Refuge in Montana

As I sit here, writing the day's events with a wooden pencil in a high school wire-bound notebook, I have to wryly smile. Before, I would have been typing them into my laptop and committing the little electronic bits of information to the innards of a mysterious little box called a hard drive or into the vast unseen accumulation then called "the cloud". Today, I am fortunate to have the pencil and the paper, though calling myself "fortunate" is something with which I usually have to struggle.

I suppose I have faithfully recorded everything of the last two years out of some sort of personal goal to document our new lives for future generations. Future generations? Ha! I guess that means Gordy and Veronica and Oren and Beth and their own children. They're probably the only people who will ever read any of the hundred or so notebooks stacked on the bookshelf beneath the stuffed pheasant and the mantle clock that ticks away the days and nights of our lives.

I'll keep writing, though, because I can't bear the thought of our lives going the way of the lives of most ancient peoples. Their stories were passed on through word of mouth, gaining and losing a little bit with each passing generation, until the story is relegated by scholars like myself to the realm of myth and superstition. I hold the hope that someday there will again be scholars to write and people to read an analysis of the past.

My life's work was supposed to be that of a historian, deciphering those myths and superstitions and turning them into pictures of life in the distant past. My mother understood. She would be proud of my journals. They're much like the ones she kept of our trips to places we went every summer. They were the written version of the photographs she also took - my father with the big northern pike he pulled from the lake in Canada, my sister and I feeding the ducks at the park, and my brother and I at a Cub's game in our ball caps with our gloves. Well, my brother had his glove, anyway. As I remember that picture, I didn't look very happy to be there. As I remember that day, I wasn't happy at all. Mom understood that too, but encouraged me to smile. Dad didn't understand, but then, he couldn't understand much about me anyway. He was baseball and outdoors and fixing things. I was reading about the past, thinking about the future, and more or less oblivious to anything else.

So, here I am tonight as most other nights, writing about our past. I try not to think further into the future than the end of this harvest season.

Chapter 1

For most of two years, I had been musing about hearing my name, Gordon Talbert Clarke, spoken by the President of the University of Illinois at Chicago and then walking across the stage to receive my doctorate in History. I envisioned my future as enlightening the world about the history of civilizations of the past while teaching eager students at some respected university. If all went according to my vision, I would someday become a dean, and then finally retire to concentrate on more research and writing. I needed only to complete my thesis about the Columbian Exchange and its impact upon European civilization to begin the journey in my vision.

My job as an assistant professor wouldn't support much of a life in the Chicago suburb of River Grove, so Cheryl, my wife, was helping make ends meet by doing what she loved. Both her parents had been teachers and Cheryl had dreamed of being a teacher since she was a child. The year she graduated, she got the job she had dreamed of - teaching second grade at one of the local elementary schools. The summer after she achieved that goal, we married and settled down in a studio apartment on Thatcher.

Between preparing for classes, determining and grading homework assignments, and office hours with my students, writing the thesis was proving to be a difficult task. All my research was complete as were the notes about circumstances and events I felt other historians had overlooked. My advisor assured me that my theories were sound and the thesis would shed new light on an important period of human history. I just needed a couple of months to put it all into logical, readable text and submit it for review.

One evening as I sat at my desk reading student papers on the demise of power of the British monarchy, I decided the only way to complete my thesis was to get away from lectures, students, homework and everything else that pulled me from writing. After thinking further, the summer seemed to be the only time. The three months Cheryl was not teaching would free her to go, and the university would have no problem if I took that time off. What I needed was a place sufficiently isolated that I wouldn't be disturbed by visitors, phone calls, and the normal bustle of our apartment complex.

The next morning, I shared my thoughts with Cheryl. Cheryl is the practical side of our marriage, and if there was a way to do what I thought I needed to do, I knew she'd find it. Cheryl had seen my struggles and agreed that we needed to get away to somewhere. That "somewhere" was the sticking point.

I would be happy as a clam living for three months with no people, cars, buses, or anything else around. Cheryl needed something with which to occupy her time. She began searching for someplace that would fill both our needs and fit into our budget as well. A resort with cabins where you could cook your own meals seemed to be a viable alternative at first, and her inquiries found many that were affordable if we stretched the budget a little. Unfortunately, they were all near beaches, theme parks, or in other places that promised a wonderful vacation full of exciting things to do. Cheryl thought they sounded interesting because she'd have something to do while I wrote, but she knew we'd be drawn to them at the expense of my thesis.

That evening, Cheryl made a phone call to her sister, Mary. After the usual hour-long gab session that they enjoy, Cheryl came into the bedroom smiling.

"I, or rather Mary, found the answer. We need to take someone with us when we go on this trip you're planning."

"OK, but who would want to go where we need to go?"

"Mary would."

"Mary? What about Bill? Night and day, he's always on the phone talking to someone about his business. He wouldn't want to go, and if I know Bill, he wouldn't want to spend the summer by himself either."

"Bill wants to go, too. He has a manager now who takes care of everything but the big, downtown real estate transactions, and Mary says he needs a vacation."

"OK, I'll buy that, but could we ever agree on where? I mean, you'll have Mary to talk to and do things with. I'll have my thesis. Bill would have what?"

"He's looking for that now."

"Bill's looking?"

"Yes. He has real estate connections all over the states, and he's looking for that secluded spot you want...with a town close enough that we other three won't go nuts for something to do besides play canasta and stare at each other."

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I figured if there was such a place, Bill would find it. Bill, or Billy, as Mary calls her husband, is an interesting guy, not really my type of guy, but still an interesting one. His dad was a contractor who started a real estate business back in the fifties to make more profit on the houses he built. Over the years, that business grew from selling residential properties in the Chicago suburbs to include a division that worked with properties in the downtown area as well as the industrial areas of the city and surrounding area. Bill grew up in that environment and got his real estate license when he was just nineteen. He's a great salesman, one of those people who loves to be around people, loves talking to people, and who never in his life met anyone who wasn't immediately a friend. I like people, but not like Bill likes people.

He would have done great as just an agent, but his dad would have none of that. William James Rhodes was not about to turn over his business to an uneducated man, so four years after high school, Bill got his bachelors in economics, and a year later, his MBA. His dad made him vice president of the company, and Bill began growing the business even more. I don't know how much income Bill brought home, but he and Mary lived in a six bedroom house in Lincolnwood.

One would never know how well off Bill and Mary really are. Mary is a carbon copy of Cheryl, except she's a little taller, and just as practical. Bill is, well, just Bill. I think he would be the same guy flipping burgers as he is managing his business, always friendly, always ready to help, and just a really nice guy.

Oh, he does sometimes get a little carried away with his one hobby, that being his ham radio. I don't have a clue about all the jargon he uses when he gets really wound up, but having his own radio station fits his personality. With the radio, Bill can talk to people all over the world, and he loves doing it. Bill's only vice is good food and drink, and it shows. He's not obese, but he's not slim by any means. Mary tries hard to keep him on the straight and narrow, but she loves him too much to ever get really upset with him.

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On the twenty-first of April, Bill and Mary came over for some burgers. As we stood on the tiny balcony of our second floor apartment, drinking a beer and waiting for the burgers to cook, Bill said he'd found the place.

"Don't know if you'll like it or not, but an agent in Montana I met at a conference last year called me yesterday about a ranch up in the mountains. He said The Dapple Horse Ranch was kind of a dude ranch, but it wasn't really a place people went to vacation. It was a place they went to learn how things were done on a ranch in the 1800's. Guests could do as much of the work as they wanted, or they could just watch while the employees and other guests did everything. Jay Milburn, that's the agent I know out there, is emailing me their brochure, but he filled me in on the important stuff.

"The owner's husband passed away a month ago and she's trying to sell it. She's not in good enough health to live there by herself, so she moved into town and needs someone to watch the place until it sells.

"They did all the work with horses. In the spring they went out and brought in the cattle to give the calves their shots and brand them. They also castrated the bull calves then. In summer, they'd move them to pastures up in the mountains. Fall was the time to sell the steers and cows they didn't want to keep, so they'd bring them down from the mountain pastures into the pens at the ranch and load them onto cattle trucks.

"If you didn't want to work the cattle, you could mow hay and bring it in to the barn or work in the oat, wheat, and cornfields. Horses pulled the mower and hay wagons, and horses pulled the plow, planter, and cultivators. The corn was picked by hand and thrown into a wagon pulled by more horses. Oats and wheat were harvested with something Jay called a binder. It was pulled by horses too.

"There was also a huge garden. Mostly women guests worked in the garden, just like they did back then. The ranch bought canned vegetables as a back up, but most of what they ate, all the carrots and potatoes and tomatoes and stuff came from that garden. They'd teach the women how to preserve the veggies by canning or drying them when they were ready to pick.

"Meat wasn't a problem. When they ran low, they'd slaughter a steer. The kitchen in the lodge has two refrigerators and two freezers they used to store the beef until they could use it all. If you happened to be there at the right time, you could help with the butchering. Guests could also fish in the stream that runs through the property. Jay said there are some nice trout in that stream.

"Winter was hunting season, and the ranch changed from a ranch to a hunting resort. From what Jay said, there are deer and bear all over up there, along with some elk and lots of smaller animals.

"The ranch has electricity from a generator, but they only ran it from dark until about ten at night, just enough time for dinner and a game of cards or a few chapters of a book before bed. We can use it, but we'll have to buy the diesel if we run the tank dry.

"The owner wants to sell the lodge as a package, so a lot of the stuff needed to run it is still there. The kitchen is still stocked with pots and pans and tableware. There's a kitchen sink with hot and cold water. The water comes from the creek. They pump it from there to a big tank on top of a stand beside the lodge. There is a filter system for the water that strains out all the nasty stuff and they add a little chlorine just like the city water system does. Jay said that's all that's needed and the water has passed the state tests.

"There's a central shower and laundry. Like the stoves, refrigerators and freezers, the water heaters are propane. The propane tank will be full when we get there, and Jay said it should last the four of us for at least three months. If it runs low, we'll have to drive to town and pay to get it filled back up again."

Bill drank the last of his beer, then threw the empty in the trashcan, and reached in the cooler for another.

"Kinda like being house sitters, I guess, except it's ranch sitting.

"Anyway, it has a main lodge and six cabins. We can use the lodge, but just like when you sell a house, it has to be kept neat and clean so it'll make a good impression. The place is twenty miles from a little town called Sleepy Creek. There's a little over six hundred acres, by the way. The fields aren't very big, so most of it is pine and birch trees. There's also a couple of barns, a bunk house, tool shed, and an outdoor cook pit we can use."

It sounded like it would work for me, but I wasn't sure about the rest of them.

"What's in Sleepy Creek?"

"Well, there's a saloon with a big dance floor if you get tired of typing and want to go kick up your heels a little."

"I don't think that's me. What else?"

"Just the usual stuff, grocery store, hardware store, bank, gas station, you know, the stuff little towns had before there were big-box stores, mom and pop places."

"You'd be happy there for three months?"

"Yeah. I used to fish a little when I was a kid. I figure I can catch us dinner once in a while. I'll take my radio and an antenna, too. I can't spend half the time I'd like on my radio when I'm home. Reception oughta be pretty good in the mountains. "

"What about Mary?"

"She'll have Cheryl to keep her company, and you know they both love being outdoors. We'll have to take them to town once in a while, I suppose. Mary goes nuts if she can't go shopping. She never buys much, but she just has to go look. They'll do fine."

I still wasn't sure. Cheryl and Mary would do well together for a while. I was confident about that. The old saw about absence making the heart grow fonder nagged at me a little. I figured if that was true, being close might make for less fondness and what that might bring. Cheryl and Mary both have never been known to keep their feelings inside very well.

That night, as Cheryl and I lay in bed, I asked her if she really wanted to do this, or if she was just saying that because she knew I needed to get away. Her answer was a little surprising.

"Yes, I want to go to that ranch, and so does Mary. We talked about it before dinner. Bill has been having really bad headaches lately. His doctor said it isn't migraines or anything to worry about for now. It's just the stress of his job causing them, but he does need to get away. Mary said his doctor told him to go somewhere for a couple weeks and do nothing but relax.

"She's worried that he won't unless they go with us. You know how Bill is. He always has a phone stuck on his ear, or he's emailing somebody about something. If he's in Montana, his cell phone won't work and neither will his laptop.

"Mary wants to go too, and not just because of Bill. He's been so busy making money they haven't done anything together for ages. He keeps telling her they will, but then some business deal always comes up and they stay home.

"We could use a vacation together as well. Do you realize it's been over three years since we've been anywhere together? All year long, you teach and grade papers. In the summer, you do your research. All year long, I teach and do lesson plans. In the summer, I look for new things for my classroom and to help teach my kids. At the end of every day, we eat, watch TV and then go to bed. We need some private time together, like a second honeymoon."

"It won't be very private with Bill and Mary along."

"Yes it will, because they'll be in a different room in the lodge."

"I'll still be working on my thesis."

"I know, but you'll get more done in an hour there than you get done in a week here. We'll still have time together, a lot more than we do now, and I can take pictures of Montana and find out a bunch of stuff to teach my kids next year."

"Yes, I'll get a lot done, but I'll also be busy. You and Mary and Bill won't be. Think you'll all get along for three months?"

"We talked about that too. If things get a little too close, one the couples will go into town or just take a walk. It'll work itself out."

The next evening, Cheryl called Mary and asked if Bill could make the arrangements for the ranch. They talked for an hour after that, during which they decided on a departure date and what they would need to take with them. I don't know how that took all of an hour. Bill and I had talked about that as well, for about ten minutes.

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Cheryl turned in her grade book and keys on May 26th. My last day for the summer was June 1st. My leave of absence would let me stay away from everything until the first week of September. I wasn't getting paid, but my payment would be a bound thesis and my doctorate in January, or perhaps the next June if I had to make some revisions after my formal defense to the committee.

It took a week for Cheryl and Mary to pack. It took me a day. Clothes weren't a big problem for me. I just tossed all my jeans, shirts, socks and underwear into my duffle bag. I packed a couple shirts and good slacks in my overnight bag along with my only pair of dress shoes, and I was ready.

What took the most time was packing the three big plastic storage boxes that held my research papers, notes, two laptops, a dozen thumb drives, two printers with spare ink, and twenty reams of paper. I didn't want to leave any of my years of research behind, and I didn't know if things like printer ink and a spare laptop would be readily available where we were going. I could just see myself sitting in the middle of nowhere with a broken laptop screen and no way to get another laptop without driving for three hours each way.

Our departure time was six o'clock AM on June 3rd. The day before, I packed everything into our little Toyota hatchback except for the things Cheryl said she absolutely needed the next morning. That evening, Bill and Mary drove over to spend the night at our apartment so we could leave early the next morning.

Cheryl poured a cup of coffee for each of them, and we sat at our kitchen table while Bill showed us the brochure his realtor friend, Jay Milburn, had sent. He also explained the conditions of our stay.

"We're there to make sure nobody breaks into the lodge or steals anything, so it won't cost us anything except maybe for diesel fuel for the generator and propane for the stoves, refrigerators and water heater. Those tanks will be full when we get there, but if we use it all, we'll have to pay to have them filled again. Jay said the generator burns quite a lot of diesel, so we'll have to agree on a time to fire it up and shut it off. It would cost too much to let it run all day and all night.

"In addition to the lodge we can use any of the other five hundred or so acres around it that aren't fields. There's a barn as well."