Fences Not For Sitting Upon - Bitterroot Valley, Montana

Today's view is a guest post courtesy of Sis #3, whose recent activities noted at www.journeyswithGod.com underscore that she definitely has not had time to sit on a fence of indecision, or even the more pleasant kind with a view.Thanks, sis, for sharing a fond family legend (which may exist with different details in the minds of other siblings!)

This barbed wire fence with aging fence posts caught my eye and stirred me to pondering.   

Fence sitting has long been eschewed as the trade of procrastinators and slackers. But maybe those who have never sat upon a fence,  contemplating their options, enjoying the activity around them, have only ever had a prickly uncomfortable fence at their disposal.  Think about it. 

TBLSE (The Best Little Sister Ever) reminded me of a fence-sitting incident from childhood which was all fine and dandy ... until I attempted to dismount the fence I had chosen to perch upon.

Our weekend-farmer father was doctoring some yearling cattle, dispensing medicine and ear tags, and cutting horns. Perched atop the rail fence,  his curiously observant offspring had been strongly cautioned to remain quiet and still so as not to startle the already freaked-out steers, who could bolt and cause bodily harm to our Dad.

My 9ish-year-old-self decided to quietly climb down off the rail fence, not noticing the coil of barbed wire on the fence post, the end of which somehow caught under my jacket and deeply scratched my tummy.  The scar remains to this day - but I am proud to say not a peep escaped - I remained quietly weeping crocodile tears until the work was finished and Dad could safely doctor my wound.

Keeping Watch, Corvallis, Montana

Gracefully aged barns are not necessarily common in the Bitterroot Valley, but there are quite a few fines ones still in use on family farms. The way this barn is perched on a slight rise overlooking the pasture makes me wonder at some numbers: how many seasons of hay has it stored? How many litters of kittens sheltered in its stalls? Has it lost track of the number of hawks observed hunting small prey in the field below? I often wonder at the stories old houses have to tell, but I think the tales a barn could share might be earthier, warmer, versions of beginnings and endings, small joys and sorrows.

X Marks the Spot, Missoula, Montana

Being a frontier type of town, Missoula, Montana, has a rich railroad history. The old restored train depot graces the top of downtown's main street, separating the business district from the active rail yard. If you cruise the drag on a weekend night, you'll inevitably loop around the red "Crossings" statue, created in 1986 by Arlee artist Taäg Peterson.

Wayside Flower, Middle of Montana

One of my all-time favourite books & movie is "The Scarlet Pimpernel" by Baroness Orczy. A "scarlet pimpernel" is famously described as "...a humble English wayside flower...", and is the undercover pseudonym of the Baroness's fictional hero of the French Revolution, Sir Percy Blakeney. (The story still inspires some hard-core fans, as you'll see if you click on the text links I've included!)

These humble wayside flowers of Montana are more at a black-eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta).While I haven't heard that they've inspired any literary superheros, they were favourite characters of my childhood walks to town, smiling with unfailing cheer from the grassy ditches lining our dusty, country road.

Fence In the Storm, Stevensville, Montana

Summer storms are among my favourite nature things - bring on the wind-whipped clouds, sheet lightning, thunder within the five-count. Sadly, our recent storms have not brought as much rain as I'd hoped, meaning I still have to water my lawn. (Sigh. Poor me. I'm sure one of my sisters is playing "My Heart Bleeds For You" on the world's smallest violin.)

Don't Fence Me In - Lewistown, Montana

I am supremely happy when a photo turns out just the way I want it, without any tweaking after the shutter flips. And it’s even better to be rewarded with such a shot after not talking yourself out of stopping in the middle of a snowstorm while driving to visit family in Lewistown, Montana.