montour idaho

We were taking an early morning walk, Leo and I.

The area where we were camping had once been a small town. My grandfather's father had ties to the town. He and his brother both lived in or nearby.

So, Leo and I were walking through the now deserted town site. There was a lot of evidence of old houses. A hunk of concrete was the most enduring clue, but there were iron gates, non native trees and shrubs and one small section of what was once a white picket fence.

The railroad went by the edge of the townsite, and the foundation for the old train station is plainly visible. The Payette River was not too far beyond the railroad, and that river is why the town is not here any longer.

As I remember the story, a cold winter, a quick melt, an ice dam and then a huge flood. Huge enough to inundate a small town at least.

And it happened more than once. Even though pioneer people are tough, they had their limits too. They moved away, including my great grandfather.

As I walked the old streets, staring at the old house sites, I wondered about the joy that was enjoyed in homes. Who live here? What was their business? Were they happy here?

Towns sprang up on promise. In this case the local area looked like it would be a good farming area (turned out to not be as big or as good as expected) and that railroad would ensure a market for the products of the farms. That was the dream. But it did not work out that way. Even without the floods the town was doomed.

Grandpa Lew worked for the US Geological Survey as a civil engineer, as did his brother John. They had good titles, and probably a fair salary for that time. Many of the others were not so fortunate to have an outside paying job.

My guess is that a lot of little people money was lost in these kind of places. Maybe that is the risk of dreams.