It’s a holiday weekend and we weren’t up to anything particularly major, but we kind of wanted to Do Something–nothing too energy taxing, but not completely prosaic either. My husband suggested a road trek along the scenic canyon route to Moscow for things we’d been waiting for to go on sale at Macy’s (we have a perfectly competent Macy’s in Lewiston, but that would deprive us of a road trip), and it seemed a perfect excursion for the hot, clear Indian summer day.
Macy’s was fine and we accomplished our errand’s motive in a somewhat festively perfunctory manner before hitting Starbucks for our free coffees (using empty Starbucks bags from the grocery store). We looked in on Tri-State (self-dubbed “Idaho’s most interesting store”–meh; maybe) and ate something at Safeway before heading home.
What I enjoy most on our jaunts to Pullman and Moscow is the wheat fields. Even though I have gluten intolerance, there is something wonderful to me about fields of wheat in every season–seeding, growth, harvest, and the contours of the fields of stubble. Wheat is the beauty of the Palouse; it has an intrinsic primal beauty that I am unable to associate with anything anywhere else. I don’t know why wheat seems so elemental to me that it causes me to feel as though this were somehow my ancestral home, but it does.