Ranch-y

A week or so ago, I got to go to my Dad's to cook for his crew.  Karen needed to take Grandma Dutton to Billings for a medical appointment and that left Dad with 9 hands to feed while he was trying to get the cow sorting, preg-testing, truck loading organized and running.  THAT wasn't going to work, so I asked if I could come over and cook.  One of my quirks is that I like to cook for crews.  I don't know why, but I enjoy putting meals together for people who I know have been working hard.  In our family, we love people with food, so I suppose it has something to do with showing affection and appreciation.  

I didn't think to take my good camera...I didn't think I'd have time to take any pictures and besides, it's just more cows.  I'm kicking myself over that decision, because all I got were photos with the camera and they could've really been neat with my Canon.

On Facebook, I see all the pictures of fall foliage, bright yellows and oranges and burgundy.

This is what autumn looks like in eastern Montana...

I think that's why my favorite color is red.  

If we don't get snow, this is more or less what we look at from October to the end of March.

These are some of the crew's horses.  They were checking me over, just in case I had some food for them.  They would've come to visit me if I'd had time to spend talking to them.

My Dad's red trailer and horse, waiting not so very happily...

After they got the cows and calves sorted, they ran the cows through the chute, gave them shots and preg tested them.  The guy you see with what looks like a bare arm is actually Dallas Currey with a clear vet glove on.  He does stick his arm in the cow to determine whether she's pregnant or open (without calf). When he declares her bred, the other guys give her shots and backline her with Ivomec, then turn her out.  If she's open, they don't waste the shots, she gets a big mark on her back (so she can be sorted out from the bred cows later) and turned out. The whole process is pretty fast...maybe 3 minutes from start to finish, when everything goes right. (Check out the corrals!)

Naptime for this boy!  He's seen it all a hundred times or more and is no longer impressed with any of it.
I took this picture because I liked the headstall set up.  Isn't that a tremendous knot?

Here's his saddle...the saddle horn, the breast collar, the rope, the stirrup...it all makes me smile.

This picture isn't very clear, but I liked the men in the corral and the old blue pickup. 

Typical ranch trailer...you can tell that it's been to quite a few shippings and brandings.  The 50 plate and Western Pro together...that's truth in advertising, right there.
Incidentally, in Montana, each county has a number to indicate that the vehicle is registered in that county.  When the system was established, the larger the town, the smaller the number. Billings is a 3, Miles City is 14, and so forth.  When we see a Montana license plate, we can tell where that vehicle (and usually the driver) is from!  There are no secrets, here...Montana is just one big, small town.

Now we're getting ready for shipping here at Lang's Fork Inc....setting up portable panels and getting all the corrals in shape.  I'd better get off here and bake some cinnamon rolls because I heard that the Greens had HOMEMADE donuts at THEIR shipping, and I can't have them showing us up like that.  :)

Oh, and for my friends who will most certainly ask, the menu was:  hot ham and cheese sandwiches, baked beans, potato salad, chips, dessert bars that Karen had left, coffee and lemonade.  I will always make lemonade when I cook for my Dad, but that's another story altogether...

Fenway

Okay, I've been saving this post.  Partly because I had some of the photos on my phone and I had to send them to myself in an email to retrieve them AND because I couldn't find the words to do it right.

Here's the story:
I haven't been watching baseball all that long, really. We grew up in a house that didn't have a t.v., so the only sports I'd see were the Olympics at Grandma Dutton's and rodeo.  I don't remember ever seeing a baseball game, even on t.v., until I was in college.  The first baseball game I went to was the Billings Mustangs when I was 23-ish...not a terribly exciting game, except for the concessions.  I dig the dogs.

Sue got me interested in the Red Sox.  I loved that they were an old, old....OLD team; they had history and character(s).  I loved that they weren't always in the race for the pennant, that single wins were just as thrilling as play off games because they were an unexpected gift. (Yes. They lose a lot. But sometimes...) I loved that their fans were loyal through everything.  I loved that their ball park hadn't been torn down to make way for a new Schick-Velveeta-Coca-Cola stadium.

Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox, is 100 years old this year!  Opened in April of 2012, the year the Titanic sank, William H. Taft was president, and Elvis Presley's mother was born, it is one of the two oldest baseball parks remaining in the U.S. (Wrigley Field turns 100 in 2014.)  It's like an old cathedral of the sport that was born in America.  I knew this because Sue sent me homework, magazines and newspapers to read so I wouldn't be unaware of the greatness of the place.

But nothing could prepare me for Fenway.
(I KNOW...that sounds like a 16 year old girl meeting Justin Bieber! But it's TRUE.)

Sue bought our tickets in January, hoping they'd be good, spending a sizable chunk of her son's college fund I think. (He's a smart boy...he'll get scholarships, I'm sure.) We were so excited to be able to go to one of their last home games of the season, hoped it would be decent weather (because it rains a lot in Boston in September) and pulled together our Red Sox ensembles for the evening.

It was stunning, to see the park at night from the outside.  The fans were grouping in, lights on the pennants, the smell of popcorn and hot dogs and other good things to eat. Like, Korean food.  It felt like a carnival...you know how they look at night, with the lights and people of all ages, happy to be there.  My tummy was tickling like it does before I get on a carnival ride, too!  I felt like I was 10 years old again.  What a magical place, to be able to turn old women into children for a few hours!

We wanted to find our seats, so we went in under the stadium, a dark cave-y sort of area...the ceiling was high enough it didn't feel crunched or anything, even though there were a lot of people and they all appeared to know where they were going.  Except me.
We worked our way through the other fans and got to the ramp that would take us up to our section, or close to it, anyway.  And this is what did me in. This is where I really and truly felt like a little girl.

We walked up the ramp toward the lights of the ball park and the field and when we got to the top, it was THERE.  It was huge and beautiful and there were players on the field and there was the Green Monster, in person, and there was an energy in that place that blew me away.

And I cried.
It was just so...BIG for me.
It wasn't just the bigness of the actual stadium, it was the bigness of being where Babe Ruth and Ted Williams had played. It was the bigness of seeing all the people and all the funny baseball-y things I hoped would be there, but was worried would not, just because I wanted them so badly.  The families, the dugouts, the score board that's hand operated, the hard little seats, the smell of sports...all those things.

I was 10 years old for at least 3 more hours.
It was one of the best experiences I've ever had.

Okay, so my pictures aren't all that great.  Our SEATS were great, but my pictures weren't.  I didn't set the darn camera for low light because the lights of the stadium seemed so bright!  So you get what you get.  Besides, I'm pretty sure part of the problem was that I was so excited I might have been shaking a little.

Susie K. and me...

It just looks like a proper baseball park SHOULD, doesn't it?

The 'dog and a beer...(Yeah, I still felt like a 10 year old.  A 10 year old that was getting away with something!)

The Green Monster!

The Red Sox!

This picture is fascinating to me...I see different things every time I look at it! (Like the kid with the mouthful of food so that his cheek is bulging...)

Dustin Pedroia, one of my favorite players, at bat.  I'm still miffed about the Youkillis trade.  Could they not have waited until after I came to Boston?!

This Oriole broke his bat; it was pretty cool to watch!

Again, here's my favorite picture, the big foam finger proclaiming our Red Sox love! (Okay, THIS year, they were a little hard to love.  But they're the SOX!)

Crummy picture of the playoff years...sorry!

The vendors were a show, all by themselves.  They had THE most Boston accents I heard while I was in Massachusetts!  The guys with peanuts would just fling them to a customer, three rows away, then get up there in a little while to collect their money.  One guy who was sitting in front of me flagged down an ice cream vendor to see if he sold the soft kind of ice cream.  The vendor said, "Shooah! Just hold it yah hands until it gets sew-oft!"  (You have to read that aloud to figure it out, but I promise you, that's what he sounded like.)

We also had the stereotypical big mouth guy trying to impress everyone around him sitting behind us.  There were daddies with their little guys, too.  This is the little boy who sat in front of us, watching the whole game with his baseball glove on.  I wanted to hug him, he was so dang cute.

If you ever get the opportunity to visit Fenway Park, don't even question whether the tickets are worth it.  You can't imagine how American you'll feel there.  

And young.

I didn't forget Myron!

A few weeks before I left for Boston, I heard from a Chronicles reader who happens to live in Australia.  I never know who's actually following, so I'm always thrilled when someone contacts me and lets me know!  Anyway, Myron Pentz had stumbled across my blog through a link from another blog that I love (and miss) called Daily Montana.  He'd been reading about our ranching and wanted to give me some books and information about women ranchers in Australia.  He was going to be in the U.S. in September and wondered if he might be able to drop them off on his way through Montana!

Why, yes!  Of course!  

But the day he was driving through Jordan was to be the day I got on the plane to go to Boston.  The Farmer said that he'd be able to make the meeting, but I was disappointed to miss it.  Blog readers from Australia don't exactly drop by all the time and I wanted to visit with him about his area.   

In the middle of the flurry of preparing for the trip, I got another email that said he and his wife were going to be in Lewistown the day BEFORE I left and would drive down THAT day.  My birthday, as it turned out.  What a present, hm?! He called the night before to arrange a meeting place...the Hilltop restaurant.  You can't miss it.  Really.  

Well, I got to the Hilltop at the appointed time and had no idea who to look for.  There was supposed to be a man and his wife, but all I saw were two tables, each with one stranger, and one table with a local family.  Tricky.  Perhaps I got it wrong...? (I know.  Hard to believe I'd mess something up, isn't it?)  Happily, though, Mr. Pentz knew what I looked like and came over to introduce himself!  (Turns out, Mrs. Pentz was in the powder room.)  

We were there for an hour, drinking coffee, visiting, asking questions about each other's worlds and families! Myron was born in the north eastern corner of Montana, it turns out, and so he knew the area fairly well.  Mrs. Pentz was from Holland and had retained that beautiful Dutch accent.  They told me about their children and grandchildren, about the ranching their son did, about how they met (because I really wanted the story and just asked), about their neighborhood and lifestyle.  And they asked dozens of questions about our way of life, too.  They brought a book, a couple movies, magazine about ranching, and a cap from their son's ranch, Glenwarrie.  (I love that name!)

The hour went by SO quickly, and I wish that we'd had more time.  They were continuing on to Sidney and I needed to leave for Billings, so we said goodbye.  I hope they can come again for a longer visit!  I'd like them to see the ranch and meet the family.  (I think I startled them by giving them hugs as we parted, but that's my way.  I hope it didn't scare them off!)

So, Mr. and Mrs. Myron Pentz, I wanted you to know that meeting you was one of the highlights of my birthday, I wish I'd taken a picture of you, and I'll try to include more fashion posts!  (Oh, and the book is fascinating...I'm about halfway through.)

Culinary Surprises

Things Bon Appetit magazine (may it live forever) has failed to educate me on:

• Scrod isn't actually a species of fish.  It's the acronym for Seaman's Catch Received On Deck and can be ANY young white fish.  
• The hotdog buns in New England are not the same as they are in Montana.  When I got my lobster roll at Durgin Park, it looked more like a huge piece of white bread, curved up on each side!  
• There's a BIG difference between Boston clam chowder and Rhode Island clam chowder.  (And you really should pronounce that "chow-duh".) Boston clam chowder is pure love in a bowl...creamy, thick, dense with flavor.  Rhode Island clam chowder is not.  And that's all I'll say about it.
• At Brown University, if you order a triple shot breve, it will come with SIX shots of espresso.  I'm not joking.  Their standard pull is a double, so when I ordered a triple shot, the little barrista looked worried and warned me.  Yikes!
• People drink milk in their tea and coffee; cream, not so much.  
• One can't buy a bottle of wine at the supermarket....they only sell it at liquor stores. Seriously.  There's no such thing as an impulsive bottle of Syrah to go with the stinky cheese in your cart!  
• In a lot of the places we ate, they brought cornbread, not rolls.  This was a bit startling to me!  It was a great leveler, because no one can eat cornbread delicately....
• REAL Boston baked beans are wonderful!  Nothing like the Bush's baked beans we buy in the store, here.  The real ones are not syrup-y at all.  
• Cannoli is crunchy!  Who knew?!
• Lobsters are quite possibly the most perfect date food, ever.  Dinner AND a show!

*Lobster roll notably absent, cornbread crumbs, baked beans with a serious dent, smallish portion of fries left, 1/2 lager for dessert...

Yet MORE Boston...

I know you thought I was done with the Boston posts, but I'm NOT!
There's more.
And since this is my online scrapbook, I'm shoving all the pictures in it and you just have to politely plow through them until I have it out of my system.  Do you have a fresh cup of coffee?  Or English breakfast tea, Alice and Susie K.?
Alright, then....here we go.

Architecture and such:

A couple notes, here....
There's no such thing as "The Historic District" in Boston.  It's ALL historic.  At first, I took pictures of every little scroll and statue, thinking it was the only one I'd see of that kind; then we'd go around the corner and there'd be ANOTHER one, just as old, just as majestic,  just as historically relevant as the other!  And by my last day, I was able to say, "You know what?  I don't really need to see Paul Revere's house.  Let's go to Cheers."

This is one of the buildings I photographed that first day.  I was so amazed at the detail of the stone work!  I'm the sort of person who struggles with Playdough, trying to get it to look like something....to think someone could take ROCK and make it into a scene, with depth and action!

I love the lines behind this, and most especially that she seems to be crying.  

O-KAY.  This one REALLY blew me away.  Want to take a guess at what building this was? (And no, it wasn't a Starbucks, although I saw one on every third block, housed in pretty dang fauhncy buildings.)

It was the library.

 And it had a courtyard.

And a statue/fountain.

And it was so big and gorgeous and historic that we didn't even get to all of it!

AND we had to have tea in the courtyard, just to recover from the tour we DID take!

Okay...moving on....

 Arches....

Spires....

Faneuil Hall....

...with its grasshopper weathervane.

 George Washington...

Some guy in a historic church....

Paul Revere....

Firemen...

WAIT!  How'd THAT get in there!

They were all sitting out front of the fire house on the North End of Boston, bored to death because there aren't an abundance of fires anymore, what with all the buildings being made of stone and all.  The Lieutenant (who is not pictured because he's TAKING the picture) hailed us as we were walking by and said he'd take our picture with the fire engine. And with the Paul Revere statue.  He also acted as a free tour guide, showing us the church that Rose Kennedy attended, explaining about the gentlemen's club up the street and offered suggestions for good places to eat.  We were invited to have sandwiches with them, for pete's sake! 

Only a couple more things, okay?

Churches, with fascinating cemeteries...

That's right, folks; 42 Tiffany stained glass windows!

 

And they don't photograph very well without a flash and tripod, but you get the idea.

In quite a lot of the churches, there were these booths, instead of rows of pews.  Each family would have their own, marked with their surname and it was clear that those more prosperous (and benevolent) had better booths, location-wise.  The explanation was that the churches weren't heated, so all the bodies tucked together in booths kept them warmer.  Considering people in those days went to church for the better part of the day, this made good sense.  Also, Sue and I with our mother brains noted that it was probably much easier to let the kids fidget on the floor in one of these booths, although I'm pretty sure they weren't allowed a whole lot of freedom and mobility.

Did you make it?!

Thanks for being a good sport!

I'll try to put something else on the blog, now, just so you won't feel all jet-lagged, reading travel stories.

Little Bill

When I pulled Dad's baby picture out yesterday, I asked Angus who it was...

He looked at me like I'd lost my marbles and said, "That's ME, Mom!"

Liberals

I guess you know that when I was in Massachusetts, I was exposed to a LOT of Liberals. 

It's true.

Yes.  The kind that you have to CAPITALIZE in a sentence, when speaking of them. 

The kind that have "Obama 2012" bumper stickers on their cars and speak freely of federal assistance and gay pride in mixed company. ("Mixed company" being Democrats and Republicans in the same room.)

The kind that watch the evening news and comment favorably about the economy.

The kind that contribute to Elizabeth Warren, in broad daylight, where everyone can see!

The fear, I'm sure, of my family and close friends is that I would not be contaminated by this exposure...

Liberalism, particularly the "Democrat" brand, is a pretty scary thing to catch, especially in Eastern Montana!

One of my friends worriedly texted me while I was "back East" and warned me not to come home a Liberal. I don't know if that was a concern or a threat...like, if I came home with liberal leanings that I might not be welcome...?  When I posted on Facebook that I was going to a Democratic fundraiser, all hell broke loose!

I rather expected a "2319" before being allowed back into Garfield County...

:)

Here was my experience with these creatures, the Liberals:

They were curious about my viewpoints and asked intelligent, non-confrontational questions about my political philosophy in general.  And they LISTENED to what I had to say, without interrupting me with inflammatory, devisive points.  The Liberals I met were well informed about the news in general and read several different papers, daily.  They discussed issues from different angles, spoke firmly but not offensively about their stand on those issues.  They were smart, open to new and opposing thoughts, and as far as I could tell, didn't have horns. 

Shocking!

Perhaps everyone was on their best behavior for me....

Perhaps they were being extra kind because I was so naive and wide-eyed.

I don't know and I'm not going to examine it too closely.

I came home with a new respect for certain Democrats...even a fondness for a few, despite their political leanings!  I'm grateful to them for sparking a renewed interest in current affairs and policy that I've been avoiding for the last couple years.  I appreciate their interest in my thoughts, ideas and stands, with no anger or impatience and no intent to change my way of thinking or beliefs.  

Incidentally, I also now have an Obama 2012  magnet for my car....

mostly, because I couldn't resist the dare.

It's a sign!

Literally.
I loved the signs and lettering, the New England-ish-ness of the little shops and stores.  Montana has its fair share of charm, but it's different in Massachusetts...we've got rustic, they have quaint.  And they can get by with names that would be completely appalling, here!  For example:

We didn't go to Durty Nelly's, but judging from the sign, it would be a great Boston dive, don't you think?


And then there's the Runcible Spoon in Providence...

We had to look up the meaning of the word, which is saying something for two people who read everything they can get their hands on.  I'll let you do the homework for yourself.  I just loved the sign!

This was a corner store on the North End of Boston that looked as though they'd had the same sign for 50 years.  What I REALLY liked, though, was the Petruccelli campaign sign in the window!  The North End was extremely Italian; we'd walk past a group of older guys sitting on a bench in front of corner stores like this one and they'd be talking in Italian, gesturing, "Bah!".  It almost felt like a movie set with GREAT extras creating the neighborhood scene.

This guy was in front of a cigar and pipe shop.  When I look at the large version of the photo, on my computer, I get all distracted by the photos in the window beside him!  V-e-r-y interesting...
I also like that you can tell everyone rubs the carving's head when they are going past...see the grubby top?

This sign and the view of the street behind it is another North End classic.  Besides having odd little general corner stores that carried everything you'd ever need, that end of town had an abundance of real estate offices, beauty salons and restaurants.   We're talking salons every couple blocks, now!  Although, come to think of it, I didn't actually see a whole lot of local ladies out and about....hmmm.

The North End is also home to the church Rose Kennedy attends, we were informed.  

This is one of my very favorite sign posts!  It was on the other side of Boston, toward Boston Common. They have delightful street names!  My friends live on Pleasant Street...again, almost like a movie set, right? We found out on our extremely, precisely factual Freedom Trail tour that George Washington decreed the British street names be changed to more Colonial street names...so one can be on Providence Street, say, and all of a sudden it will turn into Worthington Avenue, because apparently the signage was a little relaxed and the town plat book not really held to strict renaming standards.

I had to take this picture, of course...

The home of Parker House Rolls!  I thought of Gramps when I saw this; he made incredible Parker House rolls.  And the sign is so elegant!

Ah....here's the General Hooker Entrance.  Pretty grand, huh?  Considering the "women of a certain profession"....

....looked like this, exiting the building.
Boston hookers are apparently QUITE conservative.

Geoff's was a sandwich shop in Providence that made funky, wonderful food.  They were also the least pretentious, most REAL, groovy people I've seen working in food prep.  I'd be tempted to go there just for the overheard kitchen conversation and the funny college kid ads hanging on the walls, but I'd stay for the Rachel san (turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, horseradish on rye).

It was like seeing a picture of a dear cousin or something....sweetly familiar in a strange city.

"Hey, Norm...what's shakin'?"

"All four cheeks and a coupla chins, Sammy..."

And lastly, the Freedom Trail sign which will make Grandma Dutton mad at the desecration, but I thought it was sort of a good representation of our freedom of expression and speech.