|
Montana Memories
There has been many memories that have passed me by, but the ones that mean most to me, take me back to Montana’s big blue sky. Remembering the days spent there, while we visited my Grandma, whom lived there until she died. I remember going to county fairs, and going on rides, being there by my family’s side. Then there where days we fished in the Yellowstone River, then took long walks along it's banks, searching for agate rocks.
The memories keep on flooding in, taking me back to days of old, but to me they are treasures of gold. I remember as we traveled there, as so many times we had done. One trip reminds me as we went through Wyoming one dark night. As we traveled through the night, we saw in the distance a forest fire burning bright. We saw countless rabbits along the road that night. The next thing we saw, as it stayed so still, looking like a statue beside the road. A big buck stared at the glare of our headlights, then suddenly it ran away in fright, as it disappeared into the darkness of the night. We counted several deer, as we kept a vigil that night, over one hundred was the score, as we watched hoping to see more. When we got to Grandma’s that late morn, we told her everything we had seen that morning and night. We were excited, and filled with delight.
So many precious memories fill my soul, as we adventured and made our summer home, there in Montana two weeks each year. One year in particular I remember when we went to see, where Lewis and Clark had signed their names on the side of a butte. Back then it seemed boring to me, now I regret not going up to see. The next thing we had seen along the way, is where Custer had his last stay. All the soldiers where buried in a mass grave. It seemed so unfair to me, that Custer got treated like royalty, as they buried him in Washington D. C.. As his dead soldiers died because of his command, why were they treated less than he? After all, if he had no soldiers to command, there wouldn’t of had been that last stand, nor the innocent blood of the native tribes.
There were summers we had to go find Grandma and travel miles to Grandma’s ranch, because she was busy with harvesting the wheat on her land. She just didn’t sit around and wait for the job to get done, she worked along with the rest, giving it her best.
In the summer of 1975 is when we met a Filipino, and we became friends. Fay Mata was her name, my brother wrote her for a brief time. Fay’s sister Angela and I became dear close friends, of which I hope never ends. We are still writing each other to this very day, I love her friendship more than I can say.
There are so many memories that take me way out west, but these are the ones I cherish the best. I think of my memories in Montana, visiting my Grandma Ruth Duncan. I do miss her so! And other times there with my Aunt and Uncle and my three cousins as we tarried there, having fun as we expressed our love and care. Nothing can replace the memories I have, but having them sure makes me glad.
|
