The day was sunny and warm and we were hiking in shirtsleeves. All around us Mother Nature had chosen extravagant splashes of yellow for her spring canvas, showing that--in her artistic estimation-- subtlety is for sissies.
Arrowleaf Balsam Root, once used as medicine by Native Americans, was fairly glowing in the light of the high desert as we hiked a trail along a fast-moving river. Mountains towered above us and we could see snow up high, snow that even as we walked was melting and feeding the river.
“What does this smell like?” Leah asked, handing me a bit of some green plant.
“Salad?” I replied.
“No, it smells like Eastern Washington,” she said, and I knew that of course she was right. Western Washington, where we live, is wet, green, and largely urban. Eastern Washington, where we hike today and have been visiting for a long weekend, is rain-shadowed by the Cascade mountains. Years ago we lived on this side of the range. It is more of a desert here, a place where sage covers the wild ground and the scent of it fills the air. Thanks to a vast irrigation system, this land is agriculturally abundant. Some very fine wines come from Eastern Washington.
The two sides of the state could not be more different. The west side is lattes and Lexus. The east side is Built Ford Tough, more Old West. You shake a man’s hand here, you better offer a firm grip or risk feeling like your fingers have been crushed in a vise.
When we finished our hike and drove into a small town for lunch, I noticed that someone had used an old pair of work-worn cowboy boots as “bling” on a storage shed. It was a scene that I could photograph and feel like I’d found a fitting visual ending to our trip.
I wouldn't mind owning a pair of them boots.
