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veosullivan406 · 7 years

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The Long Weekend

Posted on Wordpress on May 20, 2017 by V. E. O'Sullivan

I arrived in Big Timber on the afternoon of April 27th. I spent that evening with friends, cutting up and sipping my glass of wine and finally allowing myself to relax. After rushing the week prior to my departure, it was strange to be sitting still without anything on my list screaming to get done or a destination I had to make it to by a certain time. I was in Montana and I had two and half days before the short trip to Big Sky and my new home at the 320 Ranch.

It was still rainy and overcast and cold. 37 degrees cold. I knew better than to just pack everything up in the totes. Thankfully, I had packed plenty of layers and a nice warm hoodie in my travel bag. And I needed every layer.

Driving up to Sojourner Ranch was wet and windy. The Krug’s cows were out and about and I had to navigate around them to get to the gate. Babies were everywhere sleeping and playing and staring at me in wonder. The grass was eaten down; the irrigation ditch was off; gates I didn’t know existed were shut and required hopping out to open and shut them quickly. I hadn’t been out that early in the year before, and it almost looked and felt like a different place.

I thought I would be excited to reach my grandparent’s gate… But the thought of them being back in Georgia and not on the hill waiting for me dulled my emotions. I snapped a picture and sent it to her. When I pulled through, Banjo and Koda were in the bottoms eating and raised their heads in curiosity when they heard my truck. Realizing I had come alone and without any four-legged friends, they resumed grazing.

I crested the hill and the McKenzie Flats opened up around me allowing me full visual access to the Beartooths to the south and the Crazies to north. Immediately to my right and left, however, were the buildings my grandparents built with their own hands – with the help of several Big Timber folks kind enough to lend a hand and spare some of their time. But my grandparents weren’t there. I was the one making the initial trip out, keys in hand, to open up the house and the barn. Even if it hadn’t been in the 40’s, it would have still been cold – almost uninviting. Strange how a place gains life with the presence of its tenants and loses it in their absence.

I pulled around to the back of the barn to unload my tack and rearrange my stuff with the extra room it allowed. It began to spit ran on me as I was finishing and I made my way to the house to check off my list of things to do there. It was a hesitant walk up the stairs and to the door. In times past, I’d be sprinting up the few steps and flying in the door to embrace the nearest grandparent. Not this time. It was just me there – and all the lovely birds and their droppings. I slid the key in the lock and turned it. I’d be the first one in this year.

Plastic covered the furniture and there were dead flies scattered under the windows. She’d told me what to do with those – fold the plastic and put it all in the closet; vacuum the floors – but it was a foreign place to me in that state. I set to work getting the house “opened up” and was finished relatively quickly with the plastic folding and putting away. I decided to leave the flies until the next day. Now for the outside tasks: move the benches to their designated sides of the porch. The east-, north- and west-facing sides were easy. But the south side has one larger bench and required a little extra time and maneuvering. Soon I was finished with that and headed back down to the Krug’s to relax.

I spent a long while doing nothing and letting my body rest. But as I sat and the hours passed, I was getting hungry. A quick text and I had plans to eat at The Thirsty Turtle.

I met my buddies for a “sammie” and the Thirsty Turtle’s amazing sides – fried pickles and sweet potato fries. And a vodka tonic to top it off. I don’t usually eat fried foods, but there are a few exceptions and those are at the top of my list. Especially when you dip them in their secret Cajun ranch. By the end of our meal, we had grown from three to four and we meandered over to The Grand for an additional drink. With few places to end up in Big Timber on a Friday night, our party of four grew to a lively bunch of eight. Our poor waitress had her hands full with our antics, but we kept the noise in check and had a merry time.

Word reached us of the 90’s night across the street, and with the rest of the patrons at the Grand staring in our direction of a good time, we decided to slide over to the Timber Bar. After walking in and feeling the room close in around me, I made my way back out the door to collect my nerves. I don’t care for small spaces and a big crowd. I really don’t even like big spaces and a big crowd. Too many people and things going on at once, and I end up with an uncomfortable sensory overload. Luckily, I didn’t enter that establishment alone, and I nestled in among my buddies in a spot I thought was a safe haven. One stiff squeeze on my shoulders and a foreign body against my back and I was even further in amongst my friends. Reason number 73894759589 why I hate big crowds: my personal bubble is invaded by strangers!

An honest mistake of persons on their part and any crisis was averted. I still kept my back to the bar from that point, just to be safe. We hung there for a long while. Music I’d never heard blared from the speakers and a few I thought I’d heard before played here and there. Several happy people shared a song or two with a partner on the dance floor, but the majority of the patrons gathered around the tables and the bar. We snagged an empty table at some point and used it as a people watching station. Very entertaining. Which was before I became the object of someone else’s people watching. I was convinced to “try my feet” at country swing dancing. Thankfully, I had a gracious teacher who didn’t mind repeatedly doing the move over and over again. I think I grasped the concept by the end.

Someone mentioned they had chocolate cake back at their house. It was about midnight, why not have cake? So we drove across town for chocolate frosted cake a few last laughs. A quick bite and a drink turned into an extended outing with old friends and new friends and a heck of a fun time.

I went to bed in Montana for the second night worn out and happy.

Saturday broke with a clear sky and fairly warmer temperatures than the day before. Driving up to the house was less dreary than Friday, and I took my time getting started and tried to soak up all the sunshine that I could. Vacuuming didn’t take long, and I had the whole morning to waste. I sat on the back porch, with my coat still on, and closed my eyes in the warmth of the sun. It was fantastically quiet, save for the wind which lent a chill to the air. But I didn’t mind. I was just happy to be there, right where my feet were.

We had plans to meet up at The Fort for a trip to Billings. My buddy needed replacement saddle parts and I had asked to tag along. Even though I traveled back the way I had just come, it was a better ride than the one I’d had on the way in. Accompanied by my friends and riding along under the clear Montana sky was invigorating. We grabbed my buddy’s saddle parts and headed over to Scheels – which was hands down the coolest sporting goods store I’ve ever been to. A little meandering around both stories of the store, we headed for home and dinner. Lonestar Pizza called our names and we order three pizzas for a good judge of their work, of course. What is pizza night without a good scary movie, right? On the way back to the house, we grabbed Sinister and settled in for a good scare.

Which I missed out on. Pretty sure I passed out about 30 minutes into the movie. Oh, well. It had been a great day with great company, but I needed the rest.

Sunday came too early for my tired self. It was another beautiful day and I had a church service to make. I gathered up all of my crap and re-loaded the truck with the things I had taken out of it: plants, travel bag, cooler, and laundry bag. I stopped at the Fort for one last cup of their coffee and headed to Big Timber Evangelical Church. I was a little late, but luckily the back row was open and I slid in an empty seat. After the service, I said hello and goodbye to surprised friends and told them my grandparents were on my heels.

Not sure if it was the Spirit moving on my heart, but I struggled to keep my composure whilst conversing. I wanted to breakdown and cry. I’ve always found it funny, and really almost perfect, that God uses the time I spend in services to really work on my walled-up heart and stifled thoughts making His presence known. It isn’t always in a church building; He moves on my heart even at any given point in my day. And I suppose He does that to everyone who chooses to come before Him, but in that instance His gentle calling was digging up more than just my adoration for Him. All the emotions I had shoved down about leaving were coming up, too. I had barely made it out of there before the tears started seeping out. I was raw and exposed and my heart was calling out for a comfort and a peace that I couldn’t conjure for myself.

Nothing a still moment in the truck with a little Phil Wickham couldn’t salve. Ha. Yeah, right. Nothing a little worship couldn’t dissolve my walls and containers any better. I’m not complaining. Who better to cry to than the One who’s always with me? It was time to let go and feel again. I backed out and headed west on I90 again.

I couldn’t go through Bozeman without having lunch at Dave’s Sushi. It was my last “vacation” treat. Once I got to the ranch, I knew I had to transition into “real life” and I wanted to end my trip with a nice treat. For any sushi lovers coming through Bozeman, from that experience and past ones, I highly recommend Dave’s and the Twin Fin, Widespread Panic, Street Taco and the Jack Sparrow rolls. Totally satisfied my sushi craving. And just like that lunch was over and it was time to hit the road again.

For the drive out I had Spotify repeating and shuffling my road trip playlist. Which had worked perfectly up until I hit Big Timber and then I was over my selections. But I had been given a series by Andy Stanley to listen to before I left, and I had forgotten up until then that I had it. I stuck disc one in of “Taking Responsibility for Your Life: Because Nobody Else Will”. Perfect, right? It couldn’t have been more perfect once he began his message and it’s a series I recommend highly.

The first disc ended a little before Big Sky, and I switched it out for disc two as carefully as I could. Andy talked me all the way to the bridge over the Gallatin river that takes you into the 320 Ranch. I pressed pause and parked in front of the office. Carla met me to show me over to my new home and I changed back into “go mode”. Time to unpack all the crap I’d transported from Dawsonville, GA to Buffalo Horn Creek Rd, Gallatin Gateway, MT. (The ranch is 15 miles south of the census-designated area of Big Sky.)

I met a few of my bunk mates, who kindly helped me with the two large and cumbersome totes strapped in the bed of my truck, and set to work unloading and putting away my clothes, shoes, bedding, and toiletries. Once I was through, I ventured back down the hallway to the kitchen where I could hear the voices of my bunk mates carrying on.

I’m an introvert by nature, but because of my prudent mother and my line of work, I’ve made it a habit to practice being an extrovert. I put on my social hat and dropped my anxieties at the door. Instantly, I could tell this bunch was going to be a blast living and working with. Each of them was welcoming and cool and nonchalant. I had come in at quitting time and they were already letting their hair down. What better way to break the newbie in than a little game of Gentleman’s Beer Pong – sans beer? I was a little rusty and I think I might have made a total of 8 cups, but it was fun and a great ice breaker.

I turned in early, happy and less anxious than I had been upon my arrival. Tomorrow was the first day of work and I was excited to begin.

05.19.2017

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