Strawberry Mountain Inn Great Prairies of the West

Nestled between the Pacific Ocean and the Rockies lies the charming village of Prairie City. With Strawberry Mountain as its backdrop, Linda and Bill Harrington’s magnificent Bed & Breakfast stands proudly, inviting travelers to experience the essence of the American West.

The entire atmosphere exudes rugged beauty: vast prairies, national parks, quaint western towns, and sprawling ranches with thousands of cattle. The surrounding mountains are home to deer, squirrels, bears, and other wildlife—a perfect setting for a week-long getaway. Hiking trails abound, and the rivers, still wild and untamed, offer excellent trout and salmon fishing opportunities.

Linda, seated comfortably in her living room, shares stories about the region. Through the large bay window, guests can admire the breathtaking view of the plain and the mountains. The balcony, complete with a rocking chair, provides a serene spot to soak in the natural beauty.

Having recently arrived in the American West, I battle “jetlag” from the 9-hour time difference. At 5 a.m., I’m wide awake and eager to explore. Stealthily leaving my “King size bedroom,” I venture into town.

Prairie City’s central street boasts a charming church, a bustling chamber of commerce, and around twenty well-decorated small businesses. An old gas station hums with activity as a cowboy fills up his pick-up truck. The early morning calm envelops everything, creating a unique ambiance. Only the pastry shop, open from 5 a.m. to 8 p.m., breaks the silence—a promising start to the day.

Through the window, I glimpse the pastry chef meticulously decorating a large cake for a salmon fishing club. Like all Americans, I savor my first coffee, anticipating a busy day ahead.

A few kilometers away, atop a mountain, lies Lake Magone—a pristine, wild haven. Perhaps a bear or an elk will grace us with their presence. The hiking trails, whether half-day or full-day, beckon exploration. It’s a detour worth taking—a chance to reconnect with nature.

At the Bed and Breakfast, Linda, Bill, and Aneta—a dynamic Polish student—welcome guests. Aneta’s work permit allows her to practice English and gain real-world experience. Her energy embodies Poland’s recent entry into the European community.

Linda’s friend Judith runs a cozy B&B with just two rooms. Why not? Her husband, Alan, epitomizes the cowboy spirit: a big medallion on his belt, a warm smile, and that unmistakable Marlboro look. We met him last night at the “Snafflebit” restaurant in nearby John Day—a small town 8 miles west of Prairie City.

The restaurant serves massive steaks and hearty salads, attracting locals—cowboys, firefighters, policemen, and hunters. Their camaraderie and warmth create an inviting atmosphere. Alan’s smile reflects the joy of embracing the great outdoors.

As dawn breaks, we gather in a corral on the road to Boise, Idaho. The mist blankets the meadow, but the sun’s rays pierce through. In the distance, a black mass approaches—it’s the young cows, guided by cowboys, embarking on their journey to new horizons.

“Hi, Philippe!” Jim, Alan’s son, calls out from atop his horse. Jim, despite his imposing build and rugged appearance, is a kind and easygoing soul. He never takes himself too seriously, always sporting a cool smile—long live America! Today, we’re expecting five trucks to load around 250 animals. They arrive one after the other, right on schedule.

Here in Prairie City, we all know each other: Bill, Jim, Alan, Brian, and old Jack with his loyal dog and slightly mud-stained, crooked hat from last season. It’s a men’s world here, and the loading of young cows proceeds smoothly. Truckers and cowboys tally the cattle, exchanging figures on scraps of paper. We truly are among the cowboys!

Later that evening, we gather at the Prairie City saloon, aptly named “Shoshoni Winds.” Despite being a small town, the bar is massive, adorned with thirty stuffed deer heads, bears, and elk. It’s the hunters’ meeting place. Jim Woomer, our host, greets us with a broad smile and eagerness to share information for enriching the Strawberry Mountain Inn website. Jim is the local mountain bike trails expert, and he rides an ultra-top mountain bike himself.

As we clink our 50cl glasses of local beer, lively discussions unfold. Bill, the B&B owner; Jim, the outdoor specialist; Aneta, the Polish intern; and I—an amateur reporter for eight months each year and the boss of the Gîte during the other four—all engage. Tonight, Jim becomes our impromptu professor.

Have you met Larry McGraw from Hancockville? Larry lives alone in a prefabricated house, ordered two weeks in advance and delivered by truck. At around 75 years old, he wears many hats: photographer, market gardener, and researcher. But it’s Larry’s homemade apple juice that steals the show. Served in metal glasses, this concoction blends apples from various trees, creating a flavor akin to fine wine.

Larry’s character intrigues me. Behind his home stands an old shack, frozen in time. Creaky floorboards, faded wallpaper, and a central stove evoke a bygone era. Period magazines lie within easy reach of the “Rocking Chair.” In spring, amidst the vegetable garden and apple trees, it’s a paradise fit for a gold digger.

Last Saturday, Linda’s daughter Stacy, Stacy’s son Tylor, Aneta, and I visited the beautiful Judith & Alan Ranch. Three quads awaited us as we ventured into the meadows toward Strawberry Mountain. The quads don’t disturb hikers; there’s hardly anyone around except a few nonchalant cows. Cowboys use these machines to herd their cattle, though the horse remains an occasional companion.

On Sunday morning, Linda leads us to a thermal spring nestled in a picturesque valley. An old spa and an open-air swimming pool await, where hot, sulphurous water flows directly. The weather holds, horses graze nearby, and the historic buildings transport us to another time. In this heavenly place, surrounded by my hosts, I savor the simple joy of living.