A Pee Story

Every Friday I'd ditch Bozeman drive to Idaho. Monday morning my alarm would ping at 3:30. I'd take a quick pee in the back bathroom, scurry out the door, and drive the 3 hours back to Montana. Almost always just bawling sliding into work on time.

One Monday, in a half-awake stupor, I forgot to flush that back bathroom toilet. Two weeks later, while investigating a pungent smell, J discovered my fermenting waste. It was almost a game-ender.

Now, we're married and have a kid. Life's wild.

Ditty.

His Wishes. Not Mine.

I never felt a deep emotional connection. I felt broken, like something was wrong with me. With us. It felt like I wasn't suppose to do this. Doubt was a constant throughout my pregnancy. Then, he was here. And everything made sense, instantly.

Unspoken Words

Full conversations with the dogs is a daily over here. J jokingly asks if I'm getting the answers I'm looking for. We don't need words, Silly. The eyes say it all.

Maiden Adventure

Our first date was three days long. Dropped off on a dirt road in the middle of Grand Teton National Park. Moments later J bounded down the washboard in Ginger, his custom built rust colored VW Vanagon. It was love at first sight, me and the van. (You already know how I felt about the boy)

We late night hot springed, cooked steaks in bear country at midnight, got a flat tire with no jack. Instantly connected. I was in awe as he navigated hundreds of miles of backroads, the map solely in his mind.

It was the summer of 2009, I was 24 living in Wisconsin, absolutely smitten with a guy in Idaho.

The Driveway

I twisted the mound of dreadlocks into a nappy beehive atop my head and hopped out of the passenger seat. The first weekend of my vacation was spent living in my dear friend’s white ‘86 VW Westfalia, VanGo. Three days of heat, rain, music, mud, and beer. The Idaho sun scorched my hungover, dehydrated fair midwestern skin. August heat was different out here; dry and intense.

“There is just nobody like him.” Laurie had just spent the previous hour of our greasy pub lunch trying to put words to him. Her tone excited and enthusiastic then laced with hesitation. Her descriptive lead up didn't make much sense to me at the time. We were only stopping by his shop to drop off a borrowed tool as we rolled out of town. National park friends had introduced her and her husband to Jeremy, their mechanic son, years ago. Since then, he'd done extensive restoration work on VanGo.

I fixed my skirt as I walked across the gravel drive. It was a futile attempt to dust off the festival weekend. The main garage door was open; he was pushing a broom across the smooth concrete floor. Casually raising his head up from tiding, he flashed a grin. "Hey ladies!"

Was it his eyes or his smile that made my stomach drop? Perhaps it was a bit of both. Suddenly, Laurie's warning clicked in my brain.

TRIXIE

She wasn’t here long enough for her eyes to cloud, for her joints to creak. Time wasn't a metric she used. She was so much bigger than time. Love was her only rhythm. We miss you, big bear.

Trixie. Bringer of joy. ❤️ 8.21.16//10.20.22

Deep Dark

⠀

⠀

The smooth hum of pavement is quickly replaced by the crunch and pop of gravel. We hit the dirt road after dark, always. We cant see and we never know where were going. But thats kind of the point. If it was easy, we wouldn’t be out here alone. Far from street lights, porch lights, and even passing headlights- Ginger’s original beams leave something to be desired. Out in the deep dark Jeremy jokes- “Holding a piece of burning toilet paper at arms distance would yield more light.”⠀⠀

We spend the next who knows how long winding down unmarked single lane, past tiny farm houses who’s barking heelers nip at the tires for quarter mile stretches. We cruise down draws and up hillsides. At every cross road, we attempt to pinpoint our location on the Delorme map by flashlight, kind of. There’s really no way of knowing for sure. No cell service, no signs. Just the dogs, the van, and us. ⠀

Once convinced we’re absolutely alone and on public land, we pull over, pop the top, and step outside. Just a couple specks in a deep dark night.

First Time Up High

The air was cool on my sun toasted skin. Rummaging through my pack looking for a layer, I was shocked that it could be this cold in August. We’d been walking for days in the summer sun with our lives strapped to our backs. Patches of snow dotted the summit. It was the highest I’d ever been under the power of my own feet. Alone in the moment; absolute awe. For the first time in nearly a week, I powered up my cellphone. Ignoring all the incoming messages- I rang my mom. Gently sobbing and desperately trying to put words to the view, the emotions, the world around me. I had never felt so at home yet so alone. I knew, from that day forward, that the mountains were in me. 

I am made up of tiny summit flowers, pushing through the rocky crust in the most desolate of places.  Persistent and beautiful. I am the curious marmot scurrying from place to place. Always on the hunt for a snack. I am the granite beneath my feet and the air about my head. I don’t just breath it into my lungs, its in my soul. This is my place. 

The Man of La Mancha

At the start of every freshman Spanish class we would stand next to our desks and sing Don Quixote’s “Man of La Mancha” aloud, in English. Twenty plus years later, three times a month, I find myself belting out “I am I Don Quixote the Lord of La Mancha! My destiny calls and I goooo!!” Looking back, its kind of horrifying how much of my high school education was taught from VHS tapes played on the ancient TV cart.

Luckily, I also learned how to silversmith in high school. And just like Don Quixote, my destiny calls. There are so many design ideas swirling. Keep an eye out for a mid-March launch. ⠀⠀

Until then, do yourself a favor- go watch the original Don Quixote from 1957 and enjoy.

Danny Boy

Each spring the goal is a straight run of pullets- in other words, all lady chicks. Roosters serve a purpose in a coop but aren’t necessary for egg production and more than one can cause a real problem. The last three years, Big Red has been the gentle protector of the flock. The tall, dark, and handsome type. A true ladies man. 

I’m no pro at sexing chicks, but you hit a point mid summer where it becomes pretty clear. Attempted cock-a-doodling and awkward advances. Think teenage boys hitting puberty. I caught on to Danny’s manliness pretty early on. He’s a Bantam and, when full grown, will be just 1/4 of the size of Big Red. He is all fancy and flair, despite his tiny stature. This bold personality literally saved his tail feathers. 

There were no plans to keep an additional rooster. But Danny is something special. He confidently dances around the run, courting and cooing at the ladies. He’s easy going, always respectfully allowing me to dote on him. 

He made the cut, or didn’t. 

Danny: the one that made the cut...or didn’t.

We Walk

I read. We walk. I create. Everyday.

It’s part 75Hard, part self-dictated social media addiction recovery. I feel more connected, alive, joyful than I have in years. Being here, really here…as myself, for myself.

What I’ve been reading:

“Claiming Grounds” by Laura Bell

“The Solace of Open Spaces” by Gretel Ehlrich

”Great Plains” by Ian Frazier

”Becoming Supernatural” by Dr. Joe Dispenza

”I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn’t)” by Brene Brown

Letting Go

We thrive on connection; us women. Placing our value and worth on our ability to create and maintain relationships. It’s engrained in us. The need to belong, commiserate, share experiences. Empathy. Along the way, we add layer upon layer to the bond. Growing and evolving; together or apart. 

Everything changes over time. The landscape, life, death, you, me. In a constant state of controlled chaos comes the end of some connections and the beginning of others. 

It’s uncomfortable, uncertain, and sad when you realize a relationship is no longer serving your growth. Staying seems so much easier; curled up in the cocoon of the known. But, what you find in the beyond could bring you the greatest joys of your life. 

There is no fault in moving on, letting go. 

Broken Arrow Bolo//commissioned for an Alaskan darling.

Home.

A somber feeling when you realize the place that grew you, your childhood home- a constant source of comfort and love, is no longer truly home. A slice of my heart will always live in Wisconsin but the mountains have me now. Each visit east further confirms I’m right where I need to be. In my mountains. My roots out west feed my soul. 

For The Love Of Sundays

It was a crisp 49°, my hands sucking the warmth from my favorite mug. Trix nestled deep into the cool grass, a long sigh of relief. The cool couldn’t have come soon enough for her. Corey, a farmer across the valley, idles his diesel down the frontage, on his way to check irrigation water flow. He lifts his coffee cup, nods his head slightly. A standard Idaho “Good Morning.”

Returning To The True Path

I’ve learned, as I’ve grown older, that the farther I veer away from my true self, my faith, the more difficult life can seem. An invisible road block stopping me dead in my tracks. Catastrophe after catastrophe stacking up. For just a few days, or months on end. I’ll hit the same road block over and over again. Distraught by my heartache. But then, when I find the path, a light shines on me with such intensity. The pain washes away. I can find joy again. I am new, but the same. I am found.

Hall&Oates

Guys! Help me welcome these bros to the pack! Who can say no to a pair of matching kittens? Not this girl. I have been toying with the idea of Coop Cats. Raise some babes in my chicken coop to help keep the rodent population down. ((And help me get my mitten mitten face fix)) Luckily, here in the valley, there is no shortage of cute kittens. These two brothers were swooped up from a barn situation. There is a young lady doing some great work with trapping, spaying, and releasing cats in the area. Such a great cause! Adopting kittens saves the world!

Be Here Now

If there is one thing a dog can teach you it's simply this. Be Here Now.

Closing Time

It's Halloween to most. But over here its closing day of fall bear. The guys tell me this year's hunt has been harder than past. Early storms followed by hot days make consistency non-existent. The factors that go into a successful hunt feel more like luck most often. But what is luck really? Just a stacking of circumstances. The fate of heavens. God's all seeing eye having a plan. As I packed up my blind for the last time this season, I reflected. The sunset was spectacular. Skies on fire amazing. These are the moments I hold close. And leave my cozy aspen nest with a full heart instead despite never pulling the trigger. The wind blows louder, the trees snap with gust, and everything is alive. Each movement peaking the senses.

Until next year.

Dark Nights Early

After a night of hunting. Enjoying the moon and stars on the hills.