Note to self – when you roll back into town, after a day of snowmobiling, and you’re sweaty, really tired from riding on slush, dirt and mud; when there’s dead grass, rocks and sagebrush stuck in your skis, and your sled is overheating… you need to face it, boy. Your sledding season is over.

The Sagebrush chronicles is taking a short break from its weekly post. It’s been a difficult winter in Montana, and a strange one. This winter has brought some hardships, some new realizations, and some successes. These  winter elements need to be processed before they can be shared. For those of you who have been with me pretty much all along, I appreciate you, and am taking this sabbatical in the spirit of renewal, regeneration and new and better topics of art, adventure and life to share with you. the Chronicles is getting less and less interested in perspective and way more interested in the life, the adventures, the music and art of Montana and the Northwest. This is what I want to share with you. I’m guessing you’ll let me know if you want/expect anything less, or different.

                                 The ranch in the Ruby Valley, where we recorded

Music happens in Southwest Montana… on many different levels. In all my experience in the music business across this country, I still get surprised… sometimes by the hidden quality of a player or a band, sometimes by the passion that some of our musicians play with. And sometimes, how much they love what they do, how hard they try, what they’re willing to sacrifice and how much they’re willing to share what they do.

The band I’m recording right now is called The Ruby Valley Boys and Barb Wire, made up of several ranch owners and… a woman, Barb Pearson, who plays violin and sings. John and Jim Anderson own and work the Anderson cattle ranch, on the south end of the Ruby Valley. Steve, the guitarist, manages a ranch as well. Barb is a fine horsewoman who has a Masters in Education and has taught, and run a day care center. They all sing, and they all love their music and take pride in the band. The afternoon of our first recording session they had already played for the folks in a retirement home in Dillon, 50 miles away. The evening of our second session, they’d been calving all day. The third session, they’d been branding and tagging. On these session days they still rolled in to record with good attitudes at the end of a hard day. Oh, did I tell you why they want a CD? Not to sell… they want a CD of the band as it is now in case one of them “tips over.” They’re getting long in the tooth and one of them, Steve, is retiring next week.

Turning a big metal storage garage into a recording studio is a neat trick. Carol, Steve’s wife, and Barb spent over 3 hours the day before our first session, hanging burlap and blankets everywhere, and putting down old carpet and rugs everywhere they could, just trying to cut down on the ambient echo that one gets in a large metal building on a ranch. The “baffling” that they did was surprisingly effective, and the sound of the instruments was far better than I ever suspected we could get when I first walked in. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but with some close miking and steering a little left, then a little right from song to song, we got… something.

The homebrew sound baffles, to cut down on the echo… burlap, blankets and old rugs.

The second evening we recorded it had turned cold again, so Steve lit a fire in that big stove. The stove leaked smoke, and the chimney leaked smoke in a bout 4 places, and we finally had to let it go out so we could breathe, and see. The third night we tried to run two little electric heaters, but one of them was a little too noisy, so we turned it off and played cold. I don’t think it was much above 40 in there… look at the jackets on everyone. That hot coffee tasted good!!
                       Jim, his brother John, Carol & her husband Steve, and Barb

For you techno-buffs, the band has an audio console, or “board” that balances all the microphones and sends the sound into the PA system. This is a must for this band, as they play so many venues. And besides, when you are playing in a big room full of rowdy and drunken cowboys, you better be able to turn up, or they’re likely to forget you’re even there. They have their own sound man, and he was happy to hand me the reins on this particular recording, as the situation is totally different from running a sound system with stage monitors. He’s good at that, while I’m good at recording… I would never think to try to run a console for a live band….  no.
          See that little hand-held on the stand at the left? That’s the killer recorder

We used the PA console to get the instrument and voice balances in some sort of stereo mode, then took the outputs of the console into a little hand-held  4-track digital recorder I bought for the occasion. I had read about it, studied it online and thought it would be an inexpensive way to record a live CD on location. It turned out to be more than up to the task. not only was it able to record 3 hours of stereo sound on 2 AA batteries, but it has audio edit functions in it, hi and lo-cut filters, and a killer limiter-compressor, which I used throughout the sessions. It saved my gravy several times. That little hand-held recorder ($300) does what about $6500 worth of equipment would have done 15 years ago. And it does it all better, cleaner, easier.

The final step of the process is to bring the hand-held back to my studio at Fort Apache and transfer the recorded files into my big music computer, which I did. From here I can edit the songs, pick the final selections, tweak the sound of each song and burn a master CD of all the songs, in the order the band wants them.
                                                           Our “studio”

Our first session was a bust… there were too many strange and unusual elements to deal with, and I was struggling with learning a new console while figuring out who sang leads on which song, and when there were harmonies and when there weren’t… I wasn’t complaining but I’m sure they knew I was scrambling. So three songs into the second session I informed them that the sound, overall, was so much better than the first session, we might as well start over. They all smiled and said, “Okay. We’ll start over.” And off we all went. The positive attitudes of all the band members was so impressive to me. I mean, I love my Montana folk, I’m prejudiced and think they’re the absolute best! Remember, I did this in the big city for 35 years, and in that time, ran into more prima donnas than I care to tell you about. So the band’s willingness to toss the first session completely, pass the flask around one time and start all over again without giving me a ration of …. well, that was truly refreshing.

The second and third sessions went beautifully. The band usually played a “keeper” on the second take… rarely did they struggle with relative perfection. And the last night, cold as it was… no one complained at all. We had to tune after almost every song, as the strings on the instruments kept going sharp in the cold. And, in the end, we got around 16 good tunes that will take up just about 60 minutes on a CD.

The Ruby Valley Boys and Barb Wire. They played and sang their hearts in a cold storage building on a ranch in the Ruby Valley this Spring. And won my heart in the process.

Steve Hulse

Yup, I got it.
Wait a minute, isn’t that some sort of suburban myth??
Nope. It’s as real as an ear ache.
But it’s not an actual fever, right?
Nope. Not technically. But it can make you wish you had one instead…
So then isn’t cabin fever just a strange state of mind??
Yup. But you better catch it and treat it while it’s still in the “sniffles” stage,
or it’ll put you flat on your back before you can say “Isn’t Spring here yet???”

Occasionally, both by design and ;by happenstance, the Sagebrush Chronicles is forced to “go random.” Now this isn’t a bad thing, necessarily. Just different. We go with it, see where it leads us, and live with the results. I think this is the first time The Chronicles has tried to put a post up when its writer had a bad case of cabin fever. If I recall correctly, the first Chronicles appeared June 2nd of last year. No, winter wasn’t quite done then… it finally finished up June 18, the day before my lilacs finally bloomed. It was an unusually long winter, but we snowmobiled until May 1st, and I was still breaking in my new sled, so I was in hog heaven. But the long winter made for a short summer for most of us in the Northwest, so when winter rolled in last fall, we were, quite rightly, resentful. And, of course, that attitude has made this winter feel even longer than it has been. Not helping the present scenario at all are the emails and pictures of many of the rest of you beginning to enjoy 70 and 80 degree weather and report of some of your flowers going into bloom. An old friend in New Hampshire reports that their snow is “gone, gone, gone” and that some of their flowers are ready to bloom. And I can’t even talk to my friends in Atlanta… all that is far too depressing. Thank heavens my friends in Seattle are still having to deal with much of the same crap we are… and hell, why not?? They’re sending it to us. No wonder it’s basically the same stinky weather.

I’d really be in bad shape right now except that my Kansas Jayhawks have actually made it to the Sweet Sixteen, and I must keep my head about me and root them on. They were an inexperienced ragtag bunch of benchwarmers when this season started. Now they’re a talented college basketball team with character and a backbone. Great coaching job, of course, but some sort of greatness must be lying in those young men, because they’ve come a long way in 4 months. I’m very proud of them. Their recent wins have helped me keep my cabin fever in a kind of infancy stage, which, so far, I’ve been able to deal with.

Another saving grace is Roxanne, of all trucks. Roxanne, who’s seemingly been out to get me ever since I purchased her late last summer. Tiny gave me four used tires for her last fall, as hers were quickly rotting from being out in the weather the past five years. The first snows came before I could get her new booties on her, so she’s been sitting in the garage all winter, waiting, waiting. For the past 3 weeks, the weather has almost been good enough to get her up, out of the driveway and onto the highway  to Norris to get the tires put on. The weather, a huge contributor to cabin fever, was messing with me the whole time. The very day the driveway snow melted, and I got excited about a ride in Roxie, a new storm would blow in, insuring I’d have to wait at least another 4-5 days. It was downright mean.

Well, last week warmed up considerably, and Thursday afternoon I was actually able to sit out on my deckette, sip a brew and listen to the water drip off the roof and run down the driveway. It was a delicious sort of heaven. I was dreaming of an early Spring, to offset last year’s endless winter, and it felt so good. Even when someone down at the post office told me not to get excited, that this warmer weather was “the teaser.” Actually, I knew that… was just trying so hard to ignore it and think more positive. And in that momentary reverie I booked time at J.R.’s Tire in Norris for the very next day, which was last Friday.

Oh, by the way, this is what Saturday morning looked like at my cabin…

Friday morning broke cloudy, in the high 30′s, and off we went, over to Norris, 31 miles away. A slow leaking spare I’d had to put on the left front held up, and we were in Norris by 11 for Roxie’s new booties. All went well over there, even though the wind was blowing to beat hell. There was no precip and I was feeling good about the whole deal. I decided to sit in the office while Dan put the new tires on the old rims. I’d seen that process a dozen times, it was always the same, so I decided to drink the coffee I’d brought with me and pet the shop cat, who had hopped up on the chair beside me.

It’s funny, when ( and where) a person’s mind suddenly decides to take stock his/her life. I’m sipping my hot coffee, petting the cat and listening to Dan’s air wrench whining in the adjacent room when suddenly my present life begins to flash before my eyes and I find myself contemplating whether I’m sitting there, at this point in my life, as a success or a failure. Good god. And worse, at the moment I wasn’t really sure. Negative instances and small failures loomed momentarily, ominously. I poured more coffee and looked at the cat, who looked back at me as if every thing I was thinking was true. Damn cat, anyway. Who cares what a shop cat thinks?! But the process had been started, a demonic attachment to my then “mild case of cabin fever” and my mind wouldn’t, couldn’t let go if the process. So I sat there, trying to make some sort of positive sense of it all. Maybe this was just a bad pot of coffee. No. These thoughts simply had to be dealt with. Now.

As i usually do when a dark moment rolls in, I began to think about all the things I had to be grateful for. And there were plenty. Did i deserve all of them? Oh no, but I do deserve some of them, maybe most of them. And things started slowly looking up. For one thing, gratitude, heart-felt, is a real magical, healing elixir which totally changes one’s attitude and frame of reference toward life. When we’re feeling truly grateful, we’re not needing or wanting anything… we’re busy being grateful for what we already have. In those wonderful moments of gratitude, we’re totally at peace with what we have, and who we are. What a concept. The Buddhists in Atlanta taught me those concepts of gratitude and compassion, and I’m still boggled at how powerful those two concepts are when put properly into motion.

I mentally began to strip away the trucks, tires and snowmobiles from my present life to get at the real things I’m grateful for. My son Dillon, my continuing good health, my warm cabin, my Betty Ann, and my good friends. All these blessings define me, and I am so grateful for them. I’ve stumbled into the near-perfect life here in my little Paradise, and am a fool to waste time analyzing it, wondering if I deserve it or not.

But have I done enough?? God, who knows… have I lived life to the fullest I could? Oh yes, I think so, especially if the way I feel these day is any indication. Have I ever done anything significant for others? Yes. Could have done more, naturally, but I get a check for effort on that. I’ve nearly finished my next book this past winter, a project I’d planned that is about to be successful. That damned book is part of the reason I’ve got this case of cabin fever… you can’t write a book on a snowmobile. So, moving on, am I an old man, growing older by the minute, and living alone, no hope for love in my life? Ha! Absolutely not! Au contraire, mon frere… there is now a love in my life, a love it seems I’ve been waiting for for ever. And it is, of course, my Betty Ann. She is the best, the luckiest part of my life. I am convinced she would not be with me if I were a bad person. And in that, I’m so much better of a person with her. She brings peace, joy, contentment, laughter, heart and wisdom to our relationship. But most of all, she brings a deep sense of integrity, and love. How could I be so damn lucky??! Sitting there, thinking about B, and what she means to my life from here on, I was smiling through some tears when Dan came into the office to tell me my truck was ready.

Ahhh. Cabin fever. It’s a bitch. You go a little crazy, you suddenly get very sane… then off- balance, over-emotional… it’s a real illness, my friends. And the strange cure is to Get Outdoors!!! Weird, huh?

Driving home from Norris, Roxie cruised along as proud as she could be, causing me no trouble whatsoever. We got over the Norris Hill without incident, through Ennis and up the hill to Virginia City… and then it suddenly got interesting. I couldn’t see the top of the pass, and soon found out why. There was a full-bore blizzard up there, and i drove right into it. near the top. Had to slow Roxie down to 20, and could barely see for the next 3 miles. Starting down the other side, it finally began letting up a bit, until i could see the edge of the road again. Roxie’s rear end was slipping around a bit, even at 20 mph… those were not snow tires we just put on her. I had to smile, thinking about why only 150 people live in my town, Virginia City. For one thing, it can be fairly hard to get to, and out of, from time to time. For another, its weather is not very appealing, except for that one week in mid-July. And finally, most people would rather be trapped, by bad weather, in a town that at least has a mall in it, rather than just a post office and a bar. But wait…  maybe that’s not too bad…

Now you have at least an inkling of what cabin fever can be like. It’s real, it can be dangerous, and one needs to take positive and forceful steps at the first signs of this dreaded fever.

Take the guy above, who is, perhaps, a good example of a person close to the terminal stage. He is either overly optimistic, or more likely, just a fool. Actually, I know that guy. He is both.

Steve Hulse

I hope some of you saw the PBS special fund raiser last Sunday night, Anrdrea Bocelli and the New York Philharmonic in Central Park. As David Foster, one of the guest artists, said. “Stunning!” For me, it was a small, bright light of art and love in this dark time of our country. it was so evident this night that the heart of our country is still there… still courageous, still loving, still giving. And yet we’re being snuffed out by politics, and greed.

The Agony And The Ecstasy

So okay, I know. Yet another snowmobile post.  But probably the last one of the season. (I think…) Why is snowmobiling so important to me, so important to my pals? Why do we all love it so? Many reasons… the incredible natural beauty we ride through every time; the thrills, because there are thrills; sometimes we get to choose them, sometimes not – how we’re feeling at the moment, whether, as my grooming buddy Gene, says, “your sporting blood is up or not;” we continue to challenge each other, even as we challenge ourselves. In those moments, we know exactly who we are, what we’re willing to take on, if we’re still as good as we were last week… maybe better, maybe worse. But the sled, the mountain, the challenge and our will to meet that challenge, is precious… and occasionally brutally honest. Now I ask you, what’s not to love about all that??

Have I succeeded and raised my personal bar? Oh yes. Have I failed, and lowered it again? Yup. Three days ago, I asked my groomer pals to go back to town early; the day had gotten unseasonably warm and the snow up there was getting slushy on top. They were doing okay, but I was struggling with it, and running out of energy in the process. On soft and slushy snow, a sled gets much harder to manage… it can sink down and bury the skis in an instant… the snow basically looks the same, so it ‘s hard to tell when there is a soft spot. The boys told me it was all mental, that I could do it, but we’d been up there only 2-plus hours, and already I was pooped… I was done. So we had lunch up there and came back. For me, a failure, perhaps ending this season on a bad note. But that’s life, after all. I can’t tell where “my sporting blood” is by sitting on my couch every day. Am I disappointed in myself? Absolutely. I’ve done so well, and now this. But does it motivate me to do better, be better? Again, absolutely. And I might well have an entire summer to stew about it.

The Agony

Two years ago, before I had my new sled, I was trying to stretch out, do new things on the old sled. Monty, Mel and Daryl were throwing easy challenges at me. I took one they didn’t give me, up a steep hill and around a small grouping of pines. The pictures below tell the story… I didn’t make it, and broke up the front of my old sled in the bargain. Monty patched it up so I could get down the mountain, and I learned then, what I couldn’t yet quite do.

The Ecstasy

Then, last year, I was able to get a newer aled… a 2002 Ski Doo, with only 500 miles on it. It had more power than my old one, was easier to handle than my old one, but, best of all, the studs on the tracks were longer, helping me to go places my old sled couldn’t go. It gave me a tremendous confidence boost when I first felt what the sled would do. And when I tried things on it that I’d failed to do on the old sled… I succeeded. It was heady stuff. Not that I was as good as my equipment… but I was better.
                                        The Three M’s and Daryl at Cirque Lake

Daryl, his son Monty and Monty’s wife Mel took me on one of the adventures of my life last Spring. It began as a simple little cruise into Arasta Creek, a drainage directly behind this mountain… Old Baldy.

                                                      Ol’ Baldy

We rode into Cirque Lake, my favorite spot,, had coffee, then back out into Arasta and over to Talus Lake, where we played around for a bit. Then Monty and Mel decided we should go up this, this incredible trail they had found to the top of the backside of Baldy Mountain. And so, up they went.
                           See the two small dots below the treeline? that’s them…

They came back down and said, “C’mon. You’re coming up with us.” Well. I wish you could have seen it. For me, it was one of those “no way in hell” moments. But they waved me on and started back up. I don’t understand these things, but something in me hit the throttle and I started up after them. Maybe it was some stupid thought like, “Hey, I got a new sled… I can go anywhere now!”

I was scared, and it wasn’t easy, and I never looked down, to the side, or back, but kept the hammer down and the sled upright, pointed toward the top. Following them up, and continuing to believe they’d never take me where I couldn’t make it… and I made it!

                                   For me, the thrill of a lifetime.

The views from the top…

                                                  I’ve actually been up there.

I want to share with you a few of the things I’ve seen this Spring. Besides my silly mortal challenges within myself and my misplaced machismo, this is what I bring home at the end of my day on the mountain. It sustains me, it grounds me, it renews my sense of beauty and purity, and of what is important to me.

Yes… it’s only snowmobiling. Yes, they can be smelly and noisy. Yes, it’s just another wintertime sport, far less “acoustic” than downhill or cross-country skiing. And yes, The Forest Service and the BLM are slowly closing lands that are public lands, and, until now, have been accessible to us. And, yes, oh yes, snowmobiling has helped me lift myself up and beyond the old man I was fast becoming. I am revitalized, I have new belief in myself, I am no less mortal, but much more spiritually grounded, more appreciative of this amazing world we live in, and appreciative of my friends who continue to show me new and spectacular beauties of this magical place we live in…….. because of snowmobiling.

Steve Hulse

One good story about snowmobiles deserves another, right? And besides, it’s the end of February in SW Montana… if we don’t snowmobile now, then when??  I know, I know, give you a break… snowmobiling is only one of a half-dozen great winter sports, why not give those other sports their due?? Simple… because I love snowmobiling, because it has changed my life, changed my self-perception, changed how I will face the rest of my life. Really??! Yup. Really.

It was four years ago. I’d had some friends tell me that snowmobiling was dangerous, and that it was time for me to forget about thrills and spills in the high country, and accept my age and my situation in life… that I couldn’t afford to break anything.
            That’s me four years ago – everything was borrowed, except the gloves

I had begun riding a loaner sled the year before, really liked it, and had bought a used sled from the Vigilante Groomers here in Virginia City. The groomers, Daryl, Larry and Gene, were teaching me to be a more aggressive rider. It had been difficult for me… much of my learning had to do with “going against your instincts for survival…” and they were teaching me things like “challenging the sled, as it can do things I don’t think it can – ” and “the throttle is your best friend… lean hard on a steep hill, and keep the hammer down…” things I would have loved hearing when I was 30 years younger… but not now.

And yet, every time I did what they taught me, it worked, and I began to slowly get better. My confidence grew, only to be challenged anew by my pals, until I would return home, having wrecked, dug out and, at the end of the day was worn out, unsure if I should really be doing this. I wanted a much-faster improvement, and it didn’t seem to be happening.
                                                             Air-Marcus

Worse, I was seeing my riding friends do things on their sleds I couldn’t imagine doing… even as I watched. They would roar up the side of a steep mountain, along the top of a craggy ridge, down through the powder so deep I would sometimes lose total sight of the sled and the rider. And when I tried the deep stuff, I’d get stuck. Every time.
                                An easy outing with a group from Virginia City

And so, with all this, a critical moment arrived. It was on a Friday afternoon in February, much like this Friday night that I’m writing this, except that the weather was rough… a blizzard with hefty winds and temps dropping to the low teens. I was here, in the cabin, thinking about the ride my pals had planned for the next morning. Daryl’s son, Monty, and  Monty’s son, Marcus, were and are, to my mind, the madmen of the high country. They’ll go virtually anywhere, straight up, straight down, crazy stuff… stuff the rest of us wouldn’t even think of doing. And that’s okay. The problem was that Monty, his wife Mel and Marcus would decide what the rest of us could do, and would usually challenge us to the max. Sooner or later, it always got scary. My adrenal glands had suddenly resurfaced, pumping the magic elixir into my blood stream until it was sometimes minutes before I could breathe normally.

After one hair-raising experience for me, which included a 10-foot free-fall  into a big drift next to a barbed-wire fence, I criticized Monty for putting me in that spot. “Hell, man,” he grinned, “We’d never take you anywhere we didn’t thing you could go…”

On the occasions when I was invited out with Monty, Mel and Marcus (the 3 M’s…) they continued to challenge me, help me to be better. True, they got me to do some things that were totally out of my ability…. I thought. I didn’t like the fear, I didn’t much like the adrenalin rushes I couldn’t control, and I began thinking that I was not cut out for this kind of recreation,  that I couldn’t be the rider they thought I could, that maybe it really was time to admit my limitations of age and ability. Those were my thoughts that afternoon in February, when I found a way to re-define myself.

I didn’t want to quit sledding, but I was scared about half the time. I didn’t want to feel like that anymore. I was unsure of myself about half the time, nervous, almost hyperventilating once in awhile, and I didn’t want to feel like that anymore,either. So I sat here, pondering what to do. I knew that if I didn’t go out with them tomorrow, I’d stop challenging myself, stay on the trail always, become more timid and more timid, and finally sell the sled and stop snowmobiling all together. Perhaps it would be okay… perhaps I was not right for this.

Who knows what happens in moments like these? Certainly not me. I do remember thinking, “Am I ready to be like my friends who told me this is too dangerous? Are they right? Could this incredibly fun, challenging part of my life really be over??”

I wasn’t ready to accept this hard, older-age truth. I had already stopped skiing and ice skating. Now this? But then I had an idea, and idea that might save me for a little while, or at least buy me time to find out who I was or wasn’t, and what I could or couldn’t do. I threw on my heavy sledding clothes, fired up the snowmobile out at the door, and headed up Alder Gulch in the heavy blizzard at 4:00 in the afternoon.  I knew what I was doing… that there was only a bit more than an hour of daylight left. But I had a plan.
                                            Sidehill trail up Alder Gulch

I rode up to the cabins, 6 miles up, just north of the old Kearsarge mine. I would have gone a bit further on the trail, but the blizzard had blown a drift across the trail that was going to have to be dug through. So I stopped there. My plan was to do this sort of Zen thing, where I turn off the sled’s engine up here, 6 miles from town, as a proof to the spirit that not only was I willing to knowingly take that chance, with only a half hour of daylight left, but, in effect, kill that fearful, conservative part of me for ever.
                                 Where I froze my conservative, fearful self

Well, I tried. But my brain kept telling me that if the sled wouldn’t start again, I wouldn’t make it back to town. No one knew I was up there. No, I couldn’t bring myself to chance it. The snow was swirling up into the air like small tornados, I was getting cold, standing there by the sled, trying to figure out what to do. Then, I got it. If I couldn’t kill the chicken shit part of me, then by god, I’d freeze it! So I physically cast my “scared self” off the trail and into a snowdrift beside the trail, with the sled still running. “There you are, and there you’ll stay!” I yelled into the howling wind. “I freeze you here, here and now, to never bother me again!” I rode back to town in the gathering dusk, wondering if I had the courage and determination to make it stick.

That was four years ago. It worked, of course. We are, ultimately, what and who we think we are. Because all is simply perception. It had to work.
                                      The gang… the 3 M’s, and Daryl

What’s the upshot of all this?? I’m still snowmobiling, and Gene has helped me get a new, more powerful sled, which has helped me be an even better rider. I was out several times last winter with the 3 M’s and Daryl. They took me places I never thought I could get to, and I got pictures, which will be the subject of an upcoming post. I am loving sledding more than ever, and am a better rider today than I’d ever have dreamed… due totally to my friends, who never gave up on me, always encouraged, always gave me a perspective of courage, of good sense, and of the physics of a steep, snowy mountainside, which have given me some thrills I’d never have imagined, with more yet to come. I am now a proud member of the Vigilante Snowmobile Club and the ACME Groomers.

                                   The ACME Groomers at work

I’ve been back into Cirque Lake, where I never thought I would see, let alone meditate on. The minute we got there, I realized I’d found my spiritual center on earth. I’ve been back four times… it’s the same every time. Today I help groom our trails for others. And today I ride with joy, not fear.

                                                  Meditating On Cirque Lake

Why do I write these long stories to you?? It’s not about me, really… it’s about the human condition. All of our personal experiences can be shared with each other, and should be… were you not able to internalize an experience very close to what I just related, perhaps a way better one… one that was meaningful for you, reminding you of who you still are, who you are still yet to become?? For, are we done, basically? Or are we still growing, improving, stretching, trying to maybe put yet one more notch in our holster? And if not that, then at least not yet letting go of who we have been, of who we can yet be for each other, of who we might yet inspire… even at our age. What do you think? Do you think it’s possible? Do you think it’s worthwhile?

Well, it was for me. We all know we can’t be good for each other until we’re right with ourselves. This experience was a turning point for me… and I’ve been right with myself ever since, and am… to this day. And by god I’d better be good for my friends at this point in my life, because the transition was not easy!! My friends still expect much from me, and I have no intention of disappointing them.

Steve Hulse

Two notes here, okay? #1 – in the last snowmobile incident, “He Flies Through The Air…”

Dillon got a dislocated hip from the incident, something we didn’t learn until

two weeks later. Also – some of thes paragraphs have only one word on a line.

I apologize for that, but this particular software is anything but intuitive.

i could fix it, and it would take over an hour to fix 3 or 4 of them. I know…

I’ve done it before. Have not figured out the formula yet. Trust you will

be patient with that. Thanks.

Did you not love the Academy Awards last night? I sure did. We’ve all seen a bunch of
them, at this point in our lives. And some of them have been horrid. Not last night. It was
so entertaining, moved along beautifully, it was creative and fun. But I love Billy Crystal,
anyway. He is so good as  the host. I love how he comes out like we’re in his living room
and he’s in a good mood, feelin’ good and is playful and irreverent …with Hollywood’s finest right there in front of him.

I feel that movies, when done right, really right, are an incredible art form in themselves.
Sure, one song, one painting, one photograph, can touch us, move us
outside and beyond ourselves… can show us how we can be better, can
inspire us to do just that… and so can a great movie.
I didn’t always used to think that.

The Cirque Du Soleil was dramatic. i had the sense that it was better in person,
but looked pretty damned impressive on TV, too. Art takes many forms, and I thought
the Cirque was amazing… and totally appropriate.

And how about Christopher Plummer’s acceptance speech? Incredible. And no notes.
I loved the live music up in the balcony… it was stellar, just right, and such a good idea
to segue between segments. It felt world-class to me, not just American.

You know, I’ve not seen any of the nominated films. Not my fault, however. I have a lady
friend who threatens to take me to good movies but doesn’t, and I have a son who takes
me to movies that were changed the day before, and are no longer showing. Do they
not want me to see this great American art form???  Evidently.

We are so lucky to live in this age. The technology is off the charts, and no artistic mediums
use it better than the movies.

Oh, and does anyone see the Academy Awards as being, possibly, the next big show to
feature multi-million dollar commercials??  I do. Wait… am I the last one to know??

I feel a great film is not hard to define, or describe. They move us outside ourselves, show
us how great life is for some people and how horrible… maybe for us. What a powerful
medium… to move us beyond ourselves, to be bigger, better than we thought we could be
before we saw that film.

Long and short wieners??? Fantastic. The documentary contestants were all terrific…
I felt like filmmakers are doing everything they can to help re-define ourselves, to save
ourselves, to find the higher road, and somehow, for each of us, and for us as a country,
to get back on it.

I’m over-emotional, I know that. It’s one of the things that makes me a musician. I responded
emotionally to the Academy Awards tonight, for several reasons… because it got back
to people, humanitarian efforts, to taking this fairly huge media event to another, better,
more artistic level. And it did more… it honored people in the movie business in many
ways. It honored Michael Douglas, quietly, as a presenter.

Oh, and i love the tribute to those artists who have passed to the other dimension. How
sensitive, how beautifully done. Not over-dramatized, as Hollywood is want to do, but so
warm, so very tasteful. When i saw Jackie Cooper’s name on that list, I almost lost it. I’m of
the age to have seen most of everything Jackie Cooper did on the big screen… from six
years old on. That was hard. I felt I knew him. And that’s one of the many magics of the
movies…. we end up feeling like we know them. Because they touch us. One of the
video bites said, “After the movie, you know something about yourself that you didn’t
know before you saw the movie.”

Martin Scorsese didn’t win best anything, but boy, did he get professional respect from
those on stage. Hope that was enough for him… it should have been.
Hope you had your volume up… the music was incredible.

And a silent movie, in 2012, won best movie. Go figure.

Steve Hulse

“Y’all gon’ PICNIC up there in all that???”  You bet yer ass, pard…

Well, it IS Montana, after all. And those of us who delight/endure the usual 6+ months of below-freezing weather have found ways… yes,ways to pass some of this frigid, snowy time. And occasionally we decide to have a picnic. That’s right. A sort of
sick, misplaced wishful thinking, perhaps, but probably more to the pioneer spirit which resides, to one degree or another in each of us out here, which speaks, “Let’s speed Spring along with a bit of a picnic, what?” Excuse me here… I’m watching Downton
Abbey on PBS as I write, and I so love the English’ version of English.

Anyway, we feel we can have a damned picnic any month we want to… that the weather doesn’t (usually) define what kind of fun we can have, or when. I love these winter picnics we have. They are a subtle way of thumbing our Montana noses at the elements at hand, and keep us thinking we are still in control of our own destinies here in the high country.

Last Thursday the ACME Groomers, of which I am a member, decided to trailer our four sleds down the Madison Range toward Yellowstone to a place called The West Fork Of The Madison River. The West Fork is cold, and often windy, and usually has more snow than some of the surrounding area around Virginia City. There are two main trails leading out of the West Fork parking lot. We chose the longer of the two… Standard Creek.
                                     Coffee Time On Standard Creek Trail

Standard Creek is a rugged and beautiful part of the southern Gravelly Range. We rode 23 miles in, and could have gone even farther. We picniced on top of a sunny hill at 20 miles in.

The day couldn’t have been better – sunny, in the teens, little wind. Our eldest member, Gene, was in fine spirits, for some reason. The rest of us were, well, the rest of us… fairly jolly, always on alert.  The trail, for the first 16 miles, is wide and well-groomed by a Virginia City guy, Eli Thompson. Average speed for the first 10 miles is 20 to 40 mph. Standard Creed is fairly narrow for that stretch, then widens considerably, with beautiful views of higher peaks and  granite outcroppings. The others ride by these views, more interested in whether their sled is heating up, or how long before “the picnic.” They’ve seen this stretch dozens of times, and the views are expectedI.

On the other hand, I gawk. And often I stop and take a few pictures, for every time we go out to a new place like this, I am overwhelmed by the beauty of this state.

For some strange reason Gene, our senior member, always chooses the campsite. And as is his bent, he always picks a windy knob to try to build a fire, and we all bitch at him incessantly. He endures it with a grin…he delights in rubbing us the wrong way a bit. But this day he failed. For the knob he picked was sunny, no wind and there were more than enough dead branches at hand for a good fire.

Larry dug down into the snow, and after 3-plus feet, decided that the fire either would burn or it wouldn’t. it was a 4-foot hole in the snow, with no bare ground under. But we placed some sticks on the snow and Gene placed a few little purple pellets among them, and in a minute the sticks began to catch and we had a fire… on the snow.

We dug out franks and buns, mustard and catsup from the sleds, and I dug out my famous potato salad. When I found that no one had brought plastic ware, or paper plates, or napkins, I fished them out of my bag as well. Why did I think to bring them?? Because my B had told me about a mens’ outing, in which no one bothered to bring the extra stuff. I remembered, brought it as a possible back up, and was an instant hero. “You brought plates? Great!” ” “you’ve got forks for the potato salad?” And, “Don’t suppose you brought any napkins…” Then, the coup de gras… I passed my flask of brandy to larry, who looked at me for a moment, as if he didn’t recognize me. It was a delicious moment. Thank you, B. The boys see me slightly differently today.

After lunch we rode three miles further northwest, past Wolverine Basin and back toward the Snowcrest range. We got nearly within rock-throwing distance of a prominent mountain, Black Butte, 10,5000 ft. I have not seen Black Butte from this vantage point and it was impressive.

                Equally impressive were some of the views on the ride back to West Fork.

                         Look what we get to see every time we go out!

Gene got his “sporting blood” up and promptly got stuck. Daryl rode up there and helped get him out.

We stopped and chatted with Eli, who grooms these West Fork Trails twice a week. He’s a good man. Eli’s in the orange jacket.

We loaded up and headed home at 4 p.m. A long day, a lot of deep snow, shoulders and legs sore, hands and feet cold. But… I had my brandy flask, and Larry and I sat in the back seat of Gene’s big diesel truck on the way home and got well. It was a great day, all around. Gene was in a good mood, I shared my “B raisin oatmeal cookies” with the boys, no one got hurt, we figured out how to get to the head of a few remote trails and we saw a bunch of great country. And that’s how it should be… when you decide to have a picnic in SW Montana in the Gravelly Range on February 14th, there, by god, better be a reward. And there was.

Steve Hulse

Okay. I love music. Almost all music. Always have. I made my living in music
for 43 years. Doesn’t mean I know a lot about it – it does mean that I care about it…
a lot.

I’m watching the Grammys. I can’t believe what I’m seeing,,, or hearing. The
Grammys is about music, right? The best music of the past year? Or… is it simply
the most successful, moneymaking music of the past year? The two are often
mutually exclusive, you know.

The first 45 minutes featured only two or three awards, the rest of the time was
spent entertaining us. entertaining us with songs that never once played more
than five chords in the entire 45 minutes. The Foo Fighters live song had more
chords in it than that first 45 minutes of entertainment. So I was listening for
lyric content, not being very happy with the banal musical attempts the Grammys
thought we would be Ga Ga for. And what did I hear? Par – par – par – par – paradise…
ooh oh, ooh oh, ooh ooh; Par – par – par – par – paradise… ooh, oh, ooh oh, ooh, oh…
Well.  I tuned in, thinking I’d be hearing some of the best music produced in the world.
Evidently I missed something. Oh, I listened…

45 minutes in, the Foo Fighters did their live hit, and I felt the show lifted a bit. Did you
hear the lead singer of the Foo’s acceptance speech? The part when he said the
music has to come from here, and here…
Then the next 30 minutes nosedived (to me) again. I saw a bunch of strange hairdos, goofy
clothes and record company attempts to make marketable moneymakers out of
mediocre talents that looked… um, different.

Yes, I’m in my late 60′s. So maybe I shouldn’t be able to relate to the “new music.”
Wait… really? I’m a jazzer. I and my jazz cohorts know exactly how high and how low
music can take one, when it’s good… really good. It might not be quite fair to tell me
I don’t relate to the new music just because I’m old. When did I lose the ability to
perceive quality? Especially in music…

Well, of course I loved the Beach Boys. Loved them the first time around, loved them
tonight. Stevie Wonder is a class act. Paul McCartney is a class act. Yes, they’ve
been around forever, and why wouldn’t I relate to them? But we’re still talking about
music here… supposedly great music. I thought it was a great example for the world
to see how radically, ridiculously our concept of good music has changed over the
past 30 years. That first 45 minutes, I kept thinking, “Well, if I were a great dancer, and
could sing a little bit, with the help of deep, expensive electronics, then hell… maybe
I could be a star too, and win an Grammy…” Sure, I’d have to lose 30 pounds and
50 years, but aside from that…

I’ll just say this… if I had Bruno Mars’ hair, I’d be a star without singing a note.

Glad Adele won. She has a killer voice, and is a terrific song writer, who writes about
her life, her experiences… songs that her huge fan base can relate to. Which is what
music started out to do in the first place.

There was a lyric I really liked in the first hour. “I don’t just want to make love, I want to
make love last.” Excellent. Would’ve loved to hear much, much more on that level.

I know entertainment has changed, on tv, in our lives, everywhere. and, once again
showing my age, I am so sad tonight that huge background fires and stunningly blue
hair and over-the-top costumes are needed to sell “good music.”

You know, I don’t like most critics. I don’t like to read critical reviews about movies,
plays, books, art displays……….. or music. They always sound pompous, pretentious
and self-indulgent. And now I do, too. Guess the lesson for me here is that when one
feels strongly about what they think they know something about, they put it out there
with their hearts. it’s the “feeling strongly” about  a review that leaves us feeling that
the reviewer is opinionated. And why not? Of course they are opinionated… it’s their
opinion they’re sharing with us… an opinion laced with passion for the subject. And
that’s what I’m sharing with you now… just so you know.

By the way, there were  seven chords in the last song Adele sang… two more than
the show’s entertainment played in the first 45 minutes. Keep in mind that she’s
a singer first, then a songwriter. Even better, her band and her background vocals were
all live. The crowd loved her. And I’m glad for that. Hell, she got a standing O….

I thought the Glen Campbell tribute was appropriate, but why not also acknowledge
the writer of ‘Gentle On my Mind” – John Hartford. Glen had that hit because John first
wrote the song. Did the Grammy committee think that wasn’t important??

Thank god Bonnie Rait honored Etta James’ death. Was she any less than Whitney
Houston? Was she?? What are people thinking out there? My friends, I’m thinking
here, as I listen to yet another tribute to Whitney “I Will Always Love You” that there
is no reason I can find that fame should put one person above another… it’s deeds,
not our perception or love of that person, that should finally measure a star…..
and each of us. It has to be deeds… and only deeds.

I will not flame out like this again. it’s a rare time, when I love music so much, and
am trying to stay current in what our country thinks is award-worthy.
Mine is probably an old, sad concept of what I wish music could still be. I admit it.
And I liked the last Chris Brown song. It was creative, very well-produced, steam
and all… 4 chords and all.

And finally, there was Neil portnow’s moving music speech – the gist of it being
that the Grammy Foundation is throwing money at young musicians to make more
music like ….. this? Searching frantically for a positive note here, I found the animated
mouse ‘interesting’ – And how about Nicki Minaj?? Huge production, more steam and fire,
electronic drums, electronic track & vocals… and 4 chords.

Okay, I’m stoked. Record of the year…. I can’t wait. Well, it was Adele. “Rolling In The
Deep.” I don’t know. It’s a good song,  a great performance and production. At this point
in the show I have no idea whether they’re trying to do what they secretly know is right,
or whether they decided to pay lip service to real music, knowing this might well be
the last year that real music really needs to be dealt with on any important level.

Album of the year, Adele. What a breath of fresh air. Good for her.
And then Sir Paul… “Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was
a way to get back home…”
And then, “Sleep little darlin’ do not cry, and i will sing a lullaby.”
Thank you, Sir Paul, from the bottom of my heart. So glad I’m old enough to see,
and enjoy your magical mystery run of music and of life. Curious, how my two
fave artists this year on the Grammys are both from Jolly Old…

Growing old is hard. It just is. And yet, at the same time, we’ve made it this far,
after all, and shouldn’t we be appreciative of that? I think so. Appreciative that
we heard Sir Paul and the Beatles when Ed Sullivan was calling them “Those
lovable mop-tops from across the pond…” that we got to sit at a bar years ago,
nursing a warm beer and a love lost, while Etta James sang our hearts to us
on the juke box in the corner… that we got to watch a Super Bowl maybe 15
years ago, and when Whitney sang “The Star Spangled Banner” on the field,
I was all teared up, thinking, “Now THAT’S the Star-Spangled Banner!!”

Well, it was different, to be sure. it was disappointing, and it was a trip back
in time. At this moment, tonight, I am so confused as to what I perceive that
people in this country think music really is today… it actually hurts me.
I don’t pretend to know what others should like, I don’t pretend to think I could
ever force my concept of quality in music on anyone else. I write this tonight
because I live in a country where I CAN write this, and because it’s a cry
in the wilderness for sanity, for purity of intent, for engagement of principals
in our art forms, for ethics in our media presentations. Have we gone too far?
Is quality music fast becoming a relic of the past? Or have I simply lost touch
with “what is sick,’” and “what is now…”

I guess it wasn’t a bad show. I cringed in disbelief, I sufferer through the
4-chord dysfunctional repetitive babble. I smiled and shed a few tears…
I guess it wasn’t a bad show. I’m going to crawl into bed now, and try to
remember when Tony Bennett could really belt one… when Etta James
soothed my young, aching heart, when the Beach Boys sang “Good
Vibrations”  and when the Beatles sang “Yesterday, love was such
an easy game to play.” Yes, it’s time for bed, but I’m going to drift off
tonight, with a real melody in my head, and real lyrics…
“Sleep, little darlin; do not cry… and I will sing a lullaby.”

Steve Hulse

He flies through the air with the greatest of ease
That daring young man on the flying trapeze

To fly through the air accidentally or on purpose…
That is the question.

Dillon, my son, and Betty, my Lady, have been spending time with me
up here in the frozen tundra of the Great Northwest. We’ve had a great time together,
Dil & B have gotten to know each other, and we’ve already shared some pretty funny
stories and experiences… which is why I haven’t written a post here recently. Nothing
like the holidays and company to keep one hopping, right??

One of the fun things we three decided to do together was to take an easy cruise on my snowmobiles up Alder Gulch, a road along  Alder Creek which stretches for six miles up into the mountains
south of Virginia City, gaining around 2500′ in altitude along the way. Deer, moose, coyotes
and fox are not uncommon up in there.

The scenery is pretty great, the ride is easy, if one
stays on the trail, as the V.C. Groomers (of which I am one) keep the trail groomed and
smooth all winter long. B & I rode the new sled, while Dil rode by himself on the older sled,
until he got his “snowmobile legs” under him. Then we traded and he took off down the
trail on the new sled as if he’d been riding all his life.

On the way back to town we stopped for a breather at 3-mile, an open spot next to the
trail that is sometimes used as a parking lot for sled trailers in the Spring. I told Dil to take
the new sled around the big lot a few times, to get used to turning more sharply and learn
to lean into the turn. Well. he did two turns around the big lot while I was trying to set my
camera into video mode. I heard the motor rev high and looked up to see Dil and the
sled flying through the air toward Alder Creek, Dil already separated from the sled but flying
along side it. It was the strangest moment, all in slo-mo, and I remember not believing
what I was seeing even before Dil and the sled slowly spun back to earth.

Dil and the sled disappeared down a small bank and hit the snow, side by side. B said
“Oh dear God” and started for him. I put down my camera to follow her when he popped
up over the bank and yelled, “I’m okay!”  So we rode the old sled over to him, to check
him out, make sure he was all right. He was a bit dazed, but otherwise fine. We got the
sled upright and back up on the level, he rode it around a bit, said he felt fine, so we
all rode home. He bruised his leg, but nothing more serious than that.

With the greatest of ease, he flies through the air
He knows he will land, but he knows not where…

You know, we all have moments…. defining moments, when we, or our loved ones, are
momentarily in harm’s way. In those moments there is so much basic, pertinent, important
information going on in our minds, our hearts and our emotions in those moments…
if and when they turn out okay, and we’re willing to relive them, and our perception of them,
I think that we learn a great deal about ourselves in those moments. We learn if we love
someone, and how much. We learn what we’re willing to do for them. We learn that maybe
our life is so intertwined with theirs, that if they were to lose theirs, we would also lose ours.
We learn how strong love, and our love for them, is. We learn how far we’re willing to go
to save them from harm… perhaps  to give our own life for them. This examination, I’ve
found, has to be close to the event itself, otherwise our visual remembrance and our
relief that all turned our all right will blur the clarity of our emotions of that special moment.

I heard the love and concern in B’s voice when she saw Dil disappear into the snow bank
and whisper, “Oh dear God.” And she’d only known him 3 or 4 days. But it was there. I
remember thinking, “B’s got a cell phone. If he’s hurt, we’ll save him… we’ll find a way.”
And the incredible relief when he popped up and yelled to us, “I’m okay!” The relief flooded
from the top of my brain to my toenails. I was vibrating. Relief on that magnitude is a
powerful emotion. Some people fall to their knees. I think I might have peed my pants.

We can’t have fun… hell, we can’t really even live our lives to the fullest, if we don’t have
some adventures, some danger, some moments, some accidents. Sorry, but we just can’t.
For one thing, life isn’t designed that way. We can be in danger going to the grocery store.
We  can have an accident in the kitchen. Well then… should we not live a little closer to
the edge, to experience a little more excitement, to feel a little more alive?? Many of you
do that, I know. Skiing, sailing, snowmobiling, kayaking, 4-wheeling… in all those
activities there is a thrill, an excitement, a challenge, a moment, and a satisfaction. Why
would we want to give that up? Is that not much of the stuff life is made of, after all?

As it turns out, Dil is fine, B & I are fine, we all had a great time. No one got hurt, Dil can now tell his SoCal pals what it feels like to fly through the air with the greatest of ease
in the winter wilds of Montana. B can relive Dil’s close call, and all the close calls of
her kids and grand kids, and be thankful they’re all still alive and well today. And I can remember how I felt in that pink, breathless moment when Dil flew through the air with the greatest of ease…
he jumped up and waved, and I fell to my knees.

Actually, I was never worried. I’ve seen Dil survive moments like that on several occasions.
And so maybe I did experience a tense moment or two there… so what? I’ve got several
clean pair of long johns in the drawer. And besides, a little pee never hurt anyone.

Steve Hulse

Also, a little making light of a tense moment never hurt anyone either. Here’s a cartoon of the event which you might enjoy.

This is for those of us who have kids, family, loved ones, who live apart from us. This is for those of us who feel and taste life with our hearts first. This is for those of us for whom “A Tear And A Smile” is not just a great book written by Kahlil Gibran, but also means a day well-spent, well-felt, well-lived.

We were all kids once, and most of us came home to our families once in awhile… maybe on holidays, maybe because we couldn’t take the big, new, difficult world anymore and needed to rest, regroup, reconnect with the reasons we were out there in that crazy life in the first place… and maybe to simply be back with family, because those ties were hard to break, and because we knew they needed us. After all, when we were young, the new world was out there, waiting for us to conquer it, and most of us couldn’t wait! Remember that point in our young lives when going home was an obligation rather than a relief… I do.

After it all got sorted, after we made our dent in it all, after the chase and the madness and the successes and the failures, the laughter and tears, we ended up, all of us, with a core group of loved ones whom we knew so well because of our shared life experiences… and who knew us as well. From middle age on, the meetings with those dearly loved ones has become precious. Parents, nephews, favorite aunties, pals from high school, have become so much more meaningful, especially if we allow them to. Sentimentality has somehow gotten a bad rap in this fast-moving, emotionless techno-world, and probably not all of us will allow ourselves to feel and appreciate the real warmth of our deeper relationships with those who know us best. But I do.

And no, this is not about me, dammit. Just sayin’ – it’s why I’m writing this to you tonight, wanting you to know that someone you know is out here is willing to remember, to feel, to love, to weep with joy, that we’re all still here on the planet, still together, still doing our things, and still getting back together once in awhile to share our successes, our failures, our dreams, and our loves… with those who really know us, and know how far we’ve come.

Now this isn’t a challenge, or a finger-pointing. Actually, I know that all of you who bother to read this have great hearts, and dear ones whom you take great care of, and have much love for. Guess what I’m struggling to say here is that I encourage you to keep it up; that it’s still okay, that it’s still cool (really!!) to love each other and show it. Naturally it’s easier to do if we’ve ever had a child. For that “unconditional love” thing comes into play right away, and never really goes away. It seems to make our hearts larger, our egos smaller, and all that is an incredible inward growth for us – a growth we never get over, never want to get over. For to love someone more than ourselves is to get outside ourselves and see our lives in a beautiful and new perspective. Our egos can sometimes be an anchor on our hearts, and I believe that, ultimately, our hearts know WAY more than our minds do. You know, that must be the case, for how else could our species have survived all these centuries of the ice age, etc?? We had to care for each other, help each other, band together to survive. Those of us with kids know how far we are willing to go to insure their survival. Hasn’t it always been thus?

With our kids, our hearts are mostly on our sleeves, though we try not to show it. And occasionally our hearts are in our throats, and we just smile, and turn away, because they might not understand… understand how very much we love them. They will, someday. But probably not now. So we try to be careful.

I know my boy, Dillon, will read this in a month when he’s back in La-la land with his buddies, when he’s working again, and has just spent two weeks with his old man up in the frozen tundra of the Arctic North he’s come to know as Montana. It might embarrass him for a moment, knowing I’ve put it all out here this way. But maybe not. Perhaps he knows me better than I think he does. At any rate, he’s coming home, to let me love him, take care of him, indulge him the way I remember my dad loved and indulged me. Perhaps he knows I need it more than he does. And…. maybe he still needs it, too. God, I sure hope so. I’m so excited tonight… if I didn’t sit here and type my feelings to you this way right now, I’d be jumping right out of my own skin. I tell you, I can’t wait, I absolutely can’t wait…for he’s coming home tomorrow.

Steve Hulse

I don’t know about you, but Christmas is an emotional time for me. I can’t help it… all this jolly music, the decorations, the lights, the jolly attitudes at the Post Office… I don’t care if they’re forced… I love it. I love it all. I have my share of toddies and egg nogs, I sing along with some of the Christmas songs on the radio, I watch Rudolph and The Grinch and love them as I did those many years ago. And I remember Christmases past.

                           Christmas ’67 in the Madison County Sheriff’s Office

All my memories of Christmas with my family are good. I know it’s not that way for everyone. I don’t remember any strained emotions among any of us during the Christmas Holidays. There was some tension around New Year’s, sometimes, as there were occasional fights in the bar on New Year’s Eve. We always had extra help on that night, and Dad could handle everything, anyway.

The only Christmas tension I remember was when I was 14. I wanted a Santa Fe electric passenger train that year. I’d been scoping it in a catalog for 4 months. Mom knew all about it, of course, and sent for it for me. Dad had gone to Peru 3 months earlier to work on a big construction job down there, and Mom and I were alone for the first time at Christmas.

Christmas morning came and I opened my train, and… and… it wasn’t a Santa Fe train. There was a note inside that said they were out of Santa Fe trains, but because I lived in Montana, they thought I might enjoy a Northern Pacific train instead.

Well. I was not happy. The Santa Fe train was silver, with the coolest red stripe going down the engines, while the Northern Pacific was a semi-drab two-tone green. Mom went downstairs and made herself a mimosa while I put it together. I got it running, and it was pretty cool. I was mumbling under my breath that “I’d been rooked.” Mom was in the bathroom, putting on makeup and combing her hair. When she came out, I was still grumbling “I’ve been rooked.” Her eyes flared. “If you say that one more time, I’m putting it back in the box and sending it back where it came from. Now that’s enough!!”

Yup. That was enough.

                                                   The bar, Christmas, ’56

Mom would decorate the bar every Christmas, as some of their patrons didn’t bother to do anything at home, or simply didn’t have the money. My mom taught me how to decorate the tree when I was about 6, and for the next 10-12 years it was a source of great pride to me to decorate our “upstairs” tree. Mom would decorate the big bar tree downstairs and I’d do the one up in the apartment. She taught me to space the ornaments and lights in just a certain way, so everything would glow and twinkle off each other. She taught me how to double-hang the tinsel, very close together, so that when done, the tree would absolutely shimmer.

                                             The snack bar, Christmas ’54

It would take about 4 hours of an evening just to do the tinsel. I would be drinking a pop that Mom would bring me, put all their (six, I believe) Christmas records on the record player, and listen to that music while I decorated. If, for some reason, I was not already in the Christmas spirit, the tree decorating did it, every time. We listened to Percy Faith, The Ames Brothers, which, by the way, is still a great album to listen to. Fred Waring & his orchestra and chorus, which I always loved, and, of course, Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters. Good stuff.

                                Mom & Dad & the upstairs tree, Christmas ’65

My family always celebrated Christmas on Christmas day, as the bar was open on Christmas Eve, and I’d always go to bed early. You know… “So jump in bed and cover your head, ‘cuz Santa Claus comes tonight.” And I always did, with that song in my head. We would open our presents on Christmas morning, then Mom would fix a nice dinner for us, as the bar was always closed on Christmas day. Don’t remember if it was turkey or not, but I
think it was. I would be upstairs in the apartment playing with my new toys, and Mom and Dad would go downstairs, have a drink or two and prepare the meal. I remember going downstairs to get a Seven-Up or something, and be in the darkened bar… it was so neat to me, the shades pulled and only a few little lights on in the bar… the atmosphere was magical to me on those rare days. One of the main lights on those holidays was the Great Falls Beer Sign that was also the bar clock… it resides in my kitchen now, and the light warms my kitchen deep at night just as it did in my folks’ bar those long years ago. The train? It’s upstairs in a box. Still runs, too. No, I wasn’t rooked.

                                    My first tree at Fort Apache, Christmas ’80

One Christmas eve Mom came up to tuck me in, and put another log in the wood stove. I was probably eight, still believing in Santa, but on the edge, and she told me that tonight might be a special night. I was about to tell her I already knew that, when there was a thump, thump thump on our roof, right outside the apartment window. Mom gasped and said, “Oh, I’ve got to go downstairs now, honey. I think Santa’s here! Good night. Merry Christmas, Stevie!” Well. I believed for one more year. Found out way later that Dad had been outside, and had thrown up a couple of chunks of wood up on the tin roof… worked like a dream. God, they must have loved me so much to do some of those things.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to you all. I’ll fire up this blog a few weeks after the new year. Until then, be cozy and enjoy.

Steve Hulse

                                               Mom asleep, Christmas ’55