We reached Ellen and Tim’s place just before dinner, the same easy timing we’d had in Dayton. Before anything else, we unloaded the car — bags, coolers, and all the food we’d brought for the visit. One cooler was packed full of champagne mangoes, the kind so sweet and soft they practically melt. They hadn’t tasted them before, but I knew they would be a hit.

We carried in the ingredients for the Filipino dishes we planned to cook together, along with the fresh tomatoes our neighbors Cora and Rene had sent with us. It felt good to arrive with something to share, and even better knowing we’d have time to cook and eat together over the next few days.

Once everything was inside and tucked away, the pace softened. Their backyard was quiet and open, the kind of space where the sky feels bigger. We sat outside for a while, watching the clouds drift and the birds move through the evening light, catching up in that familiar way that only happens with people you’ve known since the 70s. Inside, dinner was already simmering on the stove — Ellen moving around the kitchen with her calm rhythm, Tim nearby, everything feeling settled and welcoming.

We didn’t rush into plans that first night. We just enjoyed their company, the backyard breeze, and the comfort of being with people who’ve been part of my life for so many decades.

🌉 Twin Falls — BASE Jumpers and a Change of Plans

The next morning, we decided to drive out toward Shoshone Falls in Twin Falls. The plan was simple — see the falls, enjoy the view, and make a relaxed afternoon of it. But plans have a way of shifting in the best possible ways.

As we crossed the Perrine Bridge, Ellen and Tim suddenly spotted BASE jumpers climbing over the railing and leaping toward the Snake River, each one aiming for the little circle or target marked below.

We pulled over and ended up spending more time than expected watching jumper after jumper float down toward the river. Some drifted gracefully, some spun a little in the air, and every single one made our hearts lift just a bit.

Then Ellen and I decided to go for a little shopping, hunting for silver ribbon for my hair; yes, I am still in the braid era! While we browsed, Jay and Tim wandered across the street to watch the jumpers get ready, chatting with a few of them and taking in the whole scene from a different angle.

By the time we all met back up, the afternoon had slipped away. It was getting too late to make it to the falls, so we decided to save that for another visit and instead found a cute little restaurant nearby for a quick bite.

On the drive back to Mountain Home, Ellen pulled out her phone and, with her usual calm efficiency, made the reservations for our next day’s adventure — river rafting. By the time we reached their house, our early‑morning plans were officially set.

🍲 Cooking Together — Pansit, Adobo, and Mangoes

Once home, we rolled up our sleeves and started chopping vegetables, getting everything ready for our dinner of pansit and chicken adobo. The kitchen filled with the familiar smells of garlic, soy, and simmering broth, and the evening settled into that easy rhythm that only happens with old friends — cooking together, laughing, and feeling grateful for the kind of day that unfolds exactly the way it wants to. We sliced up a few of the champagne mangoes too,and it knew they would be a hit

🚣‍♀️ Rafting Day — Mountain Home, Idaho

We were all up early the next morning, the house still quiet except for the soft clatter of coffee cups and the hum of the coffeemaker. Breakfast was simple — leftovers from the day before and a couple more slices of those mangoes. Once everyone had their fill of coffee, off we went.

When we arrived at the rafting center, we were thrilled to learn that it would be just the four of us in our raft — no strangers, no crowd, just our little group and a guide who immediately won us over. His name was Aidan, charming in that effortless, genuine way that makes you think he’s exactly the kind of young man you’d want your daughter to marry.

At the riverbank, Aidan gave us our instructions — how to paddle, how to lean, how to listen for his calls. Then we carried our raft down to the water, the cool air rising off the river as we stepped in.

The ride started out easy, almost gentle. The raft glided along the surface, and for a moment it felt like we were simply floating through a quiet morning. But rivers have their own personality, and before long we hit the first set of bumps — small at first, then bigger, splashing up and over the sides until all of us were soaked. We laughed through every hit, holding tight to our paddles as the raft bounced and dipped.

Aidan kept encouraging us to ride shotgun — that front position where you take the brunt of every wave — but none of us were willing to take a chance. We were brave, but not that brave. Each time he asked, we just smiled and shook our heads, and he laughed right along with us.

As we floated closer to the end of our run, Aidan started chatting about food. He told us about a little place along our route that served soft‑serve huckleberry ice cream, the kind you remember long after you’ve finished it. He mentioned that he had recently taken his girlfriend there for a treat, and the way he talked about it made all of us smile.

After we wrapped up, dried off, and climbed back into the car, we headed toward Mountain Home. Somewhere along the way, Tim spotted the little place Aidan had mentioned, tucked off the road just enough that you’d miss it if you weren’t looking. We pulled in without hesitation.

It turned out to be the best ice cream we’ve ever tasted — cold, creamy, perfectly sweet with that bright huckleberry flavor. The kind of treat that makes you pause for a moment just to enjoy it. I still think about it, and I know Ellen and Tim will stop by for a scoop or two the next time they drive through that area.

🌙 A Quiet Day and a Night Under the Stars

The next day was a quiet one — the kind of day you only get when you’re staying with old friends. We rested, did a few chores around the house, did laundry, and prepared for our departure the following day. The plan was to spend the evening at the Bruneau Dunes Observatory to stargaze and see what planets were visible that night.

Before heading out that evening, Ellen and Tim prepared smoked salmon for dinner, perfectly seasoned and cooked just right. We had it with a delicious baked potato, and my only contribution to the meal — grilled lettuce salad. It was simple, fresh, and so good.

When we arrived at the observatory, there were several telescopes, each one pointed at something different — planets, clusters, distant stars. At one point, we even saw the International Space Station streak across the sky. It was another memorable evening, quiet and beautiful, the kind that stays with you long after the trip is over.

Afterward, we headed back to their home for the night, feeling that soft ache that comes when you know it’s your last evening together for a while — grateful for the time we’d had, and already missing it a little.

🌅 Departure Morning

The next morning, we sat outside with our coffee, enjoying the cool air and the quiet one last time. It was the kind of simple moment that feels bigger when you know you’re leaving soon. After a while, we went inside and enjoyed a wonderful breakfast Ellen prepared — easy, comforting, and just right for our final morning together.

After breakfast, we did our last‑minute packing. Then, with hugs and that familiar mix of gratitude and a little sadness, we headed out toward our third stop — Vancouver, Washington.