifts and skied those same trails.
Apres ski, as it is called, was also its own thing. We would rarely ski until 4PM (when the lifts closed,) unless it was an absolutely epic day. Sunny days in spring were the best - and those days, there would be at least some time spent drinking beers and sitting in chairs outside the Attitash base lodge. At right is a picture of some of the crew engaging in apres ski behavior.But this was not the end of the day! Saturday night dinners were excitedly planned on trips up the lift, and everyone was in charge of one part of dinner. When we had the expert chefs around (Ann and Lauren especially), the dinners were exceptional. Every trip home from the mountain included a stop at Market Basket, shuffling around in our snow pants, selecting our contributions to the dinner. And before dinner was made, there was of course the quick hot shower (we had to share hot water), and all of the highlighted blondes in the house had to rinse their hair with gallons of cold, bottled water for fear of the rust turning our blonde to light orange.
I'll never forget the night that Lauren taught me how to make a roux when we were making mac & cheese over about 4 glasses of wine. Our cheeks were pink from the burn of the sun on the slopes and the warmth of the stove. Frank was playing in the background. It was special. The mac & cheese was epic.
I'll also never forgot how Sada planned and executed the most wonderful birthday dinners for Greg - surf and turf with filets and lobsters all around. We'd set up tables the length of the entire living room and feast, and then stand around the bonfire outside in our ski jackets, drinking beers and getting smoke in our eyes.
I'm sure the guys have memories and comments to make about their epic games of Settlers of Catan and Risk, but I only participated once and punked out after Casey punked out.
Here is the thing though...ski house has ended for me. It's ended for a bunch of us who have married and are having kids. There are going to be a few years before we can return to our regular ski seasons - but even if we return, it's not going to be like it's been. This house, with these people is not going to come back together, and there is something about this knowledge that fills me with intense longing. When you're younger, you really believe that you can recreate times like this. But as you get older, you realize that the reason why these moments were great is the exact reason why they cannot be recreated.
I know that I'll make more memories in the future that will be just as wonderful as this one. But for a moment, I want to stop and commemorate this part of my life. I want to thank Sada and all my ski house friends, Ann, Tim, Carrie, Mike, Casey, T, Danielle, Greg, Jim and Lauren for making these winter seasons truly the best of my entire life.
Love it!!! *MB = Hannafords up in the north country. :-) Epic times. xoxo
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