Stride Americana: The Notch, the Gondola, and the Lodge Mom Life

A terrifying mountain road, a hike that humbled us, and a shop full of wish tags. Stowe gave us all of it, twice.

A moment of peace from the lookout tower

Two years ago, all three of us took a first timer lesson together. Steve and Sam excelled and continued with the sport. I, on the other hand, have not so fond memories of falling while trying to get on the magic carpet of the bunniest of bunny hills. Since then, I have been the lodge mom of this family. I don’t ski. What I do is find the best coffee, the best seat, the best view, and wait for everyone else to come back exhausted and happy. Stowe, it turns out, was made for people like me.

Moms’ Day Out

The dads had a round of golf planned for the morning, so us moms were in charge of planning the day’s outing with the kids. Stowe jumped out as the ideal place where we could start the day with adventure and activity and end it perusing quaint shops with iced coffees in hand.

Little did we know, the thrills would begin before we would even step foot on a trail.

Our plan was to start at Stowe Mountain Resort, taking the gondola to the top and then hiking around the peak. There apparently is more than one way to approach the resort, and our GPS decided that our driver was up for a challenge that morning. After about 10 minutes of twists and turns, each of us silently thinking, “wow, this is a lot,” someone finally broke the silence and complimented the driver for her control over the large SUV.

That open acknowledgment of the absurdity of this road immediately preceded a series of heightening warnings, including:

“If you can’t fit, turn around.”

Shortly after that, our eyes collectively played tricks on us as it appeared that we were approaching a barrier, only to realize as we got closer that it was a zig-zag practice course of sorts. Thankfully our car fit, but that didn’t do much to help our nerves about whatever was still ahead.

We would soon find out, when suddenly our car was dwarfed by massive boulders on either side, the narrow road snaking through a tight passage between them. The whole car exhaled together as we came out the other side.

Now, this was my first time in Stowe, but I’ve been hearing people tell me about this place for years. It’s a wildly popular ski resort. You seriously mean to tell me that they all navigate this nonsense of a road in winter? I don’t buy it.

Finally, we arrived at the resort and immediately spotted the gondola that would take us near the peak of Mount Mansfield, Vermont’s tallest peak. A quick stop at the ticket booth and we were on our way up.

As the lodge shrunk from our view, the rest of the stunning vista began to take shape: the Green Mountains rising around us in every direction, a small lake in the distance, perfectly clear blue sky. It was even enough to distract me from the fearful pit in my stomach every time the swaying cabin ka-chunked over another support pillar.

We reached the top, and one of the moms stepped inside the gift shop to inquire about the hiking trails. The clerk quickly advised to avoid the Cliff Trail, an extremely steep path that requires climbing across rock gaps on iron rungs. No thanks. But if we followed the path down to the left of the building, it’d be a much easier loop around the peak.

We quickly learned that Vermonters have a very different definition of an easy hike.

By the time we neared the bottom of the first slope, our legs were screaming from the amount of control we needed to prevent ourselves from toppling down the steep hill. I’m sure it took much longer than it should have as each of us very slowly shuffled down to avoid losing our footing. The sun was blazing and the heat wave was starting to make its appearance. I didn’t want to be the one to stop the group, but I was seriously questioning my ability to make it through this hike.

Thankfully, someone was brave enough to say out loud that this might be too much. The rest of the group quickly piled on, and those of us who were bringing up the rear were glad to quickly about-face and not continue the painful slide to the bottom. The climb back up was no treat either, but I personally often find up to be easier because you’re not trying to stop your body from rolling down the hill with the momentum.

This was about the point where we decided enough was enough.

Once we reached the top again, we spent some time absorbing the sights at the peak while we caught our breath. We all climbed to the top of the observation tower, pointing toward the various mountains we saw noted on the diagram in front of us. The kids perched themselves on the tall Adirondack chairs overlooking the valley, and of course us moms got 1,000 pictures. We parked ourselves at a picnic table and refueled before taking the ride back down to the base.

Our next stop was to check out The Village at Spruce Peak, a year-round mountain community complete with accommodations, dining, shopping, and outdoor activities. We caught the shuttle, and the driver asked us, “So, did you come through the Notch?” Ah, so that nonsense road has a name. And apparently a rich history as a two-centuries old smuggling route for embargoed goods from Canada (hence the nearby Smuggler’s Notch Ski Resort). We made sure to take the alternate route home.

Although we were one of the very few groups wandering the grounds on this hot summer day, I could immediately picture the village bustling with patrons in puffy coats, crackling fires blazing in the many fire pits, twinkling café lights stretching between buildings as people gather beneath them clutching steaming beverages. Coming back here with Steve and Sam would be an absolute must. Especially once I spotted the spa and envisioned my day of pampering while they hit the slopes, meeting up with them for après ski. Ok, done dreaming about the future trip, back to the current one.

Sam and I picked up some iced coffees (decaf for him of course) and strolled through the grounds. The kids busied themselves with the giant Jenga before we all decided to go off in search of the Enchanted Forest Playground. A mini covered bridge served as a portal to this natural play area, where the swinging and climbing equipment blended into the surrounding trees. The kids explored while the moms settled in at a picnic table for a rest until it was time to head out for lunch.

We said goodbye (for now) to Spruce Peak and headed into Stowe Village to check out the restaurants and shops. On the way into town we stopped at Piecasso, a quirky pizza place with art-covered walls and the World Cup on TV. Just a short drive up the road is the very definition of “quaint New England downtown,” although we realized during this trip that saying “cute little downtown” in Vermont is basically like saying we went to Arizona and saw some cacti in the desert.

Stowe has everything one would expect from a Norman Rockwell-ian (or is it Rockwell-esque?) town square: a mercantile with every gift and local good imaginable, an independent bookshop full of works by local authors and about local history, bespoke boutiques with styles carefully curated by the devoted shop owners, an ice cream shop, proudly declaring on a large sign out front that “We have Maple Creemees!”

I ended up leaving that afternoon an armful of shopping bags containing treats ranging from a maple syrup candle to a book about Maria von Trapp, but my favorite thing I left with was the memory of Sam adding his dream to the massive collection of wish tags hanging from the rafters. I looked over his shoulder as he was writing and knew what it was right away, the same dream he’s had for years now. “I hope that I will be a lawyer.” I suppose it makes it a bit easier to stomach when he debates with me if I know it’s training for a career path.

We attempted to close out the shopping trip with maple creemees, the search for which had become a bit of a side quest for one of the moms. We happily stepped into the shop, Sam and I getting ready for our first ever creemee, only to learn that they were out. The mom with the craving was so disappointed that nothing else would do. I, on the other hand, will never turn down ice cream once it’s in my proximity, so I pivoted to a delightful blend called Maine Black Bear: vanilla ice cream, raspberry jam swirl, and dark chocolate covered raspberries. Honestly, it was one of the best flavors I’ve ever had. And in case you’re keeping score, yes, this is now my third blog where I’ve waxed poetic over ice cream.

Our Family’s Return

We headed back home after that, but our family made a return trip to Stowe Village the next day to bring Steve along at his request. He was feeling a bit of FOMO after seeing our pictures and hearing our stories. We brought him back through our favorite shops, and we walked away this time with a new dog toy and treats for our boy Charlie. Just as we were about to leave, a display of jewelry caught Sam’s eye.

“Mood rings? What are these?” he asked.

Cue immediate laughter from Steve and me, followed by our rough estimates of the last time we saw one of those (consensus was at least 25-30 years). At only a few bucks, it seemed worth the purchase to show Sam the “wonders” of the trinket. That led to an announcement from the back seat of the car every time it changed, frequently flipping between happy and romantic. It wasn’t long before he figured out that it’s about as reliable as a Magic 8 ball.

We made one more stop on the way home, quickly checking out the couple of stores in our own village of Johnson. The Johnson Woolen Mills, around since 1842, is definitely the place to go if you need the kind of coat that will keep you alive in a Vermont snowstorm. The quality of their products is incredible. Next door, the Butternut Mountain Farm Store was full of gifts and local goods, plus a huge assortment of empty maple syrup jugs of varying sizes. You need a license to purchase one, with only certified sellers having access to the containers. The whole concept struck me as so quintessentially “Vermont.”

They take their syrup seriously here in Vermont!

The best part of the whole outing though was the fact that Sam asked to join Steve and me on our shopping trip. He could have hung back and played with his friends, but he’s come to love traveling with us as much as we love exploring with him and was craving that core family time. As soon as we hopped in the car and fell into our standard travel rhythm, with me navigating, Steve safely getting us where we need to go, and Sam providing color commentary along the way, everything just felt right. We prioritize travel over many other things, maybe sometimes irresponsibly, and moments like this are exactly why. Not only is travel the best form of education, but we know we’ll never get this time back, it’s only a few more years until he starts to spread his wings, and you better believe we’re going to soak up every second. So until that time comes that he’s ready to find his own path, we’ll keep striding as a family.

Stride Americana: The Notch, the Gondola, and the Lodge Mom Life

Stride Americana: The Very Hungry Travelers Hit Waterbury