I’ve been on a bit of a Montana-themed reading bender of late: Ivan Doig’s This House of Sky, a whole slew of Jim Harrison’s short stories (Legends of the Fall, The Beast God Forgot to Invent, The Woman Lit by Fireflies, The Summer He Didn’t Die), and, as of last night, Norman Maclean’s A River Runs Through It.  As a general rule, I’m not one for forewords in books; I’m usually impatient to get to the work itself, and find myself rushing through the pages numbered i-ix hurrie

This past weekend was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year.  Which made me both happy (so much sunshine! so much daylight!) and sad (don’t start getting shorter yet, days!).  When I lived in Alaska, the tradition was to strip down into your skivvies (or less, if you were so brave) and jump into the frigid waters of the lake in celebration.  This year, here in Montana, I wasn’t quite so bold (not to mention that I wasn’t near a lake); instead, I opted to participat

The lowing of some happy cows; that was my weekend alarm clock.  It made me smile as I lay in bed, early morning sunlight slanting through the blinds, hearing them moo.  As the days wore on, I would see the little herd standing on the ridgeline across the street, silhouetted against the sky.  There is a little calf amongst the group.  It seems to have the energy of my herding dogs, running circles round the cows just the same. This weekend was beautiful blue sky, sunny and wa