For 8 years I lived in a sleepy little western town called Missoula. I was 22 when I arrived, 30 when I left. In between, I was a dental tool sharpener at American Dental on Reserve Street (now defunct), a clerk at a Husky gas station behind Ruby’s Cafe (on the strip near Malfunction Junction), and a student at the University of Montana where I took one of my first black and white photography classes, soon to be followed by my first Women’s Studies class.
Near the end of my time in Missoula, I suddenly found myself unemployed when I got so sick and tired of all the crap on the job (I was the only woman) that I quit on the spot, walked out of the dental tool sharpening profession forever. I got in a lot of trouble for that. We were trying to save money to move away. But I was just plain done spending 8 hours a day grinding blunt-tipped metal into precision instruments of pain.
When I lived in Montana, I identified with Montana. This was Big Sky Country. I wore flannel shirts and Levi’s and hiking boots (like most all the women there did at that time). I hiked the steep winding curves of the Bitterroots and camped with friends near remote, one-room fire towers made of glass. Jobs were scarce and many of my friends worked summers on fire crews with the U.S. Forest Service. In the winters, I ironed, corked, and waxed my cross country skies (the color of the wax depended on how wet the snow was) and once took a hot air balloon ride at 5am over mile-high mountains.
I was happy in Missoula. The minute I stepped off the plane (on to what was then Johnson-Bell Field) I knew I loved it there. It was laid back and liberal. (Does anyone use those words anymore?) With the exception of the winter inversions, it was a pretty happy place to be.
I’d spend hours writing in journals, taking wildflower walks up the Rattlesnake Canyon, scraping bark off of giant Ponderosa pines for my friends who were hand building log cabins in the Bitterroots and up the Blackfoot. I felt like I belonged, like I was a part of something that felt like home. It was home for the longest time.
Eventually, I found a girlfriend and settled down. We stayed together a long, long time. And when the town became too small, and the time came to move on, we packed up everything we owned, rented a 50 foot U-Haul, and pulled our 22 boxes of vintage albums, 7 boxes of rocks and minerals, 2 cats, and 1 red Subaru wagon across the Rockies and the Dakotas and into Minnesota.
For the first five years I lived in the Minnesota, my number one goal was to move back to Montana. I missed the tall, grounded mountains. I missed my friends. I missed the slow pace and the way everyone knew everyone else. I missed tumbling down the Blackfoot River in yellow rubber rafts and hanging with men and women who seemed to really know what it meant to live off the land.
But then something happened. I started to mold to the sturdy independence and protective Midwestern resolve. I began to value the way the arts were supported, and the lakes and rivers were the cleanest in the country, and the neat rows of houses and gridded streets formed nice straight patterns I could follow on a map.
I learned to love stoicism, The Loft, the Walker, and the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (but never quite took a liking to hotdish or Rice Krispie treats). I traded the vastness of Lake Superior for the rounded glacial peeks surrounding the five valley area of Missoula.
This place changed me. And I let it. It’s been 23 years. I finally stopped telling everyone I was going to move back out West. And settled in – to me. But I still miss Montana. And once in a while, I break out in that Willis Alan Ramsey song, Goodbye Old Missoula. If you know the one I mean, maybe Missoula is one of your secret places, too.
Goodbye Old Missoula
by Willis Alan Ramsey
Searchin’ for the sunlight
On this winter’s day
But here in ol’ Missoula
They’ve thrown the sun away
Come tomorrow morning
I’m headed for the Bozeman Round
And it’s goodbye to ol’ Missoula
sleepy town
I met a girl named Rosie
Sweet as she could be
But I guess that Rosie
She didn’t have eyes for me
Time waits for no one
Lord, why did I hesitate
And it’s goodbye to ol’ Missoula
a day too late
Clouds that hang on the mountain
They make me lonesome inside
And these four walls surround me
Leaving no place to hide
Goodbye Rosie you’ll never know
Time tells, my love will pass
But if I just remember your smilin’ face
That’s all of time that I ask
Show in this town is over
Maybe just never began
And it’s goodbye to ol’ Missoula
done all that I can
And it’s goodbye to ol’ Missoula
goodbye to ol’ Missoula
goodbye to ol’ Missoula
Sleepy town
Tuesday, May 15th, 2007
-related to Topic post: WRITING TOPIC – A PLACE TO STAND
Flannel shirts, Levis, and hiking boots – that was what we wore, also. Levis were 501s and hiking boots were waffle stompers. I wonder if it was a mid-70s Western states uniform.
I love this line: “For the first five years I lived in the Minnesota, my number one goal was to move back to Montana.” Had you wanted to move from Missoula as much as your girlfriend did? Could it be you might have laid down roots there and stayed?
Hard to believe you’ve lived in Minnesota for 23 years! Such a contrast, the two, I imagine.
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When I worked for the forest service in Idaho in 1980, I wore the same uniform; Wool flannel over a T-shirt, Vasque (or something similiar) boots when I wasn’t working, White’s boots when I was working (these were considered forest service standard boots back then). Always blue jeans; probably Levis or Wranglers.
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The Western Uniform – yep, I can relate. I forgot to mention the Skoal and Copenhagen rings on the back pockets of the Levi’s. Back then it seemed like as many women as men out West chewed (smokeless tobacco). I’d never been exposed to that in the East.
On moving, I waxed a little nostalgic in this piece. By the time my partner and I decided to move to Minnesota, I was ready. We both agreed that we wanted to pursue the opportunities offered in a larger metropolis. And she wanted to go to art school and be closer to her family. I don’t regret the move at all.
But the place – Montana – the mountains, rivers, and streams, the friendly people and rugged individualism that is the West – I miss that a lot. A part of me will always live in Montana. It formed who I became. I think that’s what place does to us – it becomes part of our souls.
I think the part where I write about wanting to go back to Montana the first 5 years I was here was my missing the mountains (terribly) and the belonging I felt there in Montana. I totally fit in there. Here in the Midwest, the culture is so different. And it takes a long, long time for outsiders to feel like they fit in. (All of my transplant friends agree on that point.)
I hope to go back to Montana next year to see my old friends and work on that part of my book. Every time I drive across the border from North Dakota to Montana, the smell of sage hits me and it feels like coming home.
MM, when did you live in Idaho? It’s a beautiful state. One of my girlfriends in Montana was from Boise. And a few times we took the drive through the mountains. It was stunning.
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QM–interesting that you felt like you fit in more in Montana than in the Midwest. I would have thought it easier to fit into a big city than a small town–a sort of blending effect. I know my brief experience with smaller towns felt like living under a microscope. But it sounds like with Missoula, it wasn’t strictly a people thing. A lot had to do with nature.
I love the West, and my favorite parts also have that blend of beautiful land, water, mountains, people, different and strong cultures. A lot like what attracts you.
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Yes, it’s strange. You would think I’d fit in more with a larger city. But it takes a long while to fit in here if you weren’t born here. What I found in the small towns outside of Missoula was that after you lived there a little while, and got to know people, they accepted you. And you fit in. People kind of left each other alone unless someone needed help. Then people would pitch in. But you’d see your neighbors in town at the hardware store or the post office.
You are right about Missoula – it’s about nature as much as the people. It’s a college town and the native Montanans as well as the transplants seem to have a high regard and appreciation of the land and resources there. Not to say there weren’t sometimes tensions between logging and conservation. But, overall, at least back then, people bonded over the land.
I do want to say that it could have changed a lot by now. It’s been over 20 years since I lived there. And these are my memories I am writing about (which are organic and ever-evolving). But I have a strong feeling that a lot of Missoula has stayed the same.
Last time I went back was about 7 years ago now. A huge strip chain of stores had grown on Reserve Street which was all horses and fields and open space when I lived there. The canyons were more dotted with houses. And there was more traffic congestion. But I wonder if the people have changed? I bet it’s a lot the same.
The West is wonderful. I love it in New Mexico, too. Though I’ve never lived there. It’s different when you live somewhere. There is no comparison to living in a place and just passing through.
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New Mexico is awesome! I consider myself lucky to have grown up there. The best thing my dad ever did was to move his family out west from Louisiana.
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QM,
I worked in the Payette National Forest in 1980. The Payette’s headquarters are in McCall, but I got sent to Weiser, on the Snake River, across from Ontario, OR. My post was a remote cabin 30 miles north of town, up a draw called Mann Creek. I was just over the ridge from Hell’s Canyon.
I used to drive to Boise every so often. It was about 100 miles east of Weiser, but that was a long trip in my Jeep. One of the neatest businesses I’ve ever been into was an old cigar shop in downtown Boise. It was dark and rich smelling. There was an old style Coke machine in the back. The kind you reached down into to get your bottle of Coke.
One weekend I drove to Boise in my old Jeep to see the Univ. of Montana Grizzly’s vs. the Boise State Broncos in a football game. Somehow I weaseled myself to a great 40 yard-line seat using an end zone bleacher ticket. Boise State won I remember.
One day the front right main leaf spring on my Jeep snapped in two (from a previous incident) and I needed a new one. That was an interesting 24 hour adventure/odyssey getting from the Mann Creek cabin to Boise and back, and on the return trip I carrying a 4 foot long, 25 pound, Jeep leaf spring over my shoulder like the old Camel cigarette dude with the airplane propeller. Very out-West macho…at least I thought so at 19-years old.
MM
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Minnesotans as stoic? Having sturdy independence? The protective Midwestern resolve? Not letting outsiders in without years of proving themselves? Whatever do you mean??!!??
I’m born-and-bred Minnesotan, but have somehow always had lots of friends from other states. So, I’ve heard these things before. They used to make me bristle, I thought the generalizations unfair and untrue. But when something is repeated over and over again by nearly every Minnesota transplant…well…I guess there may be something to it. People who are born here also rarely leave. No one wants to. It doesn’t even come up on people’s radar to move. Why go? Where to? I left for one year after college with a large group of new school teachers. It was absolutely an unwritten understanding that California was merely an adventure, Minnesota was and always would be home. We were all back to Minnesota within the year.
It helps to accept where we come from when we head to the page. It is good to know where we got our sense of life.
QM, I didn’t know Montana was part of your book. Oh, so wonderful to retrace your steps. Will you be updating the Red Ravine Community as you travel?
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“People who are born here also rarely leave. No one wants to. It doesn’t even come up on people’s radar to move. Why go? Where to?”
In that respect, Minnesotans are a lot like New Mexicans. Or vice versa. Although New Mexicans have *had* to leave over the decades to find work. Some return; not all. I guess I have met a few New Mexicans who now live in Oregon, Arizona, Colorado. I look at them like they’ve lost their minds when they tell me they have no interest in returning.
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ybonesy,
I’ll be back…
MM
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First, QM: very nice post, I enjoyed it.
And Sinclair: Well, err, ahem. I will agree with you on liking Minnesota and missing it, but I moved to California with 6 other people 27 years ago, none of whom live in MN now. (To wit: Santa Barbara, Newport Beach, Santa Rosa, Florida, Phoenix, and I’m in Alameda, CA.)
I *miss* Minnesota, and would love to have a place there when retired. My brother, however, would never set foot there again if our folks weren’t there; my sister in Mass. will visit, but doesn’t miss it.
Many from my graduating class at Rochester Mayo (over 500 kids) soon left and never returned.
A local columnist, Herb Caen, once ran into Jerry Garcia (yeah, of the Dead) and told him about some acquaintance of theirs moving to Minneapolis. Garcia replied, “people *come from* there, they don’t move there!”
Point being, the SF bay area perspective is that plenty folks come from there; while Minnesotans rub shoulders with new arrivals.
One of the things I like about Minnesota is the reserve. It takes longer to make friends, but the friendships based there are durable. I love the tolerance of CA, but there are “opportunists”, shall we say, out here.
QM: the longings you feel for Montana are much like what I feel for the north shore, the BWCA, the rural lakes, and for the Twin Cities, too.
I do not consider myself a Californian or Minneapolitan, though I lived long in both places. I no longer live in either SF or Minnesota, though those are the two places I identify with most personally.
Good post.
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ybonesy,
Yes, I have gotten that idea from you, in that loyal/loving way you speak about New Mexico. I think that was why I was very interested in your photo from Seat 21A, what home looked like to you. The place you’d never want to leave.
Sinclair
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I wonder if the propensity to leave one’s home state is not so much dependent on what that home state is as it is on who’s doing the leaving. I tend to think just as there are bloggers and not bloggers, there are leavers and not leavers.
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OmbudsBen,
Oh, yes…point well-taken. Not everyone, not absolutely everyone stays in the land of 10,000 lakes. People such as yourself even find happiness elsewhere. But why the strong reaction? Perhaps the loons are calling you back. Just kidding.
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How delightful to see the conversation that has ensued about place. So much happens when I step away!
MM: I smiled at this a 4 foot long, 25 pound, Jeep leaf spring over my shoulder like the old Camel cigarette dude with the airplane propeller. Very out-West macho…
Good story about your escapades to Boise. Rich details. Oh, and I knew a lot of women like that, too, when I lived there. Strong and rugged and able to do all these things that I was way too wimpy to tackle.
Sinclair: I thought you were Gone With the Wind! 8) (By the way, how was it?) Loved your comments about Minnesota. I’m glad you rang in with the other side perspective.
I liked your line, It helps to accept where we come from when we head to the page. It is good to know where we got our sense of life. It took me a long time to come to that acceptance about the South. And now I’ll be back there in a few weeks.
And YES, I will be writing about Montana from the road. It’s definitely a part of my book. One of the cornerstones. Stay tuned. And thanks for asking!
OmbudsBen: Thanks for the kudos on the piece. Glad you enjoyed it. Your perspective on Minnesota is refreshing. It’s good to hear that some people actually don’t come back. 8)
ybonesy: your point about leavers and not leavers, I think there is some merit to that. Some like to stick close to home, roots, and family. And some are wanderers. I have to ponder more how much has to do with connection to the state you live in.
Thanks for all the great comments!
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QM,
Some of my favorite Idaho characters were at the “Mann Creek Store”. This was a classic general store on the highway to Weiser about two miles from the junction of the forest service road. I used to go there on Friday nights. It had a bar and grill, and a TV so I used go, sit at the bar, drink Rainier beer, and hang out with the locals. They called me “the kid from Mann Creek”.
“They” were an odd couple of guy who were always covered in dirt. One guy had a grizzled beard and looked like an old time prospector, the other looked more farmer-like. The owner was a hispanic guy who was always smiling.
The two characters used to drink, swap stories and gossip. One evening they were talking about the Aryan Nation guy who was flying his psuedo-Nazi flag down the road. They wanted to “string him up”. They hated that guy.
Anyway, Idaho was an interesting place and definately deserves a place in my book if I ever get around to writing it. 😉
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MM: I think I met those same guys in Montana. Your book is going to be great. Count me in as being the first to run out and read it.
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Sinclair – * smile * yes, I do miss it, almost the entire year. Except for February. I can even handle the brittle white cold of January, but I remember February quite clearly as a month of thawing salt/sand puddles and black ice.
At “the U” I would tell myself each November that I was going to make it through the entire winter without slipping and landing on my ass, and it was inevitably February when, hurrying to class and forgetting, the feet went up, the books went flying and I sprawled.
But I liked the other 11 months. My wife is partial to the weather about the time of the state fair.
Re loons — I see many migrating common and Pacific loons each spring and fall on the bay. Besides, in the bay area we do not lack for loons. 😉
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Minnesota State Fair is legendary. I am hoping that when Sept rolls around (that is the month, yes?), we can see some photos. Esp the cheese competition.
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ybonesy,
Wait a minute, wait a minute! How do you know about the Minnesota State Fair all the way down in New Mexico? It is the largest (and yes, best) Fair in America, but still.
I think you may be referring to the butter head sculptures (butter, cheese–easy to confuse). All the dairy princesses have busts scuplted out of a massive chunk of butter. The winner of the competition has a silver tiara stuck in her butter head. We’re quite proud of this.
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Yes, you are correct – butter, not cheese. Wow, that room must be refrigerated, and think of the clean-up!
Let’s see, how did I learn about the Minnesota State Fair? Hmmm…well, I have written with one or two Minnestoans who love their fair 😉
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Oh, boy, once again I missed all the best chatter – now it’s the Minnesota State Fair which is totally legendary and totally buttered out. Liz is a HUGE fan. She goes every year. Me? I go maybe every two. But I have to admit, there is something that kind of draws me there. I like the dairy barn and the seed art (Liz photographed a Dylan seed portrait last year) and bop the mole. 8)
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[…] to Two Harbors, Minnesota to visit Betty’s Pies. I was writing about Ruby’s Cafe in Goodbye To Old Missoula when I found Ruby’s listed in the Pie of the Month Club. You’ve got to check out this […]
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[…] cherries are in season! When I lived in Montana in my twenties, I spent one summer at the top of a ladder near Flathead Lake, handpicking cherries. It was hard, […]
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[…] by Jimmie Dale Gilmore on his 2000 album, One Endless Night. The full lyrics are reprinted in a really nice short essay on Missoula that I found through the wonders of an Internet search. This entry was written by […]
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Question…..What is the Bozeman Round?
Thanks
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Christina, that’s a good question and one I’ve wondered about, too, but never researched. I’ll do some poking around and try to get back to you. Thanks for stopping by.
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