The day, set aside to celebrate 41 years together, began very still with bluebird skies. We drove south with no real destination in mind, finding the Stillwater and Rosebud valleys ripped straight from a storybook, especially with this year’s green on. It is clear that many people have thought the same of these hamlets, buying up small acreage and building perfect chalets, log lodges, and “ranch” houses. The working ranches are mostly gone, but we let the beauty override our indignation. We shopped at the Fishtail general store, hiked with well clad hikers, looked in on the girls at the yarn shop who have 1970’s hippie beautiful down to an art, and ate at the Grizzly Bar where most everyone was in shorts and had out-of-state plates. But nothing got in the way of enjoying the day and each other. Not even the storm that tormented I 90 as we drove home. The wind battered the car, the rain overcame the windshield, and the lightning was kissing close, but it ended just as we turned north on highway 191 to go home. Listening to Jason Isbell, we got the hang of the words at about the same time suddenly both singing along.
