I grew up on a small, rural town on the edge of a desert. Castleford has been the small community that taught me geometry, mile split times, mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and that goats are obnoxiously curious and demonic.

My immigrant parents raised three boys and educated them on the importance of perseverance, prayer, and potatoes.

I graduated from Castleford High School in 2017 as class president with honors. I have a stack of essays and a royal blue gown to commemorate the accomplishment of both me and my family. There are benefits to living a town of 300 people, and the more time I spend away from it, the more I really start knowing what Castleford is.

Summers were full of manual labor underneath the unforgiving sun. The stench of goats and cuts from barb wire were stables to a healthy and hearty morning, along with the smell of pesticides and freshly cut hay. Fall is just the shallow breaths of Old Man Winter until he breathes down the spine of Idaho, frosting the standing corn and windshields of farmers. Winter is frosty mustaches and the comfort of wool socks, and dry hands walking to school.

 

(Image by Gray Marks Photography)