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.