The pinnacle of a young ballerina's year is her time spent at summer schools and festivals. It's at these institutions that she gets to meet and study with big wigs in the business, that she gets to spend time with other ballet-obsessed girls and boys her age, that she has the opportunity to spend time away from her parents, perform for an unknown audience, and push herself further than she's capable of in her normal "hum-drum" life.
For three straight summers during my terrible teens, I spent a lengthy period of time at the DanceAspen Summer Festival/School in Aspen/Snowmass, Colorado. Sadly, the ballet program is now defunct. It closed due to financial difficulties thirty years after it opened its doors to scores of young ballet dancers, many of whom would go on to be big names in their field.
I was here during the Tenley Taylor years, and had the pleasure of studying with the likes of Eddie Villella, Jillana, Violette Verdy, John Callender, Violetta Boft, Garth Fagan, Sean Lavery, Sandy Cooksey, Elizabeth Nesi, Robert Desrosiers, Toni Pimble . . . the list goes on and on. I performed Balanchine works at the Festival Theater, I got to see world class dance companies perform and was exposed to such an intensive experience that my body changed completely in just three week's time.
Within all this, however, I also got to know the area of the country quite well. I fell in love with Snowmass Village so much that I have gone back to it in my adulthood just to walk around and feel its "vibe." The village itself is punctuated by a huge open-air mall with great restaurants and shops. My favorite restaurant being The Tower, which was known for its fondue. On the last night, many of us would gather there and order several pots of chocolate fondue to celebrate us getting through the experience. Reckless teens with chocolate and no supervision - I'm sure the other diners loved us.
I was also a fan of Paradise Bakery (by the ski ticket pavilion) which had the largest muffins I've ever laid eyes on, and Moondogs, a fast-food joint made out of an old trolley car, where skinny little bunheads would throw caution to the wind and munch on huge trays of fries and onion rings, sometimes large pieces of pizza.
On those long summer nights, the bunny slope turned into a concert venue for the Snowmass Summer of Music. The concerts were free, so we gathered there in droves to see Lyle Lovett, the Byrds and Zulu Spear. The last being one of my best memories of myself and four friends losing ourselves in the music and storming the stage, where the band let us dance with them for a brief fifteen seconds before we were escorted off to the side.
We stayed in the ski lodges there, empty for the summer, three to a room. Every week we would switch beds so that one of the three would get their own bed for that particular week. The rooms were large and comfortable, some had Murphy Beds and some had two queens. Snowmass Inn was the first one filled, with its views of the pool and hottub used by the entire community and the huge sand volleyball court. Down the hill a ways was Stonebridge, where many of the younger students stayed. I was there for one summer. It had its own pool and was quite a hike up to the tents that made up our dance studios. I have a memory of having a mid-session party one night in the lobby of the Stonebridge. Some of our friends were leaving the next day while the rest of us prepared for three more weeks of classes. We stayed up all night in the lobby playing Mau (a hideous card game) and watching scary movies. I had eleven cups of coffee (I counted the cups that I stacked next to me) and was up for 48 straight hours. Bruce Marks from the Boston Ballet taught the next morning and several of us were unable to even execute a simple demi-plie without shaking uncontrollably.
Snowmass Inn was easier to sneak out of, and when I was 17, and in my final year, several of us snuck out on a regular basis. The only hard part to get past was the metal stairway, which could make quite a ruckus. I had local friends, having been there for so many years, so they would meet us at the bottom with their pick-up trucks and we would hide in the bed and drive down the mountain. We spent many lovely nights around campfires on the cliffs above town, watching the Aspen groves glistening in the moonlight and listening to the coyotes howling.
Nature abounded there. Once we got used to the oxygen deprivation (visiting companies would have oxygen set up backstage so they could take hits in between pieces) we would hike all over the place. Every summer we took an obligatory trip to Maroon Bells, a mountain range with a roaring creek and lovely summer colors. The first summer I was there, several of us separated from the group and hung out by the parking lot only to get terrified by a guy sitting by himself in a van at the other end. I followed the tour from then on. The second summer I was there, my Mexican roommate, Rocio, had an uncle who lived in town. He came and got us one night and took us up to Independence Pass. We wrapped ourselves in blankets and felt our way to a group of rocks in the pitch dark night (no moon). We laid back and soaked up the meteor shower as the stardust rained down upon us from so far away.
I miss that incredible place. I miss watching the sun rise up through the mountains, eating fabulous food at Hite's, dancing in an outdoor tent with a flash hail storm rising up and pummeling the canvas roof with ice chips. I miss the original Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, where Tom and Jerry (yes, that was actually their names) would sometimes let us behind the counter to help whip up some tiger butter. I miss running down the hill with stiff, bloody feet, pointe shoes slung over my shoulder, to rip off my leotard, change into jeans, and go hiking up the bunny slope with ten other teens. I miss chicken fighting in the pool. I miss how fresh the air smelled ALL THE TIME.
It's when I think about DanceAspen that I miss being a teenager.
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