Question of the Day

How long would you be willing to drive around a crash-repaired car with a mismatched hood, two off-color fenders, and a missing front driver’s-side hubcap?

—Mitchell Hegman

Chaos

I must admit, I like some forms of chaos. For starters, I like some of the rocks strewn around my house, especially the ones my sapphire-mining neighbor, Blaze Wharton, calls chaos stone. I’ve posted a photograph of a specimen I unearthed on my property, a stone alive with swirling, unruly colors.

Good stuff.

For the last week or so, Desiree and I have been working on another challenging jigsaw puzzle. This one features a panda bear in a thicket of bamboo and is rife with disparate colors. Yesterday, and I’m still not quite sure how I pulled it off, I snapped together six pieces I consider pure chaos. Even assembled, they look wrong, as if they don’t belong anywhere in the larger picture. I set them aside as a little island of order and have yet to place them properly in the puzzle.

I like a good chaotic challenge now and then.

I’ve posted photographs of the puzzle and the chaos pieces.

Chaos Stone

Chaos Puzzle Pieces

The Puzzle

—Mitchell Hegman

The Middle of Nowhere

Back in February of 2018, the Washington Post, for no apparent good reason, used a massive travel-time database developed by Oxford researchers to ask a deceptively simple question: how far are Americans from civilization? For the study, they defined civilization as a metro area of at least 75,000 people. Using these criteria, roughly 98 percent of people in the contiguous United States are anchored within an hour’s drive of an urban area.

Surprising.

But the study also asked the inverse question: which town is the most remote?

The answer landed in northeastern Montana. As it turns out, Glasgow, a prairie town near the Canadian border, emerged as the most isolated town of its size in the lower forty-eight, roughly four and a half hours from a city in any direction. Once buoyed by a nearby Air Force base that closed in 1976, Glasgow now sits amid distances measured in hundreds of miles. To most, it looks like the middle of nowhere; to Montanans, it looks like room to breathe.

Photo: Google Maps

—Mitchell Hegman

Johnny Cash Meets Genghis Khan

Johnny Cash was building a tall post-and-pole fence on his property when Genghis Khan rode up on one of his horses. Reaching Johnny, he dismounted and studied the fence. It struck him as straight and sturdy, the kind of work expected to last.

“You have some skills,” Khan said. “Is the fence meant to keep things in or to keep things out?”

Johnny Cash nodded toward the horse. “I need to hold a pair of those inside.”

Genghis Khan smiled at that. “Our Mongol war horses carried us to victory, but two horses would never do. Each warrior rode three to five horses in rotation, so no single mount was worn down while crossing long lands.”

Johnny grinned. “I’m not planning any conquest beyond the fence.”

“I understand. There is no need. Our achievements already stand,” Genghis Khan said. “What do you consider your greatest success?”

Johnny didn’t pause. “That’s easy. My love and partnership with June Carter.”

“You fell into her burning ring of fire.”

“Happily,” Johnny said. “And it centered me.”

They talked a while longer as clouds slid overhead. At length, Genghis Khan swung back onto his horse and rode off beside the stretch of newly completed fence, the posts standing straight behind him.

—Mitchell Hegman

Lacking the Salt

February has arrived, but the weather is behaving badly. Here, the forecast calls for temperatures in the 50s over the next few days, which is a curious development for a month better known for shoving us down to -30, and occasionally into the -40s. At the same time, the eastern and southeastern parts of the country are being hammered by a bomb cyclone, delivering record snow and cold with little restraint.

You’ve likely heard the old saying, “he doesn’t have the salt.” It’s usually reserved for someone who softens when things harden, someone who looks capable right up until the moment endurance is required. The phrase comes from a time when salt meant survival more than flavor. Long before it sat on tables, salt preserved meat through winter, sustained armies on the move, and kept bodies from failing under heat and labor. To lack salt was to weaken or spoil, and over time it became a way of describing people who simply don’t hold together under pressure.

In some of the places now getting battered, salt is used to melt and clear ice from the roads, and they quite literally don’t have enough of it to fight their way through the storm. Meanwhile, if you stop by a local grocery store here today, you may spot a few residents wandering the aisles in shorts.

—Mitchell Hegman

Importing Part of the Islands to Montana

If you marry a tropical island girl from the Philippines and then drag her off to far-north Montana, you should expect to adopt a few houseplants as part of the deal. Island girls love plants, and in all likelihood, you will end up with some that produce edible parts or fruit and some that hang around just looking pretty.

None of this qualifies as a bad thing in my estimation. I like a friendly plant.

Desiree, not one to shirk her island girl duties, has filled our sunroom and available window spaces throughout the house. We have nurtured indoor tomatoes, eggplants, lemongrass, a lime tree, a lemon tree, and hordes of what I consider “non-game” species. You know, the merely decorative ones. Among these are several orchids.

Orchids range from finicky to persnickety in matters of care. They have their own regimens to adhere to: watering with ice cubes, keeping savage light at a distance, and providing a soft touch with fertilizer. And, for those unaware, regular old dirt can kill an orchid.

Recently, to please a pair of rather muscular orchids, we had to import part of the islands here to Montana in the form of chipped coconut husks, ideal stuff for transplanting orchids.

Fortunately, I can leave all these island details to Desiree. My skinny old Christmas cactus is fine with standard-issue potting soil.

Coconut Husk Chips

—Mitchell Hegman

Touching the Walls

There are occasions when weird things are in order. One of those occasions arrives while driving across Montana on the Interstate highway system. To be more precise, it involves stopping to use the bathroom. And drilling down further, it has to do with the walls inside some of the newer rest areas.

I actually get excited as we approach them. If I’m traveling with someone new, I always offer a bit of instruction: “When we go inside, you have to touch the walls.”

“What?” is the usual response.

“You have to touch the walls. Just trust me.”

So far, nearly everyone who has followed through has been impressed. Many of them make a habit of touching the walls on every return visit.

The rest area walls are a tactile incongruity. They’re made of concrete block, so you expect cold and abrasive. Instead, they’re warm and soft. Almost velvety. The blocks have been sprayed with a clear finish that completely transforms the surface.

I highly recommend getting a little weird and touching the walls if you visit any of the new rest stops along our interstates. I’ve posted a photo of Desiree doing just that at the westbound rest stop near Columbus, Montana.

—Mitchell Hegman