Before Barbed Wire

One of the first things I noticed upon moving back to the lower 48 were all the fences. Fence line upon fence line upon fence line… There were fences everywhere it seemed. Yes, this area has a fair bit of livestock, mostly cows and horses, the random herd of llamas. Hay farming is big here too. Sheep are allowed to graze in the National Forests governed by sheepdogs, overseen by men who speak little, if any, English. That’s weird to me, but not so much to those who’ve lived here long.

I grew up in agricultural country. Farmsteads dotted the countryside of the Great Northwoods, the northern Wisconsin of my youth. Fields of corn. There were fences there too, but not as many as here it seems. Lots of woodsy forest too, albeit most of it privately owned.

When I landed in Skagway, Alaska back in 2001, one of the greatest aspects of that area is its bountiful Nature. Miles upon miles of untouched, magnificent mountains and valleys, glaciers and seashore. Abundant beauty. And very few fences. That’s because Skagway is surrounded by National Park and National Forest. There’s an extensive trail system extending from the town and neighboring area of Dyea. I loved exploring the coastal region there. Even the one paved road going out of town, into British Colombia (ever so briefly) and then into Canada’s Yukon Territory had few fences. Many places you could literally pull over and walk into the incredible Boreal Forest—of course, you also need to be aware of where you can actually do this.

Here in Idaho, I felt fenced out. Where could I go to get into Nature? Here creek is pronounced crick and instead of peony being pee-Ah-nee it was pee-OH-nee. Lava Hot Springs is not lava like the volcanic flow, but LaHva…that’s how you know the tourists from the locals, their pronunciation…Here, I felt like the stranger I was.