I've been skiing at Sunday River for as long as I can remember. It's ten minutes from my house, which meant growing up, it wasn't a special trip, it was just what I did all winter. I started skiing there when I was six, and over time, the mountain stopped feeling big and unfamiliar and started feeling like mine. I knew the trails, the turns, and the spots where I could go faster than I probably should.
Escapade was always my favorite. It wasn't the hardest trail on the mountain, but it was the one that was just steep enough to make me feel like I was a better skier than I was. That changed in 6th grade, when I broke my leg there. One second I was skiing like normal, and the next I was on the ground waiting for ski patrol. After that, Escapade didn't feel the same, I now saw it as a place where everything went wrong, instead of just my favorite trail.
After that season, I still skied, but something shifted. I was more aware of how quickly things could change, and the mountain didn't feel as easy as it once did. Simultaneously, that experience stuck with me for a different reason as well, it was the people who showed up to help me. While I didn't think much of it then, in hind sight, I know thats what drew me back in a new way.
In high school, I joined the Gould Ski Patrol Program. Instead of just skiing for myself, I started training to take care of others on the mountain. The irony of it wasn't lost on me, I had gone from being the kid who needed ski patrol to someone learning how to be a part of it.
During my tenth grade year, the moment that really put everything into perspective was my first practice sled run. Coincidentally, it was actually on Escapade, the same trail where I had broken my leg. Going down it again, but this time responsible for someone else, forced me to see it differently. I wasn't thinking about my own fear anymore. I was focused of staying in control, making good decisions, and most importantly, not letting the sled run me over.
That experience changed how I think about being outside. Its not just about enjoying the mountain, its about being aware, being capable, and being there for other people. Now in my senior year of high school, my training is over, and I have helped a plethora of injured skiers, including kids who remind me a lot of myself at that age. Being able to step in during those moments, when someone is hurt or scared, has meant so much more to me than anything else I've done on skis.
That responsibility directly influenced the path I want to pursue. Being outdoors and skiing has shown me that i'm drawn to environments where quick thinking and caring for others intersect in meaningful ways. The skills I've begun developing, staying calm in high pressure situations, making informed decisions, and prioritizing the well being of others, are the same ones that define the medical field, and more specifically, nursing. What started as a place I simply grew up skiing, became the foundation for what I want to do in the future, where I've been challenged many times over again, and where I've had to come back from something difficult. Which is why Sunday River is my second home.
The first time I walked along the pine-covered trail, I stopped to pick up a rough pinecone, feeling its edges in my hand. The calm that washed over me was unlike anything I had felt elsewhere. Walking along these trails, listening to birds and feeling the wind brush my hair, I felt alive. Nature grounds me, calms me, and gives me space to reflect on who I am and who I want to become.
Some of my favorite moments are quiet ones. I like sitting outside with my journal or a coloring page, letting the world slow down. In everyday life, I often feel invisible, almost like a ghost. Being in nature changes that. Surrounded by trees, birds, and the sound of leaves moving in the wind, the world feels alive and welcoming. It reminds me I am part of something bigger than myself.
Even though I enjoy nature walks, camping is not my favorite. I miss having a comfortable bed and dislike not being able to shower. Sleeping on the ground is hard. Still, when I commit to a trip, I follow through. Those uncomfortable moments often become some of my best memories.
North Star, a club that introduced me to outdoor adventures, helped me push through discomfort. One trip I will never forget was our camping trip to Washington, D.C. Before the trip, I told my mentor my throat hurt. She worried I might have strep throat and almost did not let me go. I begged because I wanted this experience so badly. She could see how much it meant to me, so she let me go. During the trip, my throat hurt even more. I was disappointed I could not visit the Holocaust Museum. Instead, I spent time walking outside with my mentor, surrounded by trees and the city. We got coffee and talked, and she told me later the museum had made her cry. Maybe it was good I did not go because I probably would have cried too. Even though I often felt lonely, I stayed. That moment reminded me that connection sometimes happens quietly.
I also learned lessons from other outdoor experiences. On a canoeing trip, I snapped at a friend for not listening while we paddled. She got upset, and I realized I had let my frustration affect someone else. Being outside taught me patience, communication, and how to manage my emotions. Nature shows me not just beauty, but lessons I carry into life.
Growing up, I experienced a lot of instability, moving from guardian to guardian. North Star became one of the few constants in my life. Because of that, I want to study psychology or social work and focus on families and children. One day, I hope to return to Bethel and create a space where kids can simply be kids, a place where they can receive guidance, build friendships, and feel supported.
Nature gives me space to breathe and reflect. It challenges me to step outside my comfort zone, even when it is uncomfortable or lonely. Most importantly, it inspires the future I want to build. The trails where I collected pinecones, paddled canoes, and walked with my mentor showed me that everyone deserves a safe space to grow, explore, and belong.
