Respects to Hemmingway

    All the way back in September of 2021, I had the fortune of being in Idaho for a wedding. Having some free time after the event, we took off for the beautiful and rugged Sawtooth Mountains. Winding our way through the narrow mountain roads, we marveled at the beauty and majesty of the mighty granite swells littered with firs and lodge pole pines. We gulped the cold crisp mountain air, relishing in its cleanliness and the far cry from the humid slog of the swampy south. 

    Our road was taking us to Ketchum, by way of Stanley and Redfish Lake. We did not have much time, but in the time, we had we saw so much! One of my goals was to visit the grave of, and pay my respects to, the enigmatic master, Ernest Hemingway. 

It was a bitterly cold morning, for us southern folk, but we forged ahead along the mountain shaded sidewalk toward the cemetery. Despite the cold, we wandered the small sward until we found the object of our trek. The grave was easy to pick out by the myriad of offerings left on its surface. Pens, notebooks, a glass of some unknown liquor, and a condom...thankfully still wrapped. In most situations one might say this was disrespectful, but here I found it to be the opposite. I could feel the weight of his influence permeating the very air. Images of his life and works flashed through my mind and I dreamt of becoming just half as prolific as Hemmingway himself.

I have a long way to go.

At the time, I had not actually read any Hemmingway aside from the "Old Man and the Sea" back in high school. I thus vowed to read more. I now have "Farewell to Arms", "The Green Hills of Africa", and "For Whom the Bell Tolls" waiting on my shelf at home. Christmas presents so that I can be more "literary". I fully intend to study him and his writings more.

If you get the chance, and are ever in Ketchum, stop by the cemetery and pay your respects. It is a oddly special experience for any writer.