You'll see lots of sagebrush. There are long vistas punctuated by lava outcroppings and bordered by distant ranges of desert mountains. And there are farms. The Snake, a tributary of the Columbia and itself one of the West's great rivers, bleeds off into canals and smaller ditches that feed fields of potatoes, grain, alfalfa and other crops. The country has its moments, but to most outsiders its appeal is limited.
Vacationers usually consider it a place to get across.
But look closer, Fiege tells us. On its face Idaho's irrigated farmland seems a clear instance of humans imposing their designs on a natural environment. People have taken a wild river, dammed and channeled it to resist its impulse to flood, then selectively directed its waters onto land of their choosing, there to nurture the crops they decide are best and the forage for the domesticated animals they set loose on the acreage they have transformed. As we drive along it seems clear enough who is in charge. Through Fiege's eyes, however, we see that this place is not at all what it seems.