Free Hot Chocolate. . .green mountain economics

There is something to be learned in every story. When persons of different worlds, cultures and expectations collide with ideology and reality on a snow bound mountain road, a story unfolds. As a winter hiking guide for Smugglers Notch Resort, I was charged with the morning ventures into our mystical winter wonderlands. I would gather a group of guests for the daily quest "into the wilds" of the Mt. Mansfield region localized to the less traveled back country of the resort's expansive terrain. This is an invigorating experience; at least when I'm out front leading the more metropolitan brethren who sign up for these off slope excursions. Having lived here for 23 years exploring much of these hills and dales on my horses, I became a little familiar and very comfortable trekking through the forests of our great mountainside. Three years ago, I answered a job posting to guide these winter walks thinking it would be pedestrian employment but better than joining a gym and it gets me out in the winter. It has been a grand experience for me, and for many of the guests who partake in the journeys. They are very much like expeditions for these folks. Coming from all ranges of cities, suburbs and foreign places they perceive our woodlands as a privileged place of untamed wildness and personal challenge. At least, when I fill their heads with local lore, real or nearly real. Working the season, spinning the yarns, casting the possibilities of the wild things...seeing them drop their mask of material surplus and open their minds to the organic rhythm of this natural world is food for my soul. Like bringing water to a thirsty traveler, they are quenched and then primed for more. The winter walking, wiking and hiking program was designed for off slope guests who sought something to do with the mornings. Fitness was the first framework. The stats make it clear: (winter walking expends 22% higher caloric expenditure, 16% higher heart rate, 20% increase in oxygen uptake...it is 46% more efficient that regular walking) To some that means calories burned, butt firmed, thighs toned, waist trimmed; to me that means we can eat 46% more chocolate cake to break even...This winter of walking was an exercise in mental fitness as well. People's minds were heavy with fear and discontent due to the struggling economy. Some would not have any other vacation. Some would have to give up their second homes. . . from early in the season, a pattern of disconnect was emerging. I get to hear a lot of conversations whether they are directed at me or not. Some are very memorable and we solve many world crises on our three mile tours. Politicians and policy makers should walk with us; they would learn volumes of concerns and solutions, could potentially solve problems. One of my most memorable wikes (walking up hill in snow) was late in the season with a multi-generation family from New Jersey. The first day out, we were joined by an older woman who placed herself in the back of the group. As we ascended the reservoir hill, she kept a steady pace with no break in stride. It's a short but steep hill; a challenge for those not used to that kind of push. She made it easily, the rest of the group, younger but less fit, gasped at the crest as I monitored their breathing. No heart attacks on my treks please, breathe in ~ breathe out. "It's all down hill from here, only a fat mile back. If you can handle today, you will enjoy the week..." , my usual pep talk for the introductory group. It's mostly true; the walks get longer, deeper into the woods, Friday is up the mountain road for a steady mile, going up and up still more...As we caught our wind, I noticed that our senior guest was grinning and breathing easily. So I asked how she felt, "Great!, this is perfect!" I was curious about her age and so I politely inquired, "may I ask your age?" knowing this is hallowed ground for women. As I leaned on my trek poles, I nearly tipped over when she beamed; "you may, I am 82 years old. I'm here with my son and his family for the first time ever..." I walked to her and asked for a hug. "You are an inspiration to me; I hope by God's grace, I can hike the woods in winter when I am 82...", a genuine pact from me. She walked with us every day, never faltered enjoying the pensive journeys of the forest. On Friday, she persuaded her middle-aged son to join us. He began the outing by conducting a business call on his cell phone as we loaded the shuttle with 24 guests for the mountain road ascension. I threw a few glares his way. Still he talked, voraciously negotiating some deal...I finally interrupted him with earnest jest and strident body language... "Do I have to take that away from you? The group is here for the peace and quiet of the mountain. There are no business calls on my hikes. Give it to me, do it now,,," His wife smiled, one guest applauded. He relented and closed the conversation;"...I have to get back to you later, the guide is going to kick my ass..." He pocketed the device and we settled in for the fifteen minute ride up to the barricade. A few fast facts for the mountain road and what we might see... Dismounting the shuttle, it was a glorious day with sunlight filling the winter lane and glistening off ice bound boulders and mountain faces. A wirery stretch to prep our bodies and off to the top of the Notch. As a closed road, there is no way for anyone to get lost so the pace is leisurely. I get to chat with everyone on the walk and learn of other places and communities. The man left his mother to her own pace and strided up with me. In a few steps, he had me trapped next to the guardrails emerging from the thawing snow banks. Must be his cell phone didn't get signal up there because he began by introducing himself, drifted through the who, what, where and why he was there. Announced his professional status in marketing, salary plus perks and wanted to know why, "why did Smuggs discontinue the free hot chocolate at the end of every ski day at the base of Morse Mountain?" His was not a casual question. He posited the query with an indignant tone and hand on my shoulder. My first thought was my assessment of our distance from the 2240 foot summit. We were not even half way up and he is already probing for answeres that are beyond my scope of company knowledge. He would not yield and asked again. So we stopped, and I took the perspective of a local citizen and tried to explain. "Management crunches a lot of numbers. They recognized the light attendance for the season. They processed many possibilities for tightening the expenses. They made a commitment for the hourly staff like me, to keep positions filled, to not cut jobs. They froze payroll, RIF'ed some management and then reshaped some of the free programs. The hot chocolate hour was reduced to weds and Saturdays to save jobs. As a single mom, I am grateful to have this job." It sounded credible to me, pretty close to the actual reasoning behind the program changes and hoped it would appease him. It didn't. He followed his first jab with a blunt reproach regarding the free fireworks and torch-light parade of Thursday nights. This year only four such events were to be held. "Why did they cut those out?" he persisted. "Well, they are costly to host but no fee is charged to the guests. The fifty or so skiers, instructors and patrollers, have to be paid overtime to do that. Then there are the pyrotechnics license, insurance, payroll and product. They are doing it four times this year. This week was the last show. Did you see it? It was for Canadian week..." He stopped in front of me this time. Vividly annoyed in his response, "what!? I am offended! Why for the Canadian week but not for next week? Don't they know that next week is the spring break for every private school in America? Why wouldn't they target that week for a show?...I run focus groups for my marketing firm; it sounds like Smuggs needs some focus groups to make these choices. Why weren't the home owners consulted..." He was on a tare now, increasingly agitated and invested in his perspective. I felt defensive and obligated to defend the company and my meager paying job..."I am a farmer, there is not a lot of farming in winter up here. I have this job so I can maintain my house in the winter, heat it, light it. . . so my kids can learn to ski; for me and many families like mine, this is the only job that we can fit into our patchwork of income...the median income in Lamoille county is like $28K...a winter job means paying our property taxes or not...keeping our only home or not, , ," He interrupted and declared, "they should have fired 10% of staff and kept the hot chocolate! My kids loved that daily ritual, its how they make friends..." My thoughts focused inward at that point. I was startled at his words. 'this man is over employed, over paid and over privileged...his disconnect is huge... and inhumane...he's worried about free hot chocolate and I'm defending heat and groceries...' With nothing to say, I hustled up to the summit station and avoided him all the way down. He's a guest, I'm a wage slave, can't get mad or even attempt to justify my reasoning to this man of luxuries. Half way down, I summoned some courage and re-ignited the conversation. Rehearsing the guest relations mantra: L>A>S>T listen, apologize, solve and thank... " so I've been thinking about your question. Maybe if Smuggs got a sponsor for the hot cocoa they could do it. Like Nestle with a banner and enough money to cover the staff and the bonfire...they could keep the free stuff going. I could keep my job, and your mom would have something to do while you ski when she comes up here..." He seemed brightened by this idea. "who owns this resort? I want to talk to him about this, set up a focus group..." was his tact. My cheerful reply, after all someone else could take the heat, "Bill Stritzler, top floor of the Admin Building, up the stairs, go right, left and corner office is his. His car is here, so he is here, he'd love to talk I'm sure..." By then we were loading the shuttle. The accomplished man mounted the stairs with confidence in his new mission; he left his 82 year old mother to her own resources at the foot of the stairs. Standing at the door, I stretched my hand to guide her up and smile in the high sun of noon. She turned her twinkled eye to me and lavished my palm with a fifty dollar bill softly praising, "Bless your heart, this was the best winter week ever..." "thank you and you have a groovy day; it's been a pleasure to be your guide..." my genuine gratitude. 'the disconnect this man has is bigger than this mountain...he didn't even help his own mother here...' my self speak as I entered the shuttle hearing him share his discord with is captive wife. The experience still resonates with me. How even disappointment is a relative experience. Employment vs free hot chocolate, that was the contest; thanks be to God that the directors at Smuggs see the value in local employment...it's all good and winter is not so very far away from this cool summer day to imagine the people and the stories and the mountain that brings us all together in our Green Mountain economics...
peace ~ ell