Montana isn’t just another state. It’s not defined merely by it’s jagged western border that meanders like an elk calf through the wilderness that has produced a million tall tales. Montana is more than a vaulted land treasured in gold, wheat, coal, fish and game.
In Montana everything really is better.
The water is crisper and cooler. The air is clearer and cleaner. The land is bigger and bolder. The sky is bluer and brighter. The mountains are taller, the valleys are lusher and the canyons are deeper. In Big Sky Country you can truly see for miles. You can travel highways that stretch across the barren plains with hardly a car to meet, let alone pass. You can freely drink fresh water bubbling from springs forged in the basement of time.
The patina of Montana is her history. Cowboys. Indians. Explorers. Pioneers. Soldiers. Outlaws. Mountain men. Gold diggers. Buffalo hunters. Saloon keepers. Ladies of the night. Lewis and Clark. Chief Joseph and Sitting Bull. George Armstrong Custer, Pike Landusky and Charlie Russell. These were the stories, legends and tales passed down to the next Montana generation around campfires, kitchen tables and watering holes. If you attended school in Montana you learned Treasure State history…and loved it.
I’ve been to nearly every state in the Union and experienced most of the grand landmarks that America holds dear. I’ve seen the coasts of Washington, Oregon, California, Texas, Florida, North Carolina, New Jersey and Maine. I’ve walked the golden wheat fields of Kansas and the streets of New York, Las Vegas and L.A. I’ve savored Nebraska corn, Wisconsin cheese curds, Kansas City barbecue and Tennessee sweet tea. I’ve meditated in the meadows at Gettysburg, hiked the alpine heights of Colorado, dangled my legs over the edge of the Grand Canyon and snapped the obligatory photo at Rushmore. I’ve even been fortunate to work in Africa, Europe, Mexico and Canada. From Kilimanjaro to Istanbul to Moldova, I’ve experienced a chunk of this old world.
And yet, no matter how far I roam from Montana, she keeps beckoning me back. She always calls me home. Big Sky Country is like my long lost lover. My childhood soul mate. My best friend. But like a prodigal son I am now hopelessly trapped by a world too busy, too fast and too complex for this mythic land of my youth. I am now rooted in the urban forests where asphalt rivers of traffic jams dull the senses and skyscrapers cloud the memories. I live with more noise, more congestion, more work, more opportunity and more change.
And yet, when I soften and silence my soul the sounds of my youth still sing. These lullabies, sonnets and ditties are in the stories I tell, the values I hold, the people I love and the land I adore. I am one lucky man, perhaps the luckiest man to ever live. For I was born in a small town in the heart of Montana to a working class family. I was born with no silver spoon in my mouth but rather a song of Montana in my heart.
Montana! Montana! Glory of the West!
From all the states from coast to coast you’re easily the best.
Montana! Montana! Where skies are always blue!
M-O-N-T-A-N-A! Montana, I love you!
To be fair and honest, I don’t expect anyone to understand this love affair I have with my home state. I don’t understand it sometimes. John Steinbeck once quipped, “I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it.”
I guess that’s me. Consider me smitten. I’m in love with Montana and I always will be.
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