People that touch our hearts often leave our lives too soon. One such person was my father-in-law, born and raised in what feels like the highlands of our state, the nearly mile-high plains of eastern Idaho. Don was the son of two rugged individuals, Bill and Nora Johnson, who had met on his mother’s family’s cattle ranch near Bancroft, Idaho. Black and white photographs of men on horseback, children in Sunday dresses, and of wide open spaces certainly filled Don’s imagination of what life was like in the early twentieth century in this state.
Don was the youngest of three, a national champion youth bowler, and later a stalwart safety on the Skyline High School football team. Don loved to ski and camp and had close friends that would join him on sunny powder days and late-night excursions to no-name hot springs in Yellowstone.
Before following in his father’s footsteps operating heavy machinery, Don spent time grooming runs at Grand Targhee, waiting tables in Ketchum, hitchhiking across Canada, and working at a cattle ranch in Wyoming. Eventually Don was employed at various construction projects, including on the Teton, Owyhee, and Minidoka Dams, as well operating tower cranes at the Idaho National Laboratory and other large buildings throughout the western states. I remember Don’s stories of when the Teton Dam broke and how he worked with his dad through the night to breach the Idaho Canal with bulldozers so that floodwaters would not make it to the Idaho Falls city limits. Don’s craftsmanship touched many places across our great state, whether it was a bridge on the East Fork Salmon, or a hospital in Boise, his work contributed to infrastructure that will stand for lifetimes.
Don’s experiences were part and parcel of his soul. And he loved sharing those stories with family, whether at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, or around a crackling campfire high in the mountains. Don was always good for recounting an adventure or describing important events involving family and friends. Don’s individualism and love for the outdoors was always on full display at these family camping trips, stoking a fire, pitching a tent, or stacking dutch ovens for an incredible dinner. He even helped unstick my raft a time or two on a low water Middle Fork Salmon trip one summer. Don was at home outside, whether in the river on a hot summer day or deep in snow atop a steep pitched mountain.
Sadly those stories and adventures faded the last few years as Don’s mind battled lewy body dementia. It was heartbreaking to watch how a disease could physically and mentally decimate a man that was larger than life. Don passed away this past August, shortly after his fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Two weeks before he left us my wife and I were floating on the Middle Fork with our two oldest boys. After breakfast one day I took a break to read from a collection of short stories about famous Idaho sports figures. By random coincidence I turned to a story about a track athlete from Troy, Idaho, whose name was also Don Johnson. I couldn’t help but think of Don throughout that day. As my wife Mandi and I floated through impassable canyon past the confluence of Big Creek, a lone osprey caught our eye. The osprey would fly high overhead in front of us, tree to tree, and stop every couple hundred yards. The raptor criss-crossed the river and perched up in ponderosas would carefully check on our progress. This continued amazingly for a few miles, and I instantly felt a connection with Don’s spirit. I truly believe that Don wanted us to know that no matter what he would continue to be with us and help guide our way down this river of life.
Don’s story lives on with his family and friends, through those who knew him best like Laurie, his beloved wife of 50 years, or his best friend Neil Grover, who he shared countless (including some not to be repeated) adventures with. Finally, his five grandkids knew how much he loved and cared for them as they will recall days on the ski hill or him cheering from the stands.
As the seasons turn again with Thanksgiving on our doorstep, I am grateful for the nearly 25 years I knew Don. His bonds of friendship and love forged with family and friends are as strong as the steel he deftly guided with his crane. Take a lesson from my father-in-law this holiday season and spend an extra ten minutes sharing a story or adventure with someone you love and admire, I know I will.
