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Scooter offers us a couple of ice-cold beers just as Morris Tuttle emerges from his door and drags his rocking chair over to squeeze it between mine and the railing.
“Everyone settled in?” he asks as Scooter hands him a frosty bottle from the cooler at his feet and tosses him an opener.
“Almost. I have one more box to unpack, and I’m done,” Joanna replies.
“We’re finished,” Scooter says.
“So am I,” I answer.
“Did I see you planting all those earlier?” Joanna asks Morris, pointing to the new landscaping along the porch line.
I didn’t notice it before.
“You did,” he replies.
“It looks nice, but isn’t it the wrong time of year to be gardening?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “That one is a winterberry bush. It’s a holly that drops its leaves in winter, but in their place, these gorgeous red berries pop up and look striking against the snow.”
“And that one?” I gesture to a pretty, dark green bush that he put at each of our entrances.
“That one is called green promise. It’s an evergreen shrub that blooms with hundreds of bell-like white flowers that dangle from those stems mid-winter when you least expect it.”
“How do you know so much about plants?” I ask.
“I worked for my brother Weston on his farm a few summers when I was in college. He taught me a lot about plants and growing seasons. And when in doubt, I just call him and ask.”
“Nice. Did he help with all the landscaping on the grounds?” Joanna asks.
“He consulted.”
“You know, for a smaller ski resort, your brothers sure did things right, Morris. It feels like a mini Breckenridge,” Clay muses.
“They’re smart men. They knew they were gonna have to step it up to pull in this caliber of instructors,” Morris says, gesturing around the porch.
“Any one of you guys could have chosen Breckenridge, Mammoth, Snowmass, or Jackson Hole to teach this season and would have had a lot more fun, but you chose Balsam Ridge and gave them a chance. Trust me, they don’t take that lightly,” he explains.
Scooter shrugs. “East Coast mountains might be smaller, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun on them. Besides, Clay and I are headed to Zermatt in the spring, and the last thing we need to do is get ourselves hurt on the slopes out west.”
“Zermatt? I’m jealous. How did you guys get that gig?” Joanna asks.
“We aren’t working. Some buddies we met while touring Alaska this past February have been there for a couple of years now. They called us two weeks ago and asked if we wanted to come hang out in the spring and get in some two-thousand-mile drop time,” Clay explains.
“Like there was even a question,” Scooter adds.
“You should come with us,” Clay tells Joanna.
Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”
“Why not? Unless you’ve booked another job for the spring season.”
“I have, but I’d be willing to back out and tag along for Zermatt. I’m sure I can find something there even if it’s waitressing in one of the towns. Are you sure you’ll have room for me?”
“They are putting us up in the room above their garage. It has a bed and a sleeper sofa. You can have the bed, Clay can have the sofa, and I’ll bring my sleeping bag and take the floor,” Scooter says.
“I don’t mind taking the sleeping bag for a chance to ski the Matterhorn. I’ve had dreams of flying through Theodul Pass and down into the Italian trails,” Joanna says.
“You and me both,” Clay agrees.
