My mother, one day last week, informed us that our grandparents were hoping we could journey the 700 mile trek from Seattle to Bozeman for a four day, three night stay to tour around. I also had hoped to see some of the campus, though the most I did eventually see was the Musuem of the Rockies - don't get me wrong though, I am not complaining at all. I got to see Big Mike...
There are also the people, who are the friendliest you could ever meet. Everyone says hi, everyone is willing to stop and have a chat with a total stranger. Twice, the group of us were invited to someone's home, the first being my mother's childhood home, and the second being my grandfather's neighbors in the Shining Mountain property. Not only were they both of them gracious, but the neighbors were thrilled to have company and give us every minute detail of their lives since they'd come to live in the Shining Mountains.
That was the most awe-inspiring part of the trip: the road trip out to the Shining Mountains. I would argue anyone, anyday, with every scrap of evidence I can muster that Montana has, by far, the most beautiful countryside in the world. Wild, craggy canyons edge the sapphire Madison River, and then you come to a cozy little town called Ennis with the zaniest people and culture - an eclectic merge of the Old West and the modern world. Beyond Ennis, is a huge valley, dusted gold from the hay and grain fields, with green bushes fringing the Madison and its tributaries coming down from the mountains. Antelope and deer are frequently dodging your gaze, and horses and cows eagerly look to the road as they yearn for friendly faces. I saw a few of my four-legged friends, a couple of quarter horses, and insisted that my mother stop along a road outside Ennis to say hi, petting them and sweet-talking them as they nibbled the corners of my shirt and nudged heads with me. And my favorite part of the scenery is the copious amounts of wild sunflowers. They aren't the big, honking dinner plate sized ones with stems the diameter of your pinkie: they are like any other flower, dainty and adorable, and they are so numerous that you could pick enough for a wedding party, and you wouldn't make a dent in them. I absolutely adore that they grow wild here.
When we got to my grandparents' property out there in the Shining Mountains, the sun was high above us, and the wind sang a song of greeting, so exuberant that my hat was prone to flying off. Golden eagles circled the valley below, and the peace of it all was the most striking thing I've ever felt. Far beyond the reaches of civilization, I could really feel myself falling in love with it all. I could see myself, ten years in the future, with a property like the one my grandfather owns, with a little cabin, a barn, and a few horses of my own, and a life in Bozeman. You could say that my heart has been set on Montana, thoroughly and finally.
In the end, I thought it only fair that I write about it, in hopes that you could understand my plight. You've heard of my ready disdain for western Washington, and this should be a heavy indicator as to where that comes from. I thought about scratching out a poem for you all, but I didn't think that would be fair, as it would be forced and quickly thrown out. Pray for me that next week, I'll have something more organized, and that some distant relative doesn't call me away again.
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