Friday, May 25, 2012


I used to hide the fact I am from Montana but as I get older, not only have I embraced it, I’ve started bragging about my place of birth.  

In the winter we snowmobiled; even once helped with the Race to the Sky dog sled race. I was little and wanted to play with the dogs and since I couldn’t, I snoozed instead. 

Summer was the best of times in Lincoln though. Every Friday we loaded up the trailer, 3 boxer dogs, motorcycles, bicycles, rifles & pistols, and all the fishing gear my Dad could find. 

I used to love picking wildflowers for my Mom.  It became my duty, right after helping set-up camp; I was off pulling up whatever I could find.  Mom would tell me they were lovely, put them in a Dixie cup and set them outside.  Sometimes I would get upset my beautiful arrangement wasn’t inside. Being the obliging Mother she always is, she put the flowers above the sink.  I’m pretty sure we had tiny nasty bugs in our trailer that entire summer.  I never asked for the flowers to be inside again!

Then it was off on the motorcycles.  My brother was always in the lead and I was small enough I had to ride with my Dad. He was so tall that I could sit in front of him. There I was, feet over the gas tank, leaned back against Dad,  bright pumpkin orange helmet, cruising along logging roads….and falling asleep.   Dad tried his hardest to keep me awake; he’d poke me in the ribs and we’d sing songs.  “Na Na Na Hey Hey” was our favorite. To this day, I get a huge smile on my face when I hear that song.

At night we sat around playing Candy Land or Sorry, learning how to dunk chocolate chip cookies.  You had to leave it in the milk long enough to get soggy, but not too long as the cookie would break off in the milk. Then it was off to bed and my brother would always tell stories about bears and since I was on the bottom bunk, with the emergency exit, the bears would eat me first.  In spite of the emergency exit window opening from the INSIDE, I believed him. Every. Single. Time. 

Camping, learning to ride a motorcycle, sibling shenanigans, chasing gophers, and the millions of little moments that really matter the most; my childhood is embedded in a little town called Lincoln.  If you ever get the chance to go, don't forget to stop in Lampkins and get a malt shake!