In a half-asleep, half-awake daze of driving away from the Salmon River, Idaho, after five days, we come up over a rise and see a whole country spread out before us, early evening. And then, off by the edge of the road on the other side, a mother elk and young, which is one thing, but how my cousin reacted was what I noticed most. He hunts them at another time of year, shoots them with bow and arrow. Something about the way he saw them that struck me. Some other kind of connection.