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A Christmas Fable

"But he isn't wearing anything at all!" said the little boy. "Shhh," warned his elders. "He might hear you and banish you from his realm...
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"But he isn't wearing anything at all!" said the little boy. "Shhh," warned his elders. "He might hear you and banish you from his realm..."

- Hans Christian Andersen, The Emperor's New Clothes

It all happened long ago and far away on a funny little planet in a parallel universe strikingly familiar to our own. The town in question was called Hummer, named after the great mountain peak that loomed over the modest community. And Hummerites - as those who lived there were called - were fun people indeed.

It was Mt. Hummer in fact, that had drawn the original pioneers to this lofty place. And like all mountain folk, they were refugees. In this case, however, they were refugees from the boredom and strife and unhealthy life of their urban counterparts. Their goal was to find another way to fulfillment; a less degrading way to address the challenges of their day-to-day existence.

If only they could plug into the power and magic of the mountains, they figured, this would lead them to some kind of deliverance from the madness of city life. If only they could focus on healthy living with lots of laughter and fun social gatherings, they might find a way to sustained happiness here.

And it totally worked. Living in the shadow of Mt. Hummer, local residents were able to shuck off their old urban carapaces and really explore their existential limits. They could climb and ride and sing and dance to their heart's content. On warm summer days they would even shuck off their clothing and celebrate their nakedness in all its natural glory.

And slowly but surely the word got out - these Hummerites were inspiring. They were fun to be around. Loose, cool - and ready for just about anything.

Their life-affirming spirit was catching. Other people wanted a taste of their wizardry. No matter that they'd have to eventually go back to their humdrum existences, a growing number of visitors were willing to spend as much as was required for a little restorative time with Hummerites. And soon the glory of Mt. Hummer - and the associated lifestyle of its wacky, creative residents - was being heralded from one end of the planet to the other.

Hummer grew. It grew and grew and grew until it was an overfed, over-indulged caricature of its former self. But now Hummerites were making money. Some were making a lot of money. And nobody wanted that particular tap to be turned off.

Meanwhile, something strange was happening to the town. The place just wasn't the same anymore. For as soon as the cash started pouring in, the magical spirit that had once effortlessly animated Hummer started to dim. And the more the money flowed, the less that particular light shone.

But nobody was really paying attention. Everyone was too busy managing their newfound wealth to start asking hard questions.

Now it came to pass that the town fathers (unfortunately there weren't a lot of mothers designated to lead the community in those days) started looking around for ways to maximize Hummer's productivity. Was everyone in the community working to their full capacity? Was there any way they could get more out of each resident? Inexorably their attention started to focus on one particular group...

"The ski bums' time has passed," railed a longtime town manager (who hadn't put on a pair of skis in 20 years). "They do nothing for the economy. Indeed, they live off the proceeds of our work. Doesn't matter whether they're on one board or two. They're all bandits. They never pay retail. Eat people's leftovers. Scam for lift tickets. They're anathema to good governance."

And the more he talked, the more incensed he got. "Name a crime," he accused, spit flying in all directions, "and they're guilty of it. They're parasites. Ne'er-do-wells. Druggies. Reprobates. There's no room in the new Hummer for this kind of person. We should outlaw them outright!"

Didn't matter that the great majority of the town's people had originally been drawn to Hummer with ski bum dreams of their own, time and money had slowly conspired to cloud their judgment. Ski bums, they all began to believe, were indeed at the root of all Hummer's problems. They should be outlawed...

And so it came to pass. Overnight, it seemed, the law was written. Henceforth all ski bums had to have a big yellow snowflake sewn on the sleeve of their jackets. Access to the mountain could be denied for no reason. Bums could be stopped and questioned by the local police at any time. And if they could not provide an address where they lived or a job site where they worked, provisions were made in the local bylaws to ship them out of town. There was even talk of a "holding centre" built downvalley to house recidivist bums. Some described the conditions there as abominable. Others just dismissed it as "exactly what they deserved."

Whatever. It was a drastic move. And it had drastic consequences. Hummer became a much quieter, saner place. Petty theft was all but eliminated. Loud raucous parties became a thing of the past. There were no more nude ski-warriors swinging from the rafters at local bars or crazy masqueraded boarders invading the slopes on a whim and a prayer. And powder lines suddenly became plentiful.

Now the managers at Mt. Hummer weren't all that happy about all the extra food garbage they had to throw out each day, but they agreed it was a small price to pay for such a massive cultural crackdown. Besides, there were trade-offs even there. "Nobody is eating ketchup-and-cracker soup anymore," crowed the mountain's food & beverage guy. "So we're saving hundreds of dollars on those items alone..."

Hummer was indeed a different place after the ski bums were outlawed. But not everyone complied. In homes across the valley - in basement suites, and closets and specially built bolt-holes - lived dozens of illegal ski bums who refused to submit to the new rules or wear the yellow snowflake. And while they had to keep a much lower profile now, they still managed to find mountain fun wherever they could.

There were militant bums too. Deep in the forest - far from the probing eyes of the municipal police - lived a community of hardcore ski bums who had somehow managed to elude the long arm of the new law. Still living according to the old Hummer precepts of "crazy mind in outgoing body," these men and women made it their mission to tweak the authorities at every turn. Whether it was graffiti splashed across the walls of the resort's biggest hotel - SKI BUMS STILL RULE - or the mysterious appearance of yellow snowflakes on the mountain's lift towers or crashing an official Hummer party by sending a group of naked youngsters streaking across the ballroom floor, these outlaws somehow managed to disrupt the town's complacency on a regular basis.

Now it happened one day that a young gal from town - her name was Eliza Beestraung and she was just 10 years old - ventured into the forest and somehow blundered into the ski bums' hideout. It was just a few days before Christmas and the place was decked out in special lights and finery. It was beautiful. And though Eliza was frightened at first to be in the company of such outlaws, she was completely charmed by their hospitality.

Alas I can't go into detail about her stay at the outlaw hideout. All I can say is that Eliza returned home transformed. For years she'd been taught that ski bum were bad people. Lazy, shiftless, selfish, good-for-nothing freeloaders. But now she knew that wasn't the case at all!

Eliza was a bright young girl. And now she had all these questions in her head about what was good and what was real and what was honest and what was not. Hummer just wasn't the same place for her anymore. So she decided to talk to her friends about this. And her friends talked to their friends and those friends... well, you get the point.

There existed a longstanding tradition in Hummer in those days that saw locals spending Christmas Day on the mountain together - to celebrate their good fortune, to share an alpine moment with friends or simply to slide freely over snow and remind themselves why they'd first come here. And Eliza and her friends decided that this day would serve perfectly for the kind of demonstration they had in mind.

You guessed it. On Christmas Day morning, right after the presents had been opened and the toasts had been drunk, Eliza and hundreds of her friends showed up at the base of Mt. Hummer all decked out for a day of riding. And each one - whether young or old, skier, rider or walker, male or female, rich or poor - had a big yellow snowflake sewn onto their jackets' sleeve. And on their backs and on the legs of their trousers and anywhere else the dreaded ski bum symbol could be highlighted. Mountain management was overwhelmed! They had to let everyone up... including the outlaws!

And you know what? Eliza Beestraung's demonstration worked. The town's snow-bum laws were soon rescinded. The yellow snowflakes disappeared. Ketchup-and-cracker soup became a staple once again. And the people of Hummer lived happily ever after.

Merry Christmas Whistler!