Lots of dam water (sic)

I know.
That's a horrible title for a blog post, but it's certainly appropriate for this one!

This year has been exceptionally wet for Montana, to understate the situation.  Our annual yearly average rainfall is generally around 12 inches; our actual rainfall for JUST the month of May this year was a little over 8 inches!  And that doesn't even count the moisture from the snow...that's straight rainfall.  The ground is saturated (something we almost never say, in Eastern Montana) and water is running off into all the little coullees and potholes, reservoirs are brimming. 

If you look at a map of Montana, you'll see a large, seemingly out-of-place body of water across the center of her...the Fort Peck Lake.  It was created by damming up the Missouri River in the 1930s; I won't get into all the history, here, because a.) I'd get it wrong and my family would call and email me to correct it, and b.) not everyone is into history and would groan, leave the Chronicles disillusioned and never read to the end of this post.  If you want to read about the making of the dam (which really is fascinating) you can go to http://www.fortpeckdam.com/ and get the info.

Even if you don't like history, there are some things you should know about the dam and lake in order to appreciate the rest of my story.  Excerpted from the Billings Gazette, June 11, 2011:

By the numbers

Fort Peck Dam is the second-largest dam in the United States and the eighth-largest in the world.
The earthen dam was built in the 1930s by pumping a mud slurry from below into forms. The slurry was then allowed to dry.
The reservoir behind the dam is 134 miles long and boasts 1,520 miles of shoreline when the reservoir is at an elevation of 2,234 feet. Right now, the dam's elevation is more than 2,250 feet, its maximum pool. At its deepest, the reservoir is 220 feet deep.
The spillway is located three miles east of the dam and has been used four times -- in 1975, 1976, 1979 and 1997.

This year is only the fifth time since it was built that the Corps of Engineers has opened the spillway, and they're releasing record amounts of water (37,000 cubic feet EVERY SECOND) into the Milk River and on down to the Missouri.

I had to see it.  I had to take my kids to see it.  Everyone else in Eastern Montana had to see it too, it would appear.  It's history in the making!

Big, big water...

 This is the side of the dam toward the water; all those green bushes you see are trees underwater.

This is a shot from the back side of the dam.  That's a car, circled in red....it's hard to give a good idea of how big this dam is, without proportional examples.

Cars driving on the top of the dam,  toward Glasgow.  (Don't we have incredible skies?)

And here it is: the spillway, where all the action is!

The lines of this structure....I couldn't stop looking at the symmetry....

Scared of heights?  Then you'd probably better not walk the top of the spillway...

I'm a wee bit nervous about heights....and terrified of my kids leaning over to look! 

 This is where the water explodes into the river....

One of the sixteen gates, where the water is being released. If all the gates were opened fully, 2 million gallons per second would blow out of there! 

It's hard to show, but the gates are raised by these huge chains.

This is the back of the gate, holding the water.

You can't imagine how loud it is! 

Looking at more water than he's ever seen in his little life...

See the beautiful light posts?  They're big metal poles with beautiful detailing. (Close ups to follow for Rosie.)

One thing we noticed and discussed was how beautiful the design of all the buildings is....they're not only practical and functional, but they have art deco lines.  I wish that much attention was paid to structures designed these days.

The kids HATE having their picture taken.  Someday they'll regret their grumpy reluctance to smile...

We went to a little cove to splash around for a little bit before heading home.

It was a leetle cold....

...but that didn't deter anyone from splashing in!

Happy smiles, through chattering teeth!

Angus would go down to the water then run back when a little wave splashed up against the shore...
Maggie found this hilarious, and teased him about being scared of the water.

Time to go!  Wet toesies in dirty socks...

The country around the reservoir is rough, with hills that just scream "Dinosaur bones hidden here!"

Welcome to the Hell Creek Formation, one of the dinosaur capitols of the world. I took these pictures on the way home, from the car, so they're a bit blurry.

 

Who can resist little Hereford calves, with their sparkling white faces? Not the Farmer's Wife!

*We also went to the Fort Peck Interpretive Center, but this post had to have boundaries.  I think the Farmer is going to post pictures from that little jaunt.  If he does, I'll link to it so you can see the kids' favorite part of our little field trip.

Help Wanted

Once upon a time...a long, long time ago....I had the privilege of working at a greenhouse in Miles City.  First, for Jim (who kept an ice cream freezer in the breakroom for us and I believe was only in the greenhouse business to grow enviously large tomatoes), then for his son Justin (who does NOT have an ice cream freezer or a passion for tomatoes, but does have an incredible business plan and expanded the place exponentially). 

It was one of the best jobs I've ever had.
Actually, the job had me.

It's tough work...very physical and dirty, you're on your feet all day, constantly in motion.  Customers sometimes want impossible things; plants that they insist will survive in Montana, chartreuse foliage on an evergreen, some little pink flower that Aunt Mae grew in HER garden 40 years ago but who knows the name.  On hot days, you think you might melt into a dirty puddle of Miracle Gro and sweat. 

It's very calming, very creative work.  The colors sing all around you, the air is filled with moisture and oxygen so your skin feels great, most everyone who comes to the greenhouse is instantly in a good mood and full of ideas.  One customer in particular that I happened to luckily stumble across in the perennial greenhouse apparently had no financial constraints whatsoever and she wanted help.  Boy, did we have fun!  I spent about two hours with her, designing beds, filling pots, loading carts...we hugged when she left and I've always wondered how it turned out. 

I would've worked there for free.
And still do, sometimes....

For some reason, when I go to MCG, I always end up helping people find plants, toting around big pink geraniums to match with the perfect lobelia, or talking some poor soul into trying the Cherokee purple tomatoes.  I deadhead constantly, and usually have to hand over a fist full of my gleanings in order to write the check for my own purchases.  I check the moisture of the soil, without thinking, in pots and four packs.  I note the mislabeled herbs and try to find the proper places and tags. 

Last Monday, I made my big trip to the greenhouse for my tomato plants and some annuals. And to say hello to all the plants and apologize for not being able to bring them all home to live with me.  And to look at Jim's tomatoes with mouth hanging open.  (He still does a lot of the watering and I always hunt him down to collect my hug.)  I almost made it out of there, was walking toward the door thinking about getting my plants home, when I encountered the cutest old couple you can imagine. 

Now, I don't know about you, but little old couples make me smile...even the grouchy ones. There's something about how they can finish each other's sentences, roll their eyes and wink at the same time, move slowly and in unison.  And this little old couple...
Well, he had a perfect straw fedora, plaid cotton shirt buttoned to the chin, jeans nearly up to his armpits and what looked to me like a permanent smile. She was wearing polyester everything, packing a very serviceable purse in the crook of her arm, and was quite busily sorting through the geraniums, trying to find two that were the same color.  The more she shuffled them, the harder it got to figure out which was which, and I could tell it was really starting to get on her nerves a little.  The old gentleman smiled as I paused to see if I could help and she looked up and briskly inquired if I worked there.  Well, no, I don't but I could maybe help...

I asked what color she was looking for and she raised a pot (indiscriminately, I think...any old pink geranium would do, at that point, as long as it had the EXACT match).  I checked the label, found its mate and started to bid them good day.  But now she needed a green trailing plant to go with them.  It had to be green.  It had to be trailing.  She didn't know WHAT it was, but she had to have it.  I gave up trying to slip away and just devoted myself to finding the green vine.  I must've held up 20 different types...none right.  I asked questions about leaf shapes, textures, depth of color and found several more specimen....none right.  Finally, she spotted a plant that was neither green NOR trailing, and decided THAT was the one.  (Her dear husband had long since abandoned the project and was sitting on a little bench, smiling and soaking up sun.  My kids were following Jim around and playing hide and seek with the greenhouse cats.)  As I was packing her plants to the counter, she stopped suddenly and looked at me...truly seeing me for the first time....and said, "Do you work here?" 

Well, NOW I do...

Yesterday, I finally got all my purchases planted in their proper pots and beds, telling them what pretty little things they are and how happy we would all be together, and thought about the greenhouse.  And the old couple with the matching geraniums and their green vine-y plant that was neither of those adjectives.  I hope she doesn't blame the "help" at the greenhouse when her pots don't look like she thought they would....

Here comes the sun...

Angus has been singing that all day!
And here's why:

Our propane tank has been a very odd shade of green for a year....driving my in-laws crazy, I believe....but there was a reason for the funky color. Really, there was!

I had a picture in my head, born in countless MASBO workshop doodling sessions, that I wanted to project on that big, blank canvas of sorts. 

In the beginning...

...less than exciting, right?

But wait!

Halfway there.....

Finished product!

Much better. Not perfect, but much better. 

Dutton-ness

Okay, so I'm a little different.

I understand what animals are saying and translate it for my kids. (They really believe I have this ability!) I'm one from a long line of animal understanders.

Storytelling...we have to tell stories or we'll explode.  Really.  Most Duttons are GREAT storytellers; I'm an amateur amongst the great ones, but someday...

There's a lot of whimsy, a lot of mischief and eternal teasing.  If Duttons like you, they'll tease you.  And nickname you, but that's another post. 

One of the masters of all traits was my Great Uncle Joe.  There isn't enough time or room in a blog post to begin to describe him; I won't try. He was one of the four most important men in my childhood, someone who ALWAYS had time for me, always made me believe I was someone special no matter what.  But  reading this, you'll see where I come from and why I am who I am...

Once upon a time, when I was seven years old, I wrote to the Easter Bunny with a special request as to the placement of my Easter Basket.  (Yes, even then...an odd person...)  I remember writing the letter, actually, and addressing it to Easter Island, carefully putting the stamp on the envelope and Mom mailed it at Sand Springs.

Sand Springs Store and Post Office...now there's a book!  My Uncle Joe and Aunt Daisy were the proprietors/post masters and a thousand other roles; the center of our little community.  My Mom worked there and that's where Uncle Joe got ahold of the letter, bless his heart. 

This is not a man who just sat around, reading the paper and growing old.  He was a pilot, helped fix wells, volunteered as ambulance personnel and so forth.  But he loved people, and his family especially.  Uncle Joe (I mean, the Easter Bunny) took time to send this response to me:

In this envelope:

Thrills!!!

Of course, I immediately wrote back, apparently reluctant to sleep by the creek as suggested. 

This was the letter I recieved in response:

The letter reads:

*In explanation, regarding the name of my horse, Gross.  It was NOT MY CHOICE!!! My Dad has this habit of naming horses after the person he bought them from.  I was told that he bought my fat little sorrel from a guy with the pitiable last name of Gross.  I suffered right along with him, because other kids had horses with names like Brownie or Joe. 

Anyway, back to the story...
My Easter basket WAS by my bed that year, but never again. 
I truly believed in the Easter Bunny for many, many years longer than I ever believed in Santa.  After all, I had proof!

I'm so very grateful to my Mom for saving these letters for me.  They are dear as can be, and when I read them, I can see Uncle Joe in his cozy, cluttered office, typing and drawing and laughing to himself.

I'm so very grateful I grew up in a family that pretended as automatically and naturally as sneezing and who showed us that it should continue though all our lives.  This summer is another Dutton family reunion...I can't WAIT to be among my own, again!

Let's celebrate!!!

Today is National Donut Day! 

Go forth, and honor the blessed pastry....

We're in shock...

Today, Clyde from MidRivers Communications came to our house and hooked up our television to Expanded Basic Programming; which means that I can watch baseball this summer and football this fall.  Really, that's the most important thing about this blessed event.

A sidenote about Clyde....he's a high school classmate of mine that attracts kids like sticky spots on the floor attract dirty socks.  Maggie and Angus believe that he comes to our house solely for the purpose of seeing them.  And, really, he does nothing to dispel that idea.  Also...and this is an odd phenomenon....he usually shows up around lunchtime to work on our communication equipment and joins us (after some persuasion).  This is a good thing for everyone, as we love having someone new to talk to over our hamburgers and he gets a hot meal.  Perfect.  When he leaves, our internet is faster, our television has programming, we have the latest news on basketball and fishing....it's very good. 

Now.
On to the point of the post.
(There IS one, I promise.)

I was very excited about being able to watch the evening news, especially the local news...just like the rest of the world!  The internet is alright, but the evening news is somehow more official, you know?  So, the kids and I sat down this evening to hear what Brian Williams had to report. 

We may not sleep tonight.

First, it was the horrifying, depressing state of the U.S. economy, with people in lines looking for jobs, houses being foreclosed, big red arrows pointing down on scary looking bar and line graphs.  Maggie was almost in tears, saying, "Oh, Mama...those poor people!" 

Then, to the tornado in Springfield, Massachusetts, which was entirely too close to our friend Suzie K.   They showed video of the tornado coming, with a woman screaming in the background.  This afternoon, a thunderstorm passed through our area, with rain and hail, and the video hit a little too close to reality for us.  One of the tragedies of the storm was a mother dying while saving her child by covering him in the bathtub. 

We almost didn't make it past that section.  There were tears with in all our eyes and Maggie thought we should call Sue, just to make sure she was alright.  And much, much worry about the child in the bathtub.  ALL of us were worrying about the child in the bathtub. 

Then, the E Coli outbreak in Germany. 

By the time they got to the cheery Yosemite Park pictures, we were a mess.
We had to shut it off.   

I hadn't realized how much we were sheltered from the horrors of the rest of the world.  My babies live in a place where everyone is kind to them, the scary things are rattlesnakes and broccoli, hurt means a bloody knee, and people most generally die because they are old.  A secure, safe, happy world for the most part.  A world where topics and characters have been carefully filtered and screened, where the Waltons make sense and they can relate to 'Lizbeth, not (shudder) Spongebob.

It's going to be quite a transition. 

There are good things, of course.  Right now, the kids are watching a Netflix movie about dinosaurs...and asking good questions.  The Farmer is thrilled about the Discovery and History channel!  And I'm happily thinking of the sports I'll now be able to watch on the big screen and not the computer.  I can see Downton Abbey when the rest of the world is watching it, not later, when it's streamed on the computer.  Some things are good. 

I'm sure this first week will be just saturated with television. But with the nice days, puddles and flowerbeds to play in, I'm not concerned about parking and watching indiscriminately.  This next winter will be much more of a challenge. 

And tomorrow morning around 4:30, when everyone else is sleeping and I'm lurching around before my run, I'm going to set the parental controls with a secret password.....
Mwah-ha-ha!!

MORE cow pictures...

Hey, it's all I've got right now....

*sniff*
It's all I've got MOST of the time....

Welcome to Cohagen, Montana.

The bulls have been moved from the pasture next to our house and the two year olds with their calves have moved in.  It's a good arrangement for all of us.  The cows come visit my bum calves....

Check out that grass!!!

Guess who came home for a visit?

DAISY!

And Rosie, too, of course.

Can I just tell you? I am so stinking proud of that little cow that I could bust!

She's beautiful. 

And her calf? 

Beautiful.

One in a million chances that a bum calf would turn out to be a great little cow....

(I tried to convey these thoughts and feelings to the Farmer, who, when strenuously prodded for a response said, "I've got nothin' to say against it...".  He's just jealous.)

Moving on....

The latest portrait of Willie and Lily.

Makes me laugh, because Miss Lily has her little snoot up, looking for the bottle!

Okay, this is just silly, but you saw that coming, didn't you?

One of the things that amuses me about cows is how they all have different hairdos; unique topknots.

These girls are all blown out, but when the wind isn't tossing them, they'll have curls or frazzles or bangs, almost.  They look for all the world like a bunch of ladies who went to the beauty shop for their wash and set.  Sometimes, when we're moving cows, I get all distracted looking at their funny hair.

This morning was lovely, so I went out on the deck for coffee.

Okay, so it was a little cool, and I actually ended up with sort of a coffee-sicle, but here's my view from the glider.

Wish you were here to have coffee with me, and enjoy the funny cows at sunrise....