40 Years Together, One Beautiful Trail Ahead

Forty years together is both a milestone and a mosaic—formed from thousands of shared days, challenges weathered, and quiet celebrations. Through it all, one truth has become clear: we are soulmates, not because we always walk an easy path, but because our souls recognize something essential in one another. There’s a sign in our bedroom that says it best, a gentle reminder that souls don’t worry over calendars, clocks, or miles. Souls simply know when it feels right.

A soulmate isn’t someone who slips into your life quietly. Soulmates arrive to shake things up, to challenge, change, and expand who you are. They break open your heart so light can get in, and in doing so, they help you become better—together.

The years have shown us that relationships aren’t built on easy days, but on facing the storms and standing side by side, even when tempers flare or tears fall. We haven’t always managed our hardest days with perfect love and care, but we’ve faced each one as a pair, always finding our way back to each other.

What endures is the choice—day after day, year after year—to hold on, fight for, and nurture the life we’ve made. From launching a business when we were too young to know better, to raising three remarkable boys, to carving out new adventures in retirement, every chapter has shaped us. Building our tiny home, starting another business, creating time to travel, cherishing moments with our grandsons—each is another brushstroke in our story.

So, as we arrived in Utah late at night to celebrate forty years—just the two of us, waking the next morning to the first snow of the season —it felt like the perfect beginning to another adventure. And we're hoping it's the beginning of another chapter in our journey that we will continue for many years - together.

Park City

We started our morning at Five Seeds, an Australian-inspired café is known for its creative brunch dishes, and focus on fresh, nutrient-packed foods. The restaurant’s décor is lively and welcoming, with plenty of greenery and a casual vibe.

After breakfast, we set out to explore and wound up hiking the Daly Trail.

It was peaceful stepping into the clear, brisk morning after a fresh snowfall. The trail and mining area were empty in the early morning. The world felt quiet, the air crisp, with the trees shimmering beneath their bright, white coats. The trail wound gently into Daly Canyon, the beginning of Park City's mining history, where echoes of the past sit quietly as part of the landscape.

As we climbed higher, relics from the 19th century appeared—a tapestry of mine entryways, old rail car tracks leading into shadowed corridors, and stone walls dusted in snow. We paused often, capturing photographs of these remnants of Park City’s silver rush era.

Streams snaked around stones, their water flowing steadily along banks edged in ice and frost, offering up tranquil moments in contrast to the rugged history surrounding us.​

Being here—just us, with snow muffling every sound—felt like a celebration of both adventure and reflection. Each turn of the trail invited gratitude for this time together, for shared histories, and for the beauty in rediscovering places that hold both the echoes of others and our own footsteps.​

We spent the afternoon on Park City's famous Main Street and it was the perfect mix of charm and fun — an afternoon of pub hopping, browsing quirky boutiques, and soaking in the lively mountain-town atmosphere. Every stop offered something a little different, and wandering the historic street together made the whole experience feel relaxed, festive, and memorable.

We opted for a casual dinner near our hotel at the Boneyard Saloon which we found to have an an easy mountain-casual feel. The inside blended rustic wood with industrial touches, and big open seating that made it feel both spacious and cozy. The pizza was delicious.

Weber Canyon

We started our second day before the sun really got going by driving out through Oakley and Kamas and then into Weber Canyon.

Morning always feels sharp in the mountains, and the road wound beside the river in a quiet way that made us want to sip our coffee and snuggle by a fire.

The fall colors were showing off in all their glory.

By the time we climbed toward the Smith and Morehouse Reservoir the air was thin and cold, and everything still, silent and serene.

We are still talking about how peaceful it felt there.

The reservoir itself felt like a hidden pocket of calm. It sits high up in the Wasatch, long and narrow, tucked between the ridgelines. The lake was surrounded by fresh snow, bright enough to make us squint, and the whole place seemed far away from anything hurried or loud.

There’s a feeling of old stories in that canyon. We learned that long before any of the small towns in the valley existed, the Ute people traveled this corridor, following the river before roads ever carved their way through. Later came the tie-hackers — men who lived and worked deep in the mountains, cutting timber and shaping railroad ties by hand. The reservoir carries the names of two of them, Smith and Morehouse, a reminder that people once worked these slopes with nothing but tools, grit, and the river to float their handiwork downstream.

Driving back out, it was easy to imagine all of that woven into the landscape — the quiet early morning, the cold air, the steep, snowy hills — layers of history we didn't necessarily see but somehow felt.

Salt Lake City & Jack's Mountain

Saturday morning, we headed back toward Salt Lake City, aiming for an early morning hike up Jack's Mountain to Jack's Mailbox Peak, a steep little crest tucked right into the foothills above Salt Lake City. The trail heads up fast — no gentle warm-up, just a straight shot toward the ridge — and before long the whole valley opened up behind us.

The trail itself was exposed, weaving past scrub and rock with nothing but blue above us. It’s part of the Wasatch Range. At the top, we reached Jack’s Mailbox, a simple pair of mailboxes filled with journals and letters left by hikers. It began as a memorial for Jack Edwards, a young boy who died in 1995, and over the years it’s become a quiet place where strangers write down whatever they’re carrying.

From the ridge above Salt Lake City, the whole valley felt like it was unfolding at our feet. The city sits in a clean grid, buildings catching the light like scattered glass, while the neighborhoods stretch calmly toward the base of the mountains.

Farther out, the Great Salt Lake fills the horizon — wide and pale. The distant islands look like dark silhouettes floating just above the surface, and the shoreline fades into open sky so gently that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

It’s the kind of view that makes the whole landscape feel both enormous and peaceful, and it was that view that set the rest of the day in motion: after seeing the Great Salt Lake from the peak, we had to go see it up close.

Someone along the trail had recommended breakfast at Over the Counter Cafe, which just fit the bill as we were starving after our hike. I had the BLT and Spencer had something called a Train Wreck, both featuring their version of sliced hash brown potatoes - a MUST TRY!

Antelope Island State Park

As soon as we finished eating, we headed to Antelope Island State Park, anxious to see Salt Lake and hoping for a glimpse of the bison we read roamed wild in the park.

Once we arrived into the park, The Great Salt Lake stretched out like a sheet of hammered silver, shimmering under the wide Utah sky.

It felt less like a lake and more like a quiet inland sea, strange in the most beautiful way.

As we drove deeper into the park, that stillness gave way to one of the most unforgettable sights of the trip: Antelope Island’s bison herd.

Massive, majestic, and startlingly close, they grazed along the roadside beside the great salt lake and wandered across the rolling golden hills we hiked through.

Watching them move—slow, steady, absolutely unbothered by our presence—felt like stepping into a piece of the American West that somehow survived untouched.

It was one of those rare moments in travel when nature doesn’t just appear in front of you; it humbles you. We watched them for hours, and we could have stayed for days.

Fielding Garr Ranch

Before heading out, we stopped by the Fielding Garr Ranch, a national historical marker which took us on an incredible historical tour of frontier history through buildings, shops and among farm equipment dating back to the 1850s.

We headed home to find dinner and as we drove, we read that no trip to Salt Lake City would be complete without a stop at Red Iguana, the legendary spot made famous by Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, so we decided to give it a try.

Tucked into an unassuming building just outside downtown, it’s the kind of place where you wonder if you should enter, until you notice the line wraps around the block. Every minute was worth the wait.

The moment we walked in, we were hit with an unmistakable Red Iguana energy—bright colors on the walls, the clatter of plates, the smell of chiles and spices drifting from the kitchen. It felt like stepping into a celebration.

The whole meal was a parade of bold, comforting flavors, the kind of food that makes you instantly understand why this place has a cult following. And we ate every single one of those incredible sopapillas.

It was the perfect mix of local charm and unforgettable food, and by the time we left, we were already talking about what we’d order next time—because there will definitely be a next time. If you find yourself in Salt Lake City - this place is a must visit.

The next morning, we headed home.

The years have taken us through so many versions of ourselves—young parents raising three boys on grit and hope, leaders in management and education, and business owners, learning as we went, partners weathering the hard days and celebrating the beautiful ones. And now, grandparents, with time to enjoy each other once again, carving out new adventures in a season of life we once only imagined.

Driving back, we found ourselves talking about bathroom configurations, countertops, and the final projects waiting for us in our tiny home. It made me smile, because these are the same kinds of conversations we’ve had our whole lives—building, dreaming, creating something together from the ground up. It’s just who we are. Soulmates not because the road has always been easy, but because no matter what chapter we’ve been in, we've chosen to walk it side by side.

After forty years, we’ve learned that the best adventures are rarely the fancy ones. They’re the ones where we build something, explore, laugh, wander, eat too much, make a wrong turn or two, and end up with another story to tuck into our growing collection.

And now? It’s back to staining boards, installing lights, and building the little life we love—until the road calls again.