Moscow, ID

These posts are rarely in real-time. Meaning, I could post about a place well after I've visited them. I have wondered if this multiverse like delay defeats the purpose of this little blog, "If a place you've visited could be your future home, shouldn't you write about it sooner? While the memories are fresh?" Each time the wonder sets in, I come to the same conclusion though, how I don't trust my recent sun-, sugar-, or sleep-soaked vacation memories. And then there's that whole "Hindsight is 20/20" thing.

In another world, my delayed vacation memories would often float up on yet another commute, another Monday. Today is Monday, and in this world of "wfh" (that feels close to "wtf"), there are no commuting daydreams. The memories now arise through related images, words, or sounds. "What about Moscow, ID? What do they think about this mess?"

A search right now would be a  real gamble. I've walked alone in various alleys of the world, at times in twilight, and not once would I describe my emotional state with a hyphenated  noun as I did when I drove through Moscow in beaming daylight: heebie-jeebies. "Lock your doors", my higher brain. I definitely did. Because you know, the tall wheat grass all around me were really golden spears of weapon; acting their part, swaying to and fro until an oligarch somewhere presses a button -- I felt  silly. But my car doors remained locked until I arrived at my friend's home. Of course it wasn't the wheat, it was the people inside passing cars. Impaling side-eyes. Unnecessary rubbernecks. (Granted it's never necessary.) Every single car spooked. me. out. 

As my friend spoke about her new life in Moscow, I realized we were still kindred in some ways. "Oh, they're nice and all, really nice! But... It's so pretty here, isn't?" 

Looking at us, even from afar, it's clear we don't have a single matching chromosome. She looks like she could be from Moscow, Idaho, which might explain the pleasantries in her day-to-day chitchats. I look like I could be from New York City. Who knows what I'd be in for during my stay when I had just unlocked my car doors to get out. That said, my butt did finally relax when I heard her  coordinating conjunction trail off...  Chill. It's not your melanin. It's them.

They are out there, just not in my moody scenic pictures. Moscow is home to the University of Idaho so the "quaint downtown" (it really is) was often "bustling with people" (very true). And the food co-op* seemed to be the hub for students, farmers, evangelicals, and any N/As if applicable. If my phone wasn't temperamental I'd have more pictures of actual life in this city. Alas, I don't. Perhaps that's why I can't recall a single exchange with a clerk or passer-by at the moment, there's no image to draw a memory. My memories of Moscow only include my friend and her family, and that eerie drive in. 

But... if "hindsight is 20/20", then maybe the memories I do have is all I need to know about Moscow. 

I spy with my little eye something brown and curly

* My haven in locales that warrant cautious optimism.

Length of Stay

Three days

Docking Index

 

One anchor. After a quick search, I came across the headline "‘Make it a Christian town’: the ultra-conservative church on the rise in Idaho" from The Guardian. It was published four months ago. My heebie-jeebies didn't sprout from nuthin'. Validation, even after a few years, still feels good.