Good early A.M. all,
I am in Billings, MT for the second time as we wrap up our tour of the middle to upper half of this great state. The girls are asleep and so I decided to check in while I was inspired, or I might not get around to blogging for another week. If you have been wondering where I have been since South Dakota, all I can say is that once I crossed the state line into Montana, I have been doing nothing but soaking it all in.
Unlike the vastness of North Dakota that nearly suffocated me, Montana had a welcoming flare, drastically changing terrain every ten minutes, a soft-focus Salvador Dali. As the sun began to set about an hour from our first stop, we found this gently-lit bridge.
We journeyed along 94 West, witnessing a God-produced light show as the storm clouds rolled in. We landed in Billings for the night, and the next day we made our way toward Helena. We had planned on traveling down I-90 West, but somehow we ended up on the scenic Hwy 12. We pray every morning for divine appointments, and low and behold, when Renee requested a stop along the route for a panoramic shot on a high place along the path, we landed on a very opportune dirt road.
It seems that we found ourselves in front of a Huttorite Colony.
We had no idea what a Huttorite was until we asked the man who drove up in his green pickup who said he lived there. I asked if we could get an interview with him, and he said that he couldn't do one, but he would go ask if someone in the colony could. After a few minutes of heavy anticipation on our end, the pickup returned and the man called for us to follow him.
We drove up to the portable building that he identified as the school, and there witnessed children, teens, men and women dressed in garb from two hundred years ago. As we cautiously got out of our time machine forerunner, we heard the strange dialect with Germanic roots being exchanged between the children sitting on the schoolhouse steps. The man pulled out his cell phone and talked quietly as the children continued to stare. As we restlessly waited for the verdict, we saw women rolling carts full of laundry across the grounds, small children walking hand-in-hand down the pathway between the row of indentical homes, and a tractor pulling up with a man curiously looking our way. The man finally disengaged with his cell phone and told us to follow him. He told us that we could take our camera but to leave our tripod in the car. He said that we would start out in the kitchen with a meal.
We nervously made our way into the dining room area and were introduced to this man's sister who is the head cook of the colony. She and about six other women sat at a long table that extended the length of the room. I introduced myself and then the girls did the same, while the ladies sat looking at us, wondering what we were up to. Margaret and the others sized us up quickly, and after an awkward silence, she told each of us specifically where to sit. We sat down in our designated places and sampled some of the homemade items that covered the table. There was homemade bread, radishes, pickles, salami, crackers, and macaroni salad. After a few bites and some forced conversation, Suzanna, the lady next to me, asked me how many children I had. When I said that I was not married, Margaret told one of the girls to go get a story from off of the board and bring it to me. I read it and laughed at the joke, the punch line stating that women looking for husbands are never satisfied. The ice was broken. Margaret let loose and began to crack jokes. She proudly announced that she would be skipping church that night to take us on a tour of the colony. She graciously shared every nook and canny of the place, from the church sanctuary to the kitchen cupboards, the individual family coolers, the brewing area, the laundry room, the kindergarten, even her own house. All along the way she pulled out goodies, food items that were her own, and made sure that she gave each of us an even number of presents so "we wouldn't get jealous." Her final offering of friendship was out of her own "under lock and key" stash - rhubarb wine. We gave her a ride over to the cemetery so she could show us where he father was buried and then we said our "so long until we meet agains," exchanging hugs, prayer requests and phone numbers. We drove away grateful and incredibly blessed.
We wound our way down Hwy 12 until we got to Townsend and met my former student's mother for dinner. We had a grand time swapping stories and catching up. Then we headed to Helena.
The next morning we traveled to my new favorite place in the United States, Missoula.
It is nestled in the Bitteroot Valley, a community surrounded on all sides by snow-capped mountains in June. When we pulled up to our hotel, we started making a big to do about a Harley sitting uder the check-in portico. I went inside and stood in line behind the owner of the bike, overhearing that he had started his journey in Daytona Beach, FL. I complimented his bike and silver braclet, and as he was leaving, he patted me on the shoulder and said, "Thanks." Later, a trucker from Pennsylvania who found out about our project came knocking on the door and said that the Harley driver named Digger would love to talk to us. We went out behind the hotel and found Digger polishing his bike.
He did about a fifteen minute interview with us, and then the girls dropped me off to speak to a couple who are doing a church plant in Missoula. The ladies joined us after a few hours, and we talked until we all were famished and continued our conversation over dinner.
We wandered around and got a feel for Missoula on Saturday and on Sunday we went to check out the church plant and had a chance to share our project with the people in attendance. We brought our Huttorite goodies to share with our new friends, and after the gathering, we went out to eat with the pastor, his wife, and the fine arts director. I am excited about how they are going to introduce a new way of worship to Missoula. Since the community is very artistic, I believe the focus of the church will attract many people who would not feel comfortable entering regular church doors.
We left this morning, a crisp day of 62 degrees. We headed back down I-90 East through Bozeman, Columbus, and stopped in Billings for the night. Godwilling, we will make our way to state #30, Wyoming, tomorrow afternoon.
Sweet dreams,
Princess Angela
