Bannack (Under the Sun)

The sun stands high and unobstructed above Bannack ghost town on a summer day. This is an authentic and uninhabited ghost town—one set aside to tell the tale of the gold rush days.

Located in southwest Montana, Bannack developed when gold was discovered on the banks of nearby Grasshopper Creek in 1862. It briefly served as the first territorial capital of Montana in 1864. The town is famous for its well-preserved buildings and for Sheriff Henry Plummer, who was controversially hanged by vigilantes amid accusations that he led a gang of “road agent” outlaws. Today, Bannack is a designated state park and ghost town, offering visitors a vivid glimpse into the Old West.

I am sharing photographs from a walk through Bannack as it looks today.

The Masonic Lodge / School

Desiree in Class at the School

An Old House Under the Sun

A Fading Interior Wall

—Mitchell Hegman

The Falls at Lost Creek

Lost Creek State Park lies six miles north of Anaconda, Montana, at the ragged tail end of the chevron-peaked Flint Creek Mountain Range. Within the park’s 502 acres, limestone cliffs and painted rock formations rise 1,200 feet above the canyon floor, carved and weathered by time.

At the far end of a box canyon within the park, the cliffs gather close, the air cools, and Lost Creek Falls spills fifty feet down a broken staircase of stone, its waters chattering through the narrow gorge.

If you have reason to be driving near or through Anaconda and have a few minutes of spare time, taking the short diversion to see Lost Creek Falls is well worth the effort. We did that just yesterday. The cool, misted air near the falls felt especially good on the hot summer day.

Desiree at Lost Creek Falls

—Mitchell Hegman

Something Winston Churchill Said

—"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.”

—"Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.”

—"If we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have lost the future.”

I busted a doe mule deer the other day. After watching her snag and eat a few leaves from the underside of the canopy of our linden tree, she took a few rather prancing steps toward a hollyhock Desiree has been nurturing for the last two years near our front door. I flew to the door and ejected outside.

“Not a chance at eating that,” I admonished the deer.

The deer pirouetted into the air and then bounced off into the sagebrush and bunchgrass expanse.

“A deer made moves on your hollyhock,” I informed Desiree when I next saw her. “I chased her off.”

Desiree’s eyes expanded. “I want to see it bloom. I need deer protection.”

Deer most often raid the delicious offerings in our yard late in the evening or early in the morning. With this in mind, Desiree thought for a minute. “I know just what to do. I’m going to put a bag over the hollyhock.”

Desiree tromped off to the kitchen, grabbed a plastic bag, and then stepped outside and pulled the bag down over the top of the hollyhock.

The following morning, Desiree pulled the bag off the hollyhock, and later in the day, one of the buds unfurled into a bright red flower. Hopefully, the flower is not a daytime deer beacon.

The Plastic Bag Solution

Desiree With Her Hollyhock

The Hollyhock in Bloom

—Mitchell Hegman

Truth

Truth is the sharp end of the knife.

Truth closes the door when it goes inside.

Truth regularly cleans the cat’s litter box.

Truth isn’t afraid to twist a few wrenches and get its hands dirty.

Truth swims, but will submerge when required.

Truth is relentless but not restless.

Truth is a three-legged dog that has learned to thrive on the streets.

Truth has opposable thumbs.

Truth just ran off with somebody’s wife.

Truth eats breakfast with a shovel.

Truth doesn’t knock—it picks the lock and lets itself in.

—Mitchell Hegman

Meet Fred

I attended Montana State University in the early 1980s. By then, I had already successfully completed an apprenticeship as an electrician and was mostly interested in broadening my experiences. One of the people I befriended while in an art class was a Bozeman native and talented artist named Joe Schneider.

Joe especially liked working with tactile materials. For one of his projects, he carved a small cavity in a stone and then made a combination lock out of metal to access the chamber inside the stone.

Joe also made Fred.

Fred was constructed from wood, papier-mâché, wax, and denim as one of Joe’s projects for a class. Remarkably, as I recall, Fred was created in the course of only three or so days. I was particularly impressed with Fred and said as much.

“You can have him, Mitch,” Joe told me. “I don’t have anywhere to keep him.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure, you can take him.”

Fred’s been with me ever since—over 40 years now. He spent the last 34 of those perched quietly in the rafters of my garage, watching the seasons pass in sawdust and silence. But recently, I brought him down, dusted him off, and decided it’s time for him to move again.

Fred’s heading to the cabin. I figure he’s earned a place up in the loft, watching over things in his quiet yet solid way.

Fred With a Cold Smoke Beer

—Mitchell Hegman

Oxeye Daisy

I protect wildflowers with unbridled passion. I cringe at the thought of picking a mess of them to make a tabletop arrangement. Mowing them down to make a meadow “presentable” sends a shudder through me. Also, it is not legal in Montana to pick flowers on National Forest land or within a National Park.

When it comes to nonnative, invasive weeds, I fly to the opposite end of the spectrum. I want to wipe them out in violent fashion. They are challenging—and often defeating—my flowers.

This is where it gets tricky. Some “invasive weeds” are pretty flowers.

Perhaps nothing illustrates this better than the oxeye daisy. In Montana, it is listed as a noxious weed due to its aggressive spread and ability to outcompete native vegetation and desirable forage species. A single plant can produce up to 26,000 seeds, which remain viable in the soil for years.

Oxeye daisy thrives in disturbed soils, roadsides, pastures, meadows, and forest openings. It prefers full sun to partial shade and can tolerate a wide range of soil types, including poor or rocky soils.

While ascending a mountain road, we came across a long swath of daisies extending alongside the road for many yards.

“Those are pretty,” Desiree suggested.

“They are pretty, but they don’t belong here. They’re a weed.”

“I want to pick some.

Had Desiree expressed this about a native wildflower, I would have launched into a speech about why she couldn’t pick them. But since we were dealing with an exotic that escaped the yard and is now tromping through the mountains, I immediately pulled my truck off to the side of the road, allowing a cloud of dust to settle around us.

“Pick ’em,” I said. “Get all you want.”

Oxeye Daisy

Desiree With Freshly Cut Daisies

—Mitchell Hegman