Sorry, Idaho. It's not you and your familiar Blackfootahoans, IdahoFallseons, or even your Rexburgites. You have lovely amber waves of grain stubble, sweeping winds, and humble ways with water. But I've grown accustomed to almost diabolically different living--more than climate but ROUTINES.
Yep, Indeed. Patterns of time soothe my soul, rock my world, and are the muse I sing to in the shower.
I digress.
But they for sure effect my babies at least, and we're all trying to trust again.
And we have safely recovered from the driving, including seeing the ladies restrooms of at least 20 highway-side-and-questionable establishments.
More joyfully and importantly, we got our quota of the Gem State, courtesy of those we love, including the grandpa that let his little guest of honor do whatEVER she wanted.
Please note that the pictures subject the adventures of said honorable guest (because, of course, when you're two, operating semi-heavy machinery is the highlight of your life).
Welcome to Idaho!
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