So much for my attempt at Hemingway's writing style. Here's one wily coyote:
Tragic note: In 1961 Hemingway committed suicide with both barrels of his favorite shotgun in Ketchum, Idaho, which is about four hours south of here. He is buried in Ketchum, and his memorial there contains these fitting words, taken from a eulogy he wrote himself upon the death of a friend in 1939:
Best of all he loved the fall
The leaves yellow on the cottonwoods
Leaves floating on the trout streams
And above the hills
The high blue windless skies
Now he will be a part of them forever.
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