Since then, I’ve returned to this stunning place several times over the decades. I even lived here as a rookie reporter for a local newspaper back in 2008, right over the Teton Pass in Driggs, Idaho, when I was 22 years old and chasing my dream of the written word.  

The Tetons will always own a big piece (the biggest) of my heart and soul. And I can only hold that piece when I come back here from time-to-time. But, before I leave, I have to give it back to Mother Nature and the cosmic ether for safe keeping until we meet again.  

The last time I saw these mountains in-person was exactly two years ago. And I was standing in the exact spot I am currently at (when I snapped the photo) with the woman who I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. My life heading in a different direction than it is today. But, gratitude remains deep within me. It’s all a dream we dream, eh?  

Since that moment, she’s long gone on her own trajectory. The flood happened, too, which flipped everything upside down for us and countless others. Loved ones have passed away or simply disappeared from my daily existence. And yet, so many beautiful souls have entered my world, too. New faces of genuine love and lifelong friendship.  

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To that, I don’t take any of it for granted, and I remain thankful for everything: the good, the bad, the ugly. For all of it encompasses life itself. The journey. The trek. The wandering. And the pondering. It’s all an unfolding process, with the only thing you have control of is how you react in any given  situation. I remain steadfast. I remain curious.

The day before I found myself staring in awe of my beloved Teton Range, I cruised into Teton Valley, Idaho, along State Highway 33 from Idaho Falls to the small mountain town of Victor. Over the Big Hole Mountains into Teton County, slowly drifting into my former digs.  

One intersection, one stoplight kind of town, although there were maybe 600 people living in Victor when I called it home in 2008. Now? Maybe a few thousand year-round residents? More so, if you count those with vacation homes in this bustling high-priced community. When I lived there, it was a real ski bum town for those who couldn’t afford to reside in uber-rich Jackson, Wyoming, just over Teton Pass.  

I parked the truck in front of the Knotty Pine Supper Club, in the heart of Victor. A legendary ski bar and music venue, the KP is well-known for its Kansas City-style barbecue, cooked by Brice Nelson, the owner/chef and one of my lifelong, dear friends. I met him my first day in Victor. We hit it off immediately and have kept in touch ever since.  

So, it meant a lot when he walked out of the kitchen and gave me a big bear hug. Smiles emerging from both sides of the conversation. I missed my old friend, and the feeling was mutual. We sat under the big old pine tree in the side yard and caught up about our respective lives, the good, the bad, and the ugly of navigating an ever-evolving existence. It felt good to reconnect. Hearty laughter and genuine interaction.  

Within the next hour or so, some of my other Victor friends showed up. First, Lindsay, a soulmate of sorts when it comes to the road of life we all find ourselves on. More bear hugs and smiles. Then, Mike rolled up. Another chum from the old days here in the Rockies. Eventually, a semi-circle emerged on one side of the KP bar. All of us exchanging stories and experiences, each truly present in a moment unfolding.  

Before we knew it, it was getting late. The sun had long fallen behind the Big Holes. Initially, I had planned on making my way to Pinedale, Wyoming, a western outpost town with way cheaper hotels and motels than the extremely expensive Jackson. But, before I knew it, Mike offered me his guest room at him home nearby atop a mountain ridge.  

By the time we arrived at his picturesque abode, his wife was already asleep and had to work early in the morning. It was nice night, so Mike suggested we hit up the hot tub outdoor for a nightcap, as to not wake her up. The high-desert air was dry and still warm nearing midnight. A beverage in-hand, I hopped into the hot tub, only to immediately notice how incredible the night sky looked.   

With little to no light pollution in Teton County, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen the stars so clear and bright. Very quickly, we counted over a dozen shooting stars from a mid-summer meteor shower. One in particular exploded right over Mike’s house. It seemed so close to us, so bright, that when it entered our atmosphere and blew apart, it illuminated the home and surrounding property. Mind-blowing.  

I awoke the next morning and opened up the curtains to the vast valley below. It was just like I’d remembered, in-person in 2008 and in my subconscious thoughts all these years later. Mike and I headed down the road to Brice’s house for coffee. More conversation. More laughter. Right around noon, it was time for me to hit the road, the nose of the truck currently aimed for Colorado. I said goodbye, for now, to my friends.  

Packing up the last of my things, I put the truck into drive, the town of Victor in the rearview mirror once again. With the warm sunshine and cool air swirling into the open windows, I threw some tunes on the stereo. One of my favorites, Kacey Musgraves’ “Slow Burn” came on: “I’m alright with a slow burn, taking my time, let the world turn, I’m gonna do it my way, it’ll be alright.” A smile ear-to-ear now on my face.  

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.