Montana

As I drive down the curvature of Blue Mountain Road listening to the radio, my mind wanders. The land that surrounds me is nothing besides absolutely incredible and it’s a wonder that places like this exist at all with man’s inability to leave well enough alone. I come from California. Wait; don’t leave before hearing what I have yet to say. I came here without intentions to buy property and jack up prices. I came here without intention of settling into the laid back nature that is, well, Montana. And somehow as the last six years have flown by, I settled. Settled into a life that doesn’t even come close to the life I led prior to a 30 hour greyhound bus ride.

I remember the ride here; I was exhausted, yet exhilarated. Off to start a new life without the prior conceptions that had held me back. Without the commitment of obligations to friends and family. It was just me, and him, and two duffel bags. We were miles away from anyone who knew where we had come from. And I liked it that way. It was my greatest adventure. (Needless to say, as years pass wisdom grants me the knowledge that it was far from my greatest adventure, as motherhood, vocation and just being a woman prove day by day to be a greater adventure than any bus ticket could provide me. But I am getting ahead of myself.)

I remember the first time I traveled by public transportation and witnessed a boy carrying a pelt. And not just any pelt, a pelt of what could only be described as once a wolf (or large dog.) It was slung over one shoulder, with an overloaded backpack slung over the other. The boy, a Montana native, I supposed, appeared to be about thirteen. The discussion between him and his school mates was not about the fact that he had just stepped onto a bus with a wolf pelt on his shoulder. It was about a video game. That’s when I knew Montana was unlike any other place I had ever been.

And there I am, ahead of myself again. I was driving along the curvature of Blue Mountain Road, following a beat up blue pick-up truck last weekend. Without my contacts, I should not be driving, but I see the lines just fine, its usually just long distance lettering that causes me trouble. But there I was following this vehicle staring at the back, wondering to myself, what on earth is that thing tied to the bed of his truck. We reached the stop light at Highway 93 and my curiosity was answered. There, tied to the bed of the truck was a deer. A small, female, white tailed deer. Her glazed eyes stared into space, dried blood and mud coated her beautiful fur. As I pulled into the lane beside them, I couldn’t help but stare at her, tied there like a trophy to be had; her stomach split open, and her intestines removed. She was half the animal she had been prior to her death. I wanted to reach out to her, desperate to show her that even though some were lacking in humanity I understood her sacrifice and I wished… wished things could have been different for her.

Separation between self and other, I suppose is still one of my greatest challenges. But as tears trickle from my eyes, I wonder if perhaps they took time to thank her.