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The Rincon Latino – Mount Shasta’s Little Havana in the Pines by Kevin Wikse

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  Tucked into 419 Chestnut Street like a smuggler’s secret, Rincon Latino is the kind of place you wander into once and then wonder how you ever lived without it. I’ve never met Miguel—the supposed man behind the magic—but I’ve met the woman at the counter, and she’s proof enough that the stories are true. She’s made of every fresh breeze that ever rolled down from Mount Shasta, every alpine flower that ever dared to bloom here, and every whisper of pine that’s ever chased a hiker down the trail. And yet, she’s also somehow threaded through with the warm pulse of the tropics—sweet rhythms and harmonies carried inland by Pacific waves, with an aftertaste of jasmine and coconut that lingers like an invitation to stay a little longer. The wine, beer, and spirits are all fairly priced—borderline generous, really. Apparently, they even do smoothies here, though I’ve yet to indulge. My draw is something far more primal: they are, as far as I can tell, the only establishment in Mount Sh...
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"No Dust Follows" Leaving Boise behind commemoration poem (Originally written 7/2/25) by Kevin Wikse

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I struggled with how I felt about leaving Boise after living there once more for an extended period of time, and truth be told, I hope for the last time. Familiarity breeds contempt, and I had become far too acquainted with the "City of Trees" to feign politeness for much longer. The thing was, I didn’t want to resent or despise the people, the city, or my time there as I had previously. That weighed on me. I knew coming back to Boise from South Tucson would only be temporary, although at the time I had not yet made any concrete plans, even if I was zeroing in on Northern California. I wanted the opportunity to say what I needed to say, do what I needed to do, and walk away from a place, a city, a people, a culture, and a collective hub of stifling ideology, and not feel pieces of me missing.  I can finally say I left Boise where, at least to me, it always belonged: in the dust. And none of it followed. "No Dust Follows" Boise lay behind me like a dog turned to s...
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Reunions with old friends at Morris Hill Cemetery by Kevin WIkse.

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After meeting a friend for what became gas station coffee in a chilly park on a frosty bench (I am happy to report Jackson's has leveled up their coffee game, and the cold, iced-over park provided a wonderful ambiance and atmosphere for this long overdue reunion) this morning, I made a side trip on my way home. I re-visited the Morris Hill Cemetery on Latah, which has quietly carried significant meaning for me—a sort of "origins story" for a cornerstone in my life.  Circa 2002 (maybe 2003), I recruited a few local ghost hunters and paranormal research enthusiasts on Yahoo Messenger in Boise and scheduled a meet-up. I called and asked to speak with a manager at Morris Hill Cemetery. I explained that three others and I would like permission to enter the grounds around midnight that coming Friday night to take some pictures from a media project I was working on at Boise State University (which was true). We wouldn't be there for more than 30 minutes and would be discree...
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The Spirit of Boise Balloon Classic 2023 by Kevin Wikse

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  Held at Ann Morrison Park, phantom vestiges of the now-defunct Boise River Festival still linger in the air surrounding the Spirit of Boise Balloon Classic. For those who remember, take a moment of silence and acknowledge those bygone days for what was a brief window of time for a unique Boise cultural phenomenon. For those who never knew, take solace; you need not experience the gnawing pains of regret that come at the end of a golden age.  While it feels like a breath of fresh air, the Spirit of Boise Balloon Classic is merely someone opening the door during a long and beautiful eulogy for a once wonderous River Festival. Old world blues, I suppose. While I remain jaded, I am becoming tentatively optimistic about the Spirit of Boise Balloon Classic.  -Kevin Wikse Spirit of Boise
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Leaving my mark at Settler's Park or "Baguazhang Crop-Circles" by Kevin Wikse

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  Circa 2016 to 2019, I routinely practiced a rare form of Daoist-born Chinese Martial Art titled Baguazhang or Pakuachang, meaning Eight Trigrams Boxing, based on the I-Ching. A dynamic, fast, and highly mobile method, the primary training is walking in a circle or walking around a central point. My center point was this tree in Settler's Park in Meridian, Idaho.  In 2019, I employed my Baguzhang skills in Las Cruces, NM, El Passo, TX, and finally, Tuscon, AZ, to hinder significantly much of the criminal element and human trafficking operations coming across and back through the TX/Mexico and AZ/Mexico boarders, which at one point and maybe still are, considered the first and second most dangerous land crossings in the world. My Baguazhang practice was one to two hours of daily circle walking followed by single movements repeated hundreds of times in line drills. During one of my last training sessions at Settler's Pak, I noticed I was walking a crop circle into the environme...
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Head in the Clouds in Boise, Idaho by Kevin Wikse

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  A more picturesque spring morning in Boise, Idaho, I cannot recall. The eternal sky demanded to be seen and digitally crystallized in its painted vastness. My spirit soared up to greet it, and in its embrace, I was given into a moment of possibility which forever changed my trajectory.   -Kevin Wikse
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Location: Boise, ID, USA
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"We'll meet somewhere on and further down," by Kevin Wikse.

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After over a decade of domestic runnin' and gunnin', breakin' bones, and crackin' skulls for a particular "uncle," and most certainly of the "off the books" variety, I find myself again in a peculiar location and with a bitter realization... -Kevin Wikse
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