By Christine Barnes
I'm an indoorsy person who grew up in Montana alienated from nature. In my hometown, the outdoors was the domain of those who could climb higher, bike farther, ski faster, and camp out forever. But after I moved to New York City and got homesick for the West, I found myself drawn to our come-as-you-are national parks. I fell in love with the comforting, all-American beauty of the historic lodges pictured and described in this book. Having dinner at El Tovar after a sweaty day ogling the Grand Canyon, or reading a book in a rocking chair at the Old Faithful Inn after sulfurous hikes around Yellowstone—it's hard not to get swept up with an old-fashioned excitement about seeing the country. Also, turns out I have a thing for stuff made out of giant logs.