Visiting W. C. Fields

William Claude Dukenfield, better known as W. C. Fields, was famously misanthropic in his stage persona.  He often joked: “Anyone who hates children and animals can’t be all bad.”  In his personal life, though, he was far more thoughtful and dedicated to those around him.  He started on vaudeville stages as a juggler, but gradually incorporated comedy into his acts—including jokes about his own drinking.  His stage acting eventually led him to film.  I often visit pages of W. C. Fields quotes when I need a mental pick-me-up.

Here are four of his quotes:

—I like to keep a bottle of stimulant handy in case I see a snake, which I also keep handy.

—Remember, a dead fish can float downstream, but it takes a live one to swim upstream.

—Horse sense it the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.

—I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to food.

--Mitchell Hegman

Sapphire Wash and Good Earth

Normally, I take a certain primal pride in such things as digging a hole.  If not pride, satisfaction.

Not this time.

This time, digging the hole felt like burrowing into my own heart.  I had to stop on several occasions to clear tears from my eyes.  As I dug into the earth I encountered some rocks bigger than my fist.  Those, I rolled down into the pine-smelling expanse of the hillside below me.  I also encountered two opaque quartz stones.  Those, I stacked atop the towel beside me. 

About two feet into the ground I encountered river washed sand and gravel.  The immediate country surrounding is famous for this particular type of wash.  This alluvium is often rich with sapphires.  I actually, found several sapphires in a pile of the alluvium we excavated for my nearby home.  Sapphires—formed by a mix of volcanic and metamorphic events deep in the earth—are both rare and precious.

But the towel beside me was the thing.  Wrapped in the towel was Carmel, my cat.  An unopened can of cat food, some catnip, and the two opaque stones I unearthed rested on the towel.

That girl walked down the hill to join me as I scooped the layer of river wash from the hole.  Soon after that, I stopped digging.  Before I could unwrap Carmel from the towel and place him at the bottom of the hole, I broke down entirely. Crumpled at the edge of the hole, I convulsed in messy, sobbing grief.

I didn’t want to put Carmel in the ground.

That, the final gesture.

After a while, I gingerly nestled Carmel at the bottom of the hole in the earth.  I placed the can of cat food next to one of his paws.  I placed the opaque stones near his head and then sprinkled catnip all around.  That girl had brought with her some yellow rose blossoms she’d snipped from a planter on the back deck of our house.  We each dropped a couple of those in the opened ground.  All these things, rare and precious.

I slowly, deliberately pushed the sapphire wash and good dirt back into the hole from which it came.

--Mitchell Hegman

Carmel (Rest in Peace)

When the light is full, I will bury Carmel in softest earth below the pines where this year’s robins sing their jeweled songs.

Carmel is no more.

Carmel began life as a street cat in the narrows between the row tenements of San Francisco.  He came to the relative wilds of Montana by way of my daughter.  Though ever cautious from his time on the street, he maintained a mild disposition.  For the first few years with me, he shrunk away from my reach.  Eventually, I, and others, earned his trust.

He sometimes scampered up and down the hall for no apparent reason.  He enjoyed sitting beside me when I drank my morning coffee and he liked high places.  Carmel loved food.  I mean he loved food.  I jokingly—no, make that lovingly—called him 20 pounds of housecat.

He was a big, sweet boy.

Carmel and I shared our final quality time together three days ago when he weakly ambled out to sit in the shade of a chokecherry.  I followed him and then sat beside him where he lay.  We remained out there for nearly a half-hour.  Me, petting him.  He, purring softly, stretching a little.

I found Carmel in the pre-dawn this morning.  He was hidden away in his final narrow place, utterly still.  I touched his head and thanked him for being a good boy.  I sat on the floor and wept into my hands.

Rest in peace, Carmel.

--Mitchell Hegman

More from the Front

I am posting four more photographs from our trip to the Front Range.  I captured the first photograph a mile or so before we entered Sun Canyon.  We stopped at Sun Canyon Lodge—a rustic lodge teeming with mounted game animals and located at the base of a massive cliff— and grabbed a bloody Mary before climbing up into the mountains.

The second photograph features Terry, my brother-in-law, near a patch of arrowleaf balsamroot.  This photograph offers some idea of scale.

When I stopped to snap a photograph of a lone boulder with the Rocky Mountain Front in the background, that girl suggested a photograph with her and my sister on the rock.  This is one of my favorite pictures from the day.  That area, near Willow Creek Reservoir, is strewn with boulders left behind by retreating glaciers.

The last photograph shows the clear water of Willow Creek Reservoir.  This photograph also provides a sense of the expanse of open land and open sky beyond the Front.

--Mitchell Hegman

The Rocky Mountain Front

Three companions and I spent the better part of yesterday driving gravel roads along the Sawtooth Mountains of the Rocky Mountain Front north of Helena.  This is the very place where the Great Plains meet the Rocky Mountains.  Geologists call it an overthrust belt.

The mountains of the Front are mostly comprised of sedimentary shales that have been heaved up into massive walls and improbable jumbles of solid stone.  Over the centuries, forests, grassy slopes, and cold rivers have poured down from the mountains to greet the open plains.  This time of year, wildflowers such as arrowleaf balsamroot and penstemon flourish within the more delicate toes of the Front.

Yesterday, we drove along the outside of the front all the way to Sun Canyon.  We followed Sun River up into the mountains and then drove below the peaks for a while.   Posted are a few photographs from the day.

--Mitchell Hegman

Penguin Suicide

Researchers in Antarctica have observed—amid all the wonders and stark beauty found in and around penguin colonies—a darker side.  Among the penguins waddling and slipping about are a few individuals who seem to suffer from severe depression.  Their depression is often so deep, they wander off to what is certain death.  For researchers and documentarians observing, this is especially heartbreaking because they have agreed not to interfere with the natural course of events, no matter how ugly.

Rather than attempting to detail the plight of the depressed penguins in my own words, I am posting a video. 

--Mitchell Hegman

In the event the video I posted fails to launch, here is the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWH_9VRWn8Y 

Body-Slammed

Today, here in Montana, we are holding a special election for our sole seat in the U.S. House of Representatives.  The seat was left vacant when Ryan Zinke ascended to his position as Secretary of the Interior.   Yesterday, our Republican candidate for the U.S. House of Representatives, Greg Gianforte, body-slammed a reporter who pressed him with a question about health care and the recently released CBO score for a proposed plan.

The story quickly splashed up onto the national news.

Mr. Gianforte was later cited for assault.

In some corners, people are celebrating Gianforte for “giving it to the liberal press.”

I am repulsed by Greg Gianforte’s behavior.

Gianforte, in thirty violent seconds, fully displayed the reactionary, small-minded thinking that has for too many years produced political division and led us away from solutions to our very real problems.

--Mitchell Hegman