Magic in Jackson Hole

I just returned from a rejuvenating week in Jackson, Wyoming—a place I have had a deep, soul-level longing to visit for as long as I can remember. The frequency of the Rocky Mountains resonates with me on a cellular level—especially the Tetons.

18 years of Vermont winters taught me that six months of winter is too much for my constitution, but I could certainly spend a significant portion of my year out West and never grow tired of it.

The Significance of September

The late summer of early September is significant for my husband and me. Many major life events have occurred within days of each other for both of us, separately and together. If there weren’t so many tragedies it would be laughable.

Of note, my mother committed suicide on September 6, 2013. We left for Wyoming on Friday, September 5^th. Before we left for Jackson, I asked her to send me a clear, undeniable sign that she was with me. She often sends Vermont license plates, but she communicates in other ways, too, so I wasn’t attached to a specific sign. On Saturday, the 12^th anniversary of her death, I saw four separate cars with Vermont license plates (for reference: Vermont is 2,400 miles away). Hi, Mom.

That wasn’t the only gift she brought me this week.

Traveling during eclipse season always feels risky because the energy is so unpredictable, but this time around, I felt rooted in my authentic power, and it showed in our experience.

This trip was infused with magic: I was meeting animal messengers both new and familiar (corvids follow me everywhere, and in Wyoming the ravens led the way to every destination). I saw angel numbers multiple times daily as usual, and encountered synchronicities and kismet moments everywhere—including the most magical manifestation of a small, but long-held wish. But first, some context.

Braiding Sweetgrass

I first started reading Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer on September 4, 2021. To date, it’s still one of my favorite books. The themes and teachings resonate in my bones with such truth that I still think about it. (You can read my brief review on Goodreads.)

I wanted a copy of my own to reread. However, the interior designer in me was set on a hardcover—they just sit better on a shelf.

I looked for a copy casually for a few years and even considered ordering one online, but the first edition hardcovers were out of print and out of stock at major retailers and used ones were wildly overpriced.

But more importantly, I didn’t want to order a copy online from a warehouse. I wanted the satisfaction of discovering one in person, and the sensation I’d feel knowing I’d met my copy. I waited patiently, knowing it would come at the right time. It became a game with the Universe, which continued to present paperbacks, and used booksellers saying, “I just sold it yesterday,” or “I only have the Spanish version.”

Jackson Hole Book Trader

When we arrived in Jackson, I saw a pamphlet for the Jackson Hole Book Trader, a curator of new, used and rare books. I felt a little tingle of excitement. Was I finally going to manifest my copy?

Brad and I planned to take a break from hiking and go shopping on Sunday, but the bookstore was closed. On Monday we spent the entire day in Yellowstone. My last chance to visit was Tuesday before we flew out Wednesday morning.

We spent the morning exploring scenic stops in Grand Teton and planned to head into town for some last-minute souvenirs before retiring to our hotel to relax for the afternoon. To use our time most efficiently, I called the bookstore on our way back to Jackson to see if they had a copy. “I sure do!” said the owner. “What’s the name? I’ll hold it for you.”

I practically jumped out of my seat with elation, and then instantly regretted calling—it would have been even more satisfying to find it on the shelf myself as I’d imagined. But, as Brad pointed out, “You’re still getting a strong dopamine hit right now.” This is the perfect example of letting go of attachment to how a manifestation presents itself.

We drove to the bookstore, and I bought my copy—a new second edition hardcover.

Magic in Jackson Hole

What made this manifestation magical was knowing it was a gift from my mom. She’d traveled through Jackson on a road trip as a teen in the sixties. Decades later, her youngest daughter (my sister) would release some of her ashes into the wind on top of Corbett’s run overlooking the Jackson Hole valley. I would visit nearly two years later.

It feels meaningful and somewhat fated that the three of us are connected not only through our bloodline, but by the awe and wonder we each experienced in this sacred place—across different timelines.

The exact moment I heard the bookstore owner confirm he had a copy, a black SUV with a Vermont license plate pulled out directly in front of us. Brad pointed to the GPS. Our estimated arrival time was 11:11 a.m. I never expected she’d play a role in bringing this book to me, but I know it was her.

What’s more: As I wrote this, my photo library was still open on my computer from some early-morning editing. I glanced at the info of the image on the screen. I (unknowingly) took in on September 6^th at 11:11 a.m. Double underline. Exclamation point.

If that doesn’t prove that magic exists, I don’t how to convince you.