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I imagine William standing down along the Boise River in the evening, looking westward at the glowing sun, the smoke of dying campfires drifting downwind, the sound of quiet conversation, perhaps the whimper of a child going to sleep. As he watched the red sun lighting the Boise Mountains I think he felt drawn to the beauty of these desolate places, the strange land so unlike the green and timbered Midwest.
I am much like him, though my "oxen" travel much faster. I am no less fascinated by the country I travel through. And it is not the "land in Oregon" that draws me on but the journey itself, the beauty of the magnificent country, and my awe at the grit and determination of my emigrant ancestors.