Idaho, Bonner's Ferry

It takes a long time to get from town to town out here.  But it’s never boring; the scenery is almost beyond our ability to appreciate.

We reached Bonner’s Ferry shortly before 6pm on June 30th.  That’s 9pm Ohio time.  I’m still not quite acclimated so it feels like Ohio to my not-so-young body.  We’re staying at The Log Inn, same place as last time we were here.  The Pine trees surrounding the property are mature trees now, not the saplings we left behind a decade ago.  A beautiful place, I was glad to see the charming little tables on the porch that stretched from one end of the building to the other.  When we were here eleven years ago one of my favorite things was sitting on that porch to read.

The day after we arrived I got a text from one of my sisters, on her way from West Virginia by train with three of my other siblings along with an assortment of spouses and adult children.  They had debarked in Libby, Montana, she told me, and there was only one available rental car in the whole town.  A car too small to hold the nine people in their party.  They had reserved it before their arrival and, as is still the way in some small towns, it was left at the station for them, with the keys hidden inside the gas tank access.  I was thinking if anyone tried to steal fuel they would find a bonus vehicle theirs for the taking, but then what do I know. 

Since there was no way they could all pack in for an hour-long trip to Bonner’s Ferry, five of the travelers stayed in a small hotel in Libby for the night.   When they went to check out the next day no one was around to take their money except the maid.  After repeated and unsuccessful attempts to figure out the credit card machine she said, “I’d go wake up the owner but he’s probably still sleeping.”  It was approaching noon. Taking pity on her and not wanting to wait until “the owner” decided to rise and shine they paid cash. Wade and Paul had agreed to drive over with the van and deliver them to Bonner’s Ferry and so they did.

It’s been more than a week since we arrived in Bonner’s Ferry and time really does fly when you’re having fun.  In spite of the unusually hot weather with temps in the high 90s our time with family at the Byler Reunion was filled with the making of many new memories.  Family gathered from the northern-most point of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, from southern Florida, and from many points in between.  They came by plane, train, automobile, and motor home.  The Arizona crew came on motorcycles.  The Shaw Islanders hitched a ride by ferry. Since we seldom see each other save at these once-every-three-years reunions there was plenty of catching-up to do.

Idaho is one of my favorite places. Our cousins who live there own a secluded campground set deep into the woods with a backdrop of Canadian mountains.  Rustic cabins and a clean shower-house were available for those of us okay with primitive lodging.  Camper sites and a large pavilion with giant fire pit and kitchen were nestled among the trees.  Hidden in the woods a zip-line reached across a ravine so filled with giant pines I never did see how far I would have fallen had something let loose.  I only slammed my foot into a tree once so it was well worth the ride.  Also hidden to the casual observer was an amphitheater, set into a natural hillside and surrounded by more pines. A covered stage at the bottom was a perfect setting for nightly gatherings filled with music and family stories. 

On the first day of the reunion the festivities got off to a good start with a home-cooked supper followed by two days of music in the amphitheater, thrills on the zip-line, carriage rides around the grounds (my cousin James brought a matched team of snow-white horses hitched to a carriage,) food, food and more food, and general gaiety all around.

But the most fun of all was catching up with my cousins from all over the continent.  Well, technically, even beyond.  One of them lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia.  And someone was there from Chile as well.  With over seventy first-cousins, just on my mother’s side, it’s not uncommon to need introductions to the descendants that continue to expand the genealogical tree. I think I could name all the actual first cousins.  Maybe. But not all the spouses and children, grand-children, and yes, great-grandchildren.  I remember back in the day when I was a kid, when all my aunts and uncles were there.  Reminding me of my mortality, one by one, each of them has passed on with only three spouses still remaining.  Only one was there this year, the other two not able to travel the great distances required.

After the reunion was officially over, several of us stayed a few days more.  One of my cousin’s sons, Jevon, rounded up four-wheelers for a trek up one of the local mountains.  I opted to stay behind since the 100 degree heat wasn’t as appealing as my air-conditioned hotel room. Paul, Wade, John, Jevon and Jevon’s wife Priscilla left after breakfast on Saturday.  They said they’d be back by noon but it was well after 2pm.

As they told it, Wade lost his glasses on the way up when a branch slapped them off his face.  Not stopping to look for them they made their way to the top where an old gold mine yielded up a small nugget for Paul, fool’s gold as it turned out.  On the way back down Wade stopped to search for the missing eye-glasses and miracle of miracles, found them.  “I had a little talk with the Lord,” Wade told me, “and I tried to remember how I reacted when the branch hit me.”  Reliving his movements and retracing his steps he looked down and there they were, by the side of the trail waiting to be picked up. God is good.

Further along down the trail, Wade passed a stick jutting into his path and heard a sudden “whoosh” of air.  His front left tire was flat.  It appeared undamaged except for the now missing valve stem. Jevon and John had sped off long ago, leaving Paul and Wade in the dust. Paul soon noticed that Wade was no longer behind him so he turned back (as is the rule for activities of this sort – riders are responsible for the person behind them).  He found Wade with his deflated tire parked along the trail.

After waiting for the others to come back but with no signs of anyone coming up the trail, Paul set out to look for them. With turn-offs along the trail and concerned he would lose his way he finally turned back, before he was hopelessly lost.  Jevon did come back to search for them and rode the crippled four-wheeler down, standing to one side and taking the weight off the flat tire.  He delivered Paul, John, and Wade back to the hotel, dirty and tired but glad they did it.  For my part, I was okay with just hearing about it.

Our Arizona cousins had rented a house at Twin Rivers campground about seven miles out of Bonner’s Ferry.  How anyone managed to get their campers down that narrow gravel road covered with dust and loose gravel, numerous switchbacks and sheer drop-offs is beyond my understanding.  It was hair-raising enough in the van.  Sheer cliffs surrounded the camp, which was invisible from the main road.  Once at the bottom we found the only house, a lovely place at the far edge of the camp, situated along a lake and surrounded by mountain ranges.  A train meandered past on the far side of the water and a bear appeared for a moment below the tree line before disappearing into the woods again; we sat on the deck and tried to soak it all in.

These particular cousins had owned a restaurant near Phoenix for years and it showed.  A picnic table was spread with appetizers.  Mouthwatering ribs were barbecuing on the grill.  There was corn on the cob, garlic mashed potatoes, and salad.  We had brought pies from a local grocery store.  We ate, we talked, we told stories, we ate, we watched videos taken while zip lining, and we ate some more.  Even though it was Independence Day we opted out of fireworks in town.  Eventually we forced ourselves to say our goodbyes and left.