If I Only Had 24 Hours in the Palouse, I’d Do These Two Things

If you ever find yourself in the Palouse with only one day, people will hand you a list. Viewpoints, drives, photo spots, don’t miss this road, go here at sunset. I understand the impulse, but I also think it misses the point of this place.

The Palouse isn’t the kind of beauty you chase. It’s the kind of beauty you let happen to you.

So if I had 24 hours, I’d do only two things, and I’d do them slowly enough to feel the day in my bones.

1) Camp Somewhere Quiet and Let the Palouse Move Around You

We reached the Palouse early, when the morning light still felt gentle and the air held that clean, slightly sweet smell of fields warming up. 

The landscape rolled endlessly, hills layered like soft waves, their colors shifting between green and gold depending on where the sun touched. The roads were quiet, even the sky felt wider here.

We picked a simple camping spot away from anything busy, no crowd, no noise, just a patch of open land with a view that made it impossible to feel cramped. The grass moved constantly, not dramatic, just steady, like the hills were breathing.

We set things up without rushing, the way you do when you’re not trying to win the day. A small camp table. A blanket. A couple of chairs we barely used because we ended up on the ground anyway. The van sat nearby like a calm anchor.

Then we lay down. Not scrolling, not planning the next stop, not thinking about what we were supposed to do here. 

We just lay in the grass and let the sunlight fall on our faces. The wind came through in slow waves, pushing the tops of the grass in one direction, then changing its mind, and for long stretches we barely spoke because there was nothing that needed to be said.

At some point, an animal passed close enough that we both held still without even deciding to. A deer moved along the edge of the field, cautious but unbothered, stopping once to lift its head and listen. 

We watched it disappear behind a rise, and the hills swallowed it like it had never been there. That was the morning, and honestly, it was more than enough.

2) Let Amanda Become Someone Else for an Afternoon

In the afternoon, the light warmed and the Palouse changed texture. The hills looked softer, more golden at the edges, and the wind picked up slightly, not harsh, just playful. 

That’s when Amanda did something she does sometimes on the road. She turned into a different version of herself.

She stepped out in a light, flowing dress, the kind that makes sense in open land, soft fabric that moves when the breeze touches it. It was a pale color, almost cream, with a loose skirt that brushed her calves as she walked through the grass. 

She looked like she belonged to a different era for a moment, like a girl from a grassland story who didn’t own a phone and didn’t need to.

She wandered slowly, picking wildflowers with both hands, choosing the small ones most people ignore. Little white blooms, tiny yellow heads, bits of purple tucked low in the grass.

While she did that, I did my part of the day, the part I love because it makes the world feel normal no matter where we are.

I prepared dinner. Nothing complicated, just the kind of meal that feels warm and grounding after a day outside. I set up the small stove, pulled ingredients from our little fridge, and started cooking while the light softened again. 

The smell of food in the open air always feels different, like it carries farther and means more. I worked slowly, stirring, tasting, adjusting, letting the routine settle me.

By the time Amanda came back, she looked wind-kissed and content, her hands smelling faintly like crushed stems and wild petals. 

She placed the flowers on the table like an offering, sat down, and told me the names she thought the flowers might be, half guessing, half laughing at herself.

We ate outside, watching the hills turn darker in the distance as the day leaned toward evening. The wind eased, the sky stretched wide, and the Palouse quieted down again. That was it.