Partially surrounded by mountains, Bozeman is probably a pretty little town… but for the smoky haze. I was told that last year it was worse.
Got another early start, and spent some time wandering downtown, which has an eclectic mix of high and low end shops, including some impressive galleries full of expensive western art. Carol Hagan’s multi-color impressionistic “Mama Bear” greeted us at one — she was full of life, ferocity and personality.
When checking out local bookstores, I gravitate towards the regional section for books and authors I will not see elsewhere. A couple of presses are reprinting western books that I grew up on, like author Ralph Moody’s Little Britches and writer/illustrator Will James’ Horses I Have Known, short stories of cowboying before WWI.
Found a t-shirt with all the Montanan sayings like “Last Best Place.” It also said “The Mountains are Calling…” I love the old cowgirl posters featured in different shop windows like “Montana girls — worth the chase.” One particular window featured a Breyer horse diorama with multiple models and a custom built wood barn — and suddenly I was a horse-crazy 10 year-old again. Some childish things I have not been able to put aside….
Route 287 off of I90 to Helena runs two lanes through open grassland surrounded by dun-colored foothills. We pass the occasional ranch, “Established 1883”, but the fields are empty of cattle or horses. Green and gold fields of irrigated soybeans are the only color. A thick strand of the Missouri River runs nearby, the only source of water for the trees clustered at its banks.
North of Helena, the air clears out, thank goodness. By the time we get to Missoula, I am ready to get off the road. For some reason sleep has eluded me these last two nights, and I am about to hit a wall. Fortunately, Tom and I get the giggles before bed, and I drop off pretty quickly after that.
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