My Half-Fortune Cookie

While in Kalispell, Desiree and I ate dinner at a Chinese restaurant. After finishing our meal, we were given the requisite fortune cookies.

My fortune was not good.

When I snapped my cookie in two and fished out the flag of paper inside, I discovered that half of my fortune had been torn away at some point before reaching me. The half I received read as follows:

“ease from your cares, have a good”

That’s it.

A cryptic, incomplete fortune awaits me.

Life can be so weird sometimes.

My Fortune

—Mitchell Hegman

Along the Blackfoot

One of the best things about living in Montana is that to get from, say, Point “A” to Point “B,” you must drive through Montana. Yesterday, Desiree and I drove from our house near Helena (Point A) to Kalispell (Point B) by way of the Seeley-Swan Valley. The first leg pulled us close to the Blackfoot River and twisted us alongside it. The second funneled us between the toothy, eager Mission Mountains and the chevron peaks of the Swan Range. Tall tamaracks marched beside us for miles, while lakes flashed into view when allowed.

The leafy trees and bushes are just now flushing color through their skirts, and the tamaracks are only beginning their fall wear. Desiree is especially enamored with autumn colors, which don’t exist in her faraway tropical home.

The cottonwoods along the Blackfoot glowed half-neon yellow in the new light of our early-morning drive. I stopped at a turnout atop a prow of earth and stone so Desiree and I could pile out and bracket a few photographs.

Fall Colors Along the Blackfoot River

—Mitchell Hegman

A Single Feather

I’m incapable of passing up a feather. If I chance upon a feather lying on the ground, I feel compelled to sweep it up and examine the colors and patterns, and then drag it like a soft file against my wrist. Feathers are invariably pretty. The standards iridescent. The structures impeccable, sometimes otherworldly.

Interestingly, a feather grows the opposite manner to a tree. A tree grows new at the top, while a feather grows new at the bottom. Trees add height and reach through their tips, where buds at the ends of branches and the crown extend upward into the light. Feathers, by contrast, push out from follicles in the skin, with fresh cells forming at the base and older material carried upward until the feather unfurls to full length. One reaches higher by stretching at its topmost points, the other by building steadily from its root.

Yesterday, I found a feather near my back door—a northern flicker feather, by my best estimation. That’s a woodpecker, for those of you from my lovely smelterite-filled neighborhood in East Helena, Montana.

Northern flickers are strikingly attired and sure to catch your eye. They also overwinter in our rumpled swath of Montana. For that, I give them due credit. At the same time, they can prove a pest. They are not opposed to pecking away at the exterior of a house if they appreciate the sound it makes or suspect dinner is someplace inside. A few years ago, one of our local flickers took to hanging out with a rowdy band of magpies that regularly descended upon my yard.

Interesting stuff, that. And the feather I picked up is interesting enough that I placed it on a shelf in my den.

The Feather

Northern Flicker (Photo: Audubon)

—Mitchell Hegman

Something Sitting Bull Said

Sitting Bull (c. 1831–1890) was a Hunkpapa Lakota Sioux leader, warrior, and spiritual figure best known for uniting the Plains tribes against U.S. government policies that threatened their land and way of life. Revered for his wisdom and courage, he played a central role in the resistance leading to the Battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876, where Lakota and Cheyenne forces defeated General George Custer’s troops. Though later forced to surrender, Sitting Bull remained a symbol of Native American resilience and dignity, even touring briefly with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He was killed in 1890 during an attempted arrest at Standing Rock Reservation, but his legacy endures as a powerful voice of defiance and cultural pride.

Following are three quotes from Sitting Bull:

— "It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.”

—"Let us put our minds together and see what life we can make for our children.”

—"Is it wrong for me to love my own? Is it wicked for me because my skin is red? Because I am Sioux? Because I was born where my father lived? Because I would die for my people and my country?

—Mitchell Hegman

Another Observation

In my limited experience, mean people make decent electricians, but they don’t make for good cashiers at the local grocery.

—Mitchell Hegman

A Noise Deep in the Night

My house, like all wood-framed houses, makes noises from time to time—all the usual stuff. The floor occasionally creaks or groans under weight. The wind may elicit a whistle or cry at the windows. When confronted with bitterly cold weather, the exterior walls and roof framing might even crack their knuckles.

Late last night, though, my house issued a new, bigger thing. It flung a body against a wall—or dropped it to the floor in another room. The sound had no precise location. It was big but not exactly loud.

After hearing the noise, I lay in bed blinking at the dark, wondering what might account for it. Neither wind nor cold weather could be held to blame. After several slightly uneasy minutes of listening for a repeat, I twisted into my blanket and drifted back to sleep.

Years ago, a similar odd sound in the night later proved to be a tripod I had leaned against a closet wall that had fallen over of its own accord. Early this morning, I swept through the entire house looking for “a body.”

Nothing turned up, leaving the mystery to rattle around with the pipes and beams.

—Mitchell Hegman

Exiting September

Welp, we are on the verge of exiting September, the first of our four “ber” months. If you are married to a woman from the Philippines, as I am, you quickly learn that September through December aren’t just months on the calendar—they’re one long Christmas season.

In the Philippines, Christmas sneaks in the moment the page flips to September—because, well, it ends in “ber,” just like December. By the time the rest of the world is still arguing over Halloween costumes, Filipinos already have lights strung, decorations dangling, and “Silent Night” echoing through the malls. Four whole months of yuletide cheer—it’s basically an endurance sport.

Christmas is serious business there. And pulling a Filipina off her island and plunking her down in Montana is not going to tone down that Christmas spirit—it just means she swaps palm trees for pine.

Desiree was a little slow off the starting line this year, but she made up ground fast over the last couple of days. We are now officially in Christmas mode. Baubles dangle here and there, a wreath hangs over the electric fireplace, and most importantly, the tree is up and fully decorated.

I’ll admit, the tree looks pretty spiffy. I’m sharing a photograph of Desiree placing the star on top—smiling like she just won Christmas gold.

Merry Christmas!

And, oh yeah, have a nice Thanksgiving somewhere along the way.

—Mitchell Hegman