Do you see what I see?

I think its a tulip? Or maybe a hyacinth? Time will tell!

We've had a really mild winter here this year. I don't think we've had a true blizzard; never socked in, only used the snow blower once. I'm not sure what gives... which Nina is it?

Either way, it's March 8, and things are starting to move around here. It's supposed to hit 50 degrees today, and 59 by Sunday. Too bad I won't be around to enjoy it... I'll be in FLORIDA with my mom, before we meet my sister for a CARIBBEAN CRUISE! Yeah... I'm excited. Also: self conscious about how pasty pale I am.

Early February, Early Mornings

Whooooooooowwww

Its now, what, 4 weeks into this full time working/ part time teaching thing and I am... Tired.

Here's the routine for a week: up at 6:15am every day, shower, to the office by 7:45am. Work through the day till 4:45pm, when I dash out the door to the gym. Exercise for an hour, then home for dinner. After dinner is devoted to working on class lectures and slides.

I've found that I can't lecture without a slide show. Talking about history, especially historic built landscapes is such a visual thing. So lecture preps bounce back and forth between searching for the image I want and fact checking what I want to talk about.

I've probably spent an average of 6-8 hours on every lecture. This is the first time the course is being taught, so I'm totally building it from scratch. And because I wasn't sure what I'd want to change after a few weeks, I didn't plan lectures or slideshows very far in advance. So its a lot of work.

I knew it would be a lot of work. Its work I enjoy, really, but it's been a bit of a relentless grind building this thing. Even something like a lovely surprise weekend from my sister can throw my whole "things to get done and when to do them" schedule off.

And every week I seem to fall into a pattern of totally nailing the Tuesday lecture, walking out feeling on top of the world, and then falling flat on my face for the Thursday lecture. Or vice-versa. Its unnerving and confidence-killing. Nothing to do but get back on the horse though. Especially since I'm getting paid to do this.

DJ has been awesome, absolutely awesome about giving me time to work on class stuff. I've neglected housekeeping, demanded he turn off the light by 9:45pm so I could go to sleep (oh the irony!) and generally demanded that all things fit my schedule. He's made dinners, hung out with the dog and kept the house stocked with toilet paper.

And I have a wonderful sister and friends, did I mention that? I turned 29 on Tuesday. And Harlow turned 2. In advance of the birthday, Gretch drove over from Pullman and Ali drove down from Helena for a Chico Hot Springs afternoon and Livingston Saturday night. We stayed at the Murray Hotel (awesome historic hotel across the street from the train station), had dinner at the rib and Chop house and then did a Livingston bars lap. The most entertaining portion of the evening was walking into the Mint Bar and finding it FULL of hipsters. HIPSTERS. In LIVINGSTON. That.... Was unexpected. With their serious black oversize glasses and serious conversations.

Dusty made a delicious dinner of salmon, mashed potatoes, garlic bread and broccoli for my birthday. I received flowers, cards and phone calls. It was a nice, low key day. Which is my style for birthdays. 


This weekend is packed with getting my poop in a group. Writing the handout for the paper my students have due at the end of the month, prepping this week's lectures, prepping some AOII stuff for the annual Corporation meeting at the end of the month. Budgets, agendas, membership, etc. I'm good at that end of the organizational spectrum, I hope. 


And with that, I think I heard the coffee ding that it's ready. Time to get to work!

The Dark Days

Today is my parent's 37th anniversary. I'd show you a photo, but I lost my digital scans of the originals when my hard drive crashed the week of our wedding.

Thirty seven years. Sometimes I think they've made it this far only through stubborn resolve not to quit. The years immediately after dad was fired were hard on all of us, and especially hard on their marriage.

They seem to have come through it though, and both of them take a quiet, deep pride in the accomplishments of the other person. They are good people, and I am grateful to have them in my life.
__________________________________________________________________________

Today is the winter solstice; the shortest day of year. The longest night. We woke up this morning to a snowstorm, and I told Dusty and the dog "Guys! It's the shortest day of the year, which only means that tomorrow is a little longer, and the next day even longer. Spring is on its way!"

I think I've been mildly depressed this fall. There are many potential causes: the shortening days, the health of my grandparents, the post-trip blues and the impact the trip had on our finances. The Next Big Thing on the horizon, but a difference of opinion in when and how to get there. Career expansion that's both thrilling and intimidating.

I just haven't felt very sparkly, you know? It's manifested in two drinks a night (more on the weekends), falling into tears easily and serious apathy at work.

It finally poured out to Dusty last night, and he asked all the right questions. "Do you want to go talk to someone about it?" (No, I think once we get through Christmas and the days start to get longer and I'll be so busy that I don't have time to be sad it'll lift).

DJ mentioned that he's always thought that January and February sucked too, and asked "what we can do during those months as a preventative measure?" (Since a trip to Mexico isn't possible, date nights, using our new cross-country skiis on sunny mornings to get me outside, getting big projects done around the house).

My family has a history of depression. Whose doesn't? My grandpa gets particularly owly in the winter, when he's cooped up inside and its dark out. I suggested a light box for him a couple of weeks ago, and now I think it might be on my post-Christmas purchase list.

I've told Dusty about this many times, and given him permission to ask probing questions if I start getting overly crabby at any time. He asked all the right questions last night. He kept asking, "are you okay," to which I kept replying "I will be."

Because it gets brighter from here.

Christmas Cheer

Inspired by this post by one of my favorite bloggers, I tried my hand at photographing our Christmas tree tonight. Harlow-dog was, as usual, a very excellent helper dog. She especially excelled at being the dark dog head-like mass in front of the camera.

Like Linda (the blog attached above), I like Christmas ornaments with stories. As such, when I give an ornament as a gift I try to link it to something I've experienced with the person.

This is from 2009, when I was working for Montana Gift Corral.

My parents have a long tradition of giving my sister and I an ornament every Christmas. They say its because in their first Christmas as a married couple, they had no ornaments. I received my ornaments as a wedding gift. I'm not entirely sure, but I think my dad is the ornament-buyer. He usually gives pretty sentimental gifts.

My dad gave me the doll-house ornament below when I was 15 or so. Its a reflection, or, almost an exact replica, of the doll house that my parents gave me for Christmas when I was two or three.

It even opens in the back like my childhood dollhouse did.

I try to buy an ornament for Dusty and I every time we travel. This one is from our Hawaii trip in the spring of 2009.

And, I think my mom gave us this one, a photo from our wedding.

This is another parent-gift ornament. My parents were trying to sell their house when I was three, but had mice in the kitchen. Apparently a would-be buyer arrived, and I was giving them a tour. I asked them to "come see my kitchen, where my mices live!"

This isn't really an ornament. But I'm making it one. My parents are hugely generous this year, which is humbling. After wanting a road bike for nearly a decade, my dad insisted on buying me one as a Christmas gift. I can't wait to ride it on the bike trail at the lake, and have promised my dad (a road biker for over 20 years now) that we'll go together.

It seems to me like the Holidays are mostly about channeling your inner child, aren't they? Kind of a time of nostalgia and looking forward. All of the ornaments on our tree make me smile.

Hard to find the words

Sometimes I fall off the blogging wagon and struggle to get back on.

There have been a lot of things going on lately, and yet... not much to write about. Or, not much I can adequately put to words. Maybe a good way to do it is go through the recent cell phone photos and tell you the stories behind them?

Lets start with this one: of my mom's birthday dinner at my grandparents house.

It's a blurry cell phone picture. If I could set up this picture again, I'd have a nice DSLR camera, with a timer on it. I'd put the camera on a shelf facing the dinner table, set the shutter on continuous mode, and the camera would capture images of the lit candles, the smile on my mom's face, and my grandparents singing "Happy Birthday" to her as she blew the candles out. Somehow the camera would capture the sound of my Grandma's light (alto? soprano?) and my Grandpa's deep baritone.

The camera would not remember the shit storm of an argument Gretchen and I walked in to that Sunday afternoon, as we came over to make a Sunday birthday dinner for my mom. I think all families have this argument at some point; failing health, elderly grandparents, working adult children, lack of in-home care in rural America, the difficult decisions that must be made. What we don't talk about is the fear of losing the ones we love, losing the traditions and memories and institutional family knowledge that comes with their impending death.

It is hard.

I was in eastern Washington that weekend, over Veteran's Day, to visit my sister for "Dad's weekend" at Washington State. Since dad was a little busy playing at Sacramento, I was the stand-in. We ended up down on the field before the game, due to Gretch's participation in a student booster group. My mom was in the area too, so we were able to snag tickets from a friend on the WSU coaching staff and all sit together for the game. In a snowstorm that looked like this:

Pretty epic. The best part was the come-from-behind victory.

And... less than a month later, 'Cougar football has reminded me why sometimes college football can be cruel. You see, the 'Cougs head coach used to work for my dad. He stayed on at Eastern Washington University when my dad left for MSU. After his first wife died of a brain tumor, he remarried and now has a son and a stepdaughter. In 2007 WSU fired their football coach (whose wife, ironically, had died of ovarian cancer the year before) and our friend was hired at his alma mater and where he played, WSU. Four years later, and about 3.5 weeks after this picture, Paul was fired from WSU.

I think I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when it comes to people we know being fired. Seriously, all last week I was weepy and had a chest ache every time I think about it. It makes me sick.

And so, it seems the only thing to do is come home and cuddle this furball, who never fails to make me laugh:

(Don't fear, she punished me for this indignity by eating one of the glass ball ornaments the next day). 

At least the doggie knows how to hang out and roll with the punches.

It's THAT weekend.

My sister and her boyfriend are headed to Bozeman this afternoon. They're visiting to attend this weekend's MSU football game, which is against the team our dad currently coaches, Idaho State. 


I've been dreading this weekend for the last year. Dusty has considered going fishing or hunting instead of to the game. 


After MSU threw dad under the bus, he was out of football coaching for four seasons. For a guy who's entire persona is tied to what he does as a profession, it was torture. It was a really, really difficult four years for him, and all of us by extension. It finally feels like things are getting back to "normal"; whatever our new "normal" is. 


And of course, Montana being a small town, there have been stories in all the major newspapers. The Great Falls Tribune had one, the Billings Gazette had this one on Wednesday and this one today. People comment on those newspapers. The internet chat rooms have been all over it. I've had three calls and two emails at  work from people trying to contact dad, or asking to interview me about how I feel about it. 


The party line this week is "no comment." 


How do I feel about it? It's too painful to drag up. The wound has finally started to form scars; I'm not ripping it open only to invite the internet trolls and their uninformed comments to further infect the re-opened wound. No thanks. I'll go along privately licking my wounds. 


Overdramatic? Maybe. But tell me how I'm supposed to feel about having my dad publicly flogged for shit he had absolutely no control over?


Theme song of the week might be Adele's "Rolling in the Deep." Dad was fired on the cusp of really doing something amazing at MSU. I'm talking lots of wins, playoff games, national championships. 

The scars of your love remind me of us

They keep me thinking that we almost had it all

The scars of your love, they leave me breathless

I can't help feeling

We could have had it all

Instead of having it all, dad's coaching at a school that's never had three winning seasons in a row. That's down scholarships and practice time because of Academic Progress Rating issues. It's a total rebuild; a resetting of the institutional persona. And he'll get it turned around, because he's done it twice before. Because he's good at this. And because we're all so damn grateful to have him back where he belongs. 

Hell, he's so proud to be back in football, even with only two wins this year and few prospects for another, that he's cried at three different press conferences. CRIED. Had to hold back SOBS. 

(I tease him about being speaker of the house John Boehner). 

We could have had it all

Rolling in the deep

You had my heart inside your hand

And you played it to the beat

Could have had it all

Rolling in the deep

You had my heart inside your hand

But you played it with a beating

Throw your soul through every open door

Count your blessings to find what you look for

Turn my sorrow into treasured gold

You pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow

(Now I'm gonna wish you never had met me)

We could have had it all

(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)

We could have had it all

He'll beat MSU again someday. It won't be on Saturday. It might not be for a few more years. But he will. In the meantime, I still have more than enough to say.

Back in the game

This afternoon my dad retakes the football field as a collegiate head coach. After three years of being out of the game, he'll lead the Idaho State Bengals onto the field at Martin Stadium in Pullman, for an afternoon showdown against Washington State University. 

Man, there is so much emotion wrapped up in those two sentences. Dad is finally actually coaching again. He and my mom grew up 12 miles from Pullman. He was recruited by Washington State, but chose to start at the University of Idaho as a freshman. WSU drubbed Idaho so badly in 1975 that my dad's brother Pat, who was being recruited by WSU, refused to speak to the 'Cougs coaches. Pat signed with Notre Dame instead, married a girl from the east coast and has lived in Massachusetts since.  

Football is a game, don't get me wrong. But sometimes it has life-changing consequences.

Dad was on the staff at WSU last year. Let me make it clear: he made $24,000 as the glorified water boy. He couldn't interact with college athletes. He wasn't coaching. But he and my mom had fun being 'Coug fans. Even if the 'Cougs only won two games last year; one of them an overtime victory against Montana State. 

A long time assistant, and good friend of his, is the head football coach at WSU. Paul's WSU teams have won five games in three years- he's on the end of a one-year contract extension. Saying he's on the hot seat is like saying I've got small fingers. Duh. 

My sister and her boyfriend are seniors at WSU. It's amazing how much this university, which I didn't attend, has been in my life lately. Can I call myself a bandwagon 'Coug fan if I became a fan when they sucked? 

The sportswriter for the Spokesman Review out of Spokane has been a longtime favorite writer of mine. His article this week gets to the amazing irony and sometimes gut-wrenching coincidences that come with college athletics. You can, and should, read it here.

Don't get me wrong, it won't be a close game. The 'Cougs have been terrible, but the Bengals have been worse. But it's awesome to see dad get another chance to do what he loves, and is so damn good at. 

Wedding photos, really quickly.

I meant to include these in yesterday's post, but couldn't get blogger to let me upload photos. 

My favorite, from El Weddingo:

All photos taken by my dear friend Anne Sherwood. 

Lake trips

We went to Lake Coeur d'Alene for Memorial Day weekend. The drive over there in late May is heartbreakingly gorgeous. Swift moving rivers, snowy mountaintops and rich green grass everywhere. 

I didn't expect nice weather; the forecast called for 42 degrees and 100% chance of rain all weekend. I packed in preparation of drinking and playing scrabble all weekend. Instead it was beautiful, with only a shower while I was on a bike ride. 

Harlow has become quite the road trip dog:

She'll lie down on the "dog taco" in the back seat and do that drowsy dog thing. You know, eyes closed, head bobbing up and down, almost asleep but not quite there.

It cracks me up when she lies with her paws crossed. Such a lady.

The dog taco came in handy on Friday night, when Harlow had her first bought of car sickness after driving down the long, windy road into Harrison. She puked just as we rounded the corner at One Shot Charlie's bar. Not the first time One Shots has made someone toss their cookies. Thankfully the dog taco caught all of it. We hosed everything down and were off into the night.

I've done a bad thing. I taught the pupperoni that two pats on the bed means come cudde with me.

She learned that trick after about two tries!

I went for two 25 mile bike rides over the weekend, and one16 mile dwadling bike tour with Dusty. You've got to bike it out in this crowd, or else risk coming home 1 lb heavier for every day you were out there. My family likes good food.

On my way back towards Harrison I came upon this guy, snacking on an aspen.

We stared at each other for a bit, unsure what to do. He is obviously not an adult moose, but also not a baby, so I wasn't too worried about getting between him and his mamma. Those things will charge you if they feel threatened. So I stood there with my bike for about 5 minutes, willing him to run away. When he didn't, I rode past him as far to the left side of the bike path as I possibly could.

And then two miles later I came across another moose!!! Two moose in three miles. Those things stink.

Harlow, in the mean time, was an exhausted dog by Sunday. She spent Saturday playing epic games of chuck-it, a lengthy game of fetch the duck with my dad, and generally socializing.

By Sunday she could barely keep herself awake to enjoy the fun.

Have I ever mentioned the shack at the lake? See, when my parents bought their place, they also bought the little house next door from the previous owner. Alternatively called "the guesthouse" or "the shack" but sometimes "the shithole", the building has been bike and tool storage, a rental, and all but abandoned. Until my mom worked out a deal with a local handyman last winter; he and his wife lived in the shack rent free in exchange for them fixing the building up. My parents bought the materials, they did the work.

I assumed the worst with this deal. I've always thought the shack was salvage-able; I just wasn't so sure about this horse-trading arrangement. But, to my chagrin, it worked out. Crow makes an excellent dinner, FYI.

There are still a few things to be done, like fixing the window in the door, and a bit of trim work. But it's otherwise liveable and rentable and a cool little building. My parents will have it painted this fall and have gutters installed.

I shamed my mom into keeping the original windows in the building. They thought about replacing them with something vinyl and I was obnoxious and rude and impertinent insistent that they keep the originals. We spent time this weekend razor-blading them back open after they'd been painted shut. Later this summer we'll rebuild the storm windows and screens, and repaint the outside of them in preparation for the later painting this fall. It feels good to be able to put my money where my mouth is on the windows.

Overall, a very, very satisfactory weekend. One which makes me rethink my entire career choice. Why didn't I become a teacher, who could live at the lake for the summer?

Four years

Four years ago I returned from graduate school in Kentucky, happy to be back in the Big Sky state and certain of a bright future. It was a great, meandering trip back, with stops in Madison, Wisconsin and Bismark, North Dakota. Driving across the northern great plains in May is beautiful with green grass, blue skies and a lot of bugs.

I arrived home, car loaded down, to my aunt and uncle in town for my cousin's graduation from Montana State. Zack was the last of the three of us cousins, Blake, me and him, to attend MSU. Both Blake and Zack played football for dad; Blake as an All-American Tight End, and Zack as an outstanding center whose career was cut short by bizarre injuries and happenstances. 

The Tuesday after graduation I interviewed for my First Professional Job. On Friday afternoon I took a phone call while at the temporary job at my mom's medical office, in which I was offered my current position. Elated, I hung up the phone, finished my shift, walked down and told my mom the happy news, and went to Target to buy myself a celebration gift. I remember being on the phone with a friend, standing in the card aisle, and listening to a downpour of a spring thunderstorm. 

I couldn't get a hold of my dad all afternoon. My dad is not a phone guy, so I didn't really chalk it up to much. Target purchase in hand, I walked into the kitchen of my parent's home to find my dad leaning against the counter.

CK: "Have you talked to mom?"

Dad: "Yeah... (with a gentle resigned look on his face)"

CK: "I got that job with the City!"

Dad: "That's great kid; I just got fired."

And nothing has really been the same since. My mom came home, clutching the mail she'd picked up on the way in. A thick packet from their retirement investment advisor had arrived. Mom threw it on the table with a "well guess that's trash now."

My sister arrived home an hour behind my mom. In a fate which still makes my heart freeze up, she heard the news about dad being fired from a good friend of hers, whose dad had been MSU's basketball coach until he was fired the previous year. 

"Oh Gretchen, I'm so sorry," said Mikeala.

"For what?" Gretchen asked.

(and this is where I get really, really angry that an institution to which my family gave so much couldn't have the dignity and grace to at least give my dad 24 hours to notify his family before offering a fucking press release just in time for the 5pm news. You stay classy MSU.)

I made margaritas. No one drank them. 

We sat there and stared at each other. Shocked. Hurt. Angry. Upset. Livid. 

And though I try, and it gets a bit easier every year, I still have a hard time moving past those emotions.

Especially knowing that four years later, on May 17, 2011, my parents are still pretty unsettled. 

Knowing that this episode has taken years off of their lives. Added years to the length of time they'll work before being able to retire. Added lines and wrinkles and worry and stress and weight and hurt and scars on their hearts that will probably never really heal. 

I'm proud, or maybe more astonished, that my family has made it through the past four years. It has not been easy; it won't be easy moving forward. But life can't be easy, and if I was to learn that lesson, better at 22 years old than later, right?

Personally, the last four years have been pretty darn amazing for me. Successful job, relationship, marriage, dog, health, career, etc. And I'm grateful to have found a guy willing to take all of that on. It's a lot of baggage; this bitterness towards my alma mater (which happens to be my husband's too). I'm working to let go of it, but damn this bitterness is tough to rinse from my mouth. 

We are alive. We are resilient. We have bounced back. 

And damn if I'm not already looking forward to October 29: the date Idaho State University plays in Bozeman against Montana State. I'm challenging ISU to throw for 500+ yards of passing. 

Weekenderies

Tonight ends one of the best at-home weekends I've had in a long time. 


My dad came up from Pocatello to address some issues with the house my parents still own in Bozeman. He and Harlow played endless games of fetch. And my dad, who's always says he hates dogs, said things like "dog, you're the best," and "Harlow I love you." 

It was beautiful on Saturday; I gardened in shorts and a tank top when it wasn't raining. I transplanted the broccoli and lettuce I'd started inside. 

Yeah, I'm not so sure about the broccoli either. We'll see. 

On the left, 12 Walla Walla onions per square (2 squares), on the right, 4 lettuces per square and below that one broccoli per square. 

I bought and planted onion sets; red onion and Walla Walla onions. MMMMmmmm. 

I made on the fly adjustments to the "Farming 2011" spreadsheet, specifically the part where I don't have as much room as I thought I did. 

I sewed 3/4 of the new curtain panels for the dining room and kitchen. I really like these. Yes, they're cream/ white, but they have a checkerboard pattern so I think that counts as a victory of sorts. Did I mention the fabric was on clearance for $6? And then on sale for another 50% off? I paid $3/ yard for 12 yards of this stuff, and have exactly one foot left over. 

Don't lie. You roll out large stretches of curtain on your floor for measurement too. 

I also found the huge round compass thingy to hang between the windows. No, it's not art. No, it's not red. Yes, I got it at Pier One. But you know what, I'm satisfied (If only the arrows were going in the right direction. Can I hang it upside down to coincide with the true direction? Despite what the compass says, east is to the left in this photo, west is to the right.) 

I also "inherited" three very nice hanging baskets from the former renters of my parent's house. I bought lime green sweet potato vine, pink and purple wave petunias, a purple potato vine and a white lobelia which will hopefully do okay in full sun. They're sitting on the front porch as I type this, but I'll probably transfer them to the garage for the night. 

I'll be taking on gardening the flower bed at my parents house, as they get ready to put it on the market for sale for the fourth summer in a row. I've got a budget of $150 and plans for soil pep and perennials like daylilly, lupine, coneflower, autumn joy sedum, decorative grasses and asters which will add color in the fall. I'll also put in a lot of annuals for instant pop.  

Overall, a very satisfactory weekend. How was yours?

Pacific Northwest Roadtrip

We returned home last night from a one week road trip to the Pacific Northwest, where we visited friends and family and Dusty was the best man in a friend's wedding.

I didn't take my camera, but had a handy blackberry for quick photos.

We drove to Harrison on Friday afternoon, and saw a bunch of windmill blades being shipped via rail. Pretty cool to see!

We weren't in a hurry on Saturday, so we toured the central part of Washington state. My family used to go boating on Lake Roosevelt, the reservoir behind Grand Coulee Dam. The dam was a Depression-Era program which brought electricity, flood control and agricultural irrigation to Washington. I wanted DJ to see it. Obviously we were too close for great photos.

Unfortunately, we paid for our little detour later, in the form of delays, chains required and crappy spring snow over Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascades. We took my sedan for the trip, as it gets so much better gas mileage. We never take my car out of town in the winter, as I don't have snow tires or all wheel drive. Since I never leave the city limits, I don't have chains either. Which was going to be a problem when the Washington State Patrol shut down the pass and then checked every vehicle for AWD or chains. Umm... yeah. Thankfully, the state patrolman was distracted when he checked our car; I'm pretty sure he glanced at our Montana License plate and just waved us through. We went for it, and it slowed our arrival in Seattle by about an hour and a half.

After a great dinner with Brian and Denise on Saturday night, we woke up kind of early Sunday morning and headed down to Pike Place Market to walk around. Of course, all I photographed were the blooming trees!

And daffodils! Planted on rooftop containers. So great.

You might be wondering what we did with Harlow while out of town. She stayed with our friend Mark and his dog Charlie. We were a bit cautious, as neither dog had really spent much time with another dog before. But they got along famously, and Harlow was able to go hiking off leash, play in a great back yard and generally just be a very spoiled dog. She's exhausted today. Mark is a great photographer and would send me a photo or two like this:

Monday we went back to Pike Place Market and loaded up on fixin's for a dinner at DJ's mom's condo in Long Beach, Washington. Seafood!

After stopping for a great lunch with DJ's grandmother, dad and dad's wife, we drove down to Long Beach. It's so weird to me to be at a beach where you don't take a blanket and a cooler and lay out. But it was a very relaxing stay with a lot of reading, snoozing, and walking. We even had my friend Erin up from Astoria for dinner!

Wednesday and Thursday were spent in Castle Rock visiting Dusty's parents. Friday about noon we headed down to the Portland area, where we picked up Dusty's tuxedo for the wedding, and hunted Pliney the Elder. Pliney is a great beer which is IMPOSSIBLE to find. Serioulsy, people laughed at me. Between Seattle, Astoria, Vancouver and Portland, we could only find a single bottle!


Saturday was the wedding, held at the World Forestry Center near the Portland Zoo. Super fun. The only photo I snapped was a late night blackberry shot. We are shiny. Oh well!

Sunday was a long haul of a drive from Portland back to Bozeman. Eleven hours, plus a one hour time gain. Gah. We left at 8am and arrived home at 8:30pm. Thankfully the roads were fine. It must be close to spring, as Road Construction Season has begun with bridge replacements over the Clark Fork River in Montana...