Navigating the gig economy: Inside the lives of Adirondack workers

Adirondackers’ work ethic spotlighted through multi-job hustlers and self-employed entrepreneurs who are carving out a unique living

By Tim Rowland

At an age when some might be having thoughts about slowing down, Tina Terry Preston works as a clerk in the town of Keene, waits tables at three different restaurants, pulls per-diem shifts at the hospital and runs ambulance calls as an EMT. In her spare time she is a member of the Wilmington Town Board. And volunteers at multiple nonprofits. And helps people find housing on social media.

Preston, 59, may take it to the extreme, but she isn’t alone. “If you grew up in a family that didn’t have a lot of money, and you wanted something, you worked,” Preston said. She started work at age 16 as a hotel maid in a community where people spent winters wondering if the fuel oil was going to last until the next paycheck.

Today, juggling multiple jobs and multiple orders at The Hungry Trout, Up a Creek and New Vida, might be symbolic of the gig economy. But in the Adirondacks, it’s always been a popular way of getting by, dating to the days when gig was something you did to a frog.

‘Living in the woods and making things’

“I was kind of used to living life in the woods and making things,” said Adirondack Rustics furniture maker Barry Gregson of Schroon Lake, who was working as a stone mason when he fashioned his first set of chairs in 1981.

Early on, when there were maybe four or five rustic furniture makers in the Adirondacks, Gregson figured out that he could follow a logging operation around and make things out of the slash left behind that was more valuable than the log itself. He had an eye for bent hardwood branches and twisted pieces of lilac that he incorporated into furniture destined for modern-day great camps.

“I go out and find pieces of wood that are like sculptures,” he said. “Here in the Adirondacks, you have wealth in the woods.”

Turning to self-employment

Because the state tracks broad industries and not cottage industries, it is difficult to know how many individual gig-style workers are out there. According to the state Department of Labor, the North Country workforce of 196,000 in 2010 had shrunk by 25,000 in 2022. The population has shrunk as well, so some of these former workers have moved away, but others have simply shunned traditional work.

One example: Greg Rowe. He was substitute teaching when COVID-19 hit, so he decided to grow mushrooms instead. Holder of a classic Adirondack resume, Rowe said that among other things he’s worked on railroads as a conductor and baked Wonder Bread in Alaska. 

He didn’t see a lot of difference between baking bread and growing mushrooms — both involve marshaling microorganisms to produce the desired result — so he bought a piece of machinery to sterilize growing medium, taught himself enough Latin to comprehend mycology and took up space in the basement of the former Keeseville High School, where his Cornucopia Gourmet Mushrooms company produces between 100 and 200 pounds a month of shiitake, black pearl, oyster, and other varieties, some of which, like lion’s mane, are quite picturesque. “You don’t know whether to eat it or pet it,” he said.

But as the potential health benefits of mushrooms are being explored, consumers have responded. Rowe said he could easily sell double what he’s producing and sells out at farmers markets.

Jacks – and Jills – of all all trades

“I joke that I’ve done everything but work at Jiffy Lube,” said Chelsea Walker of Wilmington, who worked for her degree in environmental services by cutting hair, and was a pipeline inspector before falling in love with the Adirondacks and taking any job that would get her here — which happened to be hairdressing.

The careers of Walker and her partner Dan Winkler would be easily recognizable to, say, Old Mountain Phelps. Walker is also a licensed guide, helping visitors from the city achieve heights they never thought possible. Winkler is a chef at the Ice Jam Inn, hunts wild game and builds whatever he needs. They raise chickens, grow vegetables and boil maple syrup. Pay and benefits might not be the same as in the corporate world, but Walker said the lifestyle is deeply satisfying.

As large employers have largely vanished, this philosophy is becoming a signature of today’s Adirondack employment, which includes other self-employed workers, remote workers, entrepreneurs and new takes on old jobs. The stereotypical office “cleaning lady” no longer exists. She might now be forming a business of her own to clean short-term rentals.

Opportunities for workers

The lack of available and dedicated help is a darker side of the gig economy coin. Although the Adirondacks’ sparse population does not lend itself to gig economy stalwarts such as Uber and DoorDash, the pandemic facilitated a similar job-hopping economy, but one that’s defined less by work ethic than by opportunism.

Savana Li, 28, is the exception to the rule. She leaves her home in Malone at 4 a.m. to drive to her job as the town of Keene water superintendent, a job that pays $60,000 but eats up $300 a week in transportation costs. So after working a 5:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. shift, she returns to Malone, where she works 3-11 p.m. at the county jail. She’s caring for an aging grandfather so moving isn’t an option, but even if it were, there’s limited housing to be had in Keene.

The future has always been Li’s focus; working as a lifeguard, she got into the state retirement system at the age of 14. After attending lineman school in Georgia, she returned to the North Country, but for retirement purposes bought back her gap years after finding no line jobs and going back into government work.

Such strategic thinking doesn’t usually exist among people her age, she said. “I’ve watched people go from job to job regardless of benefits or retirement,” she said. “The work ethics aren’t there — it’s scary.”