Last fall, my wife and I quit working. We turned off our cell phones and closed our laptops. We assembled a stack of good books, a pile of knitting, and packed every piece of wool clothing in the house. Then, we skipped town.
We pulled off the interstate at the first opportunity and cruised along the Blackfoot River, running low, cold, and sluggish between its banks in mid-November. We climbed over the Continental Divide and descended onto the high plains that stretch eastward for an eternity.