Thank you for the article "Riddle of the Rockies: Just Where Is Idaho?" by David Lamb (Part I, July 13).
I'm one of those ex-Idahoans whose eyes mist over when I think of my home state. I grew up in Mink Creek in a cozy brown farmhouse on the banks of Strawberry Creek, a tributary to the larger creek from which the village got its name. It was a most pleasant life, but I used to dream, as I rode my horse "Over Behind the Hill" to get the cows, of the future when I could leave and see what the great cities of the world look like. Filled with homemade bread and ambition, I went away to college the left the area entirely. I've lived in Denver and New York City (where before I could tell them where Mink Creek is I had to tell them where Idaho is) and Washington, D.C., and Pasadena. My eyes mist over when I think of those places, too. Life can be good almost anywhere.
But sometimes when I hear the wind in the tall trees or smell the pungent scent of new-mown lawns, I'm overwhelmed with nostalgia and I wish I was back there riding that old horse over the mountains of Idaho. In a sense I do go back since I've made Idaho the setting of four of my teen-age novels.
With me it's a case of "You can take the girl from Idaho, but you can't take Idaho from the girl."