Chapter Six - Wells and Cows and Bears, Oh My!

That first summer, while Butch was doing what he calls 'dirt work', I stayed pretty busy driving back and forth between Potomac and Lolo, taking care of the house and the yard in Lolo, exploring our property and looking for antlers, and wondering when everything was going to finally be finished. The work seemed to be going so slow. Too slow for me.

Butch was using the tractor to dig out one of our hills, making a flat spot to build the barn. He was also developing the spring. We knew we had water but didn't know how much and didn't have it collected for our use. When he wasn't on the tractor or working on the spring, he'd spend time 'witching' for water. Being a life-long Baptist I prefered the term 'dowsing'. Anything having anything to do with anything witchy, I stayed away from. (Interestingly, when we'd have people up and ask if they wanted to learn to witch for water, a lot of them would shy away as if we'd asked them if they wanted to take part in an animal sacrifice ritual. So it wasn't just me who didn't understand the terms or how that whole thing worked.) I didn't know Butch knew how to do that and it kind of concerned me. I mean, was it weird? I studied up on the subject and learned that it's all about magnetism and is perfectly not weird.

What was weird is that after Butch taught me how to do it, and it was very very cool by the way, we were both 'hitting' on the exact same spots over and over again. I know there is absolutely no proof this works but we figured it couldn't hurt. We had decided to go ahead and have a well dug near the house. Even though we had a spring, it was a quarter of a mile away and we had to actually go get the water. There was no way we were going to be able to run the water from the spring to the house. It was too far and uphill all the way. It would take a LOT of work and expense. I pushed hard for a well and water running into the house all by itself. Hence the water witching, or dowsing, if you will.

The drillers needed water to be able to dig the well so that's one of the reasons Butch was working on getting our spring developed. This meant: digging an eight foot deep hole in the ground near where the water ran out of the mountain, sinking a huge plastic tank into said hole where the spring water ran gleefully into it and then out of it when it was full, where we could then suck it out when we needed it. This whole enterprise was done on the side of a steep hill. I don't really know how he accomplished this feat because the one time I went down there to watch and his tractor was tipping in a precarious angle, I left and never went back. Until it was done. He scared me to death sometimes. This man had no fear (or sense).

Once the tank was filled with water, we hired the well-diggers to come out and dig our well for us. Such an exciting day! They brought their big truck up, went and got a tank of water from our spring and then proceeded to dig a 320 foot dry hole that cost us ten thousand dollars. We told them to stop as we had no more money for a deeper dry hole. We have a ten thousand dollar useless hole in the ground. Now who else can say that? WHAT a disappointment! What a waste of money! There was water EVERY WHERE!! None of us could believe they didn't hit water, especially since we both witched there and 'hit' every time! We threw our witching sticks out and accepted the fact that we'd be hauling our water to the house for the foreseeable future. Bummer.  I was getting tired of Butch saying, "Well, part of it." and moving on to the next thing without the required angst and complaining and general gnashing of teeth that were par for the course for me. So..... we're not going to gripe and moan about this even a little bit? Huh. Well that's disappointing. Hmph. Ok, on to the next thing then. Grumble, grumble....

Butch then built a cute little springhouse over the water tank in the ground. We found out that first summer that we had free range cows all over the place who had appointed our spring as one of their favorite watering holes. We knew we didn't want to have to fish a dead cow out of that tank, so he built the springhouse. After we found two voles and one dead rat in the water, he then built a cute sturdy wood cover for the tank that mosquitos and Grand Daddy Long Legs just LOVE. This wood cover is heavy. I have often almost fallen into the water tank just trying to get this lid all the way off. I have often wondered if I'd be able to get myself out of the tank if I fell in. Thankfully I have not had the occasion to find out. And don't plan to. Brrrr!

Speaking of free range cows - this was new to us. We thought 'free range' was the old way but mais non! We did some asking around and found out that Montana is a 'fence out' state while Texas is a 'fence in' state. If we didn't want these cows in our yard or messing around our spring then we had to fence them out of our property. Considering we had 162 mountainous, rocky acres, fencing our place off wasn't going to happen. I guess it would be possible but it would cost an arm and a leg so... we learned to live with the range cows. We both like cows. It wasn't that big of a deal really, we just didn't want them messing around our water source and defiling it. So, Butch, ever the problem solver genius, put a trough in at the spring so that the overflow that ran out of the tank, went into this trough so the cows had a place to drink from which kept them from our water which was great. Problem solved. Our dogs kept them out of our yard. All I could think of when I saw their big cow patties was, "Oooohhhh, manure.... that will be gold for the garden I will put in." Plus, being sort of a farm girl at heart, I liked hearing them moo all summer. It's a comforting farm noise. It was good.

While all of this was going on, since I couldn't be of any use to Butch at all in these endeavors, I was getting to know our place. It was so beautiful up here! But kind of scary too. We had been told we had mountain lions and bears and to be careful. I had already had a run in with a mountain lion in Lolo which had scared the bejeebers out of me. Being from Houston, I was used to scary things - tornadoes, car jackings, muggings, snakes - but nothing that wanted to eat you. So to be watching for carnivorous animals was a new unwelcome experience for me. My first few forays away from where Butch was working weren't that far, maybe twenty feet? All of these big black stumps that were left over from logging, pretended to be big black bears and snickered when I would stand and watch them for movement. As time went on, and nothing happened, I got braver and braver, and went further and further out. There were antlers to find! Why finding antlers was so exciting to me at the time I can't figure out, but it was. I found a few small moose antlers and some deer antlers and one that Butch said was something called a 'jackalope'. Never heard of that one before. Haven't seen one either. Hmmm...... I think he might have been pulling my leg.

In the beginning when I was so frightened to go out by myself, and I was whining about it, Butch said, "Ok, let's talk about this so you can feel better." (What he actually said was, "Since you're being so ridiculous and wimpy, let's talk about this so I don't have to hear about it anymore." Tsk.) I think he thought he was trying to be helpful but he so wasn't. Here is the conversation that happend which I swear is true, word for word. His part is all twangy and irritated sounding:

Butch - "Ok first of all, if you see a bear or a mountain lion, don't panic."

Me - "Huh?"

Butch - "Second of all, if you see a mountain lion, make yourself look bigger."

Me - "Huh?"

Butch - "Third of all, if you see either one of these, don't run. He will then see you as something to chase and he won't be able to help chasing you. If I hear that you ran, I will shoot you myself."

Me - "HUH?"

Butch - "If you find that you do have to run from a bear, remember that you cannot outrun him. Even if he does weigh a ton, he can run fast. Also remember that bears don't run well downhill for some reason, so head pell mell downhill not bothering to look back or get up if you fall. Just keep rolling." (He actually didn't say 'Pell mell'. He said, 'Run like hell' but I didn't want to cuss. Potty mouth.)

Me - "Huh?"

Butch - "Do not shoot at them if they're not being a threat. They are innocent woodland creatures just out for a stroll. You are in their home. Just slowly back up. And NO SCREAMING, no running, no sudden movements. And the dogs will probably protect you and run them off anyway."

Me - "Snort!"

Butch - "Now if they do come after you, just shoot your gun in the air to try to scare them off. But remember that the bear that everyone has been seeing around here is believed to be deaf so that won't work. And remember the .38 you're carrying will just piss him off  anyway so I wouldn't shoot him. If you're carrying the bear spray you have to wait until he gets within 40 yards before you spray him. Make sure the wind is blowing in his direction."

Me - "Huh?"

Butch - "Last but not least, if all else fails, roll up into a little ball, covering your head with your arms and kiss your butt goodbye 'cause you're a goner! Haw!" (His annoying attempt at humor.)

Me - "Well. Huh."

After this so not helpful conversation, I decided to not worry about it. I realized that if I ever saw a mountain lion or bear charging me, I'd die of a heart attack on the spot anyway, so it wouldn't matter. Problem solved. This began many many happy hours of exploring in the woods, picking berries, finding treasures, praying, breathing deeply of warm pine needles and fresh air and taking walks in that peaceful, lovely, quiet place that became a sanctuary for me. I was the happiest and most at peace there. I realized I was home.

Chapter Five - Thought We Left the Rednecks Back in Texas

While we had been cleaning up the property the last two months, we met a few people - some lived here, some were sightseers. Apparently a LOT of people regularly came up here to look at the view, hunt and like I mentioned, have target practice. We thought this place was so beautiful that we wanted to share it with others. We decided to put a "Welcome All" sign up at the gate we were going to build so everyone could enjoy the gorgeous view. A regular open door policy. Come one, come all! Y'all are welcome!

We met a lot of nice people who came up on four wheelers and in cars and trucks, most of whom were surprised that we were the new owners, that people were going to actually live here. Some looked downright dismayed. "But we've always come up here!" or "We've been hunting here for years." They looked confused. Some of them pouted. Some seemed resentful even. Huh. This was unexpected. We told people they were welcome to come up and say hi and visit when they wanted to and some were glad, but some just left muttering as if they'd been told their business was no longer welcome here because they just weren't up to par. Or something. It was weird. We took away their favorite hunting and viewing and playing spot and they weren't happy about it. At all.

On the way up the ten miles to our place, there was a great-looking log cabin sitting nestled in the woods.  One day there was a man standing outside working on his truck. Butch pulls right up into his yard and parks. Which scared me. This was the mountains. Where scary mountain people live. Who chew tobacco and have long beards and look like Charles Manson. And sometimes kill a whole bunch of people. And they are always carrying guns. ALWAYS. I looked at Butch in great alarm and hissed, "WHAT are you DOING? That man is going to shoot us first and ask questions later. Please let's go." Butch just said, "Haw. You're funny." And got out of the car.

The man, who looked exactly like what I thought a true mountain man would look like, looked up from his truck but didn't even stand up or walk over or smile. He just did this steady gaze thing at Butch. Oh man, we are going to die here. This guy had a long grayish beard and he was big. He was wearing jeans and an old short-sleeved T-shirt (wasn't he cold? It was like 40 degrees outside!) and suspenders. I watched as Butch started to walk over and thought, "Hey maybe he won't shoot Butch if his little wife is right beside him.", so I bravely (uncharacteristly I might add) jumped out of the car and walked over to Butch who kept walking up to this scary mountain man.

Butch told him who we were and what land we just bought. To which this big guy says, still leaning over his truck, "Oh you're the ones who bought that piece of s--t land up there?" Ok, I've had enough. I'm ready to go and I start to pull on Butch's sleeve like a little kid. He ignored me and smiled real big and stuck out his hand in friendly Texas fashion. The man said his name was Tim (Tim? Really? Such a small guy name.) and that his wife was named Sue and they had been here for 13 years already, mostly all by themselves on this whole mountain that whole time. I didn't talk, kind of hid behind Butch I am ashamed to say. The more they talked though, the nicer and more normal this guy seemed. I sidled out from behind Butch an inch at a time and then Tim smiled at me and the name Mountain Father Christmas immediately sprang to mind with his red cheeks and sweet smile and crinkly eyes. Oh. This guy is just a big teddy bear. PHEW. We weren't going to die up here, not today anyway.

We met Sue his wife later when they came up to visit on their four wheeler. It was not a good day for us to meet anyone new.  It was in fact a very bad, horrible, no good, awful, terrible day. Remember I mentioned how Butch put that old miner's cabin back together all by himself? And how hard it was and how much work it took? Well, during the week when we had been back at our house in Lolo, some guys in two trucks had come up here and TRIED TO KNOCK THE CABIN OVER WITH THEIR MONSTER TRUCKS. It was all askew. The door wouldn't even close anymore. WHO DOES THINGS LIKE THAT? And WHY? We had already brought some things up to the property like tools and some wood - which they had stolen, along with our "Welcome All" sign. Humph. We were in shock. ALL the people we had met in Montana had been SO nice! After we got over the shock of this set back, I looked at Butch and said, "I really thought we had left all the rednecks back in Texas. I guess not." Butch said, "No they're everywhere. No big deal. At least they didn't mess with the tractor. Thank God." Ok his atttude was better than mine but I was so dismayed and sad and angry. This dream had been so nice and now I had to worry about bad people coming up here and doing stuff like this? Kind of put a bit of a damper on our excitement.

While we were sitting in what would be the front yard, trying to compose ourselves, and be all stoic and strong and tough, here come Tim and Sue on their four-wheeler. Needless to say I was NOT in the mood for guests. Let's just say that I didn't handle things like this very well back then. I let it ruin my whole day, probably my whole week. I was just so disappointed. And frightened.

We told Tim and Sue what happened and then Tim told us he saw those trucks speed by his place and he knew exactly who they were, which was encouraging news. At least we could go after them legally. And then, I will never forget this, Tim told us that sometimes up here you have to take care of things like that yourself, and THEN he said, serious as a heart attack,"You guys have some really deep mines up here." Total silence. I laughed at the joke but Tim and Sue didn't. I looked over at Butch like, Um, they're joking, right? "Well, um, heh heh. Well. ANYhoo......"  (what have we gotten ourselves into?)

That truly was a good day although I didn't know it at the time. It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship with those two. They became indispensible to us with all their advice and help. And they were so generous. Though we always kept what he said in mind and tried to never get on their bad side. Yikes.

Even though we tried and tried and tried to get those guys prosecuted - one even left his muffler behind when it fell off as he hit our new gate - so we had proof - we never were able to get any justice. Apparently these guys' dad had friends in the police department and no one would help us. We realized then that Tim was right and that we were on our own up here and had to take care of things ourselves. As frustrating as that was, I am glad to report that we found a lot of the stuff they stole. They must have panicked after they left and threw it all down a mountainside which we found later. And even better news, they never came back. I think someone got a message to them and it worked. I was thankful nothing like that ever happened again. It was a one time deal (so far anyway). Oh and Butch got the cabin all put back together and standing upright again. No sweat.

You know how people who are newly married or who are starting a new enterprise always seem to have to go through a difficult time right away? That seemed to be our test. We got through it, Butch's colors were more flying than mine, but we survived. No harm done. We learned a few good lessons. We decided not to replace the "Welcome All" sign. There were bad people everywhere and we needed to be a little careful, especially way up here in the remote mountains where the POlice even needed help finding us. But it all worked out. The best thing that happened is that we learned to say, "It could have been worse." Because it always can be.

Chapter Four - Auspicious New Beginnings?

So exactly how does one begin a whole brand spankin' new life up on top of a mountain, off grid no less? Where does one start? There was so much to do and we were both so excited we wanted to jump right in. I mean we had our gorgeous property complete with three springs, starting a new life of independence and self-sufficiency, knowing that if everything went to heck in a handbasket, we'd survive up here. We were Homesteaders and Modern Day Pioneers and were very proud of ourselves, especially since we weren't as young as we used to be. We were both heading for our fifties but it didn't scare us! (mostly because we had no idea what we were getting into but still....)

Since it was now February, the property was completely covered in snow so there wasn't a whole lot we could do. We spent our time researching off grid properties, solar energy, wind turbines, batteries etc... while my genius-can-do-anything husband drew up the architectural plans for the house we agreed on. I didn't have a lot of particular things I wanted or a specific house in mind. My desires were summed up this way, "Wood, big porches, huge utility room and lots of windows. I don't care about anything else." He was free to design it himself which he was tickled about. He is so creative and talented, a true artist. When I tell him this, he scoffs, but it's true. He could do whatever he wanted. I knew it would be amazing.   

We planned and dreamed and studied and read and did more research while waiting for the snow to melt. Which it finally started to do in March. Which was weird. The snow never melts in March up here. It holds on stubbornly until May most years. We didn't know to be grateful for the early spring that year. We thought that was normal. Snort! SO not normal. 

As the snow began to melt we were a little dismayed at what was underneath. It was a doggone mess. Since the place had been logged a few years before, there were sticks, branches, stumps everywhere.  No one had lived here since the miner a hundred years ago and many, many people had been coming up here to see the view and shoot glass bottles and cans and leave trash all over the place. There was so much broken glass and branches and spent shells, you crunched or tripped everywhere you walked. It looked like a war zone. We didn't realize we had such a huge clean up job before we got to work building but my husband, being the stoic he is, just said, "Part of it" and got to work. 

We picked up sticks and branches until I thought my back would break. We made lots of little bonfires everywhere to get rid of said sticks and branches. We picked up bags and bags of trash. I began to believe there would never be an end to the sticks, glass and trash. It's also really rocky up here. In needing to clear out several places for building sites, we picked up a ton of rocks. It was hard work but it was still fun. Exciting. Satisfying cleaning up our own property, making it nice. Plus we had this gorgeous view to look at while working and it was so quiet up here. I had never heard such quiet. It was so quiet that it was loud, if you know what I mean.

Butch's son Jay was living with us at the time; he was a huge help and made us laugh all the time. We had two dogs named Daisy - the Boxer/Pit mix, and Baby - the ugliest Yorkie alive. They were no help at all but they loved it here, spending most of their time in the truck with the heater on. 

We bought a tractor which was so exciting for me. I, being a city girl, had never owned a tractor before! Whoop! I learned to drive it pretty quickly because luckily for moi, I knew how to drive a stick shift. Me, driving a tractor. Who'd have thunk? Too fun. 

The old miner's cabin was sitting right on the most perfect building spot so it had to be moved. We wanted to preserve it exactly the way it was. Butch and Jay numbered the logs then Jay, all by himself, took the cabin apart log by log and moved it down the hill not too far from its original site. Then Butch put it back together log by log, all by himself. It took forever and was hard work - those logs are heavy. I watched with trepidation as Butch would grab one of those big logs and walk up other logs and set it in place. I couldn't believe how strong this skinny, wiry guy was. Once put back together, you couldn't even tell the cabin had been taken apart. Very impressive. Who knew Butch could do stuff like that?

Have I mentioned that he and I hadn't been married very long by this point? Less than a year and a half actually. He had been friends with my dad for a long time and I knew he was a builder/carpenter/all around do anything guy. I knew he had built houses and done all kinds of work, but to see him in action was impressive. Especially when he didn't have a shirt on. Made it hard to concentrate on my own work. Tsk. He may have been close to fifty but he still looked gooood. Ahem.

Suffice it to say, we were still getting to know each other. It was going pretty well with a few bumps along the way. For instance, his idea of cleaning was way different than mine. He thought it should be done regularly and with a lot of monkey grease and gusto. To me cleaning was something to be avoided as long as possible, just this side of shame. I like a clean house, I just don't want to be the one to do it necessarily. My idea of cleaning is firmly in the camp of "Impressionism" kind of like my favorite painters. The 'Illusion of clean" if you will. His idea of eating was way different than mine too. He liked SPAM. Enough said. I was a foodie and loved cooking things like coq au vin and beef bourguignon and chicken cacciatore. He liked only meat and potatoes and everything fried, even his cereal. I regularly ate vegetables. He thought a potato chip was a vegetable.  He was a workaholic. I was decidedly not. He was tough and sort of grumpy. I was a total wimp and sweet. He was a hard-working, no nonsense, country kind of boy. I was a "life's for living", let's-have-fun-now-and-work-later-if-we-have-to city kind of  girl. I said the word, "Anal" to him a lot. He said, well, he said a lot of things, some unprintable. Let's just say I frustrated him quite a bit. I cried quite a bit. Our differences made for some interesting days and discussions, a 'little' frustration and a 'few' misunderstandings. We had to learn to work together though because we had a LOT of work to do. Thank goodness we both had a good sense of humor. It might have been our saving grace honestly. And the fact that we loved each other. That helped. 

My wise advice to any new couple just starting out is this: the absolute worst thing you can do to learn more about each other is to build a house together. Yikes. You wouldn't believe the strain this puts on a new marriage especially when one of you (I'm not telling who) doesn't know the names of tools or how to wield a hammer or a drill or know stupid things like measurements. So, not a healthy, easy start for a marriage but blindly plunge ahead we did. It was hard. And a lot of work (not my favorite thing). It was boring some days. There was a lot of griping and cussing and throwin' stuff and the eternal damnation question of, "What do you MEAN you don't know.....?!" Butch is really smart but it must be selective or spotty because his not being able to take one look at me and just know that I wouldn't be handy in a house-building situation is beyond me.  But I get ahead of myself.  

By May, the snow had melted, it had warmed up to a toasty 40 degrees, we had cleaned up pretty well and cleared several spots. The pretty glacier lilies were all over the place. The birds were singing. It was time. It was finally time to start building. It was also going to be a time of going through some tough stuff and making awesome new mountain friends. Here's to new beginnings.......  

Chapter Three - Lots of Changes Going On

If finding and looking at a piece of property in Montana was like pulling teeth, conversely, buying it was a piece of cake. The owners took our first offer, we had cash, et voila! We were Montana landowners. Wow. Very cool.

I was kind of in a daze at this point. So many changes in such a short amount of time. I was still adjusting to the last several difficult things that had happened over the last two years - father died, major depression, horrible divorce, moving, remarriage, moving again - and now I had moved 2000 miles away, suddenly owned land in Montana and was about to go off grid out in the boondocks on top of a mountain. What in the world? How did I get HERE? Just two years ago I was married to my first husband, lived out in the suburbs of Houston near Sugarland, Texas, had all the modern conveniences life could offer, blissfully unaware that there were people who still heated their home with a wood stove and of the opinion that the only people who went off grid were preppers and hippies. Neither of which I was.

Plus the absolute culture shock of moving from Texas to Montana was taking a lot of getting used to. I truly loved it in Missoula. Loved the people, the slow pace, the laid back attitude, the kind of unspoken 'live and let live' policy (they say Missoula has a 'high tolerance for odd' - which it definitely does), the fact that the women here were so not girly, no traffic (thank God), the year-round breathtaking beauty, the year round plethora of things to do here, heavenly summers, the great mix of people - young, old, ranchers, farmers, college kids, blue collar, white collar, hippies, conservatives and liberals - the lack of ostentation and obvious wealth, less materialism than in Texas, Market every weekend...... seriously, I could go on and on. The people here are so nice that for the first few months, Butch and I both agreed that it felt like we were in a Twilight Zone movie. We just couldn't get over it. I felt so comfortable and at home here. I never felt like I truly fit in, in Texas. I always felt 'less than' there for some reason. Here I didn't. I felt like I could be me here for the first time in my life. I adored it all.

But. There was some culture shock. There are some major cultural differences between Texas and Montana that really surprised me and took some getting used to. First of all, the women. They are so different than the women in Texas. I was never a prissy, girly, big-haired Texas gal, but still, when I got here I stuck out like a sore thumb. My hair was still too 'big', I dressed too nice, wore too much makeup and perfume, was too loud (maybe more like too fakely exuberant?), my Southern manners were viewed as being fussy and I wasn't near laid back enough. And I was too skinny. The women here aren't skinny, little, weak-looking, frail birds. They're tough and strong and 'healthy' and confident in themselves. I liked it.  I didn't click with the other women here right away because I was just too Southern. It took a while.

The men here are great, really nice and friendly but chivalry is not only dead here, it simply doesn't exist. The usual, expected, traditional manners from Southern men are nowhere to be seen here. They don't hold open doors, they don't jump up and help a damsel in distress, they don't watch their language around the females, they don't cut their women any slack - the girls are expected to keep up and carry their share. These things shocked me at first but after a while I could see that there was simply more equality between the sexes here. The men view their women as equals and as able to do anything they can do. They didn't fuss over them or treat them like weaklings; they in a way showed them more respect than I was used to in the South. Or a different kind of respect. There was no testosterone-filled, macho bullhonkey here (hallelujah). Again, I liked it. After I got used to it. (It still shocks me though when I am struggling with something heavy right in front of a man and he doesn't automatically jump up to help me. Don't think I'll ever get over that.)

 The manners I was used to in Texas weren't the same, yet the people in Missoula seemed nicer, friendlier, more willing to help if you needed it, etc.... Manners are nice of course, but these people are real, there is no fake niceness here. They are really just nice, good people. The best I've ever met. It's all helped me to become the more real me, the me I never knew I was. I liked it. A lot.

Now, I don't mean to imply that people in Texas aren't nice. They are. I had many friends there over the years who were lovely. Texas people are wonderful too. I just think it comes down to quality of life. The quality of life seems to be better in Montana for various reasons, hence the people seem all around happier, hence nicer. Also I went from a huge city to a smallish town and that makes a difference in what people are like too. Anyhoo.

There are several other differences that took some adjustment but one of the biggest was learning that Butch and I had an accent. I mean, I knew that he had one being from East Texas - this guy has a real twang - but I being from the big, cultured, polished city of Houston, didn't think I had one. I thought I sounded like every one else here and would snicker when people would make fun of Butch's accent. Shoot, I made fun of Butch's accent all the time. It was funny! But to discover that I too sounded like I was from Texas surprised me. It didn't bother me, just surprised me. Every time I said the word "y'all" people would give me that look, "Y'all. How cute." Every time I said that word, I felt like I had yelled at the top of my lungs, "I'M FROM TEXAS! I'M NOT FROM HERE!" Talk about stick out like a sore pecker (Butch's expression, not mine). I tried for months to stop saying "y'all" but it was no good. It was too much a part of my lifelong vocabulary and would not be budged. So I accepted it. Y'all get over it.

One good thing about having an accent, especially one as pronounced as Butch's, is that most of the people here think it's hilarious. People (new friends, complete strangers) would come up and visit just to hear Butch talk. He not only has a serious twang, he has this mother load of specifically East Texan colorful expressions. Allow me to give a few colorful examples:

"I'm busier than a cat covering up poop on a marble floor."
"Full as a tick on a hound dog's back."
"Handier than a pocket on a shirt."
" Higher than a cat's back." (something is expensive)
"Just to fill a holler spot." (what food means to him)
"Well you can wish in one hand and poop in the other and see which fills up faster."
"I'd stretch a mile if I didn't have to walk back."
"I  havent hit a lick at a snake, lazy bassterd!" (when he feels like he's being lazy)
"Quiverin' like a cat poopin' peach seeds." (being nervous)
"Dark as the inside of a cow."
"Might as well, cain't dance or sing." (when I suggest something)
"Brace yorself Effie" (his idea of romantic humor)
"Actin' a fool."

These are just a few. See? Colorful!

We were oddities for sure but entertaining ones apparently! Which was kind of nice. Both of us are pure clowns and like to make people laugh so it all worked out for good, even if we didn't exactly fit in.

What with all the mid-life changes, the big move, the culture shock and trying to fit in at least a little bit, we both still had some adjusting to do. Now we had this huge parcel of raw land that needed some work, a LOT of clean up, clearing land, building a house, learning how to make everything work off the grid, developing a spring, getting a job and making a brand spankin' new life up thar on that ol' mountain. And maybe hardest of all, learning how to work together, being relatively newly married..... we had our work cut out for us.

Chapter Two - The Humiliating Initiation

When you are looking for land in Texas, you call the realtor and you drive out to the property which is clearly marked and usually flat-ish. It is easy to find and look over, helping you to make an informed, quick decision about whether you would like to buy it or not. This takes about a day or two. No big deal. Apparently though it is slightly different in Montana.

I found the 162 acre, seems-too-good-to-be-true property on a website, tried to contact the realtor, and then cooled my heels for months until the realtor came back from vacation and hunting. Then I spent weeks trying to convince said realtor that yes, we did want to see this particular piece of property - to which she said, "You can't LIVE up there!" Then after convincing her that I indeed wanted to see, and possibly buy, the property, I waited another few weeks until she could locate someone who could find this particular piece of property and be willing to take us out and show it to us. (You DO want to actually sell it, right?) This all began in the late summer, early fall months. We wanted to get a look at the land BEFORE it was covered with snow. No one buys property in Montana in the winter - well few do anyway.

The realtor who had this listing (for reasons that still escape me) never did find anyone who could take us out to see the property. It was now November and I was sick to death of waiting on these people to do their jobs. So, I found a realtor in Missoula who, weirdly enough, wanted to sell a piece of property, who agreed to find the property and take us out to see it. This took several more weeks (Sidenote: this piece of land is ten miles up a mountain with no road signs, roads going off every which way, and not clearly marked. It's all just mountainous, woodsy, up and down, raw land, not easy, well-marked, flat land like in Texas so it takes some scouting before you can find the exact spot you're looking for. Who knew this part would be so hard? Or take so long?)

 Finally, in December, Butch went with the realtor to see the 162 acres on top of the mountain. Which was now covered in snow. I didn't get to go that day and I'm kind of glad I didn't. Apparently this realtor wasn't exactly sure where the property was so it took him and Butch a bit of 'hiking'. Butch came home completely worn out but seriously excited. The place was GREAT and he could NOT believe the view! He was, shall we say, smitten.

Two weeks later, with Butch's grown son Jay in tow, we headed out to see the land. Butch was, in his words, 'jacked' to show it to us. I was excited myself. The thought of owning our own land in Montana was pretty amazing.

It was cold that day - for a Texan anyway. I think it was about 20 degrees. And it had snowed a lot that week, so much so that we couldn't drive the truck all the way to the property. We had to stop about a mile away and walk in. On snowshoes. Which was exhausting. I had never had much experience with snow before. I mean, I'm from Houston, Texas for Pete's sake. I had been skiing in Colorado a few times (total disaster) but usually just spent the whole time in the warming house, happily drinking coffee, watching the pretty snowflakes fall. And while living in Lolo, a couple thousand feet lower elevation than this property, we didn't get that much snow. It wasn't a big deal. Who would have thought that just twenty-five hundred feet higher up would make THAT much difference in the amount of snow you get?? Sheesh.

Butch, Jay and I walked (trudged heavily, sweating profusely) up the hill and around the corner and gasped. Butch was right, the view was to die for. And oh my gosh, how cool. There was an old miner's log cabin sitting right on the hill overlooking the gorgeous view. People had stayed in it over the years and had signed their names and dates on the logs on the inside, dating all the way back to 1915. We went inside to sit and rest for a minute, not that it was any warmer in there but at least it protected us from the wind. And as per the usual, being a girl, I had to pee.

Having to go potty in this kind of cold is a real nuisance. It's pretty much the only time in my life I wish I were a man. I had SO many clothes on! Layering, you know. Girls have to strip down to basics when they have to go, baring much skin to the frigid temperatures and it's really not fair. It's miserable.

Did I mention I had snowshoes on? I did? Ok. I announced that I needed to potty and as I was leaving the cabin, my husband said in his low, slow voice, "Tamp down the snow before you go pee." I wondered why he would tell me to do this but decided to ignore it as being unimportant. (You see, I had NO idea how deep this snow was. I never had to tamp down snow in Lolo. Why would I have to here? That's just silly.)

I went whistling around to the side of the cabin to a small berm where the snow had fallen off the roof. I cannot fathom what made me decide to balance on top of that berm to go pee but I did nonetheless. So here I was, pulling down coveralls, pants, long johns, etc... BRRRRR!, then balancing these long unwieldy snowshoes on top of this little frozen hill of snow, and then telling myself, "Just go already. Let's get this over with." As I'm shivering and waiting, I begin to tip forward and have nothing to grab ahold of. Dang it. Well, I think, I'll just put my hands out and catch myself when I hit the snow. I did put my hands out but instead of stopping me, my hands went right through the snow, and kept going and going until I did a face plant in the snow and my head was completely buried. I kid you not. And hey guess what? My bare butt is sticking straight up in the air. And there I stuck like some really tacky, bizarre yard ornament.

My feet were still on top of the berm so they were higher than my head, thereby throwing me completely off balance. My head and arms were buried in the snow. And I was choking. And freeezing. I pulled my arms out of the snow and pushed on top of the snow to pull my head out and all that happened was that my hands and arms went straight back into the snow and my head didn't move an inch.

Bare butt still sticking up in the air.

I am beginning to get fairly alarmed by a few things at this point. I am terrified that Butch and his son Jay are going to come outside and see what the commotion is (I can't do anything quietly). I am freezing. And I am choking and can't breathe.

Bare butt still in the air.

I begin to have an argument with myself, while buried there in the snow:
                                                                             
"Just fall over in the snow."
"NO. I can't. It's just too cold!"
"If you don't get your head out of the snow you will die here. Is this really how you want to be found dead, with your head buried in the snow and your bare butt sticking up in the air?" (as funny as that would be).
"Well, no but it's just so painful."
"Just do it."

So, I did. I fell over in the snow which pulled my head out of the snow and I was able to take a long gasping breath, and continue choking. I realized that I fell over with my rear facing the front of the cabin AND that my snowshoes were now tangled. Great. I lifted my snowshoes up off the ground (better view of my rear!) and thrashed violently to get them untangled. And oh I was cold. I stood up, turned rear AWAY from front of cabin, and began to get all the freezing snow off my skin and out of my pants, shirts, coveralls, etc...

I never did pee.

My hair was wet and hanging limply at my face. My butt, I had noticed, was an alarming shade of purple (frostbite?) and I was exhausted. Struggling into the cabin, I flopped down. My husband seemed to instinctively know what happened because he said in his low, slow drawl, "TOLE you to tamp down the snow."

That was my first visit to our property. I was now properly initiated. I guess. Little did I know that this humbling, hilarious (later) experience was going to be par for the course in my new adventure of being an off grid, mountain woman. It was just the beginning of a long series of similar, um, mishaps? Who knew I was so accident prone? I'm glad I have a sense of humor. I was gonna need it.

Chapter One - The (Unknowingly) Momentous Decision

                             

Driving past the Potomac Valley, right outside of Missoula, Montana, I looked over and sighed again at how stunning it all was. Big green pastures filled with cows, blue-green mountains in the background, sky stretching out for miles. We had driven past this valley many times on our way to look for land to buy and I did the same thing each time we drove past - sighed at the beauty of it. It never occured to me that this gorgeous spot would one day be my view from the mountaintop. I look back now and wonder if God smiled every time I looked at and longed for a place of my own like this, knowing that He would one day give me that very thing, like a Mom who smiles when her child pines over a certain toy for Christmas and she has already bought it for him.

At the time, my husband and I lived in Lolo, Montana on the other side of Missoula, in a house my father had left to my two sisters and me. We were living there, taking care of it, keeping it nice until we found a buyer. I really liked that house and would have loved to have kept it but alas, it was too big and far too expensive for us. My dad had left each of us a small inheritance and my husband and I decided to buy land of our own somewhere in Montana. We had both fallen in love with the area and wanted to live there. We were originally from Texas, had lived there most of our lives, had family there and had a genuine love for it but once we spent time in Montana, we were goners. It was love at first sight and it never waned for either of us.

We had been living in the Lolo house for a few months with every intention of moving back to Texas when the house sold but then one day I blurted out, "Why don't we just stay here? We both love Montana. Our kids are off on their own. Our families are scattered all over the place. We both hate the heat and traffic and crime and congestion and crabby people in Texas. Why are we going back to that? You can work anywhere being a carpenter and a builder. This is the first place in my life I have ever felt really at home. I'm comfortable here, with myself and with the people. It is pure heaven here in the summer. And the winters aren't that bad." My husband Butch (he's from East Texas, hence the nickname) in his characteristic man-of-few-words way said, "Ok."  and the decision was made. Easy as that. Well. Huh.

The variety of responses we got from our family and friends when we told them we were staying in Montana were all over the place but two stuck out more than the others, "But you don't LIKE to be cold!" (true) and "But it's SO FAR!" (also true). Mostly we got their support though because hey, they now had a cool place to go visit.

That wonderful summer we drove all over Montana looking for land (which was so fun. I love car trips.) We told each realtor the few things that we wanted - land that backed up to state land, at least 20 acres, wooded, no neighbors, water on the property and cheap - to which each realtor either snickered or roared with laughter and said, "Who doesn't?" We were told that what we wanted didn't exist. But being determined Texans we weren't about to give up. No small, treeless, subdivision 'ranchettes' for us, no sirree Bob.

Lo and behold, I found a place with all of our wishes, plus some. 162 acres! Springs all over the place! Backing up to state land on three sides! No neighbors! Seclusion, Peace, Privacy! Beauty! A VIEW TO DIE FOR! And unbelievably, the view was my old friend THE POTOMAC VALLEY. No way.  And it was CHEAP! I KNEW I could find it. I KNEW it existed. The only downside was that it had no power running to it, or anywhere near the general vicinity. Hmmm..... Off grid? Hmmm.... Can we do it? My husband Butch was a seriously talented carpenter/builder/Jack-of-all-trades who had built hundreds of homes and knew how to do exactly everything. This man can build and fix anything. But we weren't spring chickens anymore. He was in his late 40's, I in my early 40's. And we didn't have a ton of money. We would have to build it all ourselves and neither of us had ever lived off grid before. But 'Off Grid, Raw Land' was all we could afford and still be able to get the other things that were important to us also. "So, do you think we can do it? SHOULD we? Are we a bit too old for this? Is it a good idea? Is it worth it to own our own land here?" I asked him nervously. I mean this was a whole mid-life complete drastic change. He may have been a country boy, but I was a born and bred city girl who liked occasional outings in the country. For picnics and stuff. I was not a little nervous at the whole idea but at the same time curiously excited at the thought of taking on this challenge (which kind of surprised little ol' mousey me actually). I asked again, "Do you want to?" He again with the few words, "Sure. Why not?" he said.

And the decision was made. Little did I know what I was in for. I'm really glad I didn't have a clue though because I wouldn't have done it. And I'm so glad I did.