Idaho

Idaho is one of those vast lands dotted with grand features of endless farms next to coniferous mountain ranges all laid out under an eternal sky that, when not heartbreakingly blue, struts its weather like no other. Rain clouds gather with the breathtaking grace Audrey Hepburn used to command the billowy skirts of her gown on the red carpet. Winds searing through the enduring prairies stir the soul like the long slow moan of a new lover across the light and shadow of spent bed sheets. And rain falls with the purr of a sleeping newborn, pure and clean and forgiving. I spent a few days in Idaho to visit my brother and in that short time, I was greeted by a little bit of all of that. Especially memorable was a long hike up to Stevens Lakes on the western side of the Bitterroot Mountains. Eric is a rugged, impatient kind of guy who ironically spends hours upon hours of his spare time photographing the minute and beautiful details of nature. We knelt at fungal altars of several brilliant mushroom species. We magnified with his macro lens the crystallized riddle of frost on fall leaves. We bushwacked our way to uncharted vistas that only poets and painters could replicate. There’s a sense of the wild still left in that corner of the west, plenty of room to distance yourself from civilization, even if it’s the Starbucks look-alike five miles from the nearest residence or the near empty parking lot at the mall. It’s that frontier essence that makes Eric ache when he sees densely packed developments spread their commercial loins across unspoiled territory. But enough remains of the vastness, so go, if you can, and soon. It may take a few more decades before it looks more like Los Angeles, but according to Eric, a little piece of its heart gets ripped out when another farm gets sold.