Maybe we should get a TV.

Then we’d at least have something to watch.

All we get off the north porch are these ho-hum half-hour docu-dramas.

Although I must say, while the plot is a little predictable, there is a modest amount of entertainment to be derived from wondering just how wet you’re about to get…

… and how close the action might land.

Still, I find myself wondering if there are any decent new shows on these days.

Because, seriously… the only redeeming feature of having an entire rainbow humming from end to end in the field directly across the road is that it comes without commercial interruption.

If, on the other hand, you get this same message from Chef Rick Sordahl and his talented and charming wife Dana, CLEAR YOUR CALENDAR AND SAY “YES!!!” BEFORE THEY CHANGE THEIR MINDS!

Truly, we’d love ‘em if they lived in a converted dump truck and served cold baked beans from the can. They create a lovely sweet energy together, are interesting and informed conversationalists, and share their toys well.  (After dinner we played their PS3 snowboard game: awesome graphics, and much easier on the knees than the real thing on a full belly.)

When you also know that Rick is the executive chef at Amangani (an enchanting Aman resort in Jackson Hole) and has an upcoming invitation to cook at the James Beard House in NYC, and really knows a good pork tenderloin when he sees one…

… well… you understand our enthusiasm. When Chef Rick cooks, people become lost for speech and must resort to banging the table in appreciation.

He once cooked and served duck breasts that our neighbor Scott had shot and cleaned that morning that was so good it gave me the sniffles.

Sometimes it’s the food that makes one cry, and sometimes it’s the laughter.

And sometimes it’s just watching Dana and Rick move as a team in their home that brings a wee lump in your throat.

Their space is full of thoughtful, beautiful, yet accessible and friendly details.

Tableware, lighting, pottery, textiles…

… and a thousand other aesthetic choices that both evoke and invite creativity and spontaneous fun.

The pencil crayons on the counter beside the black truffle cheese plate should be your first clue.

There be magic there. This particular jus magic featured red wine, local huckleberries and secret chef stuff. (I’m not completely crisp on the secret chef stuff — I was kinda focused on the black truffle cheese at the time.)

The bulk of the magic, though, is in the unconscious emphasis Rick and Dana place on entertaining versus hospitality.

It’s the difference between hosting to impress and serving to embrace.

Of course, what shows up on your dinner plate is always a once in a lifetime experience.

And when you step out into the cold winter air after a night like that and see a full moon like this coming up over the ridge of Darby Canyon, table banging gives way to a full-blown howl.

Thanks again, Rick and Dana… and Happy Birthday, Chef!

Aside from the fact that it doesn’t shed, is wonderful to the touch, and is relatively easy to comb burrs out of, he was going to need a shearling parka.

Winne LOVES the snow and spends as much time as he can cultivating that “sugar-frosted puppy” look.

Apparently, one of the most fun parts of wearing confectioners sugar is how easily it can be removed when the time comes. It appears that the trick is to start the shimmy from the front…

… and let the ripple effect work its magic towards the rear of the enterprise.

The technique is almost 100% effective.

Almost.

Excuse me. I must go hose down the camera lens now.

I always thought this was referring to the quantity of food she ate.

After watching this wholesome little family of Turdus migratorius in the eaves of our Teton Valley south porch go through feeding time, I now find myself confident that’s exactly what my mom meant.

Granny Lever never ate like this!

Besides the ruthless stomping underfoot of less successful siblings…

… there was a LOT of loud, demanding behavior exhibited…

… over dining fare that kept trying to crawl back over top of the parental unit’s head.

The hollering did not stop until the demands were met.

I never heard so much as a peep of gratitude. I thought I caught a muted burp of satisfaction from young Mr. Greedy Guts, although that could just as easily have been a hiccup of resignation from one of the two stompees on the left.

Once fed, though, the faint resemblance of baby birds to aged diners kicked in in a new way for me: nothing better to do than lay back for a quick nap and let someone else take out the garbage.

And now the Latin nomenclature is all falling into place…

Quick! Get the camera!

By the time the Nikon D90 is ridin’ high on the console between the seats, we’re sunk: once again, we realize the Road Trip Muse has bullied in and is insisting on some overdue personal attention.

She knows we’re suckers for the challenge of getting the shot at 80 mph, straining to get above the side rear view mirror, telephone poles, traffic lights, big honkin’ trucks that get in the way right at the last second…

… and she plays with our mutually eclectic sensibilities of what makes for an interesting image.

We’re a good team. Rick drives and occasionally hollers, “Get that one!” I bounce around in the front seat like Ruprecht the Monkey Girl, twisting myself into unnatural positions to try to get just the right angle.

Sometimes, The Source is just Rick, after 12 miles of outrageously bumpy and undulating road construction, quipping “Well, at least the road guys have a sense of humor.”

But sometimes, the Muse herself delivers a fly-by composition so intensely pure and correct that it if I miss it, I have failed to do my part in something important and irreplaceable.

It can be simply an image we wouldn’t normally see in our 9-5 Silicon Valley world.

Or it can be a surrealistically perfect moment that is usually only visible in other people’s lives. Or in slow motion in the movies. Or Napa.

But that’s what it’s like on the road to Teton Valley.

You get a plein air painter’s dream at sunset…

… followed by twilight in Targhee National Forest, 12 minutes from home, and the dreamscape collusion of your D90, the Muse, and the deer that decided to bound the other way.