What not to do in Ketchum

 

 

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Sweetest Little Piece of Nowhere You Have Ever Seen is Right Here

Ketchum until tomorrow and then more south into the Great Basin. Yesterday drove through a mere hint of a couple of towns. Most of them hardly are still there. I noticed in one store I could get a rifle scope from the top shelf behind the cashier, or box of cartridges out of a cabinet in front of where she did business. I bought some jerky.

Woman in front of us in line explained she wasn’t going to be able to go to Portland, Oregon twice this summer. Friend had died since she’d visited and there just wasn’t enough money to go a second time.

Best I can tell the hay crop is coming in real good. All I saw for more than one hundred miles were hayfields. Most had been cut and baled. Some of the bigger operations had harvested enough to keep a long haul driver busy delivering the crop through the rest of the summer and right on through autumn.

It comes as something of a curiosity to find that a whole way of life is made around growing grass to feed livestock. I’ve bucked some hay onto the back of a truck more than my fair share. I’m not too worn down for the work, but don’t prefer it much now, at least not like I once did. Seemed to suit my youthful manhood to go out and toss those bales onto the back of a flatbed. I acted like I was making progress, that my life was better for the work.

People fly fish around here. Then there’s bow hunting for elk. Best I can do is pester birds for a good look; I’m a birdwatcher. Red tail caught me looking today. Almost time for afternoon drink. That’s about the long and short of it here.

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