A Single Tree

My directions were on paper and nearly impossible to follow: Turn left when you find the first narrow road through the timber.  Once you drop down a steep hill and find a large boulder on the left, turn off onto the next right.  The road will soon turn into two narrow tracks.

Shadows deepened as I descended into a narrow mountain valley.  Pine and fir trees grew close together, with bough touching bough.  Branches wiped against the truck’s windshield as I slipped through the most ancient whorls.  Lesser birds hopped along the understory, flicking through occasional columns of full light, never taking to flight.

Look for a fir tree much bigger than all others.  You’ll find a grassy opening in the trees there.  It’s not a road, but turn in.  Follow spaces between trees.

I flashed through a lighted opening in the trees where a swarm of insects swirled upwards into the air.  I wheeled the truck though wide spaces as I found them.  Finally, I came to a large open swale where stood a single mountain ash tree—elegant and full and brighter than all other trees.  Yellow glacier lilies had gathered into a cluster in the shade of the tree.

I stepped from my truck to behold this, understanding for the first time…it is possible for a single tree to be the destination in an endless forest.

--Mitchell Hegman

Into the Storm

Yesterday evening, that girl and I drove home by way of Martinsdale and Lennep (Montana State 294).  That drive takes you through quintessential Montana mountain ranchlands.  Lennep, now a tiny ghost town featuring a conspicuous white Lutheran church, was once a station on the now abandoned Old Milwaukee Road.

By the time we reached Lennep, zinc-colored storm clouds had wholly engulfed the Big Belt Mountains and were dragging curtains of rain across the Castle Mountains.  The old Lutheran church reminded me of a pop-up from a book—standing upright so boldly and unexpectedly against the expanse of grasslands and undeveloped range.  A few more turns of narrow highway delivered us to the abandoned Old Milwaukee Road power plant.

Old Milwaukee train engines converted from steam engines to electric power at Harlowton.  These electric trains then continued on serpentine railroad tracks into the Rocky Mountains of Central Montana.  Montana State 294 shadows the long abandoned line.

One of the Old Milwaukee electric engines is still on display in Harlowton.  

That girl and I stopped at the power plant so I could capture a couple of photographs.  Posted today is a photo of the abandoned power plant and a stormfront sweeping over the open rangelands.

--Mitchell Hegman

Roundup, Montana

You don’t go to Roundup, Montana, without a pretty good reason in mind.  I am not suggesting Roundup is a bad place.  Far from it.  Roundup is a nice place.  The surrounding landscape is scenic.  But Roundup is remote—even by the standards of Montanans—which is saying something.

The highway through town isn’t going anyplace in particular.  Roundup isn’t one of those little stops in-between two big towns.  The town hangs like a lone bead on a secondary highway in the middle of quiet.  Roundup just is.  The town got its name because early ranchers found the narrow valley near the Musselshell River a convenient place to roundup there cattle.

Roundup is the county seat for Musselshell County.

The nearby countryside is busy with ancient rim rock formations and broken land.  Scattered pine, cattle, and game animals are found throughout.  Thick green grass thrives in the winding  river and creek bottoms and climbs up into the nearby timber.  The Musselshell River swashbuckles right in next to Roundup and then drifts off again.  The town feels like the Old West for no reason that comes to mind immediately.

Both Roundup and Musselshell County at large have seen constant cycles of boom and bust.  Irrigation projects helped convey water to the dry lands.  The Homestead Act of 1920 beckoned people to the remote lands.  The dustbowl era drought that soon followed saw them leave again.  Coal mines have opened and closed.  The Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad came, bringing people and jobs, but left in the 1970s.

Today, the population of Musselshell County is something near 5,000.  That is down substantially from a population of about 9,000 shortly after Montana Governor Edwin Norris officially created the county in 1911.     

By the way, I do have a reason for being in Roundup on this soon-to-be sunny day.  I have a solar PV instructing gig here.  A local area electrical shop is installing an 8,000 watt ground-mount system today and I am involved with that. 

--Mitchell Hegman

210 Pounds of Worshiping the Sun

Just so you know, there is something of a debate regarding the spelling of “worshiped.”  The English, ever persnickety in matters of their language, prefer “worshipped” spelled with a double “p.”  I suspect they have a reason.  Maybe it has something to do with “tea time.”  The English are touchy about tea time in particular.

I am still a bit miffed that they turned color into colour and girls into birds.

Enough of that.

Let’s talk about yesterday.

What a gorgeous day.

Wait a minute!  New development.  My smarter-than-me-phone just informed me that I can expect “light traffic” in my area.  Pretty accurate, actually.  I live way out in the sticks.  A single car—Kevin—drove past my house a minute ago.  Same as yesterday and the day before.

One car every day.  That’s pretty much it.

Thank you, smarter-than-me-phone.

Anyhow, yesterday, I and my 40 pounds of housecat sprawled out on my back deck to catch some sun.  First time of the year for that.  We were something of a heap if you wish to be precise.  My cats insisted on inhabiting my space.  I mean their space.

Cats tend to regard everything as theirs

As a final note, I had to cover my head from direct sunlight.  Two weeks ago, a pretty dermatologist with a sharp scalpel removed a couple chunks of skin from me.

Sun damage from the old days.

The sun gives life, the sun kills.

--Mitchell Hegman

Nothing Happens in a Vacuum

They say nothing happens in a vacuum.  Except space.  A lot happens in space.  And, actually, I am a little suspicious about what goes on inside my vacuum cleaner.

--Mitchell Hegman

Conviction

Roger Daltrey, the lead singer for The Who, suggests that fronting a rock band requires complete conviction when you find and hit your notes.  You can’t step halfway there.  I mention this because you may one day see me driving by alone in my truck with my mouth wide open and one arm in the air.

I’m a rock star, baby.

--Mitchell Hegman

Rocks or Animals

Some people are guided by rocks.  Okay, more like crystals.  My oldest sister—at least for a time—was one of those people.  I don’t wish to imply she was a crazy person having deep conversations with rocks.  She was just regular crazy like the rest of my family.  But she saw need to have specific crystals located in specific places in her house.

I like rocks, so I was cool with that.

Other people have animal guides.  Native Americans, for example, celebrated this concept.  I have a friend from the Blackfeet Nation who is guided by the grizzly bear.  For a time, she lived without fear at the edge of Badger-Two Medicine.  Bear country, for sure.

The splendid landscapes of Badger-Two Medicine were featured in the Robin Williams movie What Dreams May Come.

I am without a guide.  On one side: rocks.  On the other side: animals.  Basically, it’s just me and a bunch of bugs in the middle.

--Mitchell Hegman