A Mother’s Day tribute to my mountain-loving mama
Editors Note: Morgan Bast is currently a senior marketing manager at Breckenridge ski resort and wrote this blog while working for Buzz.snow.com, the former official blog of Vail Resorts. Nothing much has changed since this blog originally appeared — Morgan still loves the mountains and moved to Breck in 2011. Learn more about her here.
Let’s just say I was a terrible kid. Ever since I was born I pretty much made it my mission to make my mother’s life miserable. Colic as a baby? Done. One terrible tantrum fest after another as a toddler? Done. A fiery spirit and hair to match as a child? Done. And don’t even get me started on how I was as a teenager. Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly pleasant.
But like all good mothers, my mom put up with it. She was patient and understanding when I needed it and pushed back with a vengeance when I was testing the limits. She was tough — but because she had to be. It wasn’t always consistent (my mother has a habit of changing her mind often) but her love was. And so was her love for the mountains.
My mom taught me how to ski when I was 18 months old in Big Bear Lake, Calif. (The photo above is at Snow Summit with my sister on the right) At around age five, we were hiking in the southern California mountains as much as possible. And at age 11, we moved to Frisco, Colo. to fully embrace my mom’s passion for the hills. It took me a long time to embrace my new locale, but eventually it hit me that those mountains my mom was talking about all the time were actually pretty awesome.
Pretty soon I threw myself into the ski industry full-force as a result of my mom’s passion and my dad’s career as a marketing guy at a ski resort. I loved every minute of it — the attitude, the altitude, and especially the gear. (I probably own eight or nine ski jackets and only one purse.) Since my change to a mountain girl, the best experiences of my life have happened in the mountains. From camping trips with my friends to bottomless powder days to even getting married at the base of the Big Horns in Wyoming — I come alive in the hills and no, it’s not because of the sound of music. Nowadays, if you say ‘mountain,’ I’ll say ‘yes.’
For this Mother’s Day, the person I have to thank for all my passion for the mountains is my mom. More than anything, she’s lead by example and continuously helped me to stay grounded, even while at 9,000 feet.
She’s taught me that despite all the petty problems I have, I can drive up I-70, look around and things will melt away. My issues don’t stand a chance against the behemoths surrounding Lake Dillon. I now take the attitude, ‘if it won’t matter in a year, then it shouldn’t matter today.’ Those mountains know what matters and I appreciate them for it.
Why should you raise your kid to be a mountain-loving person like me? Because maybe one day, when they are successful and happy with a freshly-made goggle tan, they’ll look back and thank you for doing it.