In August when the huckleberries are ready
And I’ve been noxon around Sanders County for a spell
The state’s Huckleberry Capital is just a stone’s throw
And Lakeside the grounds make a darned fine motel

The pine saloon here spells knotty with some mischief
And though a whistle can be whetted here, no doubt
There’s a fish fry every Friday that pulls folks off 200
And on this scenic road it’s worth the time-out

So, tell me, Where am I? What small town?

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