We should all hope to age gracefully—and go skydiving at 94, and jetboating at 95. Our man in Boise, ANTHONY DOERR pays tribute to one who raged at the light. (Letters From Idaho | June 7, 2007)
Every night, another bag goes in the garbage, more waste goes in the landfill. By the time they reach 75, ANTHONY DOERR’S family will have produced two blue whales of trash. A startling look at America’s capacity for garbage-making. (Letters From Idaho | February 26, 2007)
The West Nile virus attacked Boise this summer, and now planes spray the city with a supposedly harmless pesticide. But when facts are muddy and even the anchormen don’t know what’s safe, ANTHONY DOERR asks, is it wise to let your sons play outside? (Letters From Idaho | August 25, 2006)
Going home for the holidays inspires remembering, but bringing your own children home adds a twist—will their recollections be anything like yours? ANTHONY DOERR with a theory on memory. (Letters From Idaho | January 3, 2006)
As winter approaches, the insects go underground. What we will miss? Moths that can smell sex a mile away. Butterflies with tongues on their feet. Centipedes able to kill birds. Our man in Idaho reports from the pastoral. (Letters From Idaho | October 18, 2005)
We interrupt our weekly Non-Expert column to bring you this dispatch, beginning a new series of letters: Our author in Rome returns home, from Italy to Idaho, finding chaos everywhere he looks. (Letters From Idaho | September 2, 2005)