TUBOB: The Zen of Hillbilly …
Or How I Learned to Quit Raggin’ on North Idaho and Love Me Some Chipmunk Chili
Think of North Idaho and you think of many things – gleaming “Cigarette” style rocket boats thundering across emerald ringed lakes of nearly unspeakable sapphire beauty, rows of cottonwood trees standing like silent, ageless sentinels along the muddy banks of the shadowy St. Joe river, vibrant artistic communities with smiling, tanned residents astride mountain bikes and river sandals while pleasantly engaged in wonderful collaborative civic activities, and sometimes, well, sometimes we see smoldering fiberglass singlewide trailers brought to a conflagrated and coagulated end by explosive meth labs left unattended by Spirit Lake trailer trolls too busy wandering the woods, higher than airport weather balloons, looking for morel mushrooms to sell to restaurants or toss into a nice big pot of chipmunk chili -- TUBOB/The Unbearable Bobness of Being (see extended entry for remainder of column).
Previous TUBOB columns:
Of Wet Suits And Second Chances here
Hi, Bob; Hi, Bob; Welcome here