Today we met with Matthew, of Puddletown Talent here in Portland, and walked away with an agent for our daughter. Well, he didn’t come with us… he stayed there, because it would have been awkward to take him with us. But with the exception of crossing a few “T”s and dotting a couple “I”s, Rowan is represented for film, camera, and print work! What does that mean precisely? They think she’s cute. And they think that other people will think she’s cute. And that’s awesome.

At this point, I don’t think Donovan and I are completely sure what we want this experience to be — besides fun for Ro-Ro, of course. That is the most important. In my head I can see a day, perhaps not too far in the future, where I say “Hey Rowan… Wanna go for a car ride and get your picture taken?” And she’ll say, “Yeah! I love having my picture taken.” Ideal.

Unfortunately, there is also the potential for screaming fits after we’ve shown up for a shoot and I’m promising her everything from ponies made out of candy to a sharp pop on the behind if only we can get through that hour. Think people would look at me funny if I beat my child on set?

I’m way ahead of myself.

But, I have to say, it’s a bit exciting. Looking forward to seeing how this plays out. And determined NOT to end up resembling a TLC program.

Good lord — has it been a year! Right?!

Rowan has gone from being a baby…. To being a full-on young lady.

Rowan & Santa, 2010

Rowan & Santa, 2011

How did that happen? I’m kerflummoxed. She went on her own little mini-vacation with Grandma and Grandpa in August. We missed her horribly, but had a lot of fun (and a few too many vodka lemonades) out at Edgefield for my birthday get away.

I feel like 2011 was a year of ups and downs. Many of them. Part of me hopes for a little more continuity this year, while the other part of me wouldn’t trade this last year for anything. Actually, the whole of me wouldn’t trade the past year…

I found strength that I didn’t know I had, and discovered new weaknesses that I’m still striving to overcome. I’ve cried a lot, but I’ve also laughed a lot.

Donovan and I are closer, and different. I’m continually thankful that the years we’ve been together have seen us changing together, compatibly, cohesively.

Rowan is amazing. I don’t think I can stress that enough. She’ll be three in January, but it’s seemed insulting, for the last 7 months or so, to refer to her as a two-year-old.
A few reasons why….

Ego: fully formed
Manipulatory tactics: tactical and effective
Imagination: wild, varied, and well used
Timeline cognizance: unbelievable (yesterday, today and tomorrow and all that)
Alphabet: Mostly
Counting: To 20!
Morning grumpiness: teenagerish
Appreciation for Michael Jackson: Displayed by very inventive dance tecnique
Puts her own clothes on: Check
Admonishes her toys when they are naughty: Eloquently and patiently
Helps make scrambled eggs: Check
Bowel and bladder control: Check

And… she tells jokes, which is ridiculously adorable. Here’s her favorite, which she invented herself:

Knock, knock.
(Who’s there?)
Dora.
(Dora who?)
Open the Dora!!!

Now… Christmas is over, Rowan’s birthday is coming up, and there are numerous financial challenges to hurdle in the next couple months. But you know what? I’m feeling very content, at peace, and snugly secure in the fact that it will all work out. It’s gonna be a good year.

I wish I could go back and read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone again for the very first time — to relive that first glimpse of Rowling’s magical world, experience again the thrill of discovery and the birth of a whole new state of imagination.

Sure, we’ve all read books about magic before — some with dragons, some with evil sorcerers and fairy princesses, hobbits and dwarves — and those are amazing. But, even though simpler — and maybe that’s the key — something about Harry Potter seems so within reach, like witchcraft and wizardry is something we all could do, if someone would just show us how. He’s just this normal kid that finds out he’s so much more. Who hasn’t daydreamed about just that?

J. K. Rowling is nothing less than a sorceress herself, conjuring up Bertie-Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans, Cauldron Cakes, wingardium leviosa (the spell to make objects levitate), and a million other magical details — from the miniscule piskies to the giant mountain trolls — all of which combine to make one of the most entertaining children’s books of all time.

And then you have the anti-heros. It’s almost tangible how much we hate Harry’s relatives, the Dursleys — Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley — each of them with their own set of infuriating idiosyncrasies — they couldn’t have been better designed for ultimate detestation. And Snape. What a marvelously, wonderfully hateable guy.

We all know how the story goes; I won’t bore you with a rundown of the actual plot-line, but before I wrap up, I will tell you about my favorite part. After pretty much kicking the Dursley’s butts, Hagrid takes Harry to Diagon Alley for the first time. Even before the movie came out, it wasn’t hard, from Rowling’s skilled descriptions, to imagine the awe with which Harry watched Hagrid, with his magic (!!) wand, tap the brick wall in the alley behind The Leaky Cauldron. Close your eyes and think, just think, about how amazing it would be, rather than driving with your mom down to Target to buy pens, pencils, and boring three ring binders in preparation for school, if you were to walk down a cobblestone road, window-shopping at magical stores that were hidden to the rest of your city, buying cauldrons, spell ingredients, and a magic wand that chooses you. And then, instead of Algebra, United States History, and English Composition, you picked out The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk, Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger, and A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. It’s just shivery-good-happy.

One of the best things about this series, looking at it in it’s entirety, is how it builds to the denouement. Beginning the series at any age is fine, but when these books first came out, the target audience was around Harry’s own age, 11 or 12. The readers actually grew up along with Harry, as subsequent books came out a year or so later than the previous one, Harry was a year older, a year further in school, and the boys and girls reading the books were a year or so older themselves. The books become darker as they progress, covering some pretty tough subject matter, but sticking with the target audience, introducing situations, characters and dialogue that continue to keep interest rapt, and the reader turning pages like they’re on fire.

Honestly, I could go on, but I won’t. If you haven’t read the book yet, pick it up. It’ll take you a couple hours and will begin a journey that you won’t soon forget.

Dun-da-dun! The Harry Potter 2011 Book Challenge, put on by Daemon’s Books.

It’s true… I’m a huge Harry Potter fan, always have been, always will be. And this is the very excuse I needed to hunker down and reread the entire series… Yippee!

Welcome to the first Daemon’s Books challenge, which is also the first 2011 challenge to start off the year. And since this year also marks the complete end of the Harry Potter series with the 8th and final movie coming out on July 15, we thought this was the perfect time to relive the entire series one more time to get ready for the final chapter.

So what does the challenge entail? Well, we will be reading books 1-7 (one book a month) and we encourage everyone to join us and participate. This will hopefully be a great opportunity for people who have already read the books to relive them with other people once again. And for those who haven’t read them yet, well, this is the perfect time to start.

But why should I participate, you might ask. Well, in addition to monthly giveaways, we will have one BIG giveaway at the end of the challenge that you will not want to miss.

I’ll be posting my progress and reviews here as the months roll by. Hopefully you’ll join up too!
Check out the list of participant guidelines, and let’s get reading!

First stop, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. (And here’s the review….)

Of course, there are drawbacks to this, too. He’s always there… saying things. Or, not saying things. I can’t stay home from work and watch Grey’s Anatomy for hours on end anymore, which is really frustrating. I have to stop at the store and pick things up on my way home. My apologies, however, as I digress. This post is about rejoicing in the time that we can now spend as a family…. and rejoice I shall!

I harbor a lot of misappropriated personal guilt. It’s not “I’ve done something and now I feel bad” guilt, it’s “future guilt”. I feel guilty for the fact that my future self will have guilt because she will feel like she could’ve made Rowan’s early life better, gone on more family adventures, saved more crayon drawings and paintings (though I save them all, she will probably frame them), and would’ve taught her better about the world around her. I know. This whole future guilt thing is barking mad. Regardless, I find myself bordering on insane sometimes about getting out and doing stuff, so that I can assuage my future self’s guilt. And, of course, there’s always the fact that going out and doing stuff is fun! And Rowan loves it, which is all that really matters.

Donovan’s opinion of all this madness is unflattering. He thinks I’m crazy and also possibly in a state of permanent PMS, which he realizes you’re never supposed to say, but he says it anyway because he thinks it’s funny, which it is not. And yes, admittedly, I do get a slightly frantic, from time to time, and have a hard time being okay with staying in and relaxing for a day. There’s certainly a time and a place for that, too. I know this, but my future self is always nagging at me to “create memories”. Good ones. And most of the time, “Future Heidi”, who is a much better mother than I am, wins.

Portland in the springtime is incredibly gorgeous. And while it’s not currently spring, we’ve been having some remarkably spring-like weather. Warm, partly sunny, but with a lot of wet. Last weekend, despite inconvenient bouts of pouring rain, we decided to go for a hike in Forest Park, which, incidentally, is one of the largest municipal parks in the country, with over 5100 acres of natural forest land.

Rowan was pretty excited because we packed snacks for her in her backpack, and she got to wear her pretty new sweater and her adventure hat… all of which put together on her tiny little body ended up being pretty stinkin’ cute.

Then, off to the park…

She was in awe of the park, spurring even more guilt, as I thought to myself “Why should she be so in awe? It’s like she’s never seen a park before!” Which of course she has, and I was being crazy again.

It was actually pretty rainy, and before long, we had gotten pretty wet so I went ahead and pulled out my umbrella. Portlanders, as a rule, aren’t supposed to use umbrellas. There’s no quicker way to pick the transplants from a crowd than to survey umbrella usage. Nonetheless, I spend a lot of time, every day, straightening my two and half feet of hair, thus, dampness is not my friend. In fact, it’s my enemy. So, yes, I do use an umbrella from time to time — sue me. The problem with this particular case, was the there was no way Rowan was going to submit to being carried under the umbrella or walk close enough to me that the cover would do her any good. I figured her hat was good enough protection. It’s not like it was a torrential down-pour, just a gentle, off-and-on, spring-like shower. Nice, really. I kept imagining dirty looks from other hikers though — “Look at that lady, selfish… using an umbrella and letting her kid get soaked.” “Shocking.” I know. Bringing the crazy back again. But, that’s what I would have thought, if I’d seen someone like me using an umbrella while the kid ran around in the rain. I put the umbrella away as soon as possible. Hair be damned.

We walked on the path, along which ran what is usually a stream, but on this day had turned into a rather terrifying, and loud, river. Rowan was fine with the river as long as we were on the path, and kept shouting “River! Look at the river, Mama!” (I love it when she shouts stuff like that… She’s so tiny that most people think she’s a lot younger than she is, and thusly marvel at how this one year old is running along-side a river and shouting stuff at her mom.) Then, we had to walk over a bridge, under which the river roared and the water churned and our feet slipped and slid a bit on the wet boards. Rowan was not a fan of this and wanted to be carried for a bit.

And of course, no trip to the park is complete without sitting down for a delicious snack.

So there, future self, how’dya like them apples? We had a great day and will keep on having them, until you come along and take over, at which point you can feel guilty because I did such an awesome job.

Fluid — like… gelatin, slinking between the dimly lit aisles — looking for all intents and purposes like a very dense shadow, was something that certainly was not a very dense shadow. A very dense shadow would not have little bits of iridescent green jumping all over and through it, like radioactive fleas. Nor would it emit a very slight, tuneful, humming noise.

Hrmph. Hrmph. He jumped. It was the clerk. The scratch-it woman had stepped to the side to deal with the layers of silver wax that separated her from her intended fortune and it was now his turn. Not wanting to lose track of the … “whatever”, he backed slowly away from the counter, tipping his head in what he hoped was a sheepish, I forgot to get something, gesture towards the older man. There were five aisles in the small store, narrow and perpendicular to the front. He headed down the nearest aisle, trying to look intentional. When he reached the middle of the aisle, he stopped, pretended to examine a four-pack of toilet tissue, and listened closely, trying to pick up that humming noise again. It was moving down the very next aisle, leisurely, as if it too was heading back for some elusive forgotten item. He felt very calm, in spite of the terrifying unknown that lingered mere feet away.

He continued around the store, aisle by aisle. Casual. Not too fast. Not too slow. The humming noise getting louder and softer as the shadow moved in tandem. It was unclear whether it was following him or simply making its own methodical round of the aisles. He stopped near an obscenely colored display of wildly flavored potato chips. Ketchup? Wasabi? Bigger Better Cooler Than Ever Rocks Your Socks Off Bone-Blasting Ranch? What’s happened to just potato? he thought to himself, distracted for a second. Picking up one of the bags, he read the ingredient list. He did this sometimes. It wasn’t that he actually cared to terribly much what he put in his body, he just liked to know. Autolyzed Yeast Extract, how fascinating! What is that and what has it got to do with a chip? he wondered, then noticed that the humming noise had gotten closer. It was in fact, very, very near. He froze, and clutched the bag of chips so tightly that it crinkled noisily. To him, it seemed louder than a car engine backfiring, as he tried to gauge where, exactly, that humming noise was coming from, because now it was louder. Very, very loud. It was consuming him, inside of him, pulsing in his mind and raising the tiny hairs all over his body. He closed his eyes and images shot across the inside of his eyelids, too fast to recognize anything, but they felt very foreign, alien. They gave him a sense, not quite a glimpse, just a nearly tangible feeling, of another place. A place filled with beings in agony — a place where no one had felt joy for a very long time. In shades of black and grey and blue they shot past his eyes, these amorphous images that burned their shapes into his conscious. Impossibly, surrounding him were the things that nightmares were made of, the things children can see and adults can’t… the things that live in the closet, murky water and in the backseat of your car at night. His mind went off on wild tangents… have I gone suddenly mad? Have I had an aneurism? Is this how mad cow disease begins? This could be the end of it all, I will now be one of those crazy hobos, wandering around yelling at themselves in their windowed reflections, haunted forever by this damned shadow.

No! Had he shouted? Just as suddenly as the images had started, they stopped and the store seemed to get brighter. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and peered around with bulging eyes. Still in his hands were both the bag of chips and the candy bar, and he had a very strong urge to put them both back and leave the store immediately. The feeling of calm that he had had earlier was gone and he focused his vibrating psyche on the important task of keeping the contents of his stomach in place. Nervous, he glanced over at the clerk and was glad to see that the old man had his back turned, busily stocking the racks of cigarettes. As he was standing there, trying to gather his wits back about him where they damn well should be, a buzzer sounded, making him start violently. He looked toward the door and saw a group of kids coming in. Young kids, with all those ridiculous baggy clothes, waddling around like a flock of ridiculous ducks as they attempted in vain to keep their pants resting, somehow, around the mid-thigh region. He’d seen them around the neighborhood for the last few months, the five of them, always in a group, always with their earphones plugged permanently into their heads, regardless if they were talking or if someone was trying to talk to them. He couldn’t understand it, how they could just leave the music on while they were talking. He guessed it was because nothing that they ever said to each other was of any importance anyhow, just for show and to piss off people around them. His attention was yanked abruptly back to his particular situation by a tremendous whooshing noise, directly behind him. The void left by whatever had just whooshed away seemed to suck at him, and he staggered backward into another display, this one stocked with bags of poisonous looking gelatinous candies. He quickly looked first at the old man, then at the kids to see if they had noticed his awkward stumble. The old man had his back turned still, attention glued to the cigarettes. The kids had gone quiet though, and….how odd… seemed to be gathering together in a huddle, rather than spreading out over the store as they usually did, to stuff their baggy clothes with stolen candy and beer. Time to make a break for it, he thought, and headed quickly toward the door. Damn! He looked down at the chips and chocolate, which was now more than a tiny bit melty. He would have to buy it. And, he really needed a cigarette. He would have to stop at the register. Changing directions abruptly he skidded to a stop in front of the counter, threw down an undetermined amount of money along with the candy bar and chips, and in an urgent whisper, said ‘PackofCamelsinaboxplease!’ Looking over his shoulder, he was saw that the pack of kids looked thoroughly terrified and were standing stock still, in silence.

He stared as the old man slowly turned back to the counter from the display and calmly scanning the pack of Camels said, “Don’t worry, you’re safe now. It’s cheaper than one a them fancy security systems is all, and you don’t miss the bits of soul that much.” His smile was mocking and the dark holes of his eyes had no glisten. They were like… flat, black stones…. Leaving his change, the man backed away and fled the store.

A week later, he made himself walk that route again on his way to work, but the store was gone. He never saw it again. He never saw that group of kids again either. And, he quit smoking.

I am soooo not a pastry chef. Previous adventures in quiche making not-with-standing. But I always crave a little bit of good old-fashioned bread product with my dinner, and a slice of toasted wheat bread doesn’t always cut it. Frankly though, I fear the making of bread product. Mostly due to the mess involved. So…the drop biscuit is right up my alley.

These delicious little biscuit morsels are stupid easy, and mighty tasty. For us, they accompanied cheesy rice-a-roni with ground beef (awww yeah). But really, they could stand beside filet mignon with haricot verts.

Crispy, salty, moist…salivatory.

Here’s how it’s done.

Preheat your oven to °450.
Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper — or grease it with something greasy that doesn’t burn easily.

Mix together:

• 2 cups flours
• 1 Tablespoon Baking Powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt (i recommend sea salt, gives you a nice, recognizable crunch of salty every now and again)
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 3 Tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese, or other cheese of your choosing

With fingers, knives or pastry blender (I actually do own one, and it’s awesome) cut in 1/4 cup of chilled butter.
Once you have achieved small, pea sized lumps of flour covered butter, pour in 1 cup of milk.
Mix with fork until moist and sticky.
Grab kiwi sized lumps and form them just enough so they don’t look weird. But the rustic look is kind of what’s wonderful about these. So don’t worry about it too much.

Drop onto the cookie sheet and bake for 13 minutes, or until golden brown.

Here’s where you can get fancy. I topped mine with some fancy salt that I got from this AMAZING local shop called The Meadow.

Cyprus Hardwood Smoked Sea Salt

But you could go with fresh cracked pepper, garlic salt, whatever strikes your fancy! Have fun. They’re your biscuits.

Enjoy!

I say this a little shamefacedly, but seriously…it’s a super compelling show! I want to watch it right now! But no, I said, Heidi….you need to blog. Rowan is sleeping and you need to sit the fuck down and do it! It’s a little like exercising…once you get off that train, it’s hard to get back on.

But now…back to the land of the Big Sky!

Our trip to Montana happened to fall about a week before Donovan’s and my fourth wedding anniversary. Since Grandma and Grandpa (my mom and dad) were obviously desperate to spend some quality time with their granddaughter, we thought to oblige by planning a camping trip, just the two of us, for some quality time of our own. It was the first time we’d left Rowan overnight but to be perfectly honest? We knew she was in good hands and didn’t stress a bit. Though, we did spend a good bit of our night “off” talking about her.

Clever people that they are, Mom and Dad suggested that since we were planning a day in Glacier Park anyhow, it would be smart to find a campsite on our way up in the morning, stake our claim, return that afternoon to stay the night. Brilliant. And that is what we did. And then….we started running into trouble.

The first place we stopped was full. But oh so beautiful, by this little lake…to die for.

Lost Johnny Campground

The second place we stopped was also full…and the frantic started to set in. I’m not going to lie, we really needed this little mini-break.

And then…we found this.

THE most perfect campsite ever

Which was right on the shores of this….

Truthfully awe inspiring

It was literally the second to last campsite left and by far the best one. Even our host, Red (yep, not joking) said so. We so scored.

After dropping some stuff off, we climbed into my dad’s truck for the short ride up to Glacier Park, where we had wonderful time, saw all kinds of amazing stuff…yada yada yada. But, that’s another post altogether. We’re going to pretend now like we never left this amazing little spot, which we actually didn’t want to, Park or no, and continue on into the late afternoon. Did I mention we were right next to this?

Hungry Horse Reservoir

It was about eighty-seven different kinds of wonderful, I’ll tell you what.
With Rowan safely on her way to have some tasty dinner with Grandma, Grandpa, and Uncle David, we set to work on the campsite. Dono and I are pros though, and had everything ship-shape in two clicks.

Home sweet home.

Romantic little dinner — complete with bear spray.

You can't see the bear spray...but it's there.

You see, my parents, and Ranger Red, had put the fear of god into us about bears. I’m no stranger to bear encounters myself — one angry mama of a bear with two cubs had actually shaken our trailer once…with me and my mom inside. Regulations on leaving food, trash, even coolers outside are stringently enforced. So, we had our bear spray right there in the second cupholders, next to the beer. You bet we did.

The campground was soooo quiet…with the exception of site #4. College guys. They stumbled past us once as we were on our way — armed with bear spray — to the outhouse. “Washs-up?! Dude we got beer…and a bottle. You should totally come party with us!”

Yeah. Thanks, sure….we’ll see. But really? No thanks.

Mercifully, we were far enough away that their drunken revelings were mere echos across the lake. Could’ve been elk. We don’t know, and we didn’t really care.

We stayed up late, enjoying the night, slept like logs — though at one point, I did hear something large brush up against the tent. But, in all honesty, I was pretty drunk and went right back to sleep!

The morning was gorgeous…as usual I was up before Donovan and thought to get things ready so there would be fire, coffee, and the beginnings of breakfast when he finally dragged himself out of the tent. Here is where I fail. I’m a handy girl, really, super handy. I can build a stupid fire, I can work a stinkin’ coleman stove…I am a confident, empowered woman! But that morning, whether I was more hungover than I realized…I felt great, though….or what. That morning, I couldn’t do shit to save my life. I’m telling you this now, and it will never be spoken of again. Pinky-swear.

My fire sucked — was totally smoky and lame. My coffee sucked — was full of grounds and tasted of something super nasty. On top which, I burned my finger. Finally, I woke up my husband who did not laugh at me. Who readily set things to rights and we were on our way….

To breakfast….oh my god. This breakfast will be bragged about for years. This breakfast will be held out, gleaming, for all other breakfasts to strive to live up to. And they won’t. This was the almighty goddamn king of breakfasts.

We started by cooking bacon, of course. In cast iron, over the fire.

BACON!!

Then, we fried sausages and ham-steak in the bacon grease…

Ham-steak!

Sausage!

Yum,

Yum,

Yum,

Yum.

Sexy man tends to meat.

Oh yeah, and eggs…practically broiling in butter!

Eggs having a time out....

Topped it all off with some leftover bread, fried in bacon grease and butter….sweet protein powered heartbreak!

For the love of all that is holy....

*******

After all that…we had to shake off our food coma with a walk down to the lake, via our private path. Oh yes, we had the luxury suite with private lakefront beach view.

Could this guy stop oozing sexy?

********

And with that…we cleaned up, washed up,  packed up,  and hightailed it back to our little girl, who turns out, hadn’t really missed us that much. She was having the best old time with her grandparents…which we didn’t mind a bit.

Drivin' 'em wild....

]]> http://hesitanthousewife.com/2010/08/07/under-the-big-sky-part-2-camping/feed/ 7 rowanberry23 Nip/Tuck 102_4461 102_4676 102_4690 102_4648 102_4652 102_4651 102_4661 102_4665 102_4664 102_4669 102_4672 102_4675 102_4677 102_4680 102_4684 102_4687 102_4646 http://hesitanthousewife.com/2010/07/23/under-the-big-sky-part-1/ http://hesitanthousewife.com/2010/07/23/under-the-big-sky-part-1/#comments Fri, 23 Jul 2010 23:21:45 +0000 The Hesitant Housewife http://hesitanthousewife.com/?p=248 Continue reading »]]> You’ll notice that I refer to this being Part 1 of an undetermined number of posts regarding our recent trip to Montana. There’s just too much to cover in one single post!

To start off with, I present a photo journal of the first leg of our journey. I was really excited about this trip…Rowan and I went out last year, by ourselves, which was a little bit of a nightmare. So many moments on this trip had me thanking my lucky stars that Donovan was along this time. He’d never been to Montana before and I couldn’t wait to show off my “country” roots.

The trip is a fur piece, about 600 miles and what with stops for food, stretchin’, poopy butts, and other whoo-haw, takes about 12 hours. If you’d like to check out the route, click here for a gander.

Heading out...

We got a later start than we had hoped for…of course. 4:00 am comes real early and hits like a freight train. We’re supposed to be on vacation for christ’s sake! Easier to let the clock slide on down to 5 and call it good.

This Jetta wouldn't go fast and kept pissing Donovan off.

I’ll admit it, I have a hard time being a passenger. There have been multiple “discussions” about my reactions to Donovan’s driving — which is good driving, it is! Just….fast. And sometimes aggressive. I try really hard to pass off a gasp like I’m just choking, or to put foundation on my hands so you can’t see the white knuckles…This trip was yet another learning experience for both of us.

Sleepy baby!

Lookin like one damn fine Montana man...

This is the Clark Fork River, …perfect photo op stop. Not just for us — a carload of college guys pulled up just behind us to take advantage of the ideal posing stump. As one of the guys stripped off his shirt, another dude was like, “Take off yer shirt dude!” And another dude was all “Yeah, look all hot and sexy!” Dude in question stated “Now I’m embarrassed” and promptly reinserted himself into said shirt. Too bad.

The Clark Fork river....frickin

We got to travel along this piece of scenerific gorgeousity for most of the last leg of the journey. There’s just something about being near water that makes everything okay.

I have to brag for just a minute about how awesome my little girl was on this long, hot drive. She was so freakin’ good! When she wasn’t sleeping or eating, she was quietly looking at books, singing to her toys, or pointing out the window calling everything she could see a “cow”. Thankfully, she ceased the misguided bovine categorization when we were in populated areas such as rest stops.

St. Regis -- traditional stop, shop and gas up spot...

Now this place…you kind of almost have to see it for yourself. You drive up and the country music is just blaring from craftily hidden speakers. It’s like St. Regis has its own soundtrack. There’s people all over the place (I made them all get out of the way for the picture) — getting gas, going pee, chasing little Tommy and not-so-little Suzie as they attempt to run across the road to Dairy Queen (Git back here, boy…I’m gonna skin ya!) Okay, not really, but almost…

They don't call it Big Sky Country for nothing!

First look at Flathead Lake!

Coming down over the hill, getting that first look at the lake never gets old for me. I’ve made that drive possibly 50 times, and never does that thrill get any less. There’s such a sense of anticipation, and on this occasion, having Donovan along for the first time, it was all the more intense, .

Almost there...just need a little "refreshment". Where better to stop than Del's Bar in beautiful downtown Somers, MT.?

So, yeah. We totally stopped 10 miles out of town for a shot and a stretch. Well, I had a shot. Just walked right in, asked for a shot of Maker’s Mark with a soda back…slammed that sucker and was back out in the sunshine in under a minute. I shit you not.

*****

We’ll be cuttin’ it off there for now…Part 2, should you feel like tuning in again, will include stunning views from the top of Logan Pass, mountain goats and bighorn sheep, and adventures in getting stranded in Glacier National Park.