We're home from our end-of-summer vacation in Montana. I'm experiencing a bit of the post-vacation blues, but I thought trying to capture a little of it might make me feel better, although the evening is shaping up to be a pretty cozy one: We're unpacked, the car is cleaned out (that feels good), and the kitchen is filling with the aroma of pad thai and Matt's special green beans with peanut butter and shallots and garlic and whatever other magic ingredients he tosses in the pan.
First of all, I should add a disclaimer: I love living in Washington, a lot. I've never regretted moving here, and I know I would miss it deeply if I ever left. But my heart is home in Montana in a way it never will be anywhere else; that is just a simple fact. Most of the time, I am at peace with having roots there and living somewhere else, because I love a lot of landscapes, and I have roots there, too. But for the past several days I've been all over, I've been through the mountains of southwest Montana, I've seen the sun set over the Bridgers, I've driven through the prairies and in and out of mountain ranges between Bozeman and Havre, I've traveled long stretches of highway and met only deer on the road, I've driven on winding gravel roads, and I've breathed the sweetest air that exists in this world. I love every inch of that state, and every time I leave, even though I've been leaving for over a decade now, it aches.
And now that I'm faced with this text box, trying to figure out how to capture an entire trip in one entry, I realize that's a task more daunting than I have the energy for tonight when all I really want to do is curl up with hot buttered popcorn and whatever Netflix sent us. So I'll give you the highlights, instead.
Bozeman: Lots of good coffee, a date with Matt while my parents graciously watched Suzannah (we feasted on filet mignon and lamb chops at the Montana Rib and Chop House in Livingston before watching a hilarious performance of The Foreigner at the Firehouse 5 Playhouse), hiking to Grotto Falls with my parents and Suzannah (2.5 miles with a feisty two-year-old who wants to DO IT HERSELF, thank you very much, is a challenge), meeting Joannah's new baby, hiking on Kirk Hill with Matt, buying books at Vargo's, and eating Dad's grilled salmon and Mom's huckleberry pie. We missed our traditional meal at MacKenzie River Pizza, but the rest of the visit made up for that.
Great Falls and Havre: Meeting my oldest friend Julia's baby girl, driving around Great Falls in the twilight and revisiting my old haunts, driving the deeply familiar roads to the hi-line, praising GOD that our daughter SLEPT in our hotel room at The Great Northern (the last time we shared a hotel room, the child was awake until three in the morning when her father strapped her in the carseat and took to the freeway, and we have been afraid of a night like that for seven months), taking pictures of our tiny tot snuggled in the middle of our king-sized bed (she wouldn't sleep there, though, much to my dismay -- it's been so long since she slept snuggled against me), stopping to visit my grandparents in Gildford and eating KFC with them, driving to the farm just to see it, and taking to the road once again...
(In case you couldn't tell, I actually really love the driving. I took the wheel between Havre and East Glacier, because Highway 2 is my heart's territory. The highway dips and stretches to the mountains in the distance as we drive through Shelby, Cut Bank, Browning. Houses near the road are often shabby, and clothes flap from lines in the breezy heat. I lose track of what year it is, what age I am, what car I'm even driving. It's a little like the way I felt in Great Falls, driving around my old neighborhood; I saw the ghosts of my other selves, really almost literally saw them. I could say, that brick house, right there? I remember it, I remember riding my bike here, and I remember climbing in that tree and running past this house because we were always so scared of the old man who lived there, and there is that same dent in the screen door all these years later, do you see it? And I know that no one else can get inside my memories, but I swear, it's as though I've taken a tour of my whole life and it's not in my head at all -- it's right there, playing in front of my eyes on this street corner, in that park.)
Glacier National Park/Whitefish: We met Matt's parents and grandpa and David and Tia (the newly engaged couple!) there. They rented a beautiful house near Whitefish, where we spent our evenings cooking cozy dinners and reading and playing outside and relaxing. We spent time in the park each day, and I just have to tell you, it is still true: Glacier is my favorite place on this earth, especially Apgar Village. (Talk about suspension of time. There are pictures of me on this beach at Lake McDonald for every year of my life through high school. Almost nothing has changed, save for the location of all the stuffed bears at The Cedar Tree. The hanging signs outside Eddie's still advertise broasted chicken and trout dinners. They serve the same hot chocolate in those old brown diner mugs I love so much, even though their menu has been updated to include trendy things like veggie wraps on spinach tortillas. Everything smells the same.) We drove to Many Glacier, over Logan Pass and the beautiful Going-To-The-Sun road. Matt's parents spent an afternoon with Suzannah so we could hike to Avalanche Lake; it's special to us, because it's one of the things we did the summer we began dating. We ate a picnic lunch on the shore of Lake McDonald and were surprised by sudden clouds and fat spatters of rain. The sky darkened, the waves frothed. The street through Apgar Village steamed and shone, and as I walked back to the car I thought, this is a moment of unutterable perfection and I am living in it.
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