This is church...

A few years ago, we packed up the fly rods and headed out to explore some new territory, one fly stream at a time. Our last experience was floating Henry's Fork, a branch of the Snake River that runs on the Idaho side of two magnificent national parks: Yellowstone and Grand Teton.

Darby, our fishing guide, grew up in my home state, and bolted for the mountains as soon as he was old enough. He lives for fishing and hunting, and there's nowhere else he wants to be than exactly where he is, in the middle of the stunning Idaho mountains.

At one point as we drifted, the only sounds the river and the fly lines soaring out to touch down on the water, an eagle flew overhead. And Darby looked out over his world, and smiled at me. "This is church," he said. "This is why I choose to live here."

. . .

I thought of Darby today, when we stopped to visit a waterfall on the north edge of another magnificent national park: Olympic. As we walked back toward the MX-5, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw this amazing grove of ancient maple trees. The only sound was the wind blowing gently through bare branches, and the hollow in the circle of trees beckoned to me. And I knew exactly what Darby was talking about, all those years ago.

p.s. Just a note about the color of green in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. At the end of winter, when spring is still a fervent wish, green is olive green moss and grey-green lichen, and green grass just starting to grow. It is not emerald green, ever. As spring starts to burst forth, with the first blush of new leaves barely showing on the tips of the deciduous branches, the color subtly shifts toward brighter colors. I am so tired of seeing over-processed, fake color photographs of the evergreen forests of the Northwest. Just saying.