Leadore Idaho Rodeo
Leadore, Idaho—population 105—sits at the intersection of highways 28 and 29 in the eastern part of the state. The speed limit is 35 miles per hour, and it takes about a minute and a half to drive straight through. There’s a gas station that doubles as a small grocery store and café. Across the street, next to the post office, a lone restaurant advertises “VERY LOW $PRICES!$” on a dimly lit sign.
Every year during the last weekend of April, the town of Leadore holds a high school rodeo event. This rodeo is part of a series of competitions organized by District 1 of the Idaho High School and Junior High Rodeo Association, which is divided into nine districts across the state. The rodeo feels like more than just a sporting event; it’s a living expression of the traditional Western way of life that remains the norm in rural Idaho.
When I arrived on the rodeo grounds (which is also the city park), I was greeted by a young boy of about 13 years old who was helping to move the livestock around the different enclosures behind the riding arena. I’ve noticed that kids who do activities involving animals tend to have a certain presence, unlike the anxious kids and adults in large cities, who often seem incapable of making eye contact with anyone beyond their own reflection in a cell phone screen.
The young boy, Tayson, got me in touch with the rodeo director who said I could photograph anywhere I wanted just as long as I didn’t get run over by a bull or a horse. I figured that I could manage that.
In addition to a welcoming atmosphere, the rodeo was blessed by beautiful weather. This part of Idaho is very close to the Montana border, and is subject to rapidly changing weather with strikingly white, fluffy clouds - big sky country. It hadn’t rained in weeks before in that area. The wind would come through in waves and kick up the dust to the point where I could taste it in the air. There was a hailstorm on the last day of the rodeo which lasted about an hour and a half. After the storm had cleared up, the dust in the air was replaced with this beautiful glowing light that seemed to hang around until the late evening. It was some of the best light I can ever remember making pictures in.
I met dozens of people over the next day and a half, and each person I shook hands with gave me their first and last name. This emphasis on family lineage felt unfamiliar to me—living in Seattle, it’s just not something people do. Still, it stirred something personal: a reminder of the distance I often feel from my own family, and yet, how a sense of closeness returns whenever I spend time with them. In a town of 105, where anonymity is rare, a last name can say a great deal about who you are—and maybe even where you belong.
Photography has taken me all around the Pacific Northwest and I am always left with thinking that I have met some of the finest people I will ever meet in some of these small communities. I can only hope that some of the spirit of the people along the way will stick with me.
