Days 20-23: Memorial Weekend Camping

Before Erin and I had children we camped.  After children we didn't.  Sure we tried, but the five year old refused to stay in her tent because of spiders and the two year old refused to stop crying until the sun came up.  We put the camping gear away for another day.  This sabbatical brought just such another day.

Due to obvious vocational barriers, Memorial Weekend outings have been untenable for the Sikes family.  Every year our friends, the Doty's, load up their camper and head for the mountains.  Each year they invite us.  Each year we declined until this year.  When we told them Erin, Janie and I couldn't join them until Saturday they offered to take the boys on Friday.  We wanted to say yes, but memories of that last camping trip stung our frontal cortex.  We expressed our doubts, but they assured us the boys would be fine.  So, we let'em go and promised to join them on Saturday, hoping to the God above that all would be sane when we arrived.

I'm sure this is what the Beatles were going for in their Abbey Road cover art.

"I hate white rabbits." 

On Saturday Erin, Jane and I rolled down 410 across White Pass.  Man what a drive, just gorgeous.  We arrived at camp and were relieved to discover all the children alive, alert and apparently well rested.  They'd made it one night in the woods and seemed to be looking forward to more.  Little doubt remains in my mind that their enthusiasm for more outdoors was due to Doty hospitality.  Jeremy and Kodi know how to set up a camp for maximal enjoyment.  To paraphrase Kodi "when we go camping we bring too much, eat too much, drink too much, stay up too late, sleep too late and have a great time."

On Sunday the kids discovered our plan to head home that night. We knew "Operation Camping 101" was a success when they proceeded to beg us for another shower free, toilet free and boundary free night in the woods.  Somewhat off-offhandedly Jeremy said, "write a skit to convince us the reasons you should get to stay."  We mostly forgot about this challenge when thirty minutes later the youth troop returned to invite us to the performance.   You can view this soon to be Broadway musical below.  I'm sure you'll agree with our decision to grant them a stay.

Some more S'more's

Flannel Troop prepares to perform "One More Night in the Woods"

Who knew five kids and a dog could huff and puff and blow a 150 year old mining house down?
If you want to see their work, head to Copper City an abandoned mining village.

Despite the collapsed mining house, the decision to remain another night was undoubtedly the right one.  In fact, the kids seemed as if they could stay another week.  On the way home we stopped for a view of Mt. Rainier's backside.  As no children screamed of spiders or wet diapers we will chalk "Operation Camping 101" as a success.  Things went so well, I decided to start working on "Operation Backpacking 101", stay tuned.  

Mt. Rainier's backside and five content campers

Jeremy's co-pilot fails at his job on the ride home

Days 19: Build a Box

Our community garden is in danger of closing.

Will and Benjamin doing more work
than I can get them to do at home.

Two years ago a local car dealer bought an adjacent lot where they built a garage.  Since the new building only took up half the lot, the dealership offered the empty portion to neighbors for a community garden.  After a year of planning, we pulled things together enough to start the garden.  If you'd like to read more about the garden you can do so here (www.sotacgarden.blogspot.com)

Some time towards the end of 2015 we received news that the garden was in danger of closing.  Apparently the car dealership's garage needed rezoning.  They'd built a commercial building on a residential site.  Either they needed to tear the building down, build a house on the vacant portion (as they'd said they would in their plans) or get the site rezoned to commercial.  You can guess which option they chose.  They submitted a rezoning request before the end of the year.   If the lot were rezoned commercial, then there was nothing to stop the dealership from evicting the garden and building a parking lot.  You can guess how the neighbors felt about this.

Sherry and a young neighbor dump Tagro into a new bed.

After many conversations with the dealership we thought we'd reached an agreement for the lot to be partially rezoned.  Unfortunately they kept their request for a full commercial rezone, but affirmed the presence of our garden and promised no parking lot would ever be built on the site.  Some gardeners were skeptical and  resigned their membership.  Others remained optimistic and chose to stay.  This remnant decided to continue gardening this season and see what may come.

The rezoning hearing occurs in July.  I have mixed desires for the outcome.  If the rezoning fails, then the site will remain residential (yeah), but the dealership will have to build a house on the lot which will oust the garden (boo).   If the rezoning passes, then the garden can stay as long as the dealer says so (yeah), but at any moment they can evict us and build a parking lot (boo).  Let's hope Joni Mitchell's isn't singing Big Yellow Taxi at our little corner of paradise anytime soon.

In the meantime, we have decided to build more boxes.  The accompanying pictures are from our one day build a box gathering on May 26th.  Once again I was encouraged to see the power of communal work to bring folks together.   Old and young, neighbors with all manner of other differences became one for several hours on Thursday afternoon.  In the end we not only built and filled three new garden boxes, we also built multiple new relationships.  Yeah dirt!

Days 16-17: Fish and Birds in Missoula

After dropping Erin and the kids off at the Billings airport I began my westward trek back across Montana.  I chased the sun out of Billings through Bozeman and Butte until I finally arrived very late on the eastern side of Missoula.  Not wanting to spend much money on an accommodation for such a short sleep, I found an AirBNB host who allowed folks to sleep in their yard.  The cost was only $12.  Though my budget thanked me, my back would later rebel.  Our 2006 Dodge Grand Caravan is great for many things, sleeping is not one of them.  

After a spectacular breakfast at the Catalyst Cafe in downtown Missoula I headed over to the Kingfisher Fly Shop for some advice.  They affirmed what I'd assumed about fishing in May.  It wasn't the best time, however, off season in paradise is hard to complain about. Rock Creek was my best bet for success, if not for fish than for the scenery.  I bought a few flies and leaders then headed to the river.

Driving up the river I saw these guys.  Phone camera's are the best for zooming so you may have to squint to see these mountain goats.

I fished for several hours without much luck.  Just when I started to shift into, "well at least it's pretty out here" mode, I felt that familiar tug which keeps anglers everywhere returning to the river like grandmas to slot machines.  After a little fight I landed the nice bow below.  

 Feeling buoyed by my good fortune I continued fishing into the afternoon.  I felt particularly optimistic when I came upon a promising stretch of water.  Unfortunately, the San Juan worm with which I was having luck chose to get snagged on a log.  As it was my last fly of that pattern I wadded into retrieve it.  The water was too deep, so I shed my fleece and shirt to return to the water robed only in a tank-top and waders.  Looking like the 5th member of the Village people, I reached for the fly but it was jut a few inches out of reach...just a little more...Ahh! Fly fishermen have many rules, don't be late, cast 10-2 and never let the top of your waders go below the water line.  Man that water was cold.  Abandoning my fly retrieval quest I left the river and disrobed to my boxers.  Fortunately the only audience for this show were a couple of deer.  Unfortunately, while bending to pull off my waders, my back threw its version of tea overboard and rebelled against ambulation without mattressification.  The shooting pain caused me to crumple upon the shore where I lay, cold, wet and partially disrobed.  Somewhere in the middle of my plight I heard a familiar tap-tap-tap.  I began to follow the sound until my eyes were caught by a red flash.

From childhood I've had a fascination with woodpeckers.  This interest was mostly due to my grandmother's love for birds.  Usually the first of my siblings to rise in the morning, I had breakfast and her attention to myself.  After fixing me breakfast she would bring her coffee to the table where we would chat and watch the bird show.  Out her kitchen window were several feeders which brought dozens of birds to dine.  During these breakfast conversations I learned about Chickadees, Robins, Goldfinch, Cardinals, Bluejays and the abundantly frustrating Starlings.  Of all the birds my grandmother enjoyed it was the woodpeckers who seemed her favorite. Often, to her joy, we would  spot a Downy or Red Cockaded Woodpecker at one of her feeders.  These sightings led her to wax poetically about the rare times she'd witnessed one of the grand daddy's of woodpeckers, the Red Pileated woodpecker.  These creatures are larger, louder and rarer than most birds.  Hearing my Gran Gran's enthusiasm created a desire to see one of these creatures for myself.  We continued our breakfasts as well as walks until years later my grandmother passed away.  Though always looking, we never saw the elusive bird.  I mostly forgot about the creatures in the following decades until I heard that familiar tap-tap-tap.   Expecting to see a downy, a cockaded or other small variety I scanned the trees until the beautiful red-head hopped up on the log.  There he was less than forty feet away.

Though my camera failed to capture the beauty of this creature or even that it is a creature, I included the picture as evidence that this was not just another fishing (birding) tall tale.  I'll let you see the work of other photographers to see what these beautiful birds look like.

Wet, cold and half-naked with a throbbing back I pulled out a granola bar and laid down upon the rocks. For the next twenty minutes I sat with my late breakfast and once again enjoyed a wonderful bird show. 

Days 12-15: Lyfe in Forsyth

When my older brother informed me he was moving from Tennessee to Montana I was giddy. Images of snow covered mountain peaks and cool streams flooded my imagination.  They'd now only be 7-8 hours away from us and more importantly, living in the middle of the best trout fishing in the lower 48.

"So where will you be?" I asked,"Missoula...near Glacier...Flathead Lake area.."  
"Forsyth."
"Forsyth, where's that?"
"Near Billings."
"Where's that?"
"It's on the eastern side of Montana."
"Oh, are there mountains?
"Not really."
"Are there forests?"
"We've got bluffs."
"Does a river run through it?"
"Yeah, the Yellowstone."
"Oh, okay..."
"I hear it has all kinds of fish; bass, catfish and even paddlefish."
"And trout?"
"No trout."

My giddy became glum.  Instead of seven hours they were fifteen.  Instead of mountains there were plains.  Instead of streams there were gulches.  My brother and his family weren't moving to Montana, they were moving to Western Dakota.  Why in the world did he want to move to a place like that?  I am ashamed to admit that I didn't even attempt to answer this question until almost ten years later when this sabbatical and my nephew's graduation overlapped.

Welcome
My brother had hoped we'd arrive early enough to help one of his neighbors brand some of their cattle.  Unfortunately, we didn't get there until closer to dinner.  I'm sure his friend was really disappointed to miss an opportunity to have help from the likes of us.  I'm sure at some point I would have asked if some cattle feel superior because they're wearing name-brands.  It's probably best we arrived when we did.  In an interesting side-note my brother informed me that brand collecting is big money.  Turns out there are no new brands.  If you have cattle and want to brand them, you have to purchase the rights to a brand.  Before there was a market for internet domains, ranchers created one for brands.  Basically, ranchers created the internet.

The First Supper
(Counterclockwise: my brother, Easton, Kelsey (Easton's girlfriend), Ashton, Kathy Leaver, Katie,
Christie, Benjamin, Will, Jane and Annalee) 

Part of hospitality is
knowing what your guests love.
Is there any doubt how welcomed
Benjamin feels by the Cap'n?

Soon after arriving we were whisked down to the church fellowship hall for a welcome meal.  The hall was set up for a graduation party for my nephew (Easton), his girlfriend and class valedictorian (Kelsey) and their friend Eric.  You can see their names on the wall in the picture. If the fellowship hall looks new that's because it was recently finished.  When my brother arrived they soon started plans for a new hall.  They refused to go in debt for the project instead completing sections as money was donated.  It took a few years, but they now have a bright, open, accessible and debt-free fellowship hall.

Life on the Range
When my brother said we were going hiking I wondered what that might look like.  Would we just walk down a dirt road or head along a fence post?  And what is there to see that you can't already see somewhere on the horizon?  To get to the hike we drove thirty miles.  The first five were paved.  The next twenty were gravel and dirt.  The final five were just a general direction.  As soon as we hit the dirt road the kids moved from the cab to the bed of the pickup.  There they enjoyed the ride as if it were a roller coaster.  Free of seat-belts and even seats, they were pretty sure they were getting away with something.

No seat belts...no seats, just a dirt road, the bed of a pick up truck
and the wind in my face.  

Ten miles into the trip I had yet to see what might be worth seeing.  Clearly my brother was excited about this place but it all seemed so flat, dry, brown and well, sort of dead.  My opinion started to change after we got mooned.  "Over there," my brother pointed, "there's one."  "One what?" I asked.  "An antelope."  Sure enough, one, then two, then three antelope were less than a hundred yards away at home on the range.  They saw us, stared until we got closer and then turned to bound away.  If you've ever seen an antelope bound away then you'll understand what I mean when I say it mooned us.  Their bodies are brown, but their butts are snow white, almost human like.   It was like they were mocking us.  Not much further along I saw a little creature scamper into a hole.  "Prairie dog," my brother replied.  "They're all over the place."  Sure enough we soon came upon a whole prairie dog village where dozens of the little fellas chirped warnings to their neighbors that strangers were coming.  Next we saw a pair of Sage Grouse just sauntering up the fence line.  And then a gaggle of turkeys and then, believe it or not, a Great Horned Owl.  I kid you not.  In the middle of the day one of the biggest birds I've ever seen swooped down, perched on a fence post and stared us down.


Various forms of life continued to surprise us as we hiked from the cistern to the edge of what my brother called a form of the badlands.  You can see one of those forms of life below in the hands of Benjamin.  I almost stepped on this guy who fortunately was not a rattlesnake.  It wasn't until we were driving home that I began to realize how wrong I'd been about this open range.  It may look lifeless but only because I hadn't known how to look.

A hail of  Graduation party  

Erin had to work but was able to fly in on Saturday.  I went to pick her up at the Billings airport and encountered this.  

 Though the storm followed us to the 110 miles to Forsyth, the graduation party went on.  Playing the role of the mean uncle, I was able to get my niece to say nice things about her brother.

Graduation

Graduation was on Sunday afternoon.  My nephew was one of 28 graduates.  That's right, he had just a few more students in his entire class than any of my kids have in any of their single classes.  You might think 28 students would mean there were only a couple of hundred spectators.  The entire town of Forstyth has about 2,000 people, at least half of them were at the gym that afternoon.  

Life in Forsyth
In between graduations and meals my brother showed me the town.  He introduced me to the ladies at the hardware store where I bought a fishing license.  When he introduced me to Carl at the second hardware store, he also asked if he could borrow the key to the church.  Turns out that Carl is the caretaker of the Presbyterian church next door.  He pulled a key from a hook and handed it to us.  No questions, no signatures, just "here ya go."  My brother pointed out murals on the walls of buildings which were painted by a local artist.  Also there is "The Roxy" which was voted best small town movie theater in Montana (or something like that).  My brother made sure we got down the see the Yellowstone River as well as the town museum.  Before we left he took us out to the ranch of Easton's friend Eric so we could ride horses.  He wanted us to see it all.

Despite sharing parents and a last name, my brother and I are different.  He hunts, I fish.  He's a conservative Baptist while I'm a progressive Presbyterian.  He builds guns, I brew beer.  He's a member of the NRA while I'm a Washingtonian for Greater Gun Responsibility.  These differences used to cause tension between us.  That began to change when I started pastoring a small church.  Instead of arguing about hell, pacifism or sanctification we began to talk about pianists, session/deacon meetings and potlucks.  As it turns out, small churches have a lot in common regardless of their denominational affiliation.  What we have in common is greater than what we don't.  After visiting Forsyth I know the truth of that even more.


South Tacoma and Forsyth
Though I'd never been to Forsyth something seemed familiar.  Like an itch you can't scratch or a name you can't remember it began to bug me.  What is familiar about this place?  It wasn't until Sunday night while sitting around a campfire in their backyard that it dawned upon me.  It wasn't Forsyth that was familiar.  It was my brother's view on Forsyth.

Few places could be more different than South Tacoma and Forsyth.  Yet, many have and would ask, "Where is the life here?"  To many both places look lifeless, but that's only because they haven't been taught how to look.  It turns out, despite our differences, both my brother and have come to see life where it is often missed and dismissed.  What a gift to get to see what he sees.  What wonderful hospitality.

 

Day 10-11: Road Trip to Montana

Instead of prose, how bout pictures.  Below you'll find a few moments from the 930 mile trip from Tacoma to Forsyth Montana.  Prior to this trip, the longest Sikes road trip was 315 miles to Sunriver,OR.  Here's to setting new records.

M's for Montana...or they could be flashing gang signs. 

Giant windmills at a rest stop, look out for Toto and Dorothy.

Prior to leaving Janie asked "Can we stop and see the wild horses?"
I said "There's no such thing in Washington."
Here they are above the Columbia proving me wrong.
I'm pretty sure the graffiti was there before they got there.  

Dinner in Spokane at Mary Lou's Milk Bottle.
Anyone know where they got the name?

Spent the night in historic Kellogg where the town motto is:
"Founded by a jackass and inhabited by his descendants."
No joke, it says it on wikipedia so  it must be true.
This is also the hometown of the Doty family who most certainly are not jackasses.

Ever been to Butte?  It's pronounced "bju:t" and not "butt" as these jokers chose to believe. 
This town had 100,000 people in 1920 but now has less than 35,000.
The drop might or might not have something to do with the fact that Butte is the site of America's largest Superfund site.
Pennies and wiring had to come from somewhere.
Despite the struggle, there's a lot of beautty in Butte, like this cafe.  

Finally we arrived here, in Forsyth, Montana.  Home of the Forstyth Dogies
as well as the Montana Sikes.

Here's the crew in the fellowship hall of First Baptist Forsyth where my brother is the pastor.

Next up: Days 12-15 Life in Forstyth