It’s Easy, Right? By Michael K. Edwards It can be chilly around the middle of October in southern Idaho’s Magic Valley. At six in the morning, before the sun has come over the horizon, it can be downright
The Firearm As Tool By Dwight Sutton In the years of this story, from 1910 to 1950, in Arco and elsewhere in Idaho, guns and shooting were part of our everyday life. Not a large part, but nonetheless
Ed Duren’s Hall of Fame Career By Bill Corbett When I first saw Edward Paul Duren sitting at his desk in the University of Idaho’s Caribou County Agricultural Extension Office, my initial thought was, “I didn’t know the
Across the Deepest Canyon By Pete Wilson In early spring of 1953, my Uncle Allen and Aunt Hazel needed to have a small herd of horses moved across the Snake River in Hells Canyon. They had sold their
But Where Did It Land? Story and Photos by Carolyn White The snow was knee-high and each step was a struggle. Pausing to catch my breath, I muttered, “Okay, I give up. Where’d you drop it, Ray?” Half-blinded
A prominent mountain northeast of Mountain Home, seen on the left as you pass through the outskirts of town on I-84 eastbound, bears the name Bennett Mountain. Scores of my cousins and second cousins and their children recount with pride that the mountain was named for Richard Bennett, our ancestor.
I grew up in Mountain Home and don’t remember any of the locals or family members ever questioning the origin of the mountain’s name. It was named after my great-grandfather who ran sheep there a hundred and thirty-five years ago . . . or was it? Continue reading
My friend Regina and I hang back a bit from Owyhee County rancher Paul Nettleton and his hands. As long-time endurance riders, we don’t quite fit in with the ranching crowd: we’re riding Arabians, and our horses wear endurance saddles. Continue reading
Some of my fondest memories are of riding my horse through the sagebrush on our family ranch, which sat between Shoshone and Richfield. Recently, when I went back to visit our ranch, I flashed on images of my father walking down a dirt path next to the Little Wood River wearing a white shirt, straw cowboy hat, and a shovel perched on his right shoulder. Continue reading
As I made my way to the band, I consoled myself. You’ve done the right thing. You’ve done the right thing. Hector would have abandoned the lamb, too. Continue reading
Here’s an image of the upper sheep pasture of our property near Challis. When I drove there on a recent evening to feed our Pyrenees guard dogs, Benny and Bobby, I discovered a ewe off by herself suffering from mastitis. Continue reading
