Princeton Idaho

Driving home from a snowshoeing trip today, my passenger enamored by Wheel of Fortune on his phone, my CR-V made its way though a little town of past glory called Princeton.
Having once been the outskirts to the Weyerhauser Potlatch companies model town, Potlatch, it is much past its glory and gives off the aura of being tired. One could compare the town to an old woman ready to rest her weary bones after a hard full life.
There is only one paved road through Princeton, on either side houses, trailers, stores, little ranches and farms. No school, or church, so it must be assumed the inhabitants made their way to Potlatch for their educational and spiritual needs. The majority of buildings are falling apart with time, their windows boarded, loved no more as a piece of the American dream. A few people still call this place home, what they do for their livelihood I can't comment on nor really fathom. Possibly for the National Forest only 10 minutes to their North, or maybe they commute to Moscow, 45 minutes to their South. Either way I cannot imagine their is much money to be made in Princeton or much of a future for that matter.
As I made my way through the 35mph stretch of Highway 6 I couldn't help but look around and take in this faded town. History is my calling and my muse- she allows me to understand the past and improve upon how I walk into my future. I tried to fathom the town in its hey-day, but to be honest I really never could. I don't think Princeton ever had the stereotypical golden days, but has always been just another place to build a house along Highway 6. Perhaps a place for the poorer workers of the Potlatch Mill to take up residence. More research must be done before I can claim knowledge on the matter.
But what really inspired this writing, this blog, was the one family of inhabitants I saw in Princeton. No other souls but horses were out on this chilly snowy day, but a small family getting ready to go somewhere- perhaps to town, or church, or to see family in another town, I'm not sure. They were a young family, how they ended up in Princeton I cannot say. A young father was getting into their white sedan, which itself seemed old and ready to quit, followed by his two daughter. Neither of the girls were older than 4, Mom was extremely young too. Yet not young, old for her age. Physically she couldn't have been older than I, but her weary step, tired eyes said she had known a hard life. Their house was old, probably built in the 1920's, needing an expert carpenters knowledgeable hands to restore its former beauty. Half the windows were boarded, the screen door lopsided. What must it be like to live in a house with boarded windows? To raise a child in a home that looked like a strong wind could cause it to collapse?
I wondered what the inside was like- allowing my mind to wander I began to imagine a clean, worn house. Comfortable, full of family heirlooms mixed with modern children's toys. A TV past what many would call its time, but still working an adequate to watch the news or Disney movies. Furniture would be worn, beautiful in their antiquity. A woman's love and strength went into keeping this ramshackle house looking like a home for her two beautiful girls... Maybe, maybe not.
Ever the girl of typical American suburbia this town intrigued me. How could it not? Something so strange and alien to the neat lawns and cookie cutter houses of my childhood. I hope to return to Princeton soon, possibly passing through on my way up to the snowshoeing trail. This town, in its weary and worn beauty needs to be documented before it is abandoned to be taken by the wilderness once more.
The next time I drive through, my camera will be at the ready.