Places shape us. They become part of us. Whether its the people or the landscape, the culture or the environment, or any number of things in between, some places dig deeper into us than others. Places we grow up, places we pass through, who we are, how we interact, it all plays a role in our experience, what we give, what we take away. We all have places we call home, places we feel home, places we love, places we loath, places we begrudgingly accept as some intrisic part of who we are. Although these places might be a part of us, might come with us everywhere, sometimes, we return to them physically. This homecoming can be a relief, it can be a reawakening, it can be a rediscovery. Coming home can reveal things we missed the first time, it can remind us of who we once were, who we really are, and where we’re heading next.
I’ve spent thirteen of the last fourteen winters living in Alta. Other than my home in the Upper Valley of New Hampshire and Vermont, nothing has shaped me as much as this place. I came here first when I was eighteen years old. I fell in love, in more ways than one, and repeatedly. People, powder, mountains, unexplainable beauty.
I don’t think at any point in my time here did I really think I’d be here for over a decade, as much as I loved it, life here always had a hint of unreality, a feeling of impermanence. Maybe that’s just the nature of winter, the fact that I’ve never spent a summer here, that most of the community comes together for only half the year. But they come back, and others are here always, it’s confusing, conflicting in a way.
Despite the physical beauty of the natural environment here, as I aged with this place, it became more and more about the people, the community that called this place home. But like I said, people move on, not only every season but eventually this small canyon can’t contain many of the amazing people who’ve called this place home. They have horizons to discover, goals to achieve, and as much as it may pain them or the community they’ve got to try.
I was one of those people. Life here felt like it had run its course and was pushing me towards something else, not necessarily something bigger or better, just whatever was next for me, and after years of hearing this whisper in the back of my mind it had grown louder and I knew it was time to listen.
Leaving Alta was incredibly difficult. The decision, the action, the repurcussions, none of it was painless. None of it I regret. While I was away I learned a lot about myself, I remembered things I had forgotten and discovered even more. I was only gone one season, and I cant claim I really ever succeeded in separating myself from Alta at all, but I’m not sure that was ever the goal.
I don’t know if this picture, this story, is about Alta, leaving here, returning, or none of the above. When I took this image, when I look at it again and think about what it means to me, is just how grateful I am to be here. How, as cliche as it sounds, you never know where your decisions will lead you. i’m Encouraged to recognize that sometimes, the most difficult seeming decisions result in the most growth. That as hard as it can be to give up something that is such a huge part of you, you never really know how this decision will resolve itself, and that you very well might rediscover that same ting with more apptitude, more appreciation, and even more skill.
The decision to return to Alta was so much easier than leaving. I was lucky, it was an opportunity to return to what I knew and loved, while doing something new and exciting. I have not been let down.
I dont think I can say exactly what a homecoming feels like. It’s going to be different for everyone and every different home they return to, but I can’t say that returning to Alta originally felt like coming home. It was familiar, yes, but differnt in so many ways I hadn’t anticipated, or couldn’t prepare for. How people recieve you, what they assume you’ve returned for, or because of, how new work, life, or home situations change your relationship to a place, it was all new.
I have been neglecting so much in my life to go skiing. Not only in general, over the years, but day to day this last season. That’s not to say that my life isn’t pretty simple and I’m not actually neglecting that much, but it can feel that way. But I have to say, it’s been a good season for it. And more than anything, that’s what feels like coming home, like returning to my roots, living a little like a mountain monk and exploring in the mountains every day.
Skiing this season has felt very much like my first years here, discovering new hidden corners of the mountains, playing like a child in the deep, weightless snow. Only now I’m even more prepared, more skilled, and in some ways, more grateful. Some of the people I share this place with understand that, whether its because I’ve been lucid enough to explain it to them, or they know well enough to see that I am happy, that I am content.
The community here has changed, the people have as well. To assume neither people nor their places change is shortsighted indeed. Perhaps I had trouble seeing it before as I was more a part of it than I knew. Stepping away, even for just a moment, may have given me the perspective to see how it is changing, how I have as well and how parts of us will always remain the same. Everything is fluid, yet the elements remain unchanged, everything evolves, our friends, our homes, and even ourselves. Coming home isn’t like opening a box that has never been touched, or like opening a door to a room that’s been locked, it’d different every time, for each one of us, and I couldn’t be happier to be home.