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My husband and I grew up in Las Vegas, Nevada, where you had to drive a while to find real trees, creeks, or rivers. The closest body of water was Lake Mead — beautiful in its own rugged, desert way, even if it was surrounded by sticker bushes. We made the most of it, boating whenever we could.
Both of us spent our childhoods escaping to the mountains, where our grandparents had bought property and built cabins for weekend getaways. Those trips were our refuge, and we were grateful for every chance to visit.
When I was a teenager, my parents moved us to Oregon, and suddenly everything was lush and green. The Rogue River ran right through town, and lakes were everywhere. After experiencing that kind of beauty, I knew I never wanted to live in the desert again — but eventually my family had to move back due to lack of work. From that moment on, I dreamed of returning to the mountains.
When I met my husband — a third‑generation Las Vegas native — I could tell he wasn’t meant to stay there forever either. After a few years of gentle persuasion, he agreed to uproot his life, and we moved to Boise, Idaho with our two beautiful children. It was the perfect balance: close enough to family, full of opportunity, and surrounded by the outdoors in the City of Trees.
We love to fish, hike, ride ATVs, golf, and enjoy just about any outdoor activity. Even our pets are happier here. Being outside gives us the relief we need from the stress of work and city traffic, and we finally feel like we’re where we’re meant to be.
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