There are summers when little seems to change in Gstaad. The mountains remain where they have always been, the cows return to the alpine pastures, and the familiar rhythm of village life resumes as guests arrive for the season.

Then there are summers when change becomes hard to ignore. A walk through the village this June reveals construction fences, cranes and excavators in familiar places. New residences are rising on the Bellevue lawn. A new rectory is taking shape beside St Josef. Near the railway station, Le Rosey’s future campus is beginning to emerge. Not far away, the Ebnitmatte project continues to move forward, with plans to create much-needed housing for those who live and work in the valley year-round.

Some will see disruption. Others will see opportunity. Most of us probably see a bit of both.

Living in a place with such a strong sense of identity can sometimes make change feel uncomfortable. We become attached not only to buildings and landscapes, but to memories. Yet every generation inherits a Gstaad shaped by the ambitions, decisions and investments of those who came before.

The challenge is not whether change happens. It always does. The real question is whether we manage it thoughtfully.

The theme appears in different ways throughout these pages. Fiona Thyssen reflects on a life that has spanned remarkable social and cultural change. In the first instalment of our new series with Ralph Schelling, a childhood memory from the family garden finds its way into a modern dessert. Across our sporting calendar, athletes return to familiar venues while continually raising the standard of competition.

None of these stories are really about preserving the past or chasing the future. They are about finding the balance between the two.

Gstaad has always evolved. Hotels have been expanded, farms modernised, roads improved, and new institutions welcomed into the valley. Yet somehow, despite all these changes, the essence of the place endures. Perhaps that is because what truly defines a community is not its buildings, but the people who inhabit them.

As summer begins, we find ourselves watching several new chapters being written at once. Some are already under construction. Others exist only on paper. All of them will contribute, in one way or another, to the Gstaad that future generations will inherit.

For now, the cranes have become part of the landscape, adding a new note to the sound of summer. Beyond the building sites, the meadows await in green, the mountain trails are open, and village life is settling into its seasonal rhythm. There are worse places to spend your summer.

Jeanette Wichmann,
Editor in Chief