Leaving Montana

I took a little seven hour road trip last week for Spring break.  I decided it was time, after seven months, to visit my previous home of 11 years, Bozeman, Montana.  Plus, G Love & Special Sauce were playing and I was very excited to see them live for a second time.

So, I set out around 10am from Spearfish, South Dakota.  I was excited and ready to visit friends and my old stomping grounds.  The seven hours seemed to fly by and before I knew it I was pulling into Bozeman.  I was comforted that it looked exactly the same way it did the hot August day I left.

I got to visit everyone I wanted to see.  I spent two days up on the mountain in the resort town of Big Sky where my friends T and M now live.  It was nice to make our traditional hangover breakfast feast and T's delicious bloody Marys.  It snowed when I was up there and I was reminded how much I missed big Montana flakes.  I do not, however, miss the elitist attitude that I felt by the trust fund ski "bums" who like to throw around terms such as "gaper" and talk in those crazay scratchy voices...brah.  Ugh, I couldn't get off that mountain fast enough.

Once back in Bozeman, I was blatantly aware of how expensive everything is in this mid-sized mountain town.  Gas prices blew my mind, movie matinees pushed $10, and going out to dinner was nearly out of my budget.  I was so thankful for my friends (who are the best part of this area) who gave me a place to stay and made me lovely dinners.  {{Thank you S and J.}}  I gaped like a tourist at the breathtaking mountains.  I just stared and smiled at them.  Yet, I reminded myself of something I often said when I lived there, "Those mountains are beautiful, but they can't pay my bills."

The second day (of six) I began to miss my new home in South Dakota.  I missed the mid-western long vowel accents, the smiles and friendliness minus the . . . pretentiousness.  There.  I said it.  I don't really miss Bozeman that much anymore.  Honestly, I was most surprised by this reaction.  I wanted to go "home" and I wanted to go now.  I missed my job.  I missed my house.  I was reminded that, in Montana, I was a lot farther than 90 miles away from my family.  I missed the Black Hills.  I missed home.

I never thought I would ever get over Montana.  Every time someone would mention that state, I would light up and interject my own experiences, and always had to add that I lived there for an extended period of time.  It was almost as if I was claiming to be a Montana (not Wyoming--my home state) native.  I just thought it was so cool to be from Montana (and I am not saying it isn't).  It's just that little trip taught me something special.  It taught me to always be thankful for all the choices I've made in my life because they've lead me . . . home. 

"Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts."

--Oliver Wendall Holmes

Love Always,

Nik