The Other Piece of My Heart

Let's discuss the vehicle I rented for my trip, shall we?

I made the decision fairly early on that if I was going to make this trek to Wyoming, then I was going all out.  That included my choice of rental.  I figured there was no way I was driving through the rugged mountains of Wyoming stuffed in a Prius or Kia or some other rinky-dink car. (No offense to those reading this who might own said cars as I'm sure they are lovely in their own right.)

So, I opted for a truck.

When I first got my license, I drove my dad's old Ford F-250 diesel, complete with a bench seat and old hand-crank windows, and an engine loud enough to make me feel rather conspicuous on occasion.  Here I was this pint-sized girl sitting behind the wheel of a rather large truck.  I still miss that thing.  So, it wasn't out of the question for me to get a pickup for this trip.  I called a few rental companies in Jackson, saying I was looking for a truck on such-and-such dates.  Two out of the three places said they were sold out of trucks because it was hunting season.  I finally got a hold of Hertz and they said they had trucks available, but I should book soon because the trucks were disappearing quickly.  I don't know if the Hertz guy had a soft spot for girls renting trucks or what, but I got a stellar deal on a pickup for the week, even if it still was a bit of a splurge.  I told him I preferred a Ford over a Chevy, but he said he couldn't guarantee the make and model.  I was hoping when I showed up to the airport that a shiny Ford would be waiting for me, but I was mentally preparing myself for whatever they had. (I come from a long line of Ford-lovers, so we're pretty partial to the brand, and I really was crossing my fingers and toes that a Chevy would not be waiting for me.)

I got to the airport, went to the rental counter, and asked the guy if this was for sure the best rate they could get me.  He basically gave me a look that I should just take the keys and run because there was no way I was going to get a better deal than what I had.  I decided not to ask anymore questions, signed the papers, grabbed the keys, and practically skipped out the sliding doors of the Jackson airport.

I couldn't get a good glimpse of the truck as I was walking down the row of rental cars.  It ended up being parked at the far end, tucked behind an SUV that was blocking my view.  I rounded the corner of that SUV and nearly peed my pants and did a happy dance right there in the airport parking lot.

I said a prayer of gratitude that this very handsome piece of automobile was about to be mine for the next four days.  A 2015 F-150 Ford Lariat, fully-loaded with black interior.  I couldn't wipe the smile off my face, I was grinning like a fool.  

I immediately took a picture and sent a text to my brother and parents, saying "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  And he just delivered this truck to me."

I climbed up into that truck, got acquainted with the bells and whistles, and set off.  I laughed out loud several times while driving down the road, just from sheer giddiness at not only being in Jackson Hole, but driving this truck while in Jackson Hole.  It was bliss on four wheels.  

I spent the next four days tooling around in that thing, loving every minute of it.  

Allow me to present to you this truck in a variety of settings and its many beautiful angles: 

The truck at Moose Junction, just north of the Jackson airport,
and the first stop I made along the way up to the ranch.

The truck at Potholes Turnout, gazing at the Tetons in the background.
I think it looks even better in black and white.  The truck, that is, not the mountains.
The mountains are lovely, no doubt, but let's focus on the truck for now.  

Same location, just a different angle and in all its brilliant charcoal-grey glory.

And now for a side angle.

A close-up of the truck, overlooking the Tetons again.  Still beautiful.
(Both the mountains and the truck.  And the two together are even more picturesque.)

Front view of the truck in Yellowstone.  

Despite the way it looks, I do have a lot of pictures of scenery and wildlife that do not involve this truck.  Promise.  When I returned it to Hertz, I jokingly told the guy, "If I didn't have a lick of sense, I'd just drive this thing home right now."  He said I could, but that I would have to pay for it.  I reluctantly parted with the keys and waved farewell to my traveling buddy of a truck.

Ford, you make for a most excellent traveling companion.  

A Piece of My Heart

From my journal, March 2007

There are some moments in life when you feel the world tilt upright just a tad, when you find at least one corner of your world makes a little bit more sense than it did before.

I felt my world tilt upright just a bit this past week.

I went back through my journals the other night, searching for the pages when I last knew Wyoming had been on my radar. (Thank God I have been a lover of journals because these are the moments when I am so grateful I have spent time documenting the seasons of my life.) I had written in one entry, my last semester of college, "There is something that is drawing me to Wyoming.  I'm not sure how to explain it - and I don't know if I have built up a romanticized ideal of Wyoming or what, but I just really want to go there." 

That longing became a reality this past Tuesday when I found myself driving north out of Jackson, Wyoming.  The Grand Tetons were looming large ahead on my left and the expanse of the valley stretched out to my right.  I was in love and I hadn't even been there but an hour.

A little over eight years ago (March 27, 2007, to be exact) I was offered a job at a ranch in Wyoming - Turpin Meadow Ranch.  I had somehow managed to stumble across a job posting for the place, just a summer job doing housekeeping.  I was feeling restless at the time, having no clue what I was going to do once I graduated (does anyone ever know what to do with a degree in History??).  I wasn't too keen on going back home, and I was feeling a little desperate to find a place to go.  I had also applied for a position with Lifeway at their conference center in Ridgecrest, North Carolina, around the same time I had applied at Turpin Meadow.  

I remember getting a call from the then-owner of the ranch. (It's now owned by a different couple.)  I missed his first call and he left me a voicemail, saying I was exactly the kind of person they were looking for to work at their ranch.  I saved that voicemail for I don't know how long, and then saved his phone number until I deleted it just a year or two ago.  Don't ask me why I held onto that phone number for so long, but I did.  I was also offered a job at Ridgecrest, though, which left me in a panic as to which one to choose, convinced one would somehow be right and the other one was somehow wrong, and if I didn't choose wisely my whole life was going to be a royal and indefinite mess.  I was being irrational I realize, but at the time, the decision felt monumental.

In the long run, I chose North Carolina.  It was a good summer and I wound up meeting a girl (that would be you, Miss Kristen) who is now one of my dearest friends.  I don't regret that summer, but I have spent the last eight years wondering what life would have been like out at Turpin Meadow.

This year was the first in a handful of years that I had no plans or offers to go somewhere overseas.  So many other things kept trumping a trip to Wyoming over the years and I decided I didn't want to put the dream on hold anymore.  I started saving money as if I were a squirrel stashing nuts for the winter, and finally booked the details of the trip over Memorial Day weekend. 

The lodge at Turpin Meadow

I booked 4 days/3 nights at the ranch, booked a flight into Jackson, rented me a pickup truck (don't worry, that truck will get a blog post all of its own), and outlined my itinerary.  I think I had always envisioned going on this trip by myself, which naturally got some strange looks from folks, but the time and the place felt a little sacred so I wasn't too eager to have traveling companions.  And let's be honest - as an introvert, I probably enjoy being alone more so than the average person. 

Finally, September 8 rolled around and I couldn't wait to hop on that plane to Denver and then onto Jackson. I landed amid the Tetons, grabbed the keys to the truck from the rental company, and set off on the first of four days that would tilt the axis of my world just a little bit, for the better.  

I took my time driving north to the ranch, passing through Grand Teton National Park, before settling in for the evening at the ranch.  The next day I hoofed it up to Yellowstone to see Old Faithful and stopped at what seemed nearly every single lookout along the way, taking photograph after photograph.  I was probably a hazard on the road, so busy looking at the scenery around me that I had to consciously remember to pay attention to the road in front of me.  I couldn't seem to get enough of the surrounding views.  The day after that, I stuck around the ranch and spent the morning going horseback riding and just generally enjoying my time there.  

Sunset from the porch of the ranch, Tetons in the distance

And then Friday, my final day there, rolled around.  I think even my body was in mutiny over me leaving, as I slept horribly, woke up nauseated and with a queasy stomach.  I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to be able to keep breakfast down or not.  I dreaded the thought of leaving, and my body was agreeing.  Nevertheless, I packed up my things and hit the road back to Jackson.

I cried off and on most of the way back to Jackson.  That small corner of my world that suddenly made sense was now getting left behind.  I went into town for a few hours, slipping in and out of the numerous art galleries, which also stole my heart just a little bit more, knowing how much stunning talent and art was tucked away in the town.  I finally returned the truck to the airport and reluctantly made my way through airport security to start making the trek back home.  

This trip was everything I dreamed and then some.  Even long before Turpin Meadow specifically showed up on the map, one of the very first things I had ever put on my bucket list, starting back in 2000, was to go to a dude ranch for a week or two.  Granted, this trip was only four days, but I'm still crossing it off the list as accomplished.

So, to you Jackson Hole, Wyoming and Turpin Meadow Ranch - you are etched in my mind forever.  You stole of a piece of my heart and I am beyond grateful for the time spent with you.  Give me enough time and I'm sure you'll be seeing me again (maybe as a resident? Who knows).  Hopefully it doesn't take me another 8 years to make that happen.