The River

The headwaters of the Salmon River empty into this fertile basin, bordered on one side by the Sawtooth range and the other by the White Clouds. The Salmon begins life as a trickle, cutting through sprawling ranches and abandoned mining claims, but within a handful of miles she becomes a raging river, fed by small tributaries.

I was driving over one of those small tributaries last 4th of July, when a bald eagle dropped into the airspace above my truck’s hood. My gaze shifted from the eagle to the road, where I saw the wooden sign naming the tributary.