exploring and revisiting, photography, travel

In which I finally make it to Paris.

Paris IDAHO, that is

Dad moves first. He’s up and headed downstairs for coffee. Girls, it’s 9:15. I’m going to go get coffee, he whispers to mom and I, as he heads to the door, pausing to make sure he has a room key. I hand him one phone so he can reach us, and look at the clock on the other. It’s 7:15, I tell him. He’s forgotten that he didn’t get a chance to change his watch.

Still, he’d be up early at home too. And we might as well get up and going. There’s ground to cover today.

We’re headed up to Jackson Hole, WY. First step: back to the SLC airport to get our rental car. Then a stop to pick up the essentials we didn’t pack. A cooler. Water. Odds and ends forgotten.

We start up Rt 15 and miss our turn to 91, requiring a brief backtrack. We could go via 15, but the point is not to get there fast; it’s to see the country. So we sidetrack over through the mountains – when they’re remarked on, I remember that the stone formations that look like walls built into the mountain are called rimrock – to the pretty town of Logan and then pause, briefly changing so I can drive and Dad can look, Mom opting to take the back seat.

Winding along the Logan river, beautiful country. Up to Bear Lake Overlook. Gorgeous aquablue water on this beautiful day.

We stop in Garden City, right down by the lake, for the requisite raspberry shake. They just had their raspberry festival a few weeks ago, good timing. It turns out one of the best raspberry shakes in the area is at the Chevron food mart.

Well worth it.

This is just the extra that didn’t fit in our actual cups. DELICIOUS

We continue north through mountain valleys and little towns (including the aforementioned Paris, Idaho), past hoodoos, with the Salt River winding along with us.

And eventually, we meander into Jackson. We’re staying for two nights at the Huff House Inn and Cabins, in the Mount Moran cabin. Walkable to the center of Jackson Hole with its famous antler arches and Cowboy bar (with the saddle stools).

We stop in for dinner at Local, right on the town square, then pop into the occasional shop on our way back to the Inn. Which is lovely. And we settle in and get arranged and …

Well I can’t tell you any more than that. Because I went straight to sleep.

## IRL: happy birthday, Fred. Miss ya.

1 thought on “In which I finally make it to Paris.”

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