I awoke early to fly to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, stopping at Chicago’s O’Hare airport to collect Dad Dad, who was flying in from Saint Louis. After some subpar airport Italian food, we flew to the small and elegant wooden airport at Jackson Hole. The lovely Lynn picked us up, and we set out into the endless, hilly green for Alpine. Lynn’s town is about 35 miles north of Jackson, right by the border of Utah. We got stalled on the way due to a fatal car crash on one of the road’s many bends. We waited so long that I got out of the car and walked around the side of the highway.
Finally, our journey recommended and we entered the tiny town of Alpine, where they have drive-through beer services, long fields of sage, and a collection of tiny cottages. Lynn’s cabin was amazing – in every way that I didn’t expect. It was small, cozy & lovely, ornately decorated with signs, and antler ears, fur stoles turned into sofa coverlets, and infused with the overwhelming smell of pine. Lynn had a collection of ephemera from when she ran tours in Jackson, and a stack of colorful table books on Jackson Hole and cabin decor. Her cabin overlooked the forest, and we sat outside, eating pretzels and sipping Budweiser with her dog, Mistletoe, and then went to The Nordic (owned by the hilarious and eccentric “Michael”) for drinks and soup the first night.
The following days made me realize both how much I value silence, and how grandly we are all suffering from Nature Deficit Disorder. We saw geysers, opaque and chalky (The Artist’s Paintpots in Yellowstone), waterfalls, bison. We went on a scenic river float and saw an immature bald eagle. The sun, the Tetons, and the blue-blue water were enlivening. We went to the town of Kelly to observe the more rustic cabins, and then drove through the super wealthy pockets of Jackson where the rich and famous enjoyed manicured lawns and fences hidden amidst all the sage. (New York, I love you, but you’re so devoid of anything green… Guess I’ll have to move to Central Park West #dreamin)
In Jackson, we walked around the town square and had Moose Drool (my new favorite beer) at the historical Cowboy Bar, where the seats were saddles, and the lights were dimmed to a red glow. Lynn told me that’s where the real country folk used to go. We also went to Amangani, a sleek Japanese hotel and cocktail bar, The Granary, and The Snake River Grill (one of my new favorite restaurants).
Jackson Hole also is the home to tons of art galleries housing both traditional Native American Art, and wild Rockwell and Miro, Picasso, and Chagall collectors pieces. At the National Museum of Wildlife Art, we made screen prints and saw enchanting Ansel Adams photographs from his trip around the Wild, Wild West.
Nights were spent sipping Fireball, petting Mistletoe, and watching The Bachelor In Paradise.
Suffice to say, the whole trip was a dream and I can’t wait to go back!!!
2 thoughts on “I’m goin’ to Jackson”
I’m jealous now I want to go there
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these photos are gorgeous!
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