Northwest Wyoming's Grand Tetons draped in winter snow

Continued from
Driving the American West: Cody, Wyoming

It had been four years since my last trip to Jackson Hole and the Grand Tetons, an August trip that also included Yellowstone National Park and celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary. We’d vowed to come back and see the area in winter someday, and well…that day had arrived.

The only thing missing was Adam. But hey — I took photos for him.

And, y’know, for you.

To the east of Grand Teton National Park, the stunning Bridger-Teton National Forest greeted me with snow. And I mean, a lot of snow. The kind of snow where you pull into a turnout to treat yourself to a lingering gander at the scenery, and you’re instead faced with an 8-foot-high wall of hard-packed flake-age.

Yes, I managed to climb atop one of these plow-made drifts, and yes, the mountain view was gorgeous. But yes, I (unnecessarily) worried that at any minute, I’d fall into an unseen crevasse — and I got right back into the car.

By the time I’d meandered down from the highest elevation, I could easily pull over to the side of the road and peer straight across a plain at furry, prancing elk and flame-orange grasses. There may have been some hand-clapping, and perhaps some giggling.

I cruised into Grand Teton National Park at golden hour, just in time to see a silvery gleam on the Snake River and several thousand elk parade across the National Elk Refuge. I’d spend most of the next day wending my way through the 20+ miles of the park that are open in winter, often alone on the road and always amazed. I tuned into an NPR music show called UnderCurrents, and visually soaked in the pristine winter snow to an inspirational soundtrack of Native American pop, Latin jazz, African blues and Southern folk.

And I wandered just about every inch of Jackson Hole. I’d really missed it here, a mix of Old West architecture, big city money, conservative politics and liberal thought, locavore cuisine and hunting trophies, low kitsch and high art. In winter, fairy lights twinkle on arches of antlers in the main square, and you have to pick your careful way along black ice on the boardwalks. Folks seem happy to see strangers, and there’s a little more time and space for conversation than in the summer high season.

But not all of Yellowstone National Park is open in winter. The west and east entrances are closed, but my friend Ann Shepphird points out that you can enter the south entrance (just north of Jackson) via snow coaches and can stay right in the middle of the park at the Old Faithful Snow Lodge & Cabins — and beat the summer crowds. (In addition, the park is always open from the north entrance near Gardiner, Montana, as is the nearby Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel.)

So if you want to see how a dazzling, undeveloped swath of nature copes with a clear, cold, sparkling blanket of snow and ice, head on over to northwest Wyoming (or southwest Montana).

And let me know you’re going: I just might be willing to drive.

In winter in the Bridger-Teton National Forest, you might just have to scale 7-foot snowdrifts at turnouts in order to get a decent view

A pair of elk prancing about in the Bridger-Teton National Forest

The greatest road sign of my entire trip, found in the Bridger-Teton National Forest

Silvery winter light on the Snake River in Grand Teton National Park

Just outside of downtown Jackson Hole, the National Elk Refuge is one of the area's most peaceful stretches of protected land

In winter, the National Elk Refuge is home to many thousands of wild elk

A stuffed elk stands proudly in front of Jackson Mercantile, just one ironic mile from the National Elk Refuge

Jackson Hole: Land of sparkly antlers, both moose and elk

The architecture in Jackson Hole is all Old West, all the time

Downtown Jackson Hole has boardwalks instead of sidewalks, which can ice over somethin' fierce in winter

Jackson Hole is full of art galleries and unique works like this positively enormous bronze cowboy

In the Teton movie theater in downtown Jackson Hole, you're likely to be seated next to a real-life cowboy or three

The uber-kitschy Million Dollar Cowboy Bar is one of the most recognizable landmarks on Jackson Town Square

I got your knotty pine for you: one small corner of Jackson Hole's Million Dollar Cowboy Bar

At the Koshu Wine Bar, I enjoyed the deep, rich, fruity Cinder Syrah from southeastern Idaho

Adam bought my teddy bear, Rusty (on the right), for me after our 2008 stay at Jackson Hole's Rusty Parrot Lodge, where every room features a bear; on this trip, I brought Rusty over 1000 miles to have a reunion with his people

The Antler Motel (also called the Antler Inn) was my cozy, right-in-downtown, AAA-discounted home this time around in Jackson Hole

Snow tubing is a popular Jackson Hole alternative for folks like me who don't (yet) know how to ski

Approximately 28 miles worth of Grand Teton National Park is open in winter, and you'll have views like this practically to yourselves

Treat yourselves to a great breakfast about 5 miles outside of Jackson Hole, at Nora's Fish Creek Inn in Wilson

Definitely take a drive out to to Wilson and/or the Teton Village; the scenery, especially in winter, is simply stunning

RESOURCES

TWT Travel Binder: Wyoming
Wyoming Tourism
Grand Teton National Park
Bridger-Teton National Forest
National Elk Refuge
Antler Inn
The Rusty Parrot Lodge
King Tubes
Trio American Bistro
Cafe Genevieve
Pearl Street Bagels
The Garage Restaurant
Koshu Wine Bar

Nora’s Fish Creek Inn

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Continued in
Driving the American West: Boise & Southern Idaho

Travels With Two

"Contemporary Sioux Indian" is one of the exquisite paintings by Wyoming artist James Bama on display in the Western Galleries at Cody's Buffalo Bill Historical Center

Continued from
Driving the American West: Central to Northwest Wyoming

I had originally intended to drive to Yellowstone National Park from Western Colorado, but in late winter there’s an important wrinkle to consider: ’round this time of year, the south and east entrances to the park are closed.

So, enter my well-traveled mother-in-law’s excellent suggestion of Cody, Wyoming as an alternative.

The town and its Buffalo Bill Historical Center provide a vintage snapshot of the Old West, replete with Indians, bucking broncos, gunslinging and cattle. But there’s also locally-made wine. And sweet cream pancakes.

I was only in town for 20 hours, but I’d happily go back in spring or summer to drive the 50-mile Northfork Highway to Yellowstone. By all accounts, it’s full of bighorn sheep — and absolutely gorgeous.

Heading all the way north to Cody required an overnight stop in central Wyoming and a fascinating drive up Routes 789 and 120, but the childhood fan of Buffalo Bill that lurks within my heart felt it was worthwhile. Happily, I wasn’t disappointed.

I cruised into town at about noon on a Saturday, and had no problem finding a $70 US room in the historical wing of the Irma Hotel, financed by Buffalo Bill in 1902. (There are several modern rooms at the Irma for about $60 US, but really? I felt like it was important to go all the way, and I’m glad I did.) My room had a comfy bed, modern versions of vintage bath fixtures, and was nice and quiet with plenty of space.

The one major drawback is that smoking is permitted in the Irma’s restaurant and bar, so a trip through the lobby doesn’t smell great; fortunately, though, parking is free, exits are handy and it’s smack in the middle of the downtown drag.

After settling in, I climbed back in the car and headed over to the Buffalo Bill Historical Center, which is the greatest museum of Western art and artifacts that I’ve ever seen. Entrance fees allow you two days to visit, which is brilliant; I spent three hours here and only managed to explore a little over three of the five galleries. I was wowed by the art and impressed by an almost-freakishly detailed recreation of Frederic Remington’s studio. I learned to distinguish the chants of different Native American tribes, gaped at complex beadwork, and was fascinated by the live birds of prey that are rehabilitated and briefly presented at the Center.

I regret not going back to the Center the next day (wanderlust called), but at least I made the most of my evening. For dinner, I ponied up to the bar at the Rib and Chop House in search of buffalo steak, and found myself seated next to a twenty-something couple who’d just moved out to Cody four months earlier from San Diego. The parents of four kids under the age of eleven, they seemed genuinely happy to share their date night with a traveling stranger, though I was reluctant to horn in on their potential for canoodling.

Aside from the fact that the husband, clad in a black cowboy hat, plaid shirt and leather boots, works on an oil site three hours away and only comes home on weekends, and his wife runs a day care for several children (aside from her own) they painted a picture of Cody as a peaceful idyll with sparse traffic, wide open spaces, clean air and close-knit neighbors. They both mentioned that it’s a pain to have to wait for simple, common goods to make their slow way to the local Wal-Mart, but it was worth it to have a lifestyle they love.

I left the restaurant that night and immediately looked up at a clear sky full of glittering stars, wondering how I might fare out here in the Wild West.

The next morning, after pancakes and coffee and a stroll through town, I debated venturing 20 miles away to visit Heart Mountain, an encampment used to essentially imprison Japanese-Americans during World War II. Knowing I already had a six-hour detour south and west to Jackson Hole, though, I opted out.

Gotta tell you, I was more than a little smitten with Cody  – and I’m glad to have reasons to return.

In case you're not quite sure where you are, this sign greets you at the end of the Northfork Highway

The huge, hand-carved wooden bar at the historic Irma Hotel was a gift to Buffalo Bill from his friend Queen Victoria

Bighorn sheep used to run scared in Cody -- and specifically, at the Irma Hotel -- but their numbers are now bouncing back

The architecture in the city of Cody is a mix of Old West and 1950s kitsch

The local scene at Peter's Cafe in downtown Cody presents a great sense of the folks here

My first buffalo steak, prepared beautifully at the Rib and Chop House in downtown Cody; it came with a delightful salad, and no, I didn't eat this whole potato...because it was vast

Buffalo Jump Wines are made in Cody, and their Cab, which I tried at the Rib and Chop House, is pretty darn delicious

Neon signs like this one for The Saddlery light up the main street in downtown Cody

One travel writer and three locals pointed me towards Bubba's BBQ for their pancakes, which are made with sweet cream...and turns out, are as big as your head

A bronze statue of Buffalo Bill stands proudly -- and fairly enormous -- outside the Buffalo Bill Historical Center

The artwork in the Center's Western Galleries ranges from historic to modern, like Bill Schenck's 1994 "A Flight from Destiny"

A big display at the Historical Center explain how bronzes, like this one of Teddy Roosevelt, are made

I could have looked at the view from the Center's reading room all day

The Firearms Gallery at the Center features vehicles, paintings, photos, and of course, antique guns

Tisdale Teasdale the Owl is one of four wounded birds of prey that are presented for a half-hour each day at the Center

An entire pioneer cabin, including this antique stove, is on display at the Center

The Plains Indians Galleries at the Center were amazing, both educational and evocative

The Center's Plains Indians Galleries feature an extensive array of handmade leather-, feather- and beadwork

The Bighorn Mountains surround Cody, creating gorgeous vistas on the outskirts of town

RESOURCES

Cody info on Wyoming’s official tourism site
Buffalo Bill’s Yellowstone/Cody Country
Irma Hotel
Rib and Chop House
Buffalo Bill Historical Center
Academy Award Winning Story at Heart Mountain

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Soon continued in
Driving the American West: Jackson Hole & the Grand Tetons

Travels With Two

Central Wyoming is where the deer and the (pronghorn) antelope play

Continued from
Driving the American West: Western Colorado

I departed western Colorado via route 13, which, upon crossing the south-central border of Wyoming, becomes Route 789.

Zig-zagging around the Great Divide Basin, 789 is one of the most geologically fascinating — and yet almost utterly empty — stretches of highway in the United States.

By the time I veered west onto small-town Route 120 in the state’s northwest, the landscapes of Wyoming had grown quite dear to my heart.

Along the lonely 789, I didn’t exactly drive down the middle of the blacktop, but pausing roadside was hardly an issue. I stopped to gape at the vastness of the Continental Divide for a full fifteen minutes before another car even started to cruise into view. It was so quiet out yonder that I could hear a hawk’s far-off cry on the rolling wind.

After five or six hours of driving, though, I became bone tired near Riverton and decided to stop for the night. This was, so far, the most unfortunate decision of my journey, as Riverton is exceedingly unattractive and its food options…limited. On the evening in question, so were hotel rooms; a big high school debate tournament  in town meant that there was one room left at the Holiday Inn, for the not-at-all-worth-it price of $119 US.

Had I been more timely about leaving Colorado that morning, I’d have been able to push on another 40 miles or so to Thermopolis, home of the world’s largest mineral hot springs and a super-quirky Days Inn with a hot spring pool and free breakfast.

Dang.

Still, I slept well in Riverton and launched into a fresh day of driving past all sorts of stuff I’d never heard of: the icy plains of the Red Desert, the canyon cliffs of Boysen State Park, the bubbly kitsch of Thermopolis, and the discreet charm of itsy-bitsy Meeteetse.

I was merely on my way to the Old West mecca of Cody, but in this case, the journey was just as much as the destination.

In late winter, I found myself all but alone on long stretches of Wyoming's Route 789

Alone, that is, but for the occasional pair of bald eagles

When I reached the Continental Divide, I pulled over to stare, barely able to wrap my head around the immensity of America -- and the former Pangaea

Winter-red grasses studded the frozen wetlands at the fringes of the Wind River Range

In Boysen State Park, the Wind River meanders between (gorgeous) cliffs and reservation land

Winter frost on the Wind River in Boysen State Park is worth a lingering look -- and a deep breath

When entering Thermopolis, Wyoming, home of the world's largest mineral hot spring, keep an eye out along the byways for resident Amish folk

Also in Thermpolis, keep an eye out for tractors -- many, many tractors

And cattle -- lots and lots of cattle

In the tiny town of Meeteetse, a rodeo cowboy started making chocolate to pay for a saddle and fell in love with the craft; I fell in love with his 60% cacao hot chocolate and his olive oil-rosemary truffles

Just past Meeteetse, I pulled over to watch elk travel across the hills; seems like we had the same idea

RESOURCES

Riverton, Wyoming
Thermopolis, Wyoming
Thermopolis Days Inn
Boysen State Park
Meeteetse, Wyoming
Meeteetse Chocolatier

_______________________________

Soon continued in
Driving the American West: Cody, Wyoming

Travels With Two

Call it a test of my own gumption or a simple thirst for adventure:

I’m hopping in my car and hitting the road to explore the American West!

In an effort to banish writer’s block, stir up my routine and physically reconnect with my passion for travel, I’m uncharacteristically striking out on my own to visit:

• The South Rim of the Grand Canyon in northwestern Arizona
• Monument Valley, Arches and Canyonlands in southeastern Utah
• Glenwood Springs, Basalt, Carbondale and more in western Colorado
• Yellowstone National Park Jackson Hole and the historic town of Cody in northern Wyoming
• The Thousand Springs Scenic Byway and Boise in southern Idaho
• Bend and Crater Lake Portland in northwestern Oregon
• The west coast of Oregon
• Lassen Volcanic National Park in northern California

Travels With Two

A few weeks back we hit the road to find ourselves some autumn fun in the Pacific Northwest. With the help of our friends, we found it in Forest Grove, Oregon, less than an hour from Portland.

Between huge flocks of birds, a sake tour, wine tasting and a fine mist hanging o’er the hills, I’m sure as heck glad we got off the couch and headed west.

By “west,” I specifically mean west of Portland, where we were visiting our friends Jessica and Chris. Generally speaking, take 26W/NW Sunset Highway out of the city and get off at Exit 59 for Jackson School Road. All told, getting to Forest Grove should take about 35-4o minutes.

Hungry? Well, along the way, we stopped off at the delightfully old-school and clapboard South Store Cafe in nearby Scholls for beautiful cappuccinos, lattes and hearty breakfast sang-wiches. I’d highly recommend the place to get yourselves in a snug, small-town, leap-peeping frame of mind. But right in Forest Grove proper, you could also check out the ornate Ironwork Grill at McMenamin’s Grand Lodge, one of a local chain of über-cool (and undoubtedly quirky) hotel/restaurant/pub/movie theater compounds set in lovingly-restored Portland-area landmark buildings. 

We loved our visit to the Fernhill Wetland, which offered a lovely little stroll around a marsh-ful of five gabillion ducks and geese, a couple of herons and a stoic white pelican who looked almost entirely out of place. We saw fiddlehead ferns drying on the stalk, berries dripping dew, and a fleece-clad couple on the prowl with high-tech birding binoculars. We saw a fuzzy brown caterpillar that I refused to hold in my hand for longer than a second, seeing as it was that creepy kind of fuzzy. We also saw more shorebirds than we’ve ever seen in one pond at one time just burst upward in furious formation, only to land a minute later in the center of a wheaty field as though nothing happened. Absolutely amazing.

Post-wetland, we wafted about the might-be-Europe-if-you-squint grounds of Montinore Vineyards, where Fall was on full display. While we’re already fans of Willamette Valley wines, this was our first trip to the Washington County wine country; Montinore’s warm, glowy tasting room is big enough to serve a crowd, though, so clearly this region has been discovered. After tasting our way through a pinot gris and a variety of elegant pinot noirs, we bought the spicy, fruity ’07 Forest Grove Cellars Merlot ($21) and their not-too-sweet Ruby Pinot Noir Port ($25) to share with our friends. 

We then switched to sake. SakeOne is one of the few sake breweries in the U.S., and was established in Forest Grove by its Japanese parent company in order to take advantage of the area’s high-quality water. I highly recommend taking a complimentary tour here: between the murals of pants-less men, the smoothness of perfectly hulled rice and its sweet fragrance when fermenting, this is a rare experience full of humor, sanitary booties and shiny contraptions.

After our tour, we bellied up to the bar for a Saké Shock, a gorgeous little food-and-sake pairing which matches different types of the brew with spicy chili garlic peas, smoked tuna, goat cheese and more. You can take your rose-colored glasses — I’d rather see the world through pink and sparkling plum sake. (free tours are given seven days a week at either 1, 2 or 3pm; Saké Shock tastings are $10 per person)

Our entire outing took about 7 hours and was one of the best days we’d all had in a long time. Getting out into a little autumn can do wonders for the cobwebs in your head, so give it some thought:

Where do you two want to go to experience a taste of Fall?

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See also

Portland, Oregon: A (Real Live) Weekend Away

Travels With Two

A bit of the bar at Ping in Portland's Chinatown

Recently spent my (early-October) birthday up in Portland, Oregon, which is just about our favorite city in America.

We stayed with friends, went to a book fair and a radio show taping, toodled around the city, drank wine and stuffed our faces. We wore actual sweaters and jackets to ward off the autumn chill. 

And you know what? It was darn good for the mind, body and soul.

On this trip, we stayed locally with our friends Jessica and Chris. Since it’s highly unlikely that you two would also stay with them, though, I recommend the Heron Haus B & B in Nob Hill (NW), Portland’s White House B & B in Irvington (NE), McMenamin’s Kennedy School near the Alberta Arts District (NE), or the Hotel Lucia in the heart of downtown (SW).

Artwork at the Wordstock book festival; pre-Live Wire radio show taping at the Aladdin Theater

To see what was going on around town for the weekend, Jess visited the Travel Portland site and discovered that the Wordstock book festival and a special Wordstock-themed taping of Live Wire! Radio were happening on my birthday. Since I’ve lately had novel-writing on the brain, the timing felt perfect.

At the Oregon Convention Center we puttered around Wordstock exhibitors’ tables, discovering new books, publishers and funny stickers. We even nabbed a subscription to McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, America’s best-designed anthology of fiction.

Later that night, the two back-to-back tapings of Live Wire were held at the vintage 1920s Aladdin Theater, and between the clever vignettes, performances by local musicians and fascinating interviews with writers, this experience absolutely rocked. You can attend a Live Wire taping just about every two weeks, and I would give it three thumbs up if only I had a third thumb.

Sign along Broadway in Downtown; artwork for sale in a NW boutique

Earlier that day, we’d headed Downtown to explore, and did our best to keep it weird.

Collectively, all of Portland also did its best.

The over-crowded Voodoo Doughnut in Downtown Portland

The only thing that no longer seems weird there is Voodoo Doughnuts. This home-grown haunt has been written up in so many magazines and blogs, covered to death in so many travel shows, that it’s now officially been discovered by the masses. Since I’m spiritually opposed to standing in line for anything, much less a g-damn doughnut, safe to say we didn’t engage; but if you absolutely must snarf some maple bacon ale fritters during your stay, then for the love of God go visit the other Voodoo Doughnut, on the northeast side of town.

Clockwise from top L: the Downtown Stumptown and its cappuccino; the logo at Flying Cat Coffee Company; afternoon tea at Lady Di's; the lemon tart at La Petite Provence; and seasonal cupcakes at The Little T

Aside from crullers, Portland offers a many other lovely ways to mainline wheat products — and caffeine.

Hit industrial-fabulous The Little T for cupcakes and pastries, then worship at the temple of java at any of the five local Stumptown Coffee Roasters. (I have a love affair going with their Holler Mountain, and with their Hair Bender, too.) For a palate cleanser, score a latte and check out the greatest logo in town at the Flying Cat Coffee Company, who threaten to have t-shirts for sale soon.

If you have a spot of tea (and scones and finger sandwiches) in mind, head to Lake Oswego for the almost ridiculously charming Lady Di’s British Store & Tea Room and ask to be seated off by yourselves in the Tea Cozy Room (afternoon tea, $16 US per person). With any luck, it’ll be raining outside and will really feel like England inside. For a stunning breakfast nearby, visit sunny and delicious La Petite Provence, and order any gorgeous omelette on the menu with a side of potatoes, butternut squash and rosemary. Oh, and if you tell them it’s your birthday, they’ll give you a free pastry; I happily chose the truly lovely lemon tart. 

Chop in Portland's HUB Building; the NE outpost of Olympic Provisions

If you like charcuterie, you’ll feel absurdly lucky in Portland. Chop, a butcher counter located inside the HUB Building at the back corner of the splendid Tasty n Sons restaurant, is a great place to cobble together a picnic to eat over in the Rose Test Garden or up at Mt. Hood. Tasty n Sons itself makes a mean meat-and-locally-made-cheese board, as well as a stunning array of creative cocktails.

Olympic Provisions, whose NE location is spread across a sexed-up former warehouse, is absolutely serious about its meat; full of spices and a twisted sort of sausage-love, you’ll definitely want the nola and the saucisson sec, and you’ll want to pair ‘em with creamy cheese from the Northwest. I wasn’t much into the fussy cocktails here, but the full-bodied house red offered a hells-yes hit of cherry. 

Pok Pok Noi in NE Portland

If I only had a couple of meals to spend in Portland, though, I’d hit a link in the local Pok Pok chain. Inspired by the sizzle, crackle and heat of Southeast Asian street food, this is the place for chili and spice and a big ol’ stack of napkins. Try a cocktail with Kampong (Thai brandy) or a non-alcoholic and lightly sweet passionfruit drinking vinegar. Skip the too-tart papaya salad (and definitely skip the addition of tiny pieces of non-shelled blue crab), and don’t miss out on Ike’s Vietnamese Fish Sauce Wings. Between the sweet and crunchy coating and the pickled carrots on the side, I could easily make this my last meal.

At the compact Pok Pok in SE you order at your table, while at Pok Pok Noi in NE, you order at one section of the restaurant, then hoof your cocktails to another and go sit down. Both offer picnic table seating and a casual vibe, while the SE location is across the street from the D-Street Noshery, a kick-ass collection of  food carts where you can make a crawl of it all.

Ping, in Portland's Chinatown

One of my favorite meals of the weekend was Chinese street snacks at Pok Pok’s latest venture, Ping. Preserving its roots as Chinatown’s former stand-by, Hung Far Low (*chuckle*), the decor is a hipster version of 1940s Chinese-America, with old posters, packing crates and antique radios. Ping has the same drinking vinegars and full bar as at Pok Pok, but the light and chewy pork bun, buttery Malaysian roti bread and tea-stained egg are a delicious trip to a very different part of Asia.

Or Portland, as the case may be.

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See related posts
Portland’s Westside, Part 1 – The Pearl District
Portland’s Westside, Part 2 – Downtown
Portland’s Westside, Part 3 – Chinatown & Old Town
Portland’s Westside, Part 4 – Northwest & Nob Hill
Portland’s Westside, Part 5 – Washington Park
Portland’s Northeast Side
Portland’s Southeast Side
Portland On Our Minds
Falling Into the North Willamette Valley
By the Seaside…Oregon
TWT Travel Binder: Oregon

Travels With Two

This past weekend, we took a brief break from some epic spring cleaning to check out The Garden Conservancy‘s first Open Days event of the year in the Los Angeles area.

Held all over the United States each year between March and November, Open Days allow you to snoop around other people’s backyards and/or find landscaping inspiration while simultaneously raising money to provide and preserve garden spaces across the country. It’s a fun, romantic and altruistic outing, whether you’re traveling in a different city or simply exploring your own. Traditionally a mapped route of six private homes in one area that open their outdoor spaces to the public for one day, Open Days provide a unique opportunity to experience a neighborhood through its plantings, design, architecture and history. The volunteers who work these special events can generally answer questions about the people who own the homes involved, tales of the buildings and homes that surround it, why certain design decisions were made, what to call that purple flower over there, and stuff you’ll probably only think to ask once you’re surrounded by absolute floral magnificence.

Open Days gardens range from homey affairs to sprawling estate layouts, English country to low-water plantings, and it’s fascinating to see how truly gifted gardeners incorporate fountains, pools, waterfalls, patios, sculpture, lighting and a myriad artistic details into their designs. For garden and travel lovers like us, it’s also just plain exciting when we discover exotic plants we’ve never seen before.

These are some glimpses of this past Sunday’s Open Days event in Pasadena, California. Be sure to check out the entire Open Days schedule to see where you might catch some cool gardens in your area — or on your next vacation.

_______________________________________________

Open Days are held around the U.S. between March and November,
on Saturdays and Sundays between (generally) 9am and 5pm.
No reservations are necessary, and all tours require self-driving.
Each Open Days event provides a starting point address where you can pick up a map of the day’s gardens.
Tickets can be purchased online in advance, or in person at any stop along an Open Days route.
Ticket prices: 6 for $25 US for non-members, or 6 for $15 US for Garden Conservancy members.

Travels With Two

Olympic National Park, Christmas Day 1997

There’s traveler’s wisdom in a simple concept: Don’t overplan.

We took our first longer-than-a-weekend, not-to-see-family, multi-destination trip together in December 1997. (And to think, we’d been together three years by then.) We put aside nine days to visit Seattle and Victoria, B.C., and the trip was cold, fun, rainy and exciting.

But when I look back, just about my favorite part was an unexpected side trip to Washington’s Olympic National Park.

That Christmas morning, we awoke in our Seattle University District B&B — the Chambered Nautilus — and felt itchy for adventure. With much of the city closed for the holiday, we got directions from the innkeepers and headed for the mountains.

Hooray for us, Olympic is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Sure, snow was rumored to be “spectacularly high” in the park and our rental car was a little Japanese affair, but you’ve heard the story before: You can’t stop two crazy kids in love.

Our gorgeous 2½ hour drive to the park included a ferry across Puget Sound and not a lot of companion traffic. I have a vague memory of Journey on the radio and some singing at the tops of our lungs…but I could be wrong.

We were relieved to find that the latest snow had stopped the night before, the road up to the visitor’s center was decently plowed, and there were only a few other people. We’d never seen anything like the view from the top of the hill (see above). Snow was a little over twelve feet high, swallowing the bottoms of huge trees. It was an almost perfect hushing quiet and the sun was crystal bright. We tramped around like little kids, lifting our feet high in the air and crunching them down on the powdery crust.

These photos make me laugh. I mean, at this point in our lives, when faced with this much glaring winter, we’d surely have on coats and sunglasses, maybe even boots. This moment was almost the end of the line for my ’80s Papagallo sweater and Adam’s early ’90s glasses, and it was a haircut turning point for us both. But the really tickling part is how excited we are to be together in a new place, far from our regularly-scheduled lives, just the two of us.

This was the trip where we became co-travelers.

Travels With Two