Yup. There was some snow in Montana.

Oh my WORD we are home now and MAN did we ski the PANTS off of Montana.

No pants in this picture. Only tongues and teeth. AND SNOW.

Also, I never want to get in a car again. Or truck. Because driving from NorCal all the way to Whitefish, Montana, which by the way is almost in friggen Canada, is like, a really long way to drive.

Around 24 hours each way when you take into account all the snow storms we'd been praying for and all of the ridiculous interstate closures that we'd been praying against.

Not that closures can stop the likes of us, four snow blind idiots with ski fever and a dog who's sick and effing tired of being super good curled up in her dog bed while we play endless games of Hay! and Cows On My Side and eat gas station delicacies without sharing.

If you have not had Cheddar Cheese Pretzel Combos from a gas station in the middle of nowhere YOU HAVE NOT LIVED. A life I'd want to live anyway.

Though she does get the occasional french fry and hamburger remnant. I mean, I'm not a total jerk dog mom after all. But the novelty of a few french fries wears off when your fuzzy ass has been wedged into the truck for 18 hours in a day.

I'm sick of sitting IN the dog bed, so now I shall sit ON the dog bed.

Poor girl, she worked really hard on her I'm The Best And Yet Also Sometimes Dragon Breath Havingest Dog On The Planet routine.

I daresay that, upon arrival, she was appropriately appreciative and excited for snow though.

I'M NEVER GETTING BACK INTO THE TRUCK YAY!

And, yes, we were quite excited ourselves.

Let's make with the skiing and riding and such already! Also, nerds.

It was difficult not to be out of our minds with glee all fucking week. Particularly since we arrived to find lots of fresh snow on the ground, zero people on the mountain and our cabin located ON THE SKI RUN.

Welcome to the skiing in and out place.

Bubba really kicked some magic ass on this trip planning, is what I'm saying. I mean, I think this guy - my beloved - can see the future, when it comes to snow anyway.

Because somehow SOME WAY he managed, last year in February after we returned from another mind-blowingly awesome ski trip to our as yet favorite place in the whole world to ski, Steamboat Springs, CO, to randomly and future seeingly book our 2012 ski trip to the Who's Ever Heard Of This Place Anyway Big Mountain Resort in Whitefish, Montana.

Well, that's not 100% true - we *had* heard of it in the sense that I'd gotten Bubba a hat from the place for whatever early on anniversary calls for cotton as a gift and we'd been sort of vaguely entertaining the idea of some time visiting there, BUT PAST THAT -- never heard of it.

Yet somehow, this snow future seeing man, booked a week at this magical place and then, when the rest of the continental US had FUCK ALL for snow, Montana managed to get FEET.

Good morning, Californians, this is what we in Montana call Proper Snow.

There was genuine excitement.

And genuine frosted mountains.

And genuine frozen faces.

Frozen into deliriously happy smiles, that is.

You can't tell, but she's smiling. BIG.

Bottom of the snow covered sign reads, "GO HOME".

 And so, we skied. And rode. And basked in the glory that is fresh powder, beautiful mountains, nonexistent lift lines and a week with just good friends and the dog.

For one minute, we behave.

Super easiest couple to find on the mountain.

Even in the fog.

Jada just wanted to find chipmunks. ALL OF THEM.

Don't worry, there was silliness.

And some drinking.

And pretending that we're sober so they'll keep serving us...

...absinth.

And then there was some more silliness.

I think it's fair to say that we loved Montana and will be going back. Just as soon as we can justify taking another vacation. Which won't be super soon, but eventually...we'll be back.

And then he said, "Let there be snow for Finny and Bubba."

Meanwhile, I've ordered seeds for the garden and am planning on the first hive inspection of spring, so we'll be shifting our gaze from snow to garden in 5, 4, 3, 2...