New Site!

Are you getting tired about reading all of this crazy cooking stuff? Want to hear more about house building in Montana, or crazy neighbors in said state?

Or maybe you wish you could read odd recipes about banana bread French toast and the virtues of baking from scratch 24/7….

Either way, your dream is about to come true. Please check back soon for links to a new (but not necessarily improved) site devoted solely to cooking (and related subjects-not Montana).  The new cooking site will free up valuable internet space here for more posts on your favorite Sasquatchy-neighbor and the virtues of living in the non-non-burnable areas of Montana.

The Winter Rodeo

In Montana, there seems to be two seasons; Winter, and Rodeo.  I’ve never been much into the Rodeo, although, I’m pretty sure that comes from hating clowns.  Which really makes me wonder why, as really, a generally widespread hatred, that people still dress up as clowns for Halloween.  Usually, it’s a parent, like their kids are going to protect them from being stupid.  They are genuinely surprised when they say “trick or …” and before they get ‘treat’ out, their treat is getting punched in the nose.

Anyway, I don’t know too much about the Rodeo, but I’m getting reacquainted with Winter.  Winter, to me, means a lot of things, but this time of year, it means dog sledding.  I’ll admit; I’m an Iditarod junkie.  Now mind you, I didn’t say expert, I said junkie.  Which I like to mean, ‘is very interested, if not so knowledgeable’.

I’ll start by saying that I’m allergic to dogs.  I would have no idea what to do if I were put on a dogsled and told to mush.  What I do know, is that Jeff King is equated as a god of the sport, Lance Mackey is the defending champion, many women run the race every year, and even a handful of them have won.  One, three times over.  I know that the great race was begun in 1973, and has gained popularity in the intervening years.  I know that three musher’s from my neighboring town of Seeley Lake, have qualified and are registered to compete.  And I know, that I couldn’t be more proud of them.

Dog sledding, you see, is a hugely demanding sport.  Anyone, can work out, and train, and play basketball, or baseball or football.  I consider those to be relatively coddled sports.  Sports, where you get a break to go to the locker room, get patched up, and get an inspiring pep talk to go out there in your cozy gymnasium or stadium, and play for nearly an hour.

If you are a musher, you are the one giving the pep talks.  You are the one that takes care of your team during blizzards, ice storms, and across snowmelts that can kill you before you can scream for help.  The only one that can save you, is you.  Well, and your dogs.  There isn’t a locker room, a trainer to patch you up, or an hour of play.  The record holding Iditarod time is 8 days, 22 hours, 46 minutes and 2 seconds, held by Mr. Martin Buser, in his 1992 win.  For nearly nine days, he fought the Alaskan wild, it’s weather, and came out with bragging rights for a year. 

That, my friends, is a sport.  It is the race.  It is more challenging than the Iron man, the tour de France, and most certainly, more exciting than the Rodeo.  In 33 days, it begins.

Moose Love

I have a brother who used to work for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation. The most exciting part about it, was for a couple of years he was on moose patrol. This usually pertained to tranquilizing moose that would not leave residential areas and relocating them to a more ‘wild’ setting. Most of the moose that seemed to like areas that were generally considered ‘human’ had in fact, fallen in love with cows. For some moose reason, they are utterly (excuse the use of word when about to speak about a cow) fascinated by cows, and when they find the right cow, they fall in love and thus, begin wooing them.

I’m not really up on cows falling in love, but I seem to be an expert on moose falling in love. Some of the relocated moose, actually made it back to their true love, and had to be relocated yet again. Such dedication. Really, if a man fell in love with me, got tranquilized, and relocated miles and miles away and found himself back to me… well, I’d probably get a restraining order, but, with moose and cows anyway, it seems romantic.

The ongoing story in my local newspaper is actually about a moose as well. Well, actually more publicized is an avalanche that happened a few days ago that killed some trailblazers. Slightly less, and I stress the word slightly here, is a reported rampaging moose. (on the same mountain as the avalanche as it were). Anyway, not on a main trail, but a popular trail for skiers and snowmobilers that know the area, there is a renegade moose that keeps attacking people. It evades animal control like the plague, but damned if it doesn’t like snowmobiles. Well, it doesn’t like them, but more likes to attack them. There haven’t been any casualties thus far. Which is fortunate.

The flip side to that story is one attacked skier actually took the moose’s side. When the moose charged him, it got close enough before he bashed a tree branch over it’s head to see that its’ eyes were cloudy. So, in other words, the moose is blind. Makes me wonder how it can tell animal control guys on skis from recreational skiers. Smart moose.

I’m pretty sure the solution to the whole problem is to sacrifice a cow to walk down the trail, and blamo, problem solved. Instant love. Hopefully. I hope they will be very happy together. And I’ll look for the article that announces a new species of whatever it is that a moose and a cow would produce. I’ll name it Bob.

Hello world!

Hi. My name is Jess. I am one of nearly a million people that live in Montana. I have freakishly small feet for my height, and I’m terribly afraid of smallpox. Not contracting smallpox so much as the disease itself. Ok, both.

I write about many various things, including, but not limited to, building houses (and being bad at it), cooking (and being good at it), living in the boonies, my frightening old man neighbor and my mother. They don’t know each other.

I write because my friend Ann told me to. And lets face it, I do what she tells me to do. Except give her a million dollars.

I like ham.