Opinion

The joys and woes of being the camp cook

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Western movies often portrayed the camp cook as a cranky drunk. I think this stereotype evolved for a darn good reason... they had to be cranky and/or drunk to survive! Camp cooking is such a fine and pleasant misery that I’d probably do it free gratis just for the adventure. However, that does not prohibit me from complaining about the job--especially now that I have retired from wilderness camp cooking.

Summer events to cherish

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We were out in the gravel driveway in front of our garage getting ready to light our fireworks on the 4th of July. He-WhoTook- LongSteps loved doing fireworks, so he was happy our Colstrip grandkids were there to celebrate with us.

The Art of fly-fishing on Montana’s streams & rivers

Since the 500 year flood we just experienced, most rivers and creeks are running high and muddy, which makes all of us happy--except those planning a fishing trip. This summers of social distancing made camping and fishing the ideal pastime, especially because the fly fisherman has been glamourized and romanticized almost as much as the Gary Cooper/Marlboro cowboy image. Movies like A River Runs Through It have made fly fishing a huge industry in our part of the country, and I am glad because it provides me with a lot of summer amusement!

In Trouble

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Trouble. Visiting with many of you, it seems to going around like a virus. Not just the flooding, but illnesses and relationship difficulties and leftovers from the pandemic. Maybe this can help you.

The struggles of volunteering to help your neighbors

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This is the time of year when I occasionally volunteer to do other’s chores while they slip away for a day or two for a pre-haying vacation that usually lasts one day and involves a rodeo. Recently, we were tasked with taking care of our daughter’s family’s two dogs, two cats, 24 fish, 15 chickens, 4 ducks, and a gecko. We averaged one missing duck and one missing chicken per day, so we were really glad when they returned home to relieve us of a miserably failed duty as we had run out of ducks and were quickly running out of chickens. We even stood guard on the deck overlooking the chicken yard with a gun each evening, and we fortified the chicken house with tin and electric fence, but we could not stop the foul fatalities from an unidentified predator, which ate four ducks and five chickens in five days.

Me, with a bumper sticker

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I was 6 years old when the Shields River flood happened in 1948. My Aunt Helen Bohleen Stre-blow wrote a bout it. She gave me permission to share it a few years ago. It hought it bears repeating with all the floods around our area right now. She wrote:

Martha Stewart and the back country

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I have always been a Martha Stewart fan, which I believe I can admit now that she’s been out of jail for a long time. I loved her shows and website, but as a backcountry cook I would like to see Martha pack everything in on mules and serve it in a swarm of horse flies. Just in case she wants to expand into the area of creative backcountry cookery, I have decided to share a few ideas that (exactly like Martha) I have stolen or concocted.

Me, with a bumper sticker

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No fooling, I had a bumper sticker (the only one I think I ever had) on our family car back in the 70’s that said “Beware of Sudden Stops. This Car Stops at All Garage Sales! ” Really.

Living on rivers that flood

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When you live on a creek or a river, flooding is a springtime fear. It is ironic that we have prayed for rain since March, but now that the flooding has begun we are almost tempted to pause that prayer. Many areas of our state are still in severe drought, but we are under flood watches. The last major flood washed out our bridge, and we vowed we would move to Cohagen, Montana if it happened again. Fortunately for the residents of Cohagen our new bridge, which cost us and FEMA a lot of money, has held strong so far. It is not that we have anything against Cohagen--it is just one of the hottest, driest places I have ever experienced. One year on a wagon train trip from Ingomar to Circle, the day we passed through Cohagen at four miles per hour, my bottom lip swelled up to the size of a hot dog from the blazing heat beating down relentlessly.

Me, My Dad and a gate

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My dad was born on June 5, 1921. He went to heaven in May six years ago, My thoughts have been full of memories. (Much about my dad and my mom is in my book “The Dude, The Ducks and Other Tales of Montana”). He loved spring, new calves, water in the ditch and leaves on the trees, all of it. If you are a Time Out old timer you know this story. However, we have had lots of new subscribers lately so in honor of his birthday, here’s “The Gates”. The story began on one of my trips from Colstrip to help during calving season. (The word‘help’ is used loosely.)