Fly Fishing, Flags & Fall

Since we've arrived in Idaho, I must confess that I still feel like I did in the seventh grade when I started attending a new school. It's awkward. You're trying to fit in, hoping people don't notice the big zit on the end of your nose. These days, it's hoping people don't notice I talk like I just walked off the set of Gone with the Wind. But, frankly, I ... digress.

This weekend, Janel and I headed north to Syringa, a small community nestled on the Clearwater River, to celebrate our five-year anniversary. Faith decided it wouldn't be fun staying home alone, so she decided to join us.

On our way up to Syringa, we made a pit stop in New Meadows, population: 543. While I am accustomed to watching Janel stop conversation in a room when she walks in, I'm not accustomed to having that happen for myself. But while trying to turn in my comment card at the BBQ joint we stopped at, I moseyed into the bar where four ranchers were yukking it up with the hostess. Suddenly, their laughing stopped and they all stared at me like I was a three-headed cow. I couldn't figure out why until I walked outside and looked down at my hands. Janel took this picture of me outside the restaurant. Can you figure out why they stopped talking?



It's probably not everyday they see a man with what appears to be a giant, fluffy pink purse. In fact, it's a floppy seat for Faith when she sits in a highchair, but I understand the confused looks now.

We drove for what seemed like forever. And I must admit that at 32 years old, I'm just now realizing how vast our planet is. Several years ago, I stood on the equator near Quito, Ecuador. On our road trip, we posed for this photo at the 45th parallel--halfway between the north pole and the equator.



When we finally arrived in Syringa at our cabin, the view was surreal. Wispy clouds had drifted down to our level and were climbing up the mountain. Check out a view of the mountains just above our cabin.



The last thing I noticed before we entered the house was the presence of a tattered Confederate flag flying on a fenced property near the cabins. I couldn't believe it!



Idaho didn't even receive statehood until 1890, so what in the world was this guy thinking by flying it high over his double-wide? Who knows.

And while you're probably bored--or still in shock that I would carry a giant, fluffy pink purse-looking contraption around--I'll just tantalize you with the topic of my next post: Janel's gift to me of a guided fly-fishing trip down the Clearwater River. Oh, the stories those guides tell!