Every time I drive through Atlanta, I swear that I’ll never do it again, and that if I do I’ll never live to see 30, much less 90.  The multiple lanes where I-75 and I-85 collide, the swerving, speeding, tricked out Hondas, the enraged drivers hopped up on sweet tea and cocaine … it gives me nightmares.  When I long for the South, I don’t long for the insane amount of people trying to live there, trying to drive on its streets.

Montana suits me better.  My commute to work is seventy miles, one way, but just one traffic light.  In good weather, it takes exactly an hour, which is about how long I figure a lot of my Atlanta friends sit over the course of their ten milecommutes.  But just because I’m going to work doesn’t mean I’m going “to town.”

Town generally means one of two things to near-Babbylonians: Great Falls (167 miles east and south) or Kalispell (140 miles west and south).  “In town,” one is able to visit Costco or Sam’s, Target or Wal-mart, Super 1 Foods or the organic grocery store, depending on the choice of town.  On Wednesday afternoon, I chose Kalispell, eager to escape the winds that had been howling since I’d gotten home from California.  The winds are not all bad – they bring warmth in their power.  Wednesday morning, the radio announcer was calling the Babb-St. Mary area “the Banana Belt,” as the temperatures were hovering around 40 degrees, as opposed to the rest of the area’s teens.  Those toasty Chinook winds can cause the temperature to soar or plummet forty degrees or more in twelve hours or less.

Anyway.  I was sick of hearing the wind unscrew the screws in my roof bit by bit, sick of feeling the wind tie knots in my hair, sick of the wind-created-drift preventing me from driving into the garage.  So, off to Kalispell-town I went.

About 30 miles from town, I hit traffic.  Had to stop dead in the middle of Hwy 2 for a good five minutes.  Just like Atlanta at 5pm on a Friday:


Aren’t these pretty gals?

They think they want to cross the road.  They’re ready.  Two-thirds of them are almost across.  We’re all wondering, why did the elk cross the road?

And then, just like that, they change their minds.  Today will not be the day we find out why the elk crossed the road.

Till next time, my lovelies.  I’ll be out on the open road.

2010.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.