A Photographic Essay of the Tetons

by Andrea Downing

     Three or four months of the year, I’m lucky enough to get out to my home in Wyoming, where I am happiest.  It is just 5 miles down the road from Grand Teton National Park and about an hour from the entrance to Yellowstone, depending on the pesky tourist numbers.  I try to be out when the least people are about—April/May and late September through early November.  I haven’t yet spent a winter out here, being something of a coward, but it is on the cards.  For now, I thought I’d share a few photos to show why I love this place so much.

 

 The famous arches of Jackson town square

 

                     The Moulton Barn, apparently most photographed barn in USA

                                              Old Faithful at Yellowstone

                               

Chapel of the Transfiguration at Grand Teton

                                                                    the Aspens in leaf

                                                       Bison grazing at Yellowstone

                A bear at Lupine Meadows, Grand Teton--keeping my distance!

                                Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River

                     Mount Moran behind a still-frozen Jenny Lake

 

                                                            Lewis Falls

and finally

the entrance to the Cunningham Cabin, an early homestead in Grand Teton NP

    The Cunningham Cabin proved to be the inspiration for my novella, Dearest Darling, part of the Wild Rose Press ‘Love Letters’ series and my one crack at a mail order bride story.  It won The Golden Quill for Best Novella, as well as several categories at The Maple Leaf Awards, and placed in both the International Digital Awards and The Chanticleer Awards.  

Here’s the blurb:

 

Stuck in a life of servitude to her penny-pinching brother, Emily Darling longs for a more exciting existence. When a packet with travel tickets, meant for one Ethel Darton, accidentally lands on her doormat, Emily sees a chance for escape. Having turned down the dreary suitors that have come her way, is it possible a new existence also offers a different kind of man?

 

Daniel Saunders has carved out a life for himself in Wyoming—a life missing one thing: a wife. Having scrimped and saved to bring his mail-order bride from New York, he is outraged to find in her stead a runaway fraud. Even worse, the impostor is the sister of his old enemy.

But people are not always as they seem, and sometimes the heart knows more than the head.

 

EXCERPT:

 

Emily liked the sound of his voice, low but not husky, a slight twang he had cultivated, but not pretentiously so. When he spoke, she envisaged melting caramel, something delicious, the way it could be so appealing as she stirred, with a shine and slow drip from the spoon, before it gradually solidified. Soothing. A liquid velvet.

But he hadn’t spoken today. Not since first thing when he’d told her to get ready. Not through breakfast, or as he helped clear dishes, or gave her a hand up into the wagon.

“You haven’t seen her. You didn’t see her picture, did you?” The questions came sudden, yet without malice.

Emily straightened, alert. “No. No, I didn’t.” Would I understand better? Is that what he meant?

“I keep it with me.” Daniel began to fish in his pocket. “Would you like to see it?”

“No. No, you keep it, please. It won’t change anything.” Emily panicked. She would be beautiful, the other, that would be the answer. So stunningly beautiful that just her photograph had enthralled him, mesmerized him into loving her. Emily couldn’t bear to look, didn’t want to know the answer. Didn’t wish to torture herself further. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for reading the letters.” A rush of words, they flowed out of her. “I should never have done that. It’s not like me. But you...well, you understand it seems—”

“You’re probably wondering what I see in her. Or what she sees in me. As for that, what she sees in me, I have no idea. Maybe, like you, she wishes to get away.”

Emily studied his profile, the planes and contours of his face, the eyes set straight ahead, the slouch hat low on his brow. He gave nothing away, was a man in control of his emotions, thinking, maybe still wondering how he had won that woman. Or maybe set on keeping the answer to himself.

Overhead, clouds scudded, scoured the sky, leached the blue, threatened.

“Did you ever ask her? Why you?”

“I did. She never answered. I’m thinking what she sees in me is husband material. I guess. She tells me about her day, the people she knows, what she does. As you read.”

“She just seems so...so outgoing, so...so very social to ever want this life. I found it difficult to believe.” She jutted her chin out, then turned to him, waiting.

He gave the reins a sharp shake. “I don’t know. I never asked if she knew what she was getting into. I described it. I assumed if she wanted to stop the correspondence there, she would have. I was pretty damn amazed and happy she’d wanted to come, written back even though I described the cabin to her, the isolation.” His gaze slid toward her.

“And you think she’ll make you a perfect wife, do you? Be happy living here? Cook your meals, mend your clothes, keep your cabin, have your babies?” Exasperated, she tried to make him think, think of what he was letting himself in for, how long a marriage like that could go on, how it could end up being even lonelier than he was now. Emily would seem to him to be trying to win him over rather than making him see the truth, but push him she must, save him, stop him. She knew those sorts of women, the debutantes, the socialites. Not a one would last out here, not for a single day.

His head snapped around to stare at her. “She’s been writing. She hasn’t stopped.”

 

Buy Links:  Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/Dearest-Darling-Letters-Andrea-Downing-ebook/dp/B00NGWT816/   Also on Audible

 

Ibooks:  https://books.apple.com/us/author/andrea-downing/id547850055

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23348501-dearest-darling

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dearest-darling-andrea-downing/1120514529

Kobo:  https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dearest-darling-1

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/dearest-darling-love-letters-by-andrea-downing

 

 

THE STAGECOACH BAR—MY INSPIRATION

Settled at the very top of the Teton Pass, in Wilson, WY, as if it were deciding whether to go on to Idaho or not, sits one of my favorite places in Jackson Hole—The Stagecoach Bar. Unlike Jackson’s Million Dollar Cowboy Bar, my Wilson watering hole has nothing fancy about it, yet it’s undeniable that its atmosphere is more welcoming, more genuine, and just plain more fun. Bob Dylan has played there, Harrison Ford and Peyton Manning have drunk there, and I’m still trying to figure out what the sign above the bar--that looks like someone's internet password--means:  IWTUIUWBMAD

The Coach, as it’s called, moved a couple of times before finally settling into its current spot. It began life in 1942 with a rodeo attached and drinks served through a hole in the wall.  You can imagine that mixing rodeo cowboys and drink led at times to horses in the bar and a few shots at pool from the top of a steed.  When the rodeo moved into Jackson, the action moved inside but the cowboys didn’t leave.  Apparently, the place could get pretty rough, especially when hippies appeared on the scene in the sixties. Finally, in 1969, some strumming occurred on a Sunday evening which started to calm things down a bit and eventually led to dancing.  The Coach Band has been picking and strumming ever since (with a good few yodels thrown in), and Sunday has remained the night for dancing with Thursdays now a disco night in the high seasons of winter and summer. And by the way, just to make it feel right that you’re going to a bar on a Sunday, the locals call it ‘church.’

The Coach now is a place where everyone feels comfortable.  Whether you dance with a stranger—as I have done many times—or just sit back and watch the action, perhaps enjoying some of the delicious Street Food from the small place now at the very back, the ambiance is certain to make you feel welcome and at ease. So the question is, how did the Coach inspire me?

Let’s go back to those hippies who came in during the 1960’s and were evident for several years, getting into fights with the cowboys.  When I heard about this, I thought, ‘what if?’  Cowboys at that time were a pretty rough bunch and if you get a cowboy who’s also a rancher, you’re certainly not going to find a marshmallow.  Ranchers are known to be attached to their land, proud of the generations that have worked it before them, and—shall I say this?—pretty set in their ways.  Hippies, on the other hand, are pretty much free-wheeling, easy going, airy-fairy even; they tend to either lead a vagabond life or settle in communes, at least they did in the sixties and seventies.  So, that’s my ‘what if?’ What if one of these hardened ranchers actually fell for a hippie girl?  What then?

You’re going to have to read Always on My Mind to find out “what then”…

Always on My Mind is available TODAY at all good bookstores and sales sites, including: https://www.amazon.com/Always-My-Mind-Andrea-Downing-ebook/dp/B082S8TQD1/

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/always-on-my-mind-andrea-downing/1135994904?ean=2940163058044

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49696106-always-on-my-mind

https://books.apple.com/us/book/always-on-my-mind/id1491979552

https://www.bookbub.com/books/always-on-my-mind-by-andrea-downing

  

1972 - Vietnam, the pill, upheaval, hippies.
Wyoming rancher Cooper Byrnes, deeply attached to the land and his way of life, surprises everyone when he falls for vagabond hippie Cassie Halliday. Fascinated and baffled, he cannot comprehend his attraction—or say the words she wants to hear.
Cassie finds Coop intriguingly different. As she keeps house for him and warms his bed at night, she admits to herself she loves him but she misinterprets Coop's inability to express his feelings.
Parted, each continues to think of the other, but how can either of them reach out to say, "You were 'always on my mind'?"

Excerpt:

He didn’t answer but shoved in another forkful of eggs and studied her. “You do want to go, don’t you? You want to join them? All I’ve heard about is dang San Francisco.”

“I guess.”

“You guess what, for goodness’ sake? Do you or do you not want to go with them?” He tapped the fork three beats by the side of his plate.

“Well, I thought I did. I mean, everyone’s going to San Francisco. Haight-Ashbury. It’s supposed to be where everything’s happening. And you don’t want me.”

“Jeez, Cassie. I’m not the only alternative. Get a job, for goodness’ sake. What was all your college education about anyway? You did go to college, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but…I went to an all-girls’ college. I don’t think they expected much of us beyond doing secretarial work and becoming wives.”

“So find a husband. I don’t care.” He turned back to his paper.

“I know you don’t care. I don’t expect you to.”

He let his fork clatter to his plate, and his gaze met hers. “Cassie, you’re like…you’re like…” He watched as a tear made its way down one cheek. “Oh, for gosh sake.”

He met her sorry stare across the dinette, eggs congealing in the kitchen warmth. Outside was the screech of tires as a car pulled up, followed by the laughter and clatter of a group of people, sliding doors hitting the metal of the cab, shouts of “Cassie, Cassie, where are youuuuuuuu?”

He pushed back from the table at the same time as she and went to the window to look out. He swiveled to look at her, see her reaction. Then, with a gentle hand, he pushed her toward the back door.

“There you are!” Dave’s voice had a note of happy surprise, which faded as he noticed Coop standing nearby. The boy stumbled as he went to her. “We had to ask that shit Ty where this guy lived and got directions here. Are you okay?”

Cassie faced Coop, her bare feet curling in the dirt in front of the ranch house as he stood on the steps and watched, arm up against a pillar, his own socked feet crossed. Part of him wanted his peace and quiet, his solitude back, but he already knew he would miss her, be sorry to see her go.

She turned back to Dave. “Of course I’m okay. I’m just—”

“Well, get your shoes or whatever and we’ll go off. We should get to Salt Lake City this afternoon and stop there before heading west again.”

“I…”

“She doesn’t want to go with you.” He heard the reluctance in her voice, came down the steps, and stood in front of Dave, challenging. “She’s changed her mind.”

Cassie pivoted to glance at Coop. Surprise mixed with uncertainty faded as a small smile turned up her lips. For a moment, the others were silent, standing there, stupefied. “I…” she began again. “I’m staying here.” She felt bolder, more self-assured.

“You must be joking.” Dave’s shifty glance skimmed from one to the other. “Cassie?”

Needing reassurance, she turned to look at Coop, then turned back to Dave. “I’m fed up with traveling in that bus and I like it here. In Jackson.”

“She’s staying here,” Coop said. “At least for now.”

Perturbed at this news, the other two friends started to turn back toward the bus. Steve drew out a satchel, then scribbled something on a piece of paper before handing both to her. He nodded before he disappeared into the confines of the van.

Dave stood there gawping. “You’re gonna stay here? With this guy? On a ranch? You’re not coming to Frisco?”

She glanced back at Coop for confirmation.

He stayed stock still.

She turned again to Dave. “Yes, that’s right. I’m staying here with Coop on his ranch. I’ll follow along when I’m ready.”

“How you gonna do that? You haven’t any money.”

“I have money. At least some left. When I’m ready I’ll come. It’ll be fine. Honest, Dave. I’ll be along shortly. I’ll hitch.”

Dave’s face folded into a picture of doubtfulness. “I guess it’s your choice, Cassie.” He eyed Coop, then turned back to her. “Just be careful, Cass. Don’t fall for this jerk. He has no real interest in you.”

She stood next to Coop, doubt and insecurity filling her like water flowing into a jug. The VW bus pulled out, friends waving, and she knew she was on her own.

“Now what?” Her voice was just a whisper. “Now what?”