How can travel turn the lonesome broodings of confusions to the small findings of solitude? In the western landscape, how do we leave word for each other, we travelers and citizens of places known by few? What are the gifts of the landscape itself- the desert's dazzle, fragrance, storm, and stars? How might these heal sorrow? In this book, a crisis of marriage and identity sends a traveler out along the Lochsa Road from Oregon , to seek the healing solitudes of the moutains and deserts of Idaho, Montana and Wyoming. this pilgrim meets the rancher who has made his peace with hate, the oldest Rotarian, the saint of the homeless, and a woman who would be alone,.
I wish I was wordy enough to narrate a basic road trip into somewhat of a verbose personal treatise like this. The author’s business is words however and he is quite imaginative. The story also takes place in familiar country for me. A couple of humorous passages keep us grounded and help us relate to the story. Being attacked by ticks at Colgate Salt Lick and noting there should be no vegetarians in Montana, Idaho and Wyoming had me chuckling.
For Idaho Day book club at my library. Started out in my neck of the woods so that's great. Lyrical and reminded me somewhat of a fugue state. I think William Least-Heat Moon did this better with Blue Highways. Overall interesting, especially for the local area/history.