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Veronica

Old Town

“S o wait, I thought we were going to Jackson. What’s Teton Village?” Lizzy asks, a confused look on her face as we reach the SUV. “Are you guys kidnapping me or something? I don’t know if my dad will cough up the ransom money or not, but I want my cut if he does.”

“I told you, Lizzy. The ski resort, Jackson Hole , is actually in the tiny town of Teton Village, fifteen minutes past the town of Jackson,” I say, shaking my head as I hand my bag to Collin to throw in the back of the SUV.

“I swear, it’s like we have this conversation every time we bring a new person out here,” Collin says, shaking his head like me while closing the hatch of the cargo area.

The drive from the airport in the winter to Teton Village takes about thirty-five to forty minutes but goes right through scenic downtown Jackson, Wyoming so at least Lizzy gets a nice tour of that on our way.

Although there is a modest public transportation system connecting the airport, the town of Jackson, and Teton Village, we prefer having our own car for grocery runs, day trips, and because lugging our bags and skis on a bus is frankly a chore. This time is a bit different as it’s the first time we’ve been out at the condo together since our Grandpa passed away, leaving the condo to Collin and me.

“So, how was the drive out here?” I ask Collin as we leave the airport parking lot.

“Not too bad. Twenty-four hours from Cincy but I stopped in Omaha for a night along the way to break it up,” he says, eyes focused on the long straight road heading to Jackson.“I left Sunday and got in Monday night.”

“Remind me exactly what it is you do again, Collin?” Lizzy asks, looking out the window of the passenger seat at the mountains on our right.

“Online fitness coach and dietician. Pretty convenient when I want to work remote and come out here a few days early,” he says.

“Oh, ok. That makes more sense. I thought you were a personal trainer and had to go to a gym or something. Didn’t realize you did online stuff,” she says, sounding surprised and disappointed. “Not sure why, but I was picturing you in some grey sweats spotting someone on their lifts or helping them with some deep stretching.”

Collin and I both turn to Lizzy, mouths open.

“What? You can’t tell me you haven’t had the hot gym trainer fantasy before,” she quips, arms crossed, letting out a huff and rolling her eyes at me. “Don’t act like I’m the crazy one here.”

I try to change the topic away from my brother in grey sweats, for my own sake. “So… How was Christmas, Collin? I know you were planning on spending it at the Chapman’s place. Anything new there?” I notice him shift uncomfortably in the driver seat at my question.

We talked Christmas Day and I know Collin didn’t mind missing Christmas at home. He has never been particularly close to our parents, part of the reason he stayed in Cincinnati after school instead of moving back home to Dayton.

“Actually it was great. I slept in until you called, then hung out with Chapman and his grandparents the rest of the day. His grandma made her meatloaf, which I was craving. Just an all around good day,” he says, his tone more upbeat.

I’m glad he enjoyed Christmas for a change. He mostly came out to Wyoming early to help take care of some things around the condo, but I’m sure meeting up with our family friend, Tanner Chapman, and his grandparents was nice for him. Tanner’s a local property manager that’s been helping us take care of our condo since Grandpa passed away. Collin also brought our stash of wine and some goodies from home in his SUV, since the options in Wyoming can be a bit limited.

Between the airport and Jackson, we have a few minutes to take in more of the heart stopping views of the Teton Mountain Range. With the clear blue skies, Jackson Hole Ski Resort is clearly visible from the road into town out the passengers side windows.

“Holy shit,” Lizzy blurts out, “you said this place was steep, but that’s nuts.”

“Told you, Lizzy. Jackson Hole is no joke.” I can feel myself grinning as I make eye contact with Collin, the same thought clearly on his mind.

“So the condo is at the base of that, near that cluster of buildings?”

“Yep. About a fifteen minute walk from all the lifts,” Collin adds.

I stare out the window when I hear a familiar song come on the radio.

“Collin, turn it up please?” I ask, watching his eyes in the rear view mirror.

“All these years and you still love this band. Don’t tell me you still have a fan girl crush on Tommy Jacobs?” Collin chides.

“Oh fuck off, Collin,” I snarl. “You know he’s hot. I don’t seem to remember you complaining when we went to all those Teal Tigers concerts in high school.”

With one of my favorite songs now drowning out Collin and Lizzy, I gaze out the window at the mountains again. Even from the distance we’re at you can clearly see the outlines of the ski slopes with little black dots that I know are skiers. Seeing them puts my mind right back into ski junkie mode, craving the rush from being on the mountain.

Chasing fresh snow or freshies. Waking up at the crack of dawn to be first in line for the chair lifts or first chair. Skiing in knee deep fluffy powder or pow. Wanting to be the first person to go down a run for the day with your skis leaving beautiful flowing brush strokes behind you or first tracks.

Sometimes I forget how much slang skiers use. None of it ever comes up in conversation back in the real world in Ohio. It’s all flooding back now.

I sigh… I missed this.

On our left, before we reach town, is the sprawling National Elk Refuge. It’s dotted with sleds chauffeuring tourists around to see the elk herds. Occasionally a wolf can even be spotted on the edges of the sanctuary, a reminder that this place is surrounded by total wilderness.

A few minutes later and we’re passing through Jackson. Downtown or old town, was once a rustic small town with dirt roads, no traffic lights, and charming old western buildings. Our grandparents would tell us about how as recently as the eighties, the town still felt like a rural western town.

“Wow,” Lizzy says, watching out the windows as Collin is still scanning the streets for a parking spot, “this place is so cute. Are all these old store fronts original?”

“Yep. Most of the facades are original. The stores in them have changed but the layout is pretty much how it’s always been,” I say, looking out the window at the row of shops we’re passing, scanning for any new ones that might have opened since my last time in town.

“Hmmm. I think we need to stop in there later,” Lizzy says, pointing up at a large neon sign. Oh boy.

Dotting the downtown landscape are a number of old saloons like the Silver Dollar Cowboy Bar and Horseshoe Saloon, sticking out above the rest of the shops with their old school neon signs. Lizzy is looking right at the cowboy bar. I’d expected her to be a bit more excited, but maybe the flight took more out of her than I expected.

“Oh we will, don’t worry,” Collin says smirking. “Just don’t get your hopes on finding a cowboy there.”

Lizzy huffs, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at Collin.

“You know, you should really see it at night, Lizzy. I remember as a kid our grandparents would take us out at night for dinner or to pick up pizza to take home. Collin and I would have our faces pressed against the window looking up at all the neon signs overhead. God I miss those days. It was almost like a year round Christmas light show,” I say, reminiscing as I look out at the town square.

I can see Collin nod in agreement from the driver seat. “Yeah, some of them are pretty cool. Like the Cowboy Bar sign, it’s animated and the cowboy is riding a bucking bronco.”

It’s not too hard to imagine what it would have looked like fifty years ago. Sure, the dirt roads have been replaced by nicely paved roads, traffic lights, and crosswalks, but the storefronts, saloons, and wooden boardwalks are all still here. Except now there’s an abundance of high end boutiques, art galleries, and fancy restaurants instead of the old tack shops, gun stores, and feed shops.

Fortunately no high rises have gone in at least. The tallest buildings around town are four stories at most, preserving the views of the mountains surrounding downtown.

In the heart of it all though is still the old town square.

In the winter there’s an ice rink in the center of it. Despite being touristy, our grandparents still taught us to skate there. In the summer it’s a great place to enjoy a coffee and a pastry, and read a favorite book on a park bench.

Standing at each of the four corners of the square are the iconic elk antler arches, made from antlers collected by local Scout Troops from the elk refuge. At night, they’re illuminated by countless strands of white Christmas lights. Even with all that’s changed over the years, I’ve always thought the square was charming and romantic at night.

At this point, a coffee sounds great. But not just any coffee. I need the good stuff today. After we find a parking spot, we head straight to one of my favorite places to grab a casual bite to eat in town. It’s not fancy, but I’ve been giddy all day waiting for this. One of my guilty pleasures, a treat for me when we’re in town, are regular stops into Cowgirl Coffee, practically becoming a temporary regular. It’s a charming little spot just off the old square, a perfect lunch to fuel up before going out shopping and showing Lizzy around.

My order hasn’t changed in years. A large iced honey badger with oat milk, an extra shot of espresso, and a chorizo breakfast burrito. The honey badger, with its combination of cayenne espresso, cinnamon, honey, and oat milk might sound like a bit much, but to me it’s the perfect combination. Cold yet spicy, sweet yet a bit savory. Paired with a breakfast burrito, it’s my favorite winter breakfast, even though it’s lunch today. Mmmm . I get chills of joy just thinking about it.

“V. I don’t know how on earth you can walk around town when it’s twenty degrees out and down an iced coffee like that,” Lizzy chides after we grab our orders to go. “Either that coffee must be amazing or you must be a serial killer.”

“You know Lizzy, someone once told me you can tell how dedicated someone is to the iced coffee life by whether or not they still drink them in the winter. Well I’m not just dedicated, I’m a diehard fan. This drink is my ride or die.” No offense to Collin or Lizzy.

I’m not exaggerating. I think there have been days in the past here where I’ve had at least two or three of these throughout the day. I would kill for a place that could make these back in Ohio, a taste of home in the midwest.

As I’m enjoying my iced honey badger, my little bit of bliss is interrupted. There’s a ping from my phone, the one I specifically set up for Jeff. I swear dude, it’s the Thursday of Christmas break, our office is closed the whole week. What can you possibly need? I begrudgingly check my work messaging app, feeling the impending sense of doom creep into my psyche.

Nothing major. Okay breathe, V. He’s just confirming another detail for the Earth SnaX presentation. I know this presentation by heart at this point. Slide for slide. Word for word. I swear at this rate, I should just do the presentation for him. Why should he get more of the credit for my work anyways? Calm down V, no need to spiral. Not even Jeff can take away the joy of a honey badger on a snowy morning in Jackson. I look out across the square, absorbing the views of the mountains and town around me, taking a deep breath of the cool morning air.

“Was that Jeff? What the hell could he want right now? That dude is the worst ,” Lizzy scoffs, a look of disgust on her face.

“Oh nothing, he’s just confirming something else for Earth SnaX. No crisis, thankfully.” I breathe an exaggerated sigh of relief and take another sip of my sweet and spicy drink.

“So what do you want to do next, Lizzy? You’re the one who’s never been here before.” Collin has joined the conversation finally.

“Umm… shopping obviously? Isn’t that what you do in ski towns?” She gestures as if she’s strutting along carrying shopping bags in each arm. Lizzy’s not wrong. That’s what it feels like most tourists do and what most of Collin’s friends on their first visit here want to do.

Collin and I take her for a stroll around the boardwalks surrounding the town square for a while, plodding along, our snow boots against the wooden planks sounding like something out of an old western movie.

I’ve always found the assortment of shops in ski towns and resorts to be amusing. It always seems to be a bizarre, confusing combination of touristy stuff like tacky t-shirt shops, souvenir shops, and cowboy boot or western wear stores, and then ultra high-end jewelry shops, rug stores, and art galleries.

Practical Veronica shakes her head in disgust. What a waste.

I’ve been saving my money like crazy for years, the idea of a safety net bringing a small amount of comfort to me. I think like many millennials, there’s still residual trauma left over from the 2008 financial crisis, having interned through it and seeing the aftermath impact so many of my peers for so long, still playing catch up today. But a small, hopeful part of me clings to the idea that maybe one day I could abandon my life plan, quit my job, say fuck it, move somewhere I love, and start over. It’s a fantasy I’ve tried to keep hidden deep in the recesses of my mind, but rears its head more and more these days.

As we work our way further along the boardwalks and store fronts, I look across the street towards the town square. At one corner under one of the arches, a young couple is standing there talking and laughing, coffees in hand. After a couple seconds of this, they share a quick kiss, press their foreheads and noses together, eyes closed, and then go along their way.

The charm of this place is overwhelming sometimes. I’ve always wondered if I’ll ever have someone of my own that I can share this place with, making my own happy memories here. There are so many things here I want to show people and share with them to see their faces light up like mine. When do I get that, my person? I deserve happiness, don’t I? I feel sad, angry, fearful, all at once.

Stop. Clear your head, V. Take a deep breath, a hopeful breath.

One day, maybe, one day.

After bouncing around town into a couple of souvenir shops and then window shopping a few others, Lizzy finally is looking for something specific.

“Alright guys, where’s the best place to find locally made jewelry?” Ah there she is. Always looking for new things to compliment all of her cute, curated outfits.

Meanwhile most of my jewelry was left to me by my grandmother, including her gorgeous wedding ring and engagement ring. She always said she dreamed of me finding that special somebody , but these days that feels so far from reality. But I rarely buy myself anything nice. Practical Veronica says save money, don’t buy it if you don’t need it.

“You’re asking the wrong person, Lizzy,” I scoff. “You know I don’t buy nice jewelry.”

“Um, that doesn’t mean you don’t know where to look. You know this town like the back of your hand. Come on, don’t hold out on your girl,” Lizzy pouts, holding her hands out in a pleading gesture.

Collin steps in front of us. “I know just the spot. Let’s go girls.”

He pivots and is already walking away, waving with his hand to follow along. He leads us to a store just off the square, The Eclectic Elk. It’s a quirky little shop, filled with goods from local artists and makers. Everything from jewelry, art prints to woven goods and other odds and ends.

After meandering around the store, I notice Lizzy has been lingering at one case a bit longer than the others.

“Hey, V! Come over here. You’re going to love this.”

Hmm. Wonder what she found. She knows I’m not much for jewelry.

As I reach her side and gaze down into the display case, I immediately know why she called me.

I admire the contents of the case, which is filled with some of the most beautiful chef’s knives I’ve ever seen. Some have intricate Damascus steel blades with their beautiful color patterns and variations in striking contrast to each other. Damascus steel like this is difficult to make, no two blades truly alike. Each knife has a unique handle, some with colorful cast epoxy resin, polished walnut, or an elk antler, others inlaid with turquoise. Looking closer I see the handiwork of the blacksmith that made them, each of the blades indented with a small makers brand where the blade meets the hilt, a T and C overlaying each other inside of a horseshoe.

I do know exactly what these are. But these are much more refined than the last set I saw from this maker. Clearly he’s been practicing.

Lizzy definitely knows me well, I love good knives in the kitchen.

“How have you never bought one of these before, V? Or do you have a set back home already?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

I’d love some of my own but before I can even get a word out, I realize Collin has snuck up behind us. His tall goofy ass is peering over our shoulders wrapping an arm around each of us.

“My buddy, Chap, makes those,” he says beaming like a proud parent as he joins us in admiring the knives. “They’re pretty badass.”

Collin is right. These are the best knives I’ve ever used. I’d like a couple better sized for my hands to take home, but they’re all amazing.

“We actually have a set tucked away back at the condo,” he adds.

“Yeah. I haven’t got a set from him yet. But hey speaking of your shadow, Collin, where is Tanner? I haven’t seen him in years,” I ask, still longingly gazing into the case.

Collin and Tanner Chapman have known each other since they could barely walk. They became best friends over the years, practically inseparable whenever we were in town visiting our grandparents. Tanner’s family already lived here and our grandparents became close friends since the early seventies when ours bought the condo as a vacation home before retiring there years later. As his grandparents retired, they downsized into a condo in the same building.

Unlike us though, Tanner is a true local, born and raised in the shadows of the Tetons. His parents moved to Salt Lake City about a decade ago to be closer to his younger sister and brother, Grace and Clay, who are in Park City. Even after he lost his mom in an accident, his dad stayed there. Tanner lives in his grandparents old cabin, just down the road from Teton Village, where his grandparents condo and ours are. The cabin sits on what’s left of their former ranch just off the banks of the Snake River on Moose Wilson Road. Most of the land has since been sold off, but they were able to keep the cabin and old barn for Tanner.

It’s always been the same story with Tanner and Collin though. When Collin and I are in Jackson, it always seem like Tanner is lurking around somewhere waiting to go off on the next childish adventure with Collin, often with me in tow. We didn’t see Grace and Clay as much, them being much younger than Tanner. When we would see them, I remember how fiercely protective Tanner was of them. But still, Tanner has always been every bit the jokester Collin is, but with an added level of self confidence. It always seemed like a paradox, someone so confident and unflappable, yet also able to seemingly make anything into a joke, never taking things seriously. At least that’s how it always felt from the outside looking in.

“Chap’s busy at his workshop but I’ll probably catch him on the slopes tomorrow. He wants to do après at the condo tomorrow and then the Fox Saturday, anyways. Sound good, V?” says Collin.

“Yep, works. Lizzy has heard me hyping the infamous fox margs since we turned twenty-one!”

“Oof. Don’t remind me of that night.” Collin shudders at the memory of our twenty-first birthday night out, or more like the next day. I try to hold a laugh in just thinking about how hungover he was.

As we leave the shop, I’m still stunned thinking about Tanner’s new knives in that case.

It’s been at least five or so years since I visited Tanner’s barn where his workshop is set up. Tanner’s main gig for years has been as a property manager taking care of a handful of vacation homes and condos, with half of the barn set up for that. Plumbing and electrical tools, spare appliances, a snowblower, a plow for his truck, all things he needs to take care of those properties are right on site.

The other half though, that was reserved for his passion project.

Tanner’s grandparents ranch wasn’t particularly large and his grandfather still did side work as a blacksmith, namely for local farriers, forging horseshoes in a workshop in the back of the old barn. The old ranches in the area, and later the horseback riding outfits catering to tourists, supplied a modest stream of income on the side for the family, at least for a while.

Even as that side hustle eventually dried up by the time Tanner’s grandfather retired, Tanner took an interest to blacksmithing and forging metal as a kid. After learning the fundamentals of the process to make horseshoes from his grandfather, he started to take an interest in tools and household items, namely hunting and kitchen knives.

Over the last few years, he’s obviously become quite skilled at it, based on what’s in the case at The Eclectic Elk. The knives he made for our grandparents years ago were great. Functional, durable, very utilitarian. But the ones in that case… they’re something else.

They’re absolutely stunning, a refined sense of artistry I didn’t ever imagine Tanner being capable of honestly.