This is a part of series of stories on tiny towns
EMIDA For the first-time visitor to this proverbial wide spot in the road, the best part about Emida seems to be getting there, not arriving.
After all, tourists coming from the south on Scenic State Highway 6 must negotiate a
magnificent corridor of towering timber to the crest of a mountain near North-South Ski Bowl. The trip has been described by many as an ascent into northern Idaho's forest primeval.
From that vista farther north, however, it's quite literally down hill. So much so that motorists breaking out of the high country into the mosaic of fields and timber below might blink their way through Emida.
If so, say locals here, they've given short shrift to a town of friendly folks steeped in simple means, straight talk and no pretensions.
"I've had so many people ask me, 'Do you really like to live in that little old dog patch?'" said Ila Kibbee, who was born here in 1929 and answers the time-worn question with a simple "yes" and a wish.
"I hope," she lamented, "it doesn't get any bigger."
There are between 50 and 80 people living in and around Emida. The community appears as a clutter of modest homes with pickup trucks parked in the streets, woodpiles heaped under backyard sheds, metal roofs reflecting the winter sun and people who don't hesitate to wave and talk with strangers.
About a decade ago, said Dewayne Curtis, "the hippies" came to the hills outside of town. "They were naming their kids after rivers and birds and trees." There were so many children, Curtis said, that two school buses were needed.
"But they didn't know what the winters were like," said Kibbee.
"Most of 'em pulled out," said Curtis.
So much for boom-and-bust population trends. A turn-of-the-century timber town, Emida remains linked to logging and offers hearty people a chance to make financial ends meet. More than dollars in the bank, wealth here is a measure of lifestyle and independence.
"My mom and dad raised eight kids through the Depression here," said Kibbee. "I have a picture of this building when it was my grandfather's store."
The building of which Kibbee speaks is now called the Western Bar and Cafe. It sits close enough to the highway for logging trucks to splash slush halfway to the door this time of year ... unless, of course, a driver decides to stop for a cup of hot coffee and warm conversation.
"We just took it over the first of the year," said Donna Fuller, the newest owner of the old building. Donna's husband, Wayne, is a logger and the couple plan a grand reopening of the Western Bar and Cafe for Saturday.Feb. 11.
"We're having live music and a sweetheart dinner . steak and prawns, $10.95," said Donna. "Everybody is invited."
Like most backwoods communities in Idaho, Emida used to be bigger and have more businesses. The winters were tougher back then and demanded that towns be self-sufficient. Some of the old-timers remember what it was like.
"I was a whistle punk when I first hit the country," said Ivan Wilks, who came to Emida during the Depression and worked on a steam donkey in the woods. "Then I pulled a crosscut, drove a team, whatever. We didn't have a place big enough to pitch a tent."
But the early pioneers were determined to carve a town out of the forest and left their mark. The town's name, in fact, is a product of the letters from three early-day families E (East) MI (Miller) DA (Dawson).
The first television came to Emida in 1956. The Ted Blodgette family owned it and "they became real popular," Kibbee recalled. And along with the tube, say people in Emida, has come the ability to snatch a daily glimpse of the world beyond the mountains. Yes, some people are watching the O.J. Simpson trial. But most, according to the crowd at the Western, would rather go hunting or fishing or snowmobiling or four-wheeling any outdoor activity that waits outside their homes.
"I wouldn't trade this for anything," said Kibbee.
People stopping in Emida for the first time are a bit bewildered, said resident Brenda Mills. Take, for example, the tourists last summer from Arkansas and Florida. "They were just scared to death the Indians were going to get them," said Mills. "They still think it's the wild West out here."
The U.S. Postal Service pulled out of Emida in the mid-1970s, leaving everyone with a mailbox but a little less identity. The town could also use a gasoline pump.
"We have to go clear to Fernwood to buy gas," said Donna Fuller.
The most noticeable social club in town is called the "Secret Sisters." And it's no secret, said Fuller, who is president of the organization, that the some 25 women who are members take pride in everything they do for the town, including holding benefits for needy people and picking up litter along the scenic highway.
There's also an active community center, a dedicated volunteer fire department and the necessary municipal water and sewer boards.
"People here pretty much make a living off the woods," said Curtis, "but they have to go a long way to do it."
There's also concern about outsiders "A lot of people from California," groused Curtis coming to Emida to get away from it all, but bringing it all with them.
Then again, most people come here not to see the town, but to feast on the scenery of the surrounding countryside.
"It's just like driving into a Christmas card," Kibbee said about Scenic Highway 6 during the winter.
Stopping in Emida, residents agree, is a bit like experiencing Idaho the way it was and the way they'd like to keep it.
