Family visits in Idaho

Tucked deep in the mountains above Saint Maries, Idaho, lies my parents' sprawling 20-acre property. The drive to my parent's property was a punishing 45 minutes of rocky gravel that shook our bus and left our bones vibrating with aftershocks.

My mom guided me proudly through their refinished pole barn, her excitement shining as she pointed out the updates they had worked on over the summer. The concrete floor was smooth underfoot, and the vaulted ceilings stretched high above, amplifying the barn's rustic charm. At the front, the centerpiece—a massive wood-burning furnace radiated warmth. My dad, ever dutiful, kept it fed, its woodpile neatly stacked nearby.

Behind the furnace, a sofa bed sat, where my mom and niece sleep during visits. Above them, a cozy loft provided a snug retreat for my brother, his wife, and his son.

The kitchen walls were painted a cheerful robin's egg blue, accented with decals of barnyard animals. Over the sink, a rooster stood watch while a piglet eyed my mom as she cooked at the stove. The farm animal motif continued into the bathroom, where a fox squinted mischievously across the doorway at two plump bunnies.

In the far corner of the barn, a large yellow hutch collected my mom's knickknacks, photographs, and toys for the grandkids, each item a treasure.

Outside, my dad's RV buggy rested under a snow shelter, its tarp pulled taut against the elements. A narrow trail snaked away from the barn, disappearing into the tree line. We followed it down a gentle slope to a meadow bathed in sunlight. At the bottom of the hill, a quiet creek marked the edge of the property, bubbling softly.

Down the mountain…

My brother Tom's two-story log cabin was perched on a hill overlooking a field and the river beyond. To the cabin's right, a rooster and several hens clucked softly in a wire fence coop. The second we exited the bus, Zero charged the coop, circling it with wild curiosity, agitating Big Red, who puffed up his rooster chest in a warning.

My niece appeared on the cabin's front deck, wearing nothing but a diaper. Her shoulder-length hair, the color of dark honey, was tangled with leaves, and her dark hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. She reminded me of Tom as a child—wild and free, with a love for nudity outdoors. Without hesitation, she tip-toed over, and climbed onto my lap before darting away to play in the dirt, her giggles trailing behind her.

She's a doll.

My nephew, on the other hand, melted my heart with one coy glance. His towhead blonde hair and round, chipmunk cheeks were like a mirror of Tom's baby photos. He clung to me, insisting I carry him everywhere, so we settled on the porch with my mom, blowing bubbles that drifted lazily in the warm afternoon air.

Gigi playing hopscotch

The day was sunny and warm, a blessing as we gathered under the pop-up tent, sharing stories while my dad and brother worked the barbecue. When the kids grew restless, we made a lap around my brother’s property as they showed me their toys and thew fist fulls of dirt into the air like fireworks, my mom chasing after them to keep their hands from their mouths.

Jeremy brought out his drone, launching it into the sky as the kids squealed and waved at the "airpane."

He swooped it low, advancing toward them, and their delight turned to shrieking terror as they bolted for Gigi and Papa. My dad erupted in laughter.

It was all too much for Darby—the noise, the extra bodies, the endless flurry of small hands and high-pitched voices. His patience had worn thin, and he made it clear he wanted no part of the commotion. We tucked him away in the quiet sanctuary of the bus where he could lay in the driver's seat and observe out the glass door without being bothered. I envied him.

As much as I love my family, I've always felt a quiet difference between us. Even as a child, I craved solitude, retreating to my room to play quietly while Tom ran through the house with an X-wing fighter, filling each room with the sounds of gunfire and explosions. After a while, I felt the familiar tug of overstimulation. I slipped into the bus for a break and cuddle with Darby. Jeremy, understanding without words, kept the family occupied, giving me the gift of an hour to rest.

Meanwhile, After Zero resigned himself to the fact that he would not be allowed inside to terrorize the cat or lick up scraps in the kitchen, he settled and stretched out lazily beside my dad on the deck, his fur glowing in the warm, golden sunlight.

Though our visit was short, I will cherish the opportunity to meet my niece and nephew and see the life that my parents and my brother are building out in this rural part of Idaho.

Go with courage