Chairlift Confidential - March

(For those of you new to this recurring column, it’s modeled on the NY Times “Metropolitan Diary” but changed to snippets of skiing life in the Mad River Valley. A typical chairlift ride is about ten minutes long— the perfect amount of time to chat with a stranger that you have almost no chance of running into again. I hope you enjoy this occasional recounting of perhaps true chairlift conversations.)

To stab or not to stab

A woman in her mid-30s and I rode up on a midweek day. She was a healthcare worker, focused on public policy. I said I had just read about the measles outbreak in Texas. She sighed and said it was hard to work on problems that had already been solved.

Immovable Objects

The sun was shining on a midweek day. Cold, but the snow was fabulous. The man sitting next to me on the chair and I agreed we were very lucky to be skiing mid-week. 

He said he wished he could be here midweek more often. 

I asked him if he could work remote? Or move his job to Vermont?

He said it would be impossible.

“Really?” I said, “Why is that?”

“I run two commercial compost sites,” he said. “They are where they are.”

I nodded. It was one of those jobs that can’t be moved.

Ready for Summer

On a recent warm but not sunny day, a youngish man had opted to ditch his snow pants in favor of colorful athletic shorts. I complimented him on his fashion choice. “Seems pretty brave,” I said. He chuckled, responding, “That’s one word for it.”