St. Francisville
A storybook town on the bluffs above the Mississippi — Spanish moss and magnolias, porch swings and gas lamps, and the only real hills for a hundred miles. Two nights. Just us.
My Abby — for months you've carried all of us. The kids, the grading, every early morning and every late night, always for everyone else.
So I planned a weekend where the only thing on your schedule is being taken care of. Robyn and Chris have Austin, Lillian, Anna, and Jet. I have everything else.
No alarms. No essays to grade. No diapers. Just you, me, and forty-eight hours.
— Love, Phil
At a glance
Three perfect days
Tap any stop to peek at the menu, the trail, or the place itself.
Our (very romantic) rendezvous
Meet me in the CIS Zachary parking lot the moment I'm out of clinic — I'll be the one speed-walking to the car. The least glamorous launch pad for a getaway in recorded history, and precisely where ours begins.
Northbound
Thirty minutes up Highway 61 with the afternoon going gold in the bluffs — the exact moment the weekend stops being a secret and starts being ours.
Our room — the Iris Room
Named for Louisiana's wild blue iris: a four-poster king tucked upstairs, with windows over the courtyard pool and the forest beyond — and champagne already waiting. Nothing to do but settle in.
Dinner at The Saint
Downstairs, candlelight and white linen — Gulf seafood, the only craft cocktail bar in town, and a quiet corner table that's ours.
Slow breakfast
Coffee in the courtyard, nowhere to be.
Picnic from Basel's
We swing by Basel's Market up the street and pick out sandwiches and treats to carry into the hills.
Clark Creek waterfalls
A ~45-min drive to Clark Creek and its hidden falls — picnic in the pack, fall color, ravines, birdsong. We'll take the gentler path down to the water.
A massage, just for you
Your birthday treatment at the inn's spa. This hour is entirely yours — I'll be by the pool.
Birthday dinner at 1796
The big one. Wood-fired hearth dining inside the historic Myrtles plantation — candlelight, oak smoke, and you.
One more slow breakfast
No rush. The morning is ours until eleven.
Brunch at The Francis
Southern brunch on the way out of town — a soft landing before real life resumes.
Home to our littles
Rested, spoiled, and — if I've done this right — a little reluctant to leave.
Happy birthday,
my love.
You take care of everyone, always. For one weekend, let me take care of you.