Fret

First day of fall in Crater Lake, OR. I stayed the night in Prospect, OR, at the
Prospect Historic Hotel Bed and Breakfast Inn. A balding man in his late 50s / early 60s wearing suspenders, a t-shirt, and cargo shorts named “Fret” greets you at check-in. The lobby has this gaudy, dusty wood panel-rose carpet combo, and I am met by a mostly dark room. The people in front of me are checking in, and ole Fret has been giving them the rundown of attractions Prospect, OR, has to offer. I take a seat in the lobby after making eye contact and receiving reassurance that Fret will be with me shortly. Taking pause in the lobby of a hotel at 5:00PM on a Friday afternoon offers an opportunity to observe the company you will be sharing a roof with. This pause was a long one as Fret gave a most thorough explanation of things to do in Crater Lake, Union Creek, Prospect, the origin of Crater Lake involving the eruption of Mount Mazama, the fun fact that the eruption flung boulders the size of cars 30 miles away into the creek running behind the property, the evidence Fret had received from a Volcanologist who told the innkeeper that the same eruption flung boulders across three countries and eight states, a rundown of Prospect and the like three businesses here, the sale of the property to a group of folks “just like him, but a whole lot younger,” and his own answer to the few and far between questions the guests in front of me were asking. I think I sat there for 20 minutes listening to Fret conduct business in what I can imagine are the last few months at the helm of the inn he has been running for the past 20 years in a town that doesn’t even have a stoplight. There was an endearing manner to the way he pitched this small town that he undoubtedly had a part in creating. 20 years is a long time, and it’s remarkable to reflect on how many times Mr. Fret has circled things on the map of Prospect and emphasized to guests that standing on the bridge to take a picture of Mill Creek flowing below is a MUST-SEE. A shrewdness and business savvy were on display when he described the decline in quality due to a sale of the only other restaurant up at Union Creek to Aramark – “the pie used to be homemade and something you could write home to grandma about, now it mostly arrives frozen.” I could feel his pride for his life’s work gushing out of him. I felt inspired when he talked about all the revenue the inn brings in and how he is the largest private employer in town.

During my wait, I witnessed a handful of geriatric acts of childishness including one man who insisted on jumping the line to ask about the restaurant and then insisted on walking into the pitch-black dining room to “talk to someone about his reservation”, a handful of Boomers barged in complaining about the status of the drinks they ordered, a few older women scowled at me when I said there was a line to check in, and I even witnessed the cook come out of the kitchen with her apron on to calm the elderly toddlers down and reassure them that the restaurant would open and they would be seated shortly. Fret never lost patience nor skipped a beat in delivering his overview and I appreciate that the thoroughness of the check-in process was a calculated move at the mostly older audience of patrons. He seemed at home in the familiar chaos of a busy Friday afternoon check-in lobby.

Finally, Fret wrapped it up, and it was my turn to check-in. A sadness surfaced for me when Fret rewound the tape and took me through the rundown he had just given, almost verbatim. Fret has a monopoly on hospitality and owns one of two restaurants in the whole town; he is used to the interaction unfolding at his pace. It’s important to sit back and let Fret cook because he does drop knowledge that will save you time, and facts like the gas station in Prospect being “the last reliable source of petrol for 40 miles in either direction” are important to know. From one to another, I appreciate the mad scientist who has meticulously tuned the parameters he’s working with on the five acres of land Prospect Hotel resides on to provide the most hospitable experience possible. Prospect is about 45 minutes from the nearest grocery store, and things like reliable sources of labor at the restaurant are blessings I’m not even aware of. Later at dinner, Fret stands chatting with the table next to me and comments that “he doesn’t know what he’ll do with all the time; he’s spent the last 20 years putting out fires” and rotating between roles acting as chief operations officer, chief marketing officer, head of maintenance, and check in concierge. That’s a lot for one person to juggle, and the fatigue was evident in Fret’s voice. I’m left to ponder, is Fret really afraid of all the time he’s going to have? Or is he afraid of losing the familiar routine running the inn offers?

I can think of a few who can relate to the terror of relinquishing control after so many years of being in a position of control over all the input variables. I believe the thought of retirement is scary for many because it severs ties with a soothing mechanism so many rely on – work as a primary source of purpose. Sudden responsibility for large swaths of time doesn’t seem to be the primary fear factor. Scarier is the loss of a source of purpose and detachment from an identity meticulously crafted through years of habitual behavior. Practicing healthy grieving and acknowledging the end of a chapter before the beginning of a new one is ever-present.

Reflecting on my own life, I had some dramatic transitions this year. At this time last year, I was living a highly controlled suburban life with many overly complicated systems. Living nomadically for six months has made me believe in the human potential to adapt to new environments. Leaving a familiar environment for a life filled with variance on the road was scary. I had worked hard to get to a local maximum in my life that was highly controlled and predictable for the foreseeable future. It took time to realize that I was about to say goodbye to a life that took sacrifice to build for the prospect of transition to a new, unfamiliar operating mode. Of course, now I look back and know that nomadicity was the right decision. The new operating mode has forced me along a path of self-actualization that I didn’t have access to, stuck in my old way of operating. I’ve come to appreciate that the thing about local extremum is you don’t realize they weren’t global until retrospection.

As he hands me the key and I turn to walk away, I privately offer my compassion to Mr. Fret: I know it’s scary hanging up the superhero cape once and for all, but the best is yet to come!