ESSAY: Denis Johnson’s Idaho

Living near Denis Johnson in North Idaho.

Denis Johnson wrote about lodge pole pines growing up real fast then burning down. So, I moved there in 2011. Where trees grow to burn.

He also wrote about trains and dreams and lots of bad guys.

I asked a mutual acquaintance (a person in Sandpoint who publishes poetry books) if she could set up a meet and greet between me and Denis Johnson. But he was already dead, like his novel.

We burn mostly red fir and some larch in our woodstove. We burn crappy white fir too.

Since moving to North Idaho, 14 years ago, we’ve witnessed three manhunts. The first bad guy shot at the cops, then ran through our yard, up the mountain, until he found a neighbor to kidnap.

White fir doesn’t give off much heat. White fir turns to ash.

At the end of Already Dead I didn’t know who was already dead. I was confused.

We learned about the first bad guy when we woke up to a swat team searching our chicken coop with automatic weapons. My young son mistook the swat team for bad guys.

When I dreamt of Denis Johnson we were in a high school hallway. He seemed interested in what I had to say, until I looked the other way. When I looked back, he was running down the hall, away from me.

The wolf that came to our house had blood on its chest. It was a Canadian wolf. From Canada. A lone wolf. Some wolves are like that. Especially if they’re really big and fast.

The first bad guy stole our neighbor and her Subaru Outback. They drove many miles, but he got busted in North Dakota, while she went back to being our neighbor.

The wolf ate our tom turkey. And ran away and never came back. Often, I long for its perfectly pitched howls.

My sons have wolf boy masks. They’ve worn a wolf boy mask on Halloween every year. Sometimes they dance in front of our woodstove with their masks on to the catchy song, Monster Mash.

I heard if you wanted to meet Denis Johnson in person you’d have to work on his property. Digging, building, nailing boards. He preferred writers with skills reaching out to him over writers with no skills.

Another time I dreamed Denis Johnson had a bottle of whiskey in his back pocket. He didn’t drink it. He just carried it around. He didn’t share it either.

Red fir is one of the best kinds of wood to start fires with. It also burns clean and leaves nice round coals for the next chunk to lay on and burn.

If I were a North Idaho raven I’d fly through the air and do what ravens already do. Scavenge and disrupt all the living and dead creatures. Ravens circle above our house when they want to tell us our chickens are in danger.

Our neighbor found a bad guy on her property. She’s a very tiny Indian, probably from the Spokane or Coeur d’Alene Tribe? Probably four foot ten or shorter? The cops showed up to the scene: the bad guy on the ground, hands out, her foot on his back, her rifle pointed at his head. Technically, this would be the fourth bad guy.

My sons’ school is rivals to Bonners Ferry. Bonners Ferry is an old town with a very good used bookstore you should go to and spend time in and find the best book. I bet you will find exactly what you’ve longed for all these years.

I picture Denis Johnson in a fox mask. Not a wolf.

We planted a maple and an oak on our property. We did this because we’re from Northern NY. And we wanted some of that place in this place. Some NY in Idaho, which was a dumb idea.

The Monster Mash can only be sung by that guy who sings it. No one else should even try.

My third son climbed a red fir all the way to the top. He took off his red shirt and tied it to the highest branch. We told him to get it. It’s a good shirt. But he didn’t. It’s still way up there, waving red in the wind.

The moose ate both the maple and the oak. My neighbor, Tom, laughed at us. He’s a veteran and a farmer and he taught my sons how to shoot guns.

There was a man who escaped. They said he was a bad man. It was all over North Idaho News. This is the third manhunt. The third bad guy.

If you travel north from my place on 95 you’ll eventually meet Bonners Ferry. If you keep going you’ll be in Canada. It’s colder up there than down here.

Before you get to Canada you’ll see a yellow rusted canister on the side of the road. I heard if you turn at the big yellow canister, you’ll eventually make it to Denis Johnson’s house.

In the spring we make large burn piles. We make these large burn piles in the fall too. Smoke sits in the air, hanging like low clouds. Clouds that burn your eyes.

Men with guns and bullet proof vests were on our dirt road asking us if we’ve seen a certain bad guy and telling us to stay inside our house. We didn’t see any moose nor turkey nor deer that day. Ravens were perched in trees, they had already done their circling. This was the third bad guy.

If I were to ask Denis Johnson anything I’d probably ask him if what he said was true. Was the first guy to shoot at Ruby Ridge really the first guy to take the shot at Waco?

Some people think living in North Idaho is bad. Like, the area itself is super terrible, full of bad guys. Bad guys that want to do bad politics and harm to all the world. But Idaho is mostly Californians who grow beards, homeschool their children, and shoot all the ammo they can afford.

I go mountain biking on this trail in North Idaho. I go there to get away and spin pedals and fall real hard. I like to crash. I do it all the time. Not because I’m tough. I’m just not good at steering.

My neighbor, Tom, has kids. One day his kid drove a snowmobile around the farm pulling my kid in an orange sled.

We got stopped by the cops on our dirt road. She asked us, “Do you have anyone in your trunk?” We said, “No. There is no one in our trunk.” And then she told us there was a manhunt happening in our woods. This was the second bad guy.

When I mountain bike sometimes a cougar will wait for me around a corner, and then will run ahead of me, showing off his speed. It could be a she. I never get that close.

Denis Johnson was one of those guest writers at the MFA program in Spokane. But that’s before I attended.

When I was a student at the MFA program in Spokane, my advisor told me I went crazy like Denis Johnson, but without drugs. I think he was trying to be encouraging.

I hiked Chilco Mountain. I met an owl there. It was on a misty trail. Mist is like smoke, but wetter. I stopped and we were totally staring at each other. I didn’t know owls have human faces. Did you?

Denis Johnson owned more than forty acres. I only have five. North Idahoans talk about their land.

The owl just rose up, all angelic, and flew at me. I had to duck. It wasn’t laughing at me. It was sending a message. I don’t know if it was a good message or bad.

Once a moose was looking through our back window, watching my young sons watch the movie, Madagascar.

The cougar did that thing where it had me chase it down the trail. This was the second time. The cougar was so fast but didn’t look fast. No matter how violently I pedaled, I couldn’t catch up to the cougar.

Bonners Ferry has a really good boys basketball team and our team is considered by some to be bad.

My son, the one on the orange sled being pulled by the snowmobile, launched off a snowbank into a lodge pole pine. He walked into the house saying nonsense, so my wife gave him a homeopathic remedy.

The only book by Denis Johnson I haven’t read is The Laughing Monsters. I’ve tried at least three times.

The third bad guy who was hunted by police climbed a white fir tree at the end of our dirt road. They caught him with dogs barking and carrying on, surrounding him. I’m sure the dogs were praised for being “good dogs”.

During the third man hunt we had to stay in our house. This was during COVID. So, we were on lock down within the lock down.

The basketball game between our team and Bonners Ferry is called the Backwoods Brawl. It’s a time of competition, school spirit, and us getting our asses kicked in front of all the citizens of both towns.

If we go outside one of the three bad guys might get us and our children. But we try not to think about worse case scenarios.

They didn’t shoot the third bad guy out of the white fir. He climbed down all by himself. And then they cut the tree down. As if the tree got bad from the guy.

Okay, yeah. When I come across a Random House editor I’m going to ask them why they didn’t finish Denis Johnson’s after-dead collection with the story, “Triumph Over the Grave”. It’s the perfect story to end a life on. Random House, you really fucked up.

Bonners Books is the used bookstore in Bonners Ferry. You can go there and buy a book by Denis Johnson. Some are signed by the author.

I have a first edition hardback copy of Resuscitation of a Hanged Man by Denis Johnson. The cover has a framed photo of a bloody Jesus, a mirror, and a revolver draped in pearls.

My oldest son, the one who flew his sled into a lodge pole pine, goes to college near Chicago. He’s famous for his North Idaho manhunt stories. His teacher said he has a real gift for public speaking.

I told the coyote who stole most of my chickens to stop. I can speak to some animals through transcendental meditation. I think.

If Denis Johnson had the choice for a last meal he would have picked a McDonald’s double cheeseburger.

Train Dreams by Denis Johnson was first published in The Paris Review.

Denis Johnson also liked Elvis and found God and homeschooled his children. We homeschooled our sons, until we didn’t.

In another dream Denis Johnson asked me to knock down a tree that was threatening his house. He said he’d add a second “n” to his name, like every other “Dennis”. And then handed me a Stihl chainsaw, which happened to be my chainsaw.

We have wood all over our house. We get little pieces stuck in our socks. The wood mixes with the laundry and the books. Ten of the books are by Denis Johnson.

I rock climbed a 1300 foot granite face close to Bonners Ferry this summer. The higher I get the more comfortable I am. It’s not bragging it’s just how it goes for me. I wish I was as good down here as I am up there.