the northwest Montana fair

If you go to a rural summer fair as a pregnant woman and see pig-wrestling, an odd collection of people in bizarre outfits clogging on a makeshift stage, several mullets, blowup guitars bigger than the children carrying them, a woman walking along with a Chihuahua falling out of her shirt, which, upon closer inspection is only her bosom and a carnation, then you just might find yourself carefully explaining to the little one within you what a strange world they are about to enter.



Of course, if you also get to eat a Greek gyro, a pina colada smoothie, and fry bread, and watch an Indian Relay race, where young men from different Montana tribes race around the track bareback, literally jumping off of one horse mid-run and onto another for the next leg, you may also whisper to your baby that it better get here quick, as this old world is quite something.

bugs

For not being a fan of bugs through childhood, I am surprised at my enjoyment of watching and photographing them now, dead or alive. They are fascinating studies. I have been thinking it would be good to try and not freak out when/if I see my kid eating bugs down the road. That way maybe he won't get into his brain that bugs are scary and icky. I proposed this to Jason, who is usually amenable to such ideas. This is, after all, the man who has been mulling over how we can set up a play area that works for the kid to remain diaperless in. Then, whenever it's needed, we spray down the play area and the kid with a hose. But he said, "Well, some bugs are actually poisonous, Honey." Oh yeah. We've got a few things to sort through still.

recent times in the Park

While Jason earned money for our family, I took a beautiful mid-day hike along a small portion of the Skyline Trail last week, up at the top of Logan Pass. You can see why the trail is named so.

Jason has fun too occasionally.
Here he's swimming in Lake McDonald after work.

my hike in the rain to Avalanche Lake yesterday

yet more mamas and babies

Worry not. I'm fairly positive this phase of finding mamas and babies everywhere won't last forever.

warmth

When I got to our Park apartment later than Jason one day, I noticed his coffee mug on the dresser. Knowing it to be fresh, I opened it and took a sip, and there was still warmth to the coffee. It was in an insulated travel mug, so this wasn’t surprising on the level of physics, but it suddenly made me feel very close to him, like ‘hey, Jason was just holding this mug not that long ago.’

Last week at a gas station, I had a conversation with the attendant that left me both amused and troubled. He was in his 60’s, and upon seeing my drivers’ license, said, “Well, there’s a picture of a young person looking spry and youthful! Keep up that smile!” That was nice enough to hear. But then, waiting for my credit card to run, he grew more speculative. “You know, they say the golden years are when you’re my age. That’s not true. Don’t believe it. I’ve talked to a lot of people my age, and everybody agrees that the golden years are when you’re young. Enjoy them.” While I signed my name, there were further utterances about the pain and aches of aging. If you’ve seen Saturday Night Live, this was a waangh-waangh moment.

I tried to recognize the truth in his words, acknowledging so with my damningly youthful smile, but I was mostly speechless. He was light-hearted enough that it didn’t warrant me grabbing his hand and saying, “I’m sorry, Sir. Real sorry about you getting old.” As soon as I got out to the van, I thought of things I could’ve said about all the wisdom he’d earned to pass along to us know-nothing kids, but it was too late. Instead I left with a strange warmth in me, because it was better than your average gas station transaction but basically sad with little sense of redemption about it.

So, I've been thinking about warmth. When you’ve gone away from someone, their presence sticks with you awhile. There’s still a dab of warmth that can last for days or even years. If the overall experience was good, resulting in mutual understanding and knowing, it’s a comforting warmth; if it wasn’t, because you spent too much time trying to prove yourself or thinking of yourself as either the hero or the victim of the relationship, then it’s more like a sweltering, bothersome heat. And maybe if there was some passion involved, it’s a Ring of Fire like Johnny Cash sang about. One thing’s for sure though – we leave some kind of heat inside people just by our presence, and they in us.

intermission photo: a fire this week near the Park

warmth PART II

In Portland a few months ago, I was skimming through a marriage book Rachel and Cameron were given before their wedding. The author proposed that the primary goal of marriage is to produce holiness in us, not happiness. Evidently marriage is less trying if we stop expecting our spouse to make us happy! Who knew?! Okay, maybe we all knew this to some degree, but it’s real easy to forget.

I think the author was specifically referring to the common tendency of trying to change our spouse. I’ve learned from experience, mine and others,’ that nobody’s innermost character changes by my efforts, blatant or subtle. Likewise, I don’t respond well to other people’s efforts to change me. But rather, we observe. I am inspired by people living their own lives well and reaping the benefits. That is what brings about change. I think. Isn’t that how mentorship works? The mentee picks up on the character of the mentor, as seen in everyday life experiences. You can’t designate yourself a mentor and sit somebody down to list off five characteristics you’d like to instill in him this week.

Anyway, I like the idea of carrying a holiness perspective into all relationships. And when I say holiness, I mean completeness, wholeness. In Christian terms, having the “fruits of God’s Spirit” become more and more part of our character (the fruits like love, joy, peace, etc.). If I allow myself to be driven crazy by a relative’s or friend’s personality quirks, I assume they are failing in their duty to make me happy or accommodate my need for a perfect relationship. But hey! What if I instead think about just how patient and forgiving I’m becoming by my interactions with them? If we’re different enough, chances are they’re having to concentrate on how loving they’re becoming by being around me.

But even that (thinking in terms of my own self-actualization or what have you) is an ultimate focus on me and might just be an intermediary step. When I further think of each person as a strand on the big, beautiful tapestry of humanity, I can actually go from enduring them in hopes of my own character development to being GLAD for it out of the sheer joy of color and variety! Why oh why would I want them to be the same hue and shape and size of strand as me? I can try to know them for the sake of knowing them, without hoping to change them.

And so, if these outlooks are sure enough in me, maybe the warmth people feel from our interactions will be the comfortable, home-coming kind that inspires growth and not the sick heat of judgment.

Amen, and amen.

Brother Dave's last weekend home

It is pitiful not having Brother Dave around anymore. He left for Oklahoma a couple weekends ago to attend his last year of college. I remember this same yucky feeling when he left last summer, of an empty house and way less familial energy. He says now we know how he has felt all along. Being the youngest and separated from Luke by five years, he had to stay behind as each of us left and returned, left and returned.

By the way, the name Brother Dave is from when he was about 8 years old and my family was driving our old motorhome up to Alaska. We'd stopped in to some random little Canadian church on a Sunday morning, and when they were preparing to take the offering, the leader noticed one more usher was needed. He looked our way and said, "Brother Dave?" David shrugged his shoulders and stood up to help out, somewhat confused but obedient. Then, from the seat just ahead of him, the real Brother Dave stood and walked forward. Poor David sat quickly down, ashamed. He realized a little too late that nobody here could possibly know his name, and even if they did, probably wouldn't ask a new-comer child to help take the offering. We all had to work very hard the rest of the service to contain our laughter.

* * *

Are we not straight out of the Great Depression here? This was an excursion to the neighbor's property to hunt huckleberries. Not to pick. Didn't find any. But to hunt.

My mom's cousin has a boat in which he took us onto Flathead Lake. It was a really great evening, such calm water. Here are some photos, and if one thing's clear, it's that our lives don't totally center around dogs.

Ma, Murray, and Peanut (and Dad's side)

Luke, Heather and Peanut

Cousin Bailey and MurrayCousin Dallas and Murray

Jason, speeching about why "Batman, The Dark Knight"

wasn't that amazing.

the baby and me saving David's life

Matt and Kim

One of life's greatest joys is seeing old friends in new places. I don't know if that sentence is true, but it sounds pretty inspirational, and in this case, it is true. We met Matt in Alaska several years ago and had many an adventure with him there. A few weeks ago he was back in his hometown of Spokane, having just returned from a year in Africa.

He and his traveling buddy, Kim, drove over and did a three-day hike in Glacier Park, and as they were coming and going, we nabbed them for evenings together hearing about each of their plans to return to different parts of Africa and watching a slideshow of our times with Matt in Alaska.

Here we are the morning they left. Jason had already gone to work.