There’s a certain charm to growing up in a place where the population sign hardly changes over the years. For me, that was Coeur d’Alene, Idaho—a town as gentle as its name sounds and as steadfast as its evergreen backdrops. It’s the kind of place where the first question isn’t “What do you do?” but “How’s your family?” It’s a town where the seasons dictate the pace of community life, and somehow, even the quirks—the logging trucks double-parked downtown or the impossibly cheery voice announcing the daily specials at the corner diner—worm their way into your heart if you let them. But Coeur d’Alene didn’t just shape the person I am today—it rewired the way I approach relationships. Stay with me; I’ll explain.

The Geography of Connection

Nestled at the tip of a massive lake, Coeur d’Alene doesn’t lend itself to anonymity. If you've wronged someone at the farmers' market, you’ll probably run into them at the post office before you get a chance to think up a good apology. If there’s a metaphor here, it’s that Coeur d’Alene—a town hemmed in by forests and waters—forces you to resolve loose ends. You can’t ghost someone when their aunt teaches your niece’s dance class, and that’s as uncomfortable as it is refreshing.

Reflecting on it now, maybe that’s why I’ve always believed in the slow, deliberate build when it comes to relationships. The dating apps weren’t big when I was young, so romance unfolded in time-honored ways: a smile across the bleachers, the accidental coffee spills at Java on Sherman, or the veiled excuse to “grab the trail guide” just to hike with someone who laughed at your jokes. What remains important is this: in Coeur d’Alene, we didn’t swipe on people; we lived among them. Relationships had roots—and they still had to weather storms.

The Small-Town Relationship Curriculum

Coeur d’Alene did not give me classes in “Modern Love” or seminars in how to “read text message tones.” My education in relationships looked more like this:

  • Problem Solving 101: Forgot a date? Better hope couples’ skate night at the roller rink can work as a peace offering.
  • Intro to Honesty: Because if you tried to fake your way through something, half the town would absolutely find out.
  • Advanced Patience: Small-town drama unfolds like a serialized TV show, except you can’t change the channel. Want to rebuild trust? That could take seasons.

Not every single thing about small-town life manages to scale when you live in a bigger world. But if there’s one lesson from Coeur d’Alene that stuck, it’s this: Relationships thrive when you treat them like the community garden everybody depends on. You tend it, forgive small mistakes, and keep showing up, rain or shine.

Loving Through the Seasons

If you ever find yourself in Coeur d’Alene, I’ll send you straight to Tubbs Hill, a rugged trail wrapping around the lake with killer views. I hiked there constantly—winter, spring, summer, and fall—and each season brought something unique. Summer breathed life into the trails, with kayakers bobbing in the distance. Winter brought a reverent hush, the kind that demands the resetting of priorities. And spring? That was your hopeful beginning, every single time.

Romance, much like Tubbs Hill, flourishes seasonally too. There’s the high-energy honeymoon “summer phase,” where you’re all-in on picnics and hand-holding. Fall brings a slowing down—less buzz, more coziness. But the inevitable winters will test you. Are you willing to shovel the metaphorical snow off the driveway together, or is the frost too much? Not every love makes it to spring, but the ones that do are rock-solid.

For me, the seasons taught me that being “in love” isn’t about feeling giddy all the time; it’s about adapting to love’s ebbs and flows. You honor the sunny days without running away from the blizzards.

Lessons from a Tourist Town

There’s a funny thing about growing up in a town that folks visit but rarely stay in—you learn what it means to let people go. Tourists arrive every summer, in shorts and sandals, marveling at the sunsets you’ve completely taken for granted. By September, they’re saying goodbye while promising to come back next year.

That same rhythm, unknowingly, taught me something big: not every connection is meant to last forever. Some people may be “summer friends”—fun and fleeting—and that’s okay. When I look back on my past relationships, I can tell which ones were Tubbs Hill-level enduring and which were as temporary as the tourists snapping Instagram pics on The Floating Boardwalk. There’s room in life—and in your heart—for both.

Here’s the real wisdom of a place like Coeur d’Alene: even when you know something won’t last, love it anyway. Treat it with sincerity. People, like places, deserve your full attention, no matter how long they stay.

My Coeur d’Alene List of Life

Because who doesn’t love a good list to wrap things up? Here’s what growing up in Coeur d’Alene taught me about relationships:

  1. Listen to the rhythms of your connection: Like spring, summer, autumn, and winter, love will shift. Not every phase is photogenic, but all are necessary.
  2. Start where you are: Whether it’s a quaint lake town or a buzzing cityscape, your surroundings aren’t limitations—they’re context. Look up from your phone long enough to interact.
  3. Community matters: In Coeur d’Alene, you learned people were interconnected whether you liked it or not. Surround yourself with solid relationships, not just romantic ones.
  4. Let go when it’s time: Not all relationships are meant to stretch through the years, and that’s part of their beauty. Thank them, learn from them, move on.
  5. Stay playful: Roll your windows down, go for ice cream dates, and watch the sunset even if you’ve seen it a hundred times. Joy in the little things builds reservoirs of resilience.

The Takeaway

Coeur d’Alene isn’t just a place; it’s my constant reminder that real relationships look like full ecosystems. Sometimes messy, sometimes straightforward. They’re bursts of wildflowers followed by months of prep work no one posts about. But they’re beautiful. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that it’s okay—no, it’s essential—to let love take time, just like the steady bloom of spring.

Whether you’re on your hundredth first date or celebrating twenty years with the same person, give yourself the grace of Coeur d’Alene. Be rooted, be present, and embrace where you are. Because the magic isn’t just in the place. It’s in how you let it make you.