In honor of the winter's first snowfall here in Boston, I want to talk about Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and this Tsumori Chisato sweater (if it isn't the best thing I've seen in a while, I don't know what is). When I was a little kid and newspapers still had money, the NYTimes would send my family to Jackson Hole because my mom wrote for their travel and leisure section. She managed to find ways to take new story angles each year (she even wrote about a sled-dog race, an article for which I ended up sleeping in a yurt and mushing a team of huskies at age 8--it was one of the better adventures I've been on) so that they'd keep sending us out there (more after the jump).
Those trips were heavenly--mountains intoxicate me the same way the ocean does. Nothing like majestic expressions of space, I suppose. And growing up learning to ski on the greatest mountain in the US (I would argue), eating chilli out of bread bowls at the lodge, and rolling around in the snow before getting in the hot tub wasn't such a raw deal. But the gondola, oh the gondola. It was something on a pedestal all it's own, not only because of the adorable space-like pods we sat in and the amazing views of the valley as we rode up, but also for the simple wonder of lifts in general: you don't have to get yourself up the mountain. Only enjoy the ride down. Wouldn't it be great if life worked that way?
And now, from the Wilder archives:
I miss going out there so much it hurts (often I wonder why I didn't take the ski-bum route after college), and think the above sweater would really help ease the pain. So if someone wants to drop $485 bones on a pullover for me I'd probably feel a lot better. Contact me for my shipping info.
