Wandering

"This is a moon rock," she said.  "Yeah, it's a moon rock because it looks like the moon and it came from the moon.  It fell off of it while it was sleeping and landed here."

My first thought on Wednesday evening was that I would drop little man off with his dad to make some rounds on the tractor with him while he was seeding winter wheat.  I would then proceed home for a while with the little lady and get some chores done so that life might not be so chaotic as we prepared to leave for Missoula later in the week.

My second, infinitely better, thought was that he would ride the tractor, while her and I explored the Green Trail looking for treasures of yesteryear.  The Green Trail is a two track dirt road extending from Brockway to the west.  Largely abandoned except for the occasional farm vehicle or fall hunter, it meanders straight west up and down hills, undoubtedly tying together many paths of history.  And like most dirt road two track trails around here, every year brings a new crop of rocks, bullet shells, long lost tractor parts, and with enough patience and the right eye, tools of the native trade:  scrapers, rocks that have clearly been manipulated by human hand and arrowheads, the greatest find of all.

As my girl and my dog and I walked that evening, we found the most beautiful rocks and had the most beautiful conversations.  From moon rocks to talking about her Grandpa Bob losing the shells and tractor pieces (and how happy he would be if he knew that we had found them), I was reminded that I need to take more time to stop and smell the roses freshly planted soil and the hint of smoke in the air from the wildfires preparing to die in the mountainous areas west of us.

I sometimes mourn the fact that we live almost 1,000 miles from the ocean.  Walking along though with my head turned downward in true beachcomber fashion, I realized that these roads, these hills, these are my beach.  Just as you can see to the horizon and dream about what is beyond as you look across the ocean, so too can I see to the horizon and dream even more deeply and wildly about what lies beyond.  I know that there is way more than just water. 



Fare Thee Well

We lost an old friend today. I walked out the door this morning to go for a sunrise jog. Tucker Dog and I noticed at the same time a black spot laying just across the drive. With a sinking feeling, I realized that it was a cat and turned back inside to let Danish Cowboy know that it was his duty to deal with it. We both went back and decided that yes, it was a cat, and yes, it was no longer of this world. Our hearts broke a little when we discovered that it was not just any cat, but Big Black Kitty, our neighbor's elderly feline. It's funny how death makes the body appear smaller and we didn't recognize him right away -- perhaps the absence of a spirit that is released to another life?

And what a spirit this big kitty had. You might recall that I'm not a very big fan of cats in general, but Big Black Kitty was special. He helped our neighbor's kids appreciate animals and helped our kids appreciate them, too. The first animal (other than Tucker Dog) that the kids could relate to on their terms, he was a welcome sight when he made his presence known on his almost daily rounds from his home, to the barn, to our house, and back again. You could let the children squeeze him a little just to test the waters without fear that he would retaliate. And he returned the favor by rubbing his mouth and teeth against you as cats tend to do, purring all the while.

I didn't cry when I found Big Black Kitty this morning which surprises me a bit. Ten years ago I would have probably called off from work and worn black, mourning throughout the day. It makes me wonder whether life has hardened me or whether I just don't really like cats that much.

However, when I consider those options, I think that neither is true. The reality of farming and ranching is that life comes and life goes, sometimes more often than we like when considering farm animals. And oftentimes, there's not a whole heck of a lot you can do about the going part except respect and cherish and love the living creatures that call our place their home.

I am sorrowful whenever an animal passes on, whether it was a devoted member of our family or a random cow with a number. I hate the obvious void that is left when a cow loses its calf or vice versa. Sometimes there are tears, sometimes there are not. Tears or no, all of the lives matter around here and we are one shorter tonight. His space has been quickly filled in at the chow line, but (as much as it pains me to say this about a cat)there's a little spot reserved permanently in my heart for that creature that taught my kids their first lessons about respecting our animal friends.

Turn Right at the Tree

Did I ever tell you the one about how I got here? I mean how I actually ARRIVED here in a physical sense? Danish Cowboy and I crossed paths in Missoula on a perfect December evening. Come January, he had convinced me to make the trek from the peaks to the prairies to get a glimpse of his lifestyle. I obliged. After all, he owned a horse. How bad could he be? As I sat in my Missoula apartment daydreaming up the mountainside, he proceeded to give me directions. "Just get on Montana 200 and follow it east forever. And be careful in Great Falls. They have stop lights there. Be sure to stop if they turn red. Keep driving forever through Lewistown and then keep driving some more. Then, turn right at the tree."

"Uh, the tree?"

"Yeah, you can't miss it."

"You mean like A tree? THE tree? Just one tree?"

"Yes, turn right at the tree."

Clearly my knowledge of prairie biology at that time was minimal.

(No, this picture is not upside down. I was looking up, up, up!)

This should have been my sign, my hallelujah moment if you believe in such things, the initiative I needed to end this ordeal. Guess what? It wasn't! So, during one my stupider moments in life, I packed up my little pick-up and drove 450 miles across a state that I had only lived in for five months, in the middle of a Montana winter, on icy roads, to spend the weekend with someone who was technically still a complete stranger. But if you recall, I had discerned in one of my first questions to him ever, that he had a horse. He couldn't be all that bad, right? I mean, horse owners aren't serial killers or anything, are they?
It became fairly crystal clear to me as I was driving along that evening that I was about to experience a whole new world. Yes, the trees dimished greatly in number due to soils and climate as I proceeded east and yes, I cherish the few trees that surround our our farmyard and am in a constant state of tree planting come April of each year. However, when I stepped out of my pick-up that first night and the words Big Sky Country came to life, I knew this was where I belonged, trees or no. The stars, oh how the stars shone! I'll never forget standing under that sky for the first time with a complete stranger and feeling so at peace. So if you want to experience this beauty and this grandeur, just turn right at the tree. The prairie is waiting.

Stuck

When you have cabin fever, your sense of humor becomes warped. You find yourself laughing hysterically at your children when they are so bundled up that they can't see anything and they have shuffled themselves into a very deep snow drift. You tell yourself that they look like an image from South Park and giggle some more and take some pictures before your rescue them.

And then your husband wonders why you haven't written anything on your blog in almost two weeks. And you tell him there's nothing to write about unless people want to hear stories of how I shake the thermometer, begging, pleading it to rise above zero degrees Fahrenheit,

and that my days have recently been sent sorting through the family history, some of which is not so much history as weird memories and most of which is truly history and a remarkable tale in images and words of how a family came from all points of the globe in the fairly recent homesteading past to create what we are experiencing today. You tell your husband that until you sort through these pictures and stories and get them ready to share with the world, there just isn't much interesting stuff going on.

"Then why don't you write about there being nothing to write about," he says.
Brilliant!

Did you know that the term cabin fever was apparently first associated with people who got sick in Ireland because they ate potatoes that were too wet after an especially moist growing season? I didn't either and I'm a little leery of that fact.

I am fairly confident, however, that cabin fever does relate to people being stuck inside for far too long due to unfavorable weather conditions in the great outdoors. It can cause them to do goofy things and, I have a hard time believing this, become irritable.
Now don't get me wrong, I love winter. I love snowshoeing and seeing the wildlife come in closer to the house. Hearing the coyotes howl on a cold star-filled night sends chills down my spine. What I do not love is when the thermometer does not even register because it is so cold and the vehicle whines when you start it and the wind blows and the weathermen tell us that even five minutes of skin exposure will cause you to become a frostbitten snowman.
With the busy growing season just around the corner, we recognize that winter is good for family time. And no matter what your lot in life is, we can all use more of that.

The 12 Days of Christmas #11

DANCING

People are curious about why I write this blog. And I fear that the pressure I placed on myself to post consecutively, 12 days in a row, has led me away from the reason that I started writing it a year and a half ago. It may have even offended some. This was not my intent. To be cliche, this is a happy place. If you want to contact me to start a dialogue on something I have said or if I have made you smile, there is a contact address on the top right of all the pages.

I don't write this blog for lack of something better to do. I have a full time job which keeps me focused, I have two marvelous kids and a wonderful husband who happen to be of Danish descent, I have a fat and destructive and wildly undertrained horse, I have a few years of scrapbooking to catch up on, I need to call my Mom, and my snowshoes need to be dusted off in a very bad way. But I have always had a passion for writing and recently for photography. This is my outlet and it 85% satisfies my urge to constantly be putting pen to paper.

So I put the kids to bed at night, throw in a load of laundry and sit down at the computer to release my thoughts. And what fun it is!

I write and post photos to show people the beauty of this land I live in, to show them it's not always perfect, to help people understand what is involved in living a life on the prairie. I want people to realize that no matter where you are from, you live in an amazing part of the world and are surrounded by amazing people. Appreciate it as I appreciate all of the places that I have lived and people that I have known.

Thanks, Jason, for sharing this video so many months ago. I find peace every time I watch it. Be sure to turn your volume up for maximum gratification.

And hey everyone: thanks for reading. Really. I really do appreciate it.

The 12 Days of Christmas #10

Though difficult to imagine, the past few days have been hectic ones. After blizzard warnings and endless days of sub-zero temperatures and gift giving and gatherings with the in-laws and personal hopes of posting 12 days in a row being shattered, I'm glad Christmas is over. But wait! Is it?
I managed to get myself stuck on Christmas Eve morning in a deep and hard drift outside of our home. I walked back to the house, head hanging, waiting for the ridicule I was certain to face.

Danish Cowboy: You weren't driving fast enough.<

Me: I didn't want to hit the fenceposts.

DC: You always line up straight on and punch it. I watched the whole thing. You weren't going fast enough.

Me: Whatever. This is what happens when you marry a city girl. Go dig me out.

So he goes and rescues me in about 2 seconds. I stayed with the kids in the house until he had the pick-up out and then ran outside and we met halfway between the scene of the stickiness and the house. The kids were alone for, at best (or worst), three minutes.

I drove down the road and discovered that the brakes were not working and called Danish Cowboy. He failed to care.

Danish Cowboy: Grrrr...The brakes will be like that all day. Deal with it. Grrr...

Me: What's your problem on this beautiful winter day?

DC: The kids got in to the finger paint after you left. It is all over the wall, window, the trim, floor and them.

Me: Never mind. I don't need brakes. Click. (hysterical laughter all day long)As I said before, I am pleased that the Christmas season is over. However, when listening to A Prairie Home Companion on December 26, Mr. Keillor informed me that the 12 Days of Christmas had, are you ready for this? Only just begun. What?!?!?Here I was, duped by mainstream commercialism and my sorely lacking knowledge of religious history, into thinking that the 12 Days of Christmas happened before Christmas. My friends, they do not happen before. They happen after. The 12 Days celebrate the arrival of the birth of Christ and ultimately the arrival of the magi (who may or may not have been kings and may or may not have been women).The 12 Days culminate in the Epiphany of Christ, wherein he is blessed with gifts and discovered as the son of God. My version of this story is short, lacking in details, and begs for you to read more on it and not laugh at me because I did not know this. We can all celebrate the kindness and wonder that come inherently with the cold holiday season. We can all practice the love thy neighbor doctrine. How can you not when there is such beauty surrounding us?And that is one lesson of the faithful that did not escape my grasp.

Excuses

I bet you thought I forgot about this little blog. No updates, no pictures, no clever ideas. The truth is, I forgot my password.

And the dog ate my camera.

And I was whisked away on a romantic vacation to Baja by Danish Cowboy.

Actually, life happened.

Here's how it all went down: November started off with a trip to Pennsylvania with me flying solo with the kids. I PROMISED Danish Cowboy I wouldn't tell my bloggies like you that I was going there because he was a bit worried about weirdos. And the whole week prior to my departure was spent fretting over whether I could actually travel with two small kids by myself without landing in a mental institution.

But we went, the kids were fantastic (they are my kids, after all) and we safely returned. I even managed to squeeze two Costco trips into the deal. And some serious outlet shopping. And Mom and Dad and Sister: I snuck to Isaac's. On Sunday. After I saw my friend. And I didn't tell you about it and the guilt is lingering. But I did eat two helpings of pickle plates. And then when we were ordering takeout on Monday, I almost said "I'd like to have a Scarlet Ibis, but I had that yesterday." It was on the tip of my tongue and thank goodness I didn't let that little thought slip out. Sorry. Don't be mad. I had to do it.

Those events transpired on and before November 10. Then Danish Cowboy decided to get ill.

And he landed in a hospital for two days. He is feeling much better now and that's all I'm going to say about that.

Except there was this doctor there who said he was from New York. We are fairly confident that he had created some credentials for himself and was MASQUERADING as an MD. He also appeared to have a toupe on that at one time may have matched his gray hair, but has since aged and now has a tinge of yellow while his actual hair on the bottom was still quite brilliantly gray. You can't help but notice these things when you are isolated in a hospital room.

And then the best part about our weekend hospital visit: Danish Cowboy promised to get us a housekeeper while he was healing up because he couldn't possibly assist me with household duties at this time. I tried hard not to laugh at a sick man. I tried really, really hard not to make a snarky comment at a sick man, but I didn't try hard enough. Sorry Danish Cowboy.

Actually, the best part was that I got one of those new plastic one quart water glasses from the hospital. My glass from two years ago was starting to show signs of wear, not unlike that doctor's toupe

.

We love you Danish Cowboy! And we're glad you're feeling better!

This has been a riveting post. I am aware of that. Tomorrow: a close examination of the cultural dichotomy that exists between East Coast private schools and Northwest public schools. You had best tune in for this. I think you'll enjoy how I use the scientific method to come to some eye-opening conclusions.

My Summer Vacation

While our little family did not make it to Yellowstone this year, we did manage to escape for a quick two-day vacation to the big city and this is what I now know:

*Rest stops exist for a reason. I can no longer, much to the chagrin of my obsessive-compulsive side, calculate how soon I will get somewhere if I manage to drive at a certain speed for a certain period of time. I can also no longer drive 7.5 hours at one stretch. Kids somehow changed all of that. I thought little C was coming down with an illness. He was feverish, whiny, pale. His feet hurt from dangling over the edge and then we released him and such a miracle was there to be seen!
*Montana rest stops, much like the entire state, are really quite delightful with interesting historical tidbits, moderately clean restrooms, and warnings about rattlesnakes in the area so you better stay on the sidewalks or else and don't say we didn't warn you!

*Naps are still critical, especially when Mother dear gets two whole hours of interrupted Costco time. Two. Whole. Hours. I almost ran out of money.
*The best part of vacation, whether you have 18 kids or none, is still the food,
and when it is your very first ice cream cone ever, this makes the food all the more special.

*You will meet some interesting people while sitting outside an interstate DQ with twins enjoying their first ice cream cone. Very interesting, indeed.

*If you take kids to the zoo, they will not want to walk.
*But if you get a stroller, they will not want to ride. This is where Mom and Dad rules come into effect and it is so fun to be the adult, finally, after many years: you can make them ride. This is also where I discovered that you people who take toddlers on long trips to large amusement parks are mostly saints, but also partially mentally deranged, and much more brave than I.
*There will be tigers and bears and red pandas at the zoo, but the most interesting creature will be the horse. Familiarity can sometimes be a beautiful thing for a kid.

*Most importantly, I was reminded that these special getaways are critical to our children's well-being. They learn so much about the world at home, but there is always more to be seen, to be felt, to experience, to dream about and you have to get out once in a while to take advantage of that fact of life.

I Had No Idea

Is that me? Are those my newborn twins in oversized diapers? Did they really fit on my chest and did we spend hours of the day in this position? I truly didn't know that this was ever something I would enjoy. I just had no idea and I still pinch myself to make sure it's real.

Is that our little C, sitting up so proudly for the first time? I had no idea I could be so proud of such a seemingly small feat.

And I didn't know that little L's smile and bell-like laughter would stop me in my tracks so that I might remind myself how lucky I am. And what I really didn't expect was that, when Danish Cowboy and I decided to start a family, how hard that would prove to be, how many tears we would shed, and where this journey would take us.

But I sure am glad we traveled down that long road because those wrinkles, those smiles, those little butts and all of the memories we have made and all that we will make in the future -- I would do this all over again in a heartbeat...because I had no idea that after 18 months this little 6 lb 3 oz babe would turn into an attitude with a killer smile and a brilliant sense of independence,

and that this 5 lb 12 oz newborn would be a lean, mean bike-riding machine with a kind heart and a quick laugh.
I had no idea they would change so quickly and in so doing change Danish Cowboy and I forever. Thank you, little people!

The Buffalo Commons

This is not where I live. It is on the eastern side of Glacier National Park, just off of the Going to the Sun Road. The beauty of this place makes it easy to see why Glacier is considered by some to be the crown jewel of America's national park system. However, since I tend to visit Glacier only when it has snowed and only when it is impossible to get around, I really can not speak much of it. I would rather speak of things I know, anyway.
This also is not where I live, but is quite a bit closer. This is my crown jewel of the American park system -- the north unit of Theodore Roosevelt National Park in the far western portion of North Dakota. Nobody visits here. Wildlife are readily visible. The colors -- oh, the colors! Sunset in the badlands is like a vast living painting. If you have an imagination and are willing to work for it, you will find an equal number of spectacular sights that would rival a visit to any of the great parks of the Rockies.
This is where I live. Located somewhere between Glacier and the North Dakota badlands, the short-grass prairie of eastern Montana stretches beyond a space that you would have trouble imagining. It is a land filled with rolling hills, badlands, sagebrush flats and a desolation unlike anything I have ever known. Even for all of its sparseness of population, we still have our issues. When Danish Cowboy and I were still dating, he told me how these people from the east coast had come up with this plan to remove all of the people from the small communities, take the private land back under federal control, tear out all the fences, revert all of the farmland back to native prairie and re-introduce native species such as bison, grizzlies, wolves and other megafauna. I didn't believe him until I took a land use planning class and needed a research idea. Again, another way in which he, a guy, has become useful.

In these people's minds (and many more who have jumped on the bandwagon), agriculture on the Great Plains had been one of the greatest miscalculations in our nation's history. Frank and Deborah Popper of New Jersey felt that the negative population growth that the region was experiencing laid the perfect foundation for recreating the prairie as it had existed before European settlement. One problem, though: people live here. And to relocate them to cities or turn them into tour guides would break their spirit. And create a huge rift in the farm economy. And cause America to completely lose its now almost mythical western ranching culture.

The Poppers are correct about the negative population growth, about the boom and bust cycle of the economy, about the seemingly impossible idea of agriculture in such an arid region. But you know what? They're wrong about a lot more things than they are right. To insinuate that a nature preserve of the scale they suggested could be implemented is foolishness. We, as a nation, have come too far to revert to the way life was 150 years ago, prior to European settlement. To begin with, nomadic Native American plains tribes played a huge role in the ecology that allowed the huge bison herds to roam. It is doubtful to think that this exact ecology could be restored. And to be honest -- for most Americans, the Great Plains is not Glacier National Park and it never will be. It takes a different breed to find a constant beauty out here -- and so the recreation dollar that the Buffalo Commons proponents say would fuel the nature preserve/tourism economy probably just does not exist. I mean we all hear excitement in people's voices when they talk about visiting Yosemite or the Rockies. But to go visit the prairie. Hmmm. Sounds fun. Not many hiking trails out there, eh?
I love living out here. I hate the fact that the biggest warehouse store is four hours away, but we can't have it all, now can we? Even six years after first hearing about the Buffalo Commons idea, I continue to find fascination with it. The decline of our population is a huge issue because it affects the tax base and it has a negative impact on our school systems. But agriculture continues to rule in this region and modern farming/ranching practices seem to be making it a viable way to make a living -- in most years, anyway. The Buffalo Commons proposal, 20 years after the idea was introduced, has not died but has morphed into many smaller ideas where groups such as the Nature Conservancy and the American Prairie Foundation are implementing the buffalo reintroduction on a small scale.
Buffalo are the iconic animals of the Great Plains and they have their place. They deserve protection and admiration for the great role that they have played in our people's history over the eons. But my culture has its place, too. And we'll do everything we can to preserve this land that we love and cherish.