Lost in Familiarity

If you have lived your life in a given place, it is only natural that you tune-out a lot of every-day experiences and familiar occurrences.  When I was nineteen, I accompanied a city kid from the Midwest on a summer night of partying here in the valley.   We entered the first stop of the night—a house party—as daylight fizzled away on the mountains around us.

When we emerged from the house some hours later, the city kid froze in his tracks there in the darkness.  “Wow, look at that,” he said while peering up at the sky.

“Look at what?” I asked.     

“The sky is all stars.  Is it always like this?”

“Well, yeah.  It’s the sky.”

“That’s not what my sky looks like,” the city kid remarked.

Something along the same lines occurred as Desiree and I stood on the back deck chatting.  “What is that sound?” she asked during a break in conversation.

“What sound?” I asked.

Desiree pointed toward the nearby pine trees.

“Oh, that.”  I smiled.  “That’s the sound of wind through the pine trees.”

“It’s pretty loud,” Desiree noted.  “But I like it.”

I listened for a moment.  “I like it, too.”

Though the Philippines features a few pine forests, Desiree has never seen them.  I have been listening to wind through the pines for so long, I normally tune out the sound.  I am happy to have Desiree teach me how to pay attention to everything around me again.

—Mitchell Hegman

Radio Pest Control

I am in the process of installing a shading system in my sunroom.  The system is complex enough I decided to read the instructions before I screw up rather than after.

One type of bracket used to fasten a series of rails to the existing structure is a wee bit too long.  To remedy the problem, I hiked down the hill to my neighbor’s shop so I could grind-down one side of each bracket enough for a proper fit.   

My neighbor, Kevin, leaves a tinny-sounding radio perpetually playing in the shop.  The radio is tuned into a country station.  “I am hoping it will keep the mice out,” he told me when I asked him why the radio was always on.

My taste for country music is limited.  As soon as I entered the shop, I found myself cringing at the song I heard.  Once I got to work, the grinder completely drowned out the radio.  But each time I stopped grinding, the worst kind of over-produced and formulaic songs assaulted me.

As I gathered up my brackets and gloves after completing my work, it occurred that I had found no sign of mice in the shop.  I think the radio trick (and the station selection) is working.

—Mitchell Hegman

First Snow

For every 4,131 people in Montana hoping they will never see snow again (Keith Allen counts for two in this regard), there is one person wanting nothing more than to find some snow.  Yesterday, I drove the one person wanting to see snow to the top of MacDonald and dumped her out onto a drift alongside the road.

Obviously, I am talking about Desiree.  And the drift I found for her near the top of the pass was the first snow she had ever encountered in her life.

“I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed as she stomped around on the squishy drift.  “I’m in snow!”

As Desiree pranced about in the snow, a dozen or so automobiles filled with snow-haters swooped around the bend in the highway nearest us.

“This is so cool!” she said.

The huge drifts on the lee side of the snow fences as the crest of the pass also impressed Desiree.  “You’ll see plenty of snow before we are through,” I assured her.  “Snow is a thing here in Montana.” 

 

Desiree’s First Snow

—Mitchell Hegman

A Full-On Montana Dinner

Arriving here from a lifetime on the islands in the South Pacific, Desiree is accustomed to a diet of seafood, exotic fruits, pork, rice, and vegetables.

Good stuff, to be sure.

For her first two nights here in Montana, we didn’t stray far from Desiree’s normal diet.  But on our third night, we dove into my full-on Montana victuals.  For dinner, I grilled potatoes wrapped in bacon and cheeseburgers.

The way I figure it, you can’t get to where you are going with half-steps.

—Mitchell Hegman

Oh, Wow!

The Cathedral of Saint Helena is easily one of the more notable landmarks in the City of Helena, Montana.  Approaching Helena from the valley floor north of it, the cathedral stands prominent and bright against the mountainous backdrop around the city.  As impressive as the cathedral appears from the outside, the inside is almost otherworldly stunning.  

Primary construction began on the cathedral in 1908 and continued until the end of 1914, when the first mass was held in the church.  The cathedral remained under construction for another ten years.  Craftsman from across the globe worked on the various features seen today.  The stained glass windows, for example, were made and installed by German artisans.

Yesterday, on a trip to Helena to retrieve one of two pieces of luggage that failed to arrive with Desiree the day before, I drove her to the cathedral so she could see if for herself.

Upon walking inside the cathedral, we found the cavernous inside filled with swatches colorful afternoon light cascading inside from the arrays of stained glass windows on all sides.

Desiree said it best: “Oh, Wow!”

The Cathedral from the Outside

Desiree Looking Up

Desiree in the Main Aisle

Stained Glass Windows

—Mitchell Hegman

Welcome Home Desiree!

Desiree, after a two-year process (thanks to Covid), is standing under Montana’s big sky.  I flew the last leg of her journey from Manila to Montana with her.  When we tried to collect her luggage in Helena, we discovered only one of her three pieces arrived here.

Hopefully, the missing pieces will find their way here within a day or so.

Even with the missing luggage, we had a tiny but fun “welcome home” celebration.  The celebration included a sip of Willie’s Huckleberry Liqueur (a product of Willie’s Distillery, Ennis, Montana).

Welcome Home!

 

Desiree and Her Balloons

—Mitchell Hegman

Splashy

My 20 pounds of housecat, Splash, returned to me in a glossy black paper bag.  This, the end result of death and cremation.

He will soon be joining Denver, Soda, Slate, and Carmel under a twin pine tree near my house.

Rest in peace, Little Buddy.

Ashes to ashes, cats to dust.

Splash

—Mitchell Hegman