Wrestling (Not Rustling) Leaves

Yesterday morning, I opened the windows and doors of my house to allow fresh air to circulate—the first fresh air in nearly two weeks.  When I opened the front door, a half-dozen leaves that had fallen from my Mayday tree whisked inside my house and began a highly animated wrestling match about three feet behind me as a cool wind pushed at me.

“Good morning fellas,” I said to the leaves.  And then I stomped on them, because that’s what humans do.

--Mitchell Hegman

Silver for Rain

Early this morning, I opened my back door to blackness and a swell of chill air.  I heard the sound of honest rain falling against earth made hard by lack of moisture.  I could still smell wildfire smoke in the air, but it no longer stung my nostrils as before.

Naked, I walked out into the rain, opened my hot tub, and slipped into the steaming water.  Raindrops kissed my face and shoulders as I closed my eyes and leaned back into a watery seat.

I sat there as the rain intensified.  At one point, I opened my eyes and watched a pair of headlights drain down through the scattered pines of a distant mountain.  The headlights soon dissolved into a dark fold.  I closed my eyes and lifted my face into the rain again.

The rain kissing me.

There was a time when I bought and held silver as a hedge against a crashing economy.  Well, the economy did not crash so much as did the price of silver.  Same happened to me with gold.  Out of necessity, I sold at the bottom of each market.  I always tell people expressing interest in precious metals to check with me and then do the opposite of what I think.

I thought about my silver as I sat in the rain and watched the sun hoist first light against the far clouds.  I have come to learn that, out here in the West, rain is sometimes far more precious than silver.

My silver has been gone for a very long time.  If I had any left, though, I would have given it all for this morning’s rain.  I would give it again for rain tomorrow.

--Mitchell Hegman

A Blizzard Might be Welcome about Now

The constant smoke and the wildfires clawing through nearly every chain of mountains that surrounds us have converted our normally expansive views to life behind gray curtains.  At the moment, I cannot see the nearest horse pasture or nearest hills just beyond my house.

I woke this morning feeling stuffy and hot.  I did not even open the windows last night for the thick smoke and fire-smell.  As I wrestled out of bed and plodded off to make coffee, I thought, “Man, a blizzard might be welcome about now.”

Today, I am posting a couple of photographs I captured early one winter morning while driving through Helena on my way to work during a blizzard.  I posted one of these photographs previously, but looking at them feels pretty good right now.

--Mitchell Hegman

At Some Level

Simple, inflexible reactions to intractable and layered problems must be, at some level, mistakes…but why do they feel so good?

--Mitchell Hegman

The Mayor of Hauser is Gone

As a child, you never suspect that you will become friends with one of your parent’s friends.  Honestly, I was a bit frightened by my father’s friend, Leo St Clair.   He struck me as a little loud when he spoke.  It did not help that when you went to his house, you found on the front door a sign that read: Don’t Go Away Mad, Just Go Away.

Just the same, as I grew into an adult, I became good friends with Leo.  Hopefully, I became a little bit family.  In 1991 my wife and I constructed our own house near his place on Hauser Lake—on property that my father, Leo, and Leo’s brother purchased together.  By that time retired, Leo came up to check on me every day during the course of construction.  He helped me with laying concrete block and helped me lift walls into place.  He would sometimes bring me hardware from town.  I borrowed tools from him.

At some point, everyone that visited the lake started calling Leo “the mayor.”

My life stopped for a while in the spring of 1996.  That’s when my wife, Uyen, was struck by transverse myelitis, an autoimmune disease that left her severely disabled.  After two months of hospitalization, Uyen was finally scheduled to come home again.  I felt both happy and distressed about how I might care for Uyen.  My work in construction did not provide me with time for leave so that I could take Uyen to the weekly doctor and physical therapy sessions that were required for her long road to recovery.  In a conversation with Leo and his wife, Elma, I expressed my concerns about both keeping my job and delivering Uyen to her constant appointments in town.

“That’s not a problem, Mitch,” Leo assured me.  “Elma and I can take Uyen into town so that you can go to work.”

They did just that.  Several times every week, for another three months, Leo and Elma drove Uyen into Helena as she slowly drew herself up from a wheelchair and began wobbling around with a cane.  I was able to remain working, thanks to them.

I cannot count the times when Leo helped me fix mechanical whatnots.  I cannot count the hours of simple conversation at the lakeshore.

I do not have the words to express how much difference Leo made in my life.  “Thanks” seems a bit common.  “I could not have done it without you” is barely a start.

Leo passed on yesterday.

The mayor of Hauser is gone.

Long live the mayor’s good deeds.   

--Mitchell Hegman

Hauling

As I looked through some older files of photographs on my computer yesterday, I found a file with some photographs from my 2009 trip to Vietnam.  Posted today are two photographs I captured while diving along in our hired van.   The streets and highways there were often packed with motorcycles.  Sometimes, the motorcycles are used for hauling goods to and from the markets.

--Mitchell Hegman

The Pull

War, politics, and television programming are all proof that, collectively, we tend to gravitate to the level of thinking achieved by the looniest persons among us.

--Mitchell Hegman