The West

“Those roads provided breath-taking views. There's something special about an empty road going on and on and on to the horizon where the sun burns the world away into a dancing, shimmering heat haze that reflects the crystal blue sky, literally blurring the line between heaven and earth.”        Dave Gorman

“Did you see that antelope?” my husband, Bucky asked.

“No, where?” I said, lifting my eyes from my phone. 

I realized then just how much of my time was being spent looking at a screen rather than at the world outside. My  Candy Crush game could never be more exciting than seeing an antelope acknowledge our presence then bound effortlessly into a coulee and disappear. Some call the antelope “speed goat”. Speed is indeed an apt name as this athletic animal can run at speeds up to 60mph.  Perhaps their horns resemble those of a goat. I find the pronghorn to be one of the West’s most gorgeous creatures. 

With my phone tucked snugly in my seat pocket, the wonders of Montana, Alberta and British Columbia appeared.

Montana watering hole!

“If these walls could talk”

It’s hard to spend any time in Montana without seeing cattle, horses, miles of fence, churches and barns. Old homesteads sitting on hillsides, their wooden frames being claimed by the very land their occupants once cleared, abandoned and beckoning their stories to be told.

                                    Mule Deer

Chinook, MT

Havre, MT 

The Canadian border is a mere 44 mile drive, through quiet ranch land, from Havre to Wild Horse, MT. Here we were greeted by an attractive female border agent whose petite stature was enveloped by her official blue jacket. I was surprised by the layers of delicate gold necklaces she wore and her discrete but evident nose ring. Was it a display of Canadian liberalism or an example of western freedom. Wild Horse is a long ways from Ottawa!

We were asked the usual entry questions but nothing about our possessing fruits or vegetables. As we drove away I thought of how delicious my recently purchased lime would taste immersed in my end of day cocktail.

Alberta is Canada’s largest oil producing province. With that said, every town we passed through is evidence of this. Mud covered white pickups, tandem tanker and large gravel haulers line the gravel in front of restaurants and lodging. Towns and businesses exist to support the oil fields.

While some pump sites are visible from the highway, most are far off the main road which provides to our view huge vistas of seemingly endless wilderness. However, this woodland is periodically punctuated by muddy side roads leaving the highway and signage indicating oil field locations. I have to imagine things appear quite different  looking down from above.

Interesting rig

Smoke from the wildfires now burning in BC have created a haze over green hills and valleys and could be clearly smelled. Cool air and a steady breeze helped.

Mile 0 of the AK Highway, Dawson Creek, BC
2900 miles from Ripton, VT, and now only 1616 miles to Talkeetna, AK 

June 2025

“I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer—its dust and lowering skies." –Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye

Bucky, me and our grandchildren 

Long legs pushed hard on bike pedals gliding across grass so green it didn’t look real, surely the result of an abundance of Spring rain. Quickly, more bikes, pedaled in similar fashion, crossed the lawn and entered the woods. Slender maples became slalom poles and while young legs pedaled, tan arms guided handlebars through a course of live poles. 

My daughter in law’s flowered tablecloth fluttered in the warm breeze. Plates of sausages, burgers and hotdogs were accompanied by homemade salads and beckoned to me. Those who really know me, know my love of hotdogs! The resident goats peered with soft brown eyes from behind their wire fence, while chickens scratched the dirt at their feet. Everyone was enjoying this first taste of summer and Father’s Day.

Our fathers, Sutton, Bucky and Levi

All too soon, the June sun slipped behind the maples calling for more wood to be placed on the fire. Strawberry shortcake and whipped cream were added to the tablecloth’s palette of bright colors while cans of whipped cream replaced bicycles as the main attraction.

Growing up, Father’s Day was celebrated at “camp”. School was out, our station wagon was packed to the roof, dog at our feet and we hurried from town to the lake. I loved everything about camp, the sandy sheets, the endless card games, washing dishes along side my grandmother, calloused bare feet and painful red sunburns. 

Camp was freedom!

South Hero, VT

My father, brother, me standing, my sister and a friend.

Father’s Day at camp marked the beginning of summer. We gathered at the long kitchen table, passed our drug store cards to our Dad and Grandfather. My mother and grandmother would have prepared a summer meal complete with garden fresh vegetables and ending with strawberry shortcake. No canned whipped cream! Later in the summer we’d pick sour cherries and they’d fill my grandmother’s excellent pie crusts. I’ve yet to taste a crust as perfect as hers. 

Camp today with Bucky, my brother and sister in law.

My grandparents drove from Pennsylvania to spend the summer on the lake with their only daughter, my mother. Together we lived a carefree multigenerational life in what felt like an endless summer and I dreaded the day we had to return to “town” and school. Our seasonal move from the suburbs to camp can only be compared to post war baby boomers returning to the farm life of previous generations. After Labor Day, our station wagon was repacked and Karboy reluctantly took his place on the floor. He showed his dislike in leaving as strongly as I did. My grandparents packed the Pontiac with my grandfather’s tools, fishing poles, items purchased at summer farm auctions and headed home. We wouldn’t see them again until they migrated east the following summer.

The Pontiac!

Not Father’s Day, but a typical camp meal.

My Grandparents sitting outside camp and Grandpa’s shop with our collie, Karboy.

This year Father’s Day was not only memorable because it included all our children and grandchildren, but it was also our goodbye for the summer. From the time the winter snow melted and turned to Spring rain, we’d debated when to leave. It was finally decided that right after Father’s Day made sense. Separating from family is always difficult for me. However, unlike my grandparents, we’ll reunite with our family in the Fall and enjoy the company of our youngest daughter while in Alaska this summer.

 I didn’t get to see my peonies bloom, but maybe next June!

Ripton