I read the other day that the end of summer isn’t really an end, just the beginning of going on. That’s comforting to someone who cherishes summer and hates winter. For many, fall is a favorite season but it means having to dig out a jacket and that’s too much bother.
We ran away last week to visit my granddaughter and family in Montana. The southeastern part of that state has had a sizzling summer but I took a coat anyway. Nights were chilly, but the days were perfect, so we pretended that summer wasn’t on the way out the door.
Detour through Gillette, WY allowed me to meet my newest great granddaughter. She’s every bit as pretty as the pictures her grandmother brought back earlier in the summer. Grandpa Bruce was leary of holding her but I took his turn and mine too. A lot of fellows view newborns the same way I approach computers—afraid they’ll break.
My daughter, who lives in Cody, came over to Montana so we could all visit, and we did our share of that. No worry about fitting into school schedules, since the ranch where my granddaughter’s family lives is pretty remote, and the kids are homeschooled. It was fun to see their schoolroom—the name they chose for the school is on the wall, and one corner of the living room is set up with school supplies and books. There are maps and projects displayed around the house. Art class must have gotten a workout, because the kids had hung decorations in the hall on the way to our room and presented us with several clay figures to bring home. Obviously, home economics is in play; the 9 year-old was busy sewing baby quilts to give away, and knows her way around a kitchen. Her brother, a year younger, is on trash detail and spends a lot of time building dinosaurs so he can tell you what they ate, how big they were, and such like, but he loves to fish and Grandpa got a workout at the creek.
My grandson in law spends most summer days horseback on the mountain, pushing cattle up top, so as to comply with regulations on forest lease, but he got home in time to fish a bit and brought a hatful of wild plums to enhance our meals. Said he managed to beat the bears to them but checked around for sign first, because he didn’t care for an argument.
The kids are about two hours from anywhere to shop—Miles City, Gillette, and Sheridan. They go to a cowboy church in Sheridan, and the kids requested to be baptized while we were there, so on the way home we gathered, along with some deer and ducks, church folks, and grandparents from Dad’s side at the park, to watch them get dunked in the creek. Cupcakes, ice cream cones and hugs to close out the visit.
It’s always hard for me to leave the Big Horns behind so I kept glancing at their smoky outlines against the sunset as we headed home. We didn’t leave all the deer in the park though; after leaving Mule Creek Junction we dodged them all the way to Hemingford.
Wheels are turning again, as we head to Valentine to watch a grandson ride in the NSRA finals. There’s no time to grieve summer’s end. We’re too busy going on.