Almost every year (and sometimes twice a year) my family and I make the pilgrimage from Orlando, Florida to Idaho (that side-ways pan shaped state near Washington, for those who aren't familiar).

Whenever the inevitable conversation of holiday plans comes up, people ask the usual, "Oh what are you doing for vacation?", and when I answer "headed to Idaho", the responses are in the realm of, "Why?", or "Do you have family there or something?" accompanied by scrunched eyebrows and confused expressions. My first defense is "visiting family" which often placates the uncomfortably quizzical looks. It's a completely sound purpose. But what I usually neglect to add to my defense is though I love the chance to see my aunt, uncle, cousins, grandparents, and assorted extended family members, there is more than just that waiting for me when I get off the plane each year. Sounds silly, I know. After all, what's in Idaho? Potatoes? No one ever talks about it, so it must be a dull place, right?

Well, as I write this, Im sitting in a log cabin by a wood-burning stove, looking out at a forest coated in a thick blanket of snow, which is growing as a light sprinkling continually floats from the thin purple clouds spanning over the mountains in the distance. A five minute walk from me, there is a gorgeous little ski town with an ice skating rink, several wonderful coffee shops, a couple great restaurants, and warm shops to pass the time when my toes start to go numb from walking through the winter wonderland. My dad, brother, uncle, aunt, and one of my cousins are skiing at the resort that no one besides the locals seem to have discovered.

When we visit in the summer, we are met with blue skies, 70-degree weather, and wildflowers everywhere as we hike through the green forests hunting for massive waterfalls and hidden caves. Now, as I sit and watch the snow, I'm in awe of the perfect postcard waiting right outside. And even better: it's our secret. No one knows about our unexpected haven. Everyone just thinks, "who goes to Idaho?" and we go on enjoying our untouched paradise.

Yesterday, my cousins, brother and I made a BB8 snowman in the front drive of our cabin. Later in the evening, we had a snow ball fight to rival some of the greatest battles in history, and I retired to the house out of breath and frozen through. By the lake at the center of town, I had one of my first sledding experiences (I went backwards by accident and eventually fell off into a very large pile of snow) and got to watch my brother and cousins tear up the hills.

Some of the experiences here may seem the norm if your accustomed to snowy winters, but as a born and raised Florida girl, all of this is like a fairytale. And even if you are accustomed to snow winters and mountains, I'm sure very few have experienced any of it like this. In Idaho, the landscape is largely untouched, so its normal to find huge sloping rocks jutting from the mountains, rivers winding uninhibited between the hills, giant pines growing everywhere at their leisure, dotted with moss and framed by flowers in the summer, capped by perfect dollops of sparkling snow in the winter.

Perhaps it would seem counterintuitive of me to reveal this secret now, but as my writing reaches a somewhat limited audience, I think I'm safe in flaunting our beautiful discovery. And it is beautiful. As a writer, I'm inspired again and again by the magical edge of the scenery as the sun touches the snow in the trees. "True winter" they call it up here. As I sip my tea and watch the snow falling from the warm corner of our cabin, I understand why. And I'm both honored and inspired to be allowed to experience it.