Kamiah, Idaho
Even though sunlight infused the landscape, and warmth enveloped us throughout the day, there were sure signs that autumn is at last approaching. Here, at the far eastern limit of our voyage in the wake of Lewis and Clark, just outside the one-street town of Kamiah along the aptly named Clearwater River, Mother Nature is making a final botanical flourish before winter takes hold. Rose hips and apples drag at their supporting branches, reaching heavily for the earth. Snowberries surprise the eye, standing out like clusters of white punctuation marks amid their browning foliage. Along the hillsides, expanses of crimson sumac delight the unsuspecting newcomer to this vast rolling country. Perhaps the most visible promise of the impending change of seasons is the dogbane or Indian hemp. Growing widely along the Snake, Clearwater and other rivers and streams in this region, the leaves of the dogbane shimmer bright yellow as the green chlorophyll within each cell begins to fade. The stems are often red hued, adding depth and complexity to the generous shoreline display of beauty that visitors to the area are treated to each fall. Indian peoples have long made use of the dogbane for its fiber. It could be woven to form such important items as rope, snares and mats that could be used for lodge coverings, sun protection, or for sleeping or sitting on.
The Corps of Discovery would likely have enjoyed the same opulent swathes of color we saw today as they made their way west out of the Bitterroot Mountains after crossing the Lolo Trail 199 years ago. They would have seen the cottonwoods and ashes adding their brilliance to the sublime scenery and they would have smelled the familiar and somewhat melancholy scent of decaying leaves releasing their nutrients to the soil. Did it give them pangs of longing for home? Perhaps, but with the flow of the river finally in their favor, and the occasional day of perfect weather like the one we had today, no doubt their doleful reminiscence was soon replaced by joy.
Even though sunlight infused the landscape, and warmth enveloped us throughout the day, there were sure signs that autumn is at last approaching. Here, at the far eastern limit of our voyage in the wake of Lewis and Clark, just outside the one-street town of Kamiah along the aptly named Clearwater River, Mother Nature is making a final botanical flourish before winter takes hold. Rose hips and apples drag at their supporting branches, reaching heavily for the earth. Snowberries surprise the eye, standing out like clusters of white punctuation marks amid their browning foliage. Along the hillsides, expanses of crimson sumac delight the unsuspecting newcomer to this vast rolling country. Perhaps the most visible promise of the impending change of seasons is the dogbane or Indian hemp. Growing widely along the Snake, Clearwater and other rivers and streams in this region, the leaves of the dogbane shimmer bright yellow as the green chlorophyll within each cell begins to fade. The stems are often red hued, adding depth and complexity to the generous shoreline display of beauty that visitors to the area are treated to each fall. Indian peoples have long made use of the dogbane for its fiber. It could be woven to form such important items as rope, snares and mats that could be used for lodge coverings, sun protection, or for sleeping or sitting on.
The Corps of Discovery would likely have enjoyed the same opulent swathes of color we saw today as they made their way west out of the Bitterroot Mountains after crossing the Lolo Trail 199 years ago. They would have seen the cottonwoods and ashes adding their brilliance to the sublime scenery and they would have smelled the familiar and somewhat melancholy scent of decaying leaves releasing their nutrients to the soil. Did it give them pangs of longing for home? Perhaps, but with the flow of the river finally in their favor, and the occasional day of perfect weather like the one we had today, no doubt their doleful reminiscence was soon replaced by joy.
