Leaving Red Lodge

Desiree and I intended to drive over Beartooth Pass and drop into Yellowstone Park by way Cooke City, Montana, on our drive home from Red Lodge.  The pass reaches 10,947 feet in elevation and is subject to snowstorms at any time of the year.  A few days ago, a storm delivered six feet of snow across the high country, shutting down the recently opened pass until such time as crews can clear the fresh snow.

Without the option to take that route, we drove out through Absarokee and made our way along the east side of the Crazy Mountains to access the back roads leading to Helena.

It took us nearly two hours to drive the first twenty mile stretch after leaving Red Lodge.  Desiree and I continually stopped to gawk around and take pictures.  We also diverted off onto a couple side roads just to see what we could find over the next rise.

For those of you unfamiliar with Montana, we have a lot of rises here.

On a side note, the name ‘Absarokee’ has always intrigued me.  Here is what I found regarding that on Wikipedia:

The name Absarokee is derived from Apsáalookěi, the name given to the Crow Indian Tribe by the related Hidatsa people with Apsáa meaning "large-beaked bird" and lookěi meaning "children". Apsáalookěi thus literally means "children of the large-beaked bird".  The name was chosen by Absarokee-founder Sever T. Simonson who believed it meant "our people".  It is widely believed that the difference in spelling of Absarokee from the nearby Absaroka Range is a result of the poor penmanship of an early settler whose final "a" in the name was mistaken for "ee".   Though pronounced "Ab-SOR-kee" in modern parlance, Eli Ricker in one of his "Indian Interviews" from 1903-1919 ends a record of an interview with Frank S. Shively, Assistant Clerk at Crow Agency, with "Absarokee Ab-sar'-o-kee".

I have posted a few favorite images from the drive home.

Desiree Overlooking Red Lodge

Red Lodge Zoomed In

Where the Highway Goes and Doesn’t Go

Elk in Green Shadows

The Crazy Mountains

—Mitchell Hegman

Montana Renaissance Festival

The first thirty hours of my marriage to Desiree proved amazing.  Early Saturday morning, we drove from Helena to Red Lodge, Montana.  For those of you appreciating math, that’s 250 miles.  You can’t go wrong when skirting around nearly a dozen of Montana’s stunning mountain ranges.

Upon entering the gate at the Renaissance Festival, Desiree (knowing only a handful of people in Montana) saw someone she knew.  She grasped my arm.  “That’s Mary,” she said, tossing her head.

I managed a fleeting but inconclusive glance.  A few moments later, a second look confirmed what Desiree suspected. The woman was our mountain cabin neighbor.  After chatting with her for a few minutes, Desiree and I wandered off into the costumed masses.

Mingling with knights in full armor, Robin Hood, and all manner of mythical creatures, as well as your standard Montana cowboy is more than surreal.  At such festivals, oddballs and fearless free spirits take center stage.   Billowing tents filled with all manner of food and drinks, trinkets, and displays of art surround the milling crowd of thousands.

After a couple hours exploring the festival, we met up with Natalya, my nephew’s wife, and their two daughters.  At nearly the same time we chanced to bump into Bob and Rebecca Long, friends from Lewistown.

At the end of all, Desiree and I had a great time.  Today, we are off to another drive through springtime in Montana and day three of marriage.

Royal Procession

Desiree With Knights

Desiree, Margo, Elizabeth, and Natalya

Milling Crowd and a Mountain Backdrop

—Mitchell Hegman

Just Married

Yesterday was the 3^rd of June.  This is notable because Desiree celebrates her birthday on June 3^rd.   As the date of her birthday approached, the thought occurred to me that we were already something near a third of the way through the timeline for Desiree’s 90-day visa.

“What if we get married on your birthday?” I suggested to Desiree.

“I like that,” she responded almost immediately.

 “Me, too.  I am terrible at remembering important dates.  Maybe if we put your birthday and our wedding day together, I will remember one or the other.”        

We agreed long ago that we wanted a simple wedding.  No notice.  No fanfare.  From the outside, this may look sudden, but we have been in a deep relationship for nearly three years.

So, there it is.  Yesterday, June 3, 2022, we snuck off to the Lewis and Clark County Courthouse (along with sister Debbie) to share our vows before justice of the peace Piskolich.  Following a brief but lovely ceremony, we ate an early dinner at the Mediterranean Grill.

Upon arrival at home after our whirlwind wedding, we were met by a rainbow.

June 3, 2022, a day to remember.

Getting Hitched

Selfie With the Judge

Celebrating at the Mediterranean Grill

A Rainbow at Day’s End

—Mitchell Hegman

NOTE: We are planning a celebration at the lake on the 4^th of July.  More on that later.

Strange Bedfellows

Recently, a couple from Tennessee named Julie and Jimmy Johnson, woke in the morning to find a large tan dog snuggled between them in their bed.

According to Julie: “You could see light coming into our curtains in our bedroom and I feel my husband not just roll over, but kind of startled, like almost a jump roll over and it woke me up.  And in a quiet but stern voice, he said, 'Julie, whose dog is this?' "

Although the couple owns three dogs, the dog was not one of theirs.  When, following the discovery of the dog, Jimmy pulled the blankets up over himself, the dog responded by nudging up closer to the pillows.

Julie readily recognized that the dog was not simply a stray.   After fully waking and climbing from bed, Julie posted photographs of the dog on Facebook.

Eventually, the owner of the dog responded on Facebook.  The dog, Nala, had slipped out of her collar and ran off into the woods while on a walk the previous day.  A fierce thunderstorm struck before Nala could be collected.  Nala, always terrified of thunderstorms, is thought to have hidden out in the woods before somehow sneaking into the Johnson’s home for comfort and security.  Nobody is certain how Nala entered the house since all the entries and windows were secure in the morning.

Before the dust entirely settled on the story of Nala, her owners and the Johnsons (and all four dogs) formed a fast friendship.  I suppose that’s not a giant leap after you sleep with thy neighbor’s dog.

—Mitchell Hegman

Source: NPR

White Rock Mode

Rock collecting is a highly personal activity.  Even when scouring through material or hunting a location with someone else, the activity is all about you using every available sense to find a ‘keeper’ for your collection.  Equally personal is the types of rocks you prefer as a rock hound.

I love clear stones, fossils, banded agates, and any rock showing the color blue.

My friend Tad is all about agates and petrified wood.  Put those together in the form of agatized wood and you have a sure winner.  He is also color blind, which greatly impacts his perception of some stones relative to what I see.  He doesn’t distinguish between red or green and fails to share my excitement when I find a specimen showing bright displays of either color.

On a recent walkabout with Desiree, I discovered her especially particular taste in rocks.  Within only a few minutes, she had filled both of her hands with white specimens.

“Is that what you want?  White rocks?” I asked.

She beaned a smile.  “Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, “I will switch over to white rock mode, too.”

Within only a few minutes of walking, we had my pockets and our hands filled with white rocks.

Desiree’s Collection

—Mitchell Hegman  

Signs of Maturity

Signs of Maturity:

• You spend several minutes debating which type of grass clippers are best.
• Going to bed for the night is based solely on time.
• You don’t want to see figure skaters fall on their ass.
• Swearing is the second thing to come to mind.
• You are an expert on mushroom identification.
• You plot calendars two years at a time and include dates for pumping out the septic system.
• The onus is on you.
• You dust the steps in your house once a week.
• You square-up mis-hung pictures in other people’s homes.

—Mitchell Hegman  

Cellphone Number Migration

In the long run and, apparently, in the short run, cellphone numbers migrate from phone to phone and from person to person.

A jarring example of this occurred some three or four months after my wife passed in 2011.  While staring at my cellphone late one afternoon, I thought about how I sometimes called my wife at midday just to chat a little.

What would happen, I wondered, if I called her number now that she had been gone for all these months?

I dialed my late wife’s cell number.  After a few rings, a woman answered.  Aghast, I immediately ended the call and pushed the phone away from me.  I spent the next several minutes wishing I had not tried calling.

Now, some eleven years later, I have another strange cellphone number experience to share.

We recently got Desiree a “Montana” (406 area code) cellphone.  Almost as soon as we commissioned the phone, she began receiving calls and messages from our area code.  In addition to providing the phone number from which the calls and text messages originated, the name of the person attached to the number appeared on Desiree’s phone.

“I know that name,” I told Desiree when she showed me information for one of the callers.  “If that’s who I think it is, I sold my grandparent’s house to her.”

Following a third (unanswered) call from the person in question, I texted from Desiree’s phone to tell her the phone number belonged to a new party.  When she immediately responded with an apology, I sent a message back to see if I might confirm who she was.

Within a few minutes, the woman and I found ourselves talking on the phone.  She and her husband did purchase the house from me.  Her husband, now deceased, had called me about the time I started building my new home on the lake and asked me if I wanted the fancy front door from my grandmother’s house.  He had saved it after replacing it with a new, more energy-efficient door.

I happily collected the door.  Furthermore, I planned the layout of my house around it.  The door is now repurposed as the entry to the den from my kitchen.   I mentioned the door and texted a photograph of it as I chatted with the woman on the other end of Desiree’s phone.     

Desiree’s phone number apparently (and not all that long ago) belonged to a gentleman from Townsend, Montana.

Posted is a photograph of the door from my grandparent’s house.

The Pacific Street Door

—Mitchell Hegman