Yesterday, I
drove 360 miles across the state of Montana.
I could not have
asked for a better day. Temperatures
remained comfortable throughout. I drove
through striking, ever-changing landscapes from beginning to end. I started out amid handsome rimrocks and escarpments
and finished my drive bounded by mountains.
At a rest area
near Custer, I hiked up a well-maintained trail to the top of a hill and
captured a few images with my smarter-than-me-phone. The trail and rest area struck me as incredibly
clean and orderly—enough so to be beautiful. As good fortune would have it, the man who
maintains the rest area happened to be picking up a few bits of plastic from
the parking lot as I approached my car after my hike.
“Are you the one
who always maintains this?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want to thank
you. You are doing a tremendous
job. This is…beautiful. Your work stands out.”
“Thank you.”
I gauged the man
somewhere in his mid-thirties and Native American. We talked for a while. Small Talk. The man was soft-spoken and unpretentious. Before we parted, I thanked him one more
time.
The state of
Montana is lucky to have him.
I drove on.
The landscape
around me kicked up into loftier stone and earth formations as I drove westward. Soon enough, I found myself alongside blue
and white mountains and then I drove directly into them.
There, in the
mountains, my home.
Near Colstrip
Man (Under a Hat)
Rest Area Picnic Table
Crazy Mountains
Wood Rose
—Mitchell Hegman
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