A Wake for Tammy

The drive home from Tamarack was clouded by a sense of loss that coffee in Cascade couldn't kick. It had been overcast all day, but as we drove south the sky darkened, finally breaking into a downpour souring the mood further.

In the winter, coming back into Boise from the hills so often is like dropping into Mexico City or Los Angeles. An inversion hangs over the city, and in it is trapped all the funk of the city, a pea soup of automobile exhaust, wood smoke and foul of half a million valley denizens. You taste it. Before you hit the valley floor you'd swear you smoked half a pack of cigarettes.

But not this afternoon. This afternoon we crested the hill and sun broke through the clouds with a God ray. Behind us alpenglow ignited the hillside. I may be grasping at straws here, but I'll take it for a good omen.


Godsmack and snowplows


Hoarfrosted sage


Alpenglow

Back in the valley some good friends organized a wake for Tamarack and seeing as I was the only one of the group to make the trip up for closing day, they did me the dubious honor of asking me to lead the toast. I bungled it horribly, but at least everyone laughed (well almost everyone... I was only kidding D and A&R, I'm jealous truth be told).