River Memories

As a teenager in the 1980s, I spent a lot of summertime on the Boise River. I’d borrow the family van, load it with friends and head down Glenwood Road, cross the bridge and turn right. There was a two track dirt road that led to a little glade of trees and a rope swing behind the golf course. The path also included a bit of driving in the river itself, which we found very stimulating. If we weren’t hanging out in the river bottoms we’d float downstream on inner tubes or just on our backs, with our butts down in the cold water, our feet sticking up out of the water to deflect us from rocks or downed trees.

When I wasn’t working, I was on the river. Floating, wading, fishing, watching, taking photos or resting on a little blanket I kept in the back of the van.

This photograph is my attempt to capture the intimate feeling I used to feel down there.

These days if I go to the river I find myself on the greenbelt. It follows the river 25 miles through town, all the way from Lucky Peak Reservoir to Eagle Island State Park. There are walkers with dogs pulling them along with tight leashes, casual bike riders going modest speeds and cyclists wearing spandex with their heads down, weaving through the slowpokes. There are skateboarders making a terrible grinding, rhythmic scrape on the asphalt and concrete, young lovers holding hands and old couples with their hands behind their backs looking up into the canopy for birds.

That little, fast moving river is a precious asset for the citizens of the valley. It marks the seasons with its leaves, carries trout for fishermen, distributes snowmelt through the valley, looks beautiful and has always enchanted me.